“Is money that important to you?” Kendrick asked Tirus, hardly ten feet away, his voice as cold as steel. “Would you sell your own people, your own blood?”
Tirus showed no remorse; he smiled still wider.
“Your people are not my blood, remember?” he said. “That is why I am not, according to your laws, entitled to my brother’s throne.”
Erec cleared his throat in anger.
“The MacGil laws pass the throne to the son – not to the brother.”
Tirus shook his head.
“All inconsequential now. Your laws no longer matter. Might always triumphs over law. It is those with might who dictate the law. And now as you can see, I am stronger. Which means, from now on, I write the law. Succeeding generations will remember none of your laws. All that they will remember is that I, Tirus, was King. Not you, and not your sister.”
“Thrones taken illegitimately never last,” Kendrick countered. “You may kill us; you may even convince Andronicus to grant you a throne. But you and I both know you won’t rule for long. You’ll be betrayed by the same treachery you instilled on us.”
Tirus sat there, unfazed.
“Then I shall savor those brief days on my throne while they last – and I shall applaud the man that can betray me with as much skill as I used to betray you.”
“Enough talk!” the Empire commanders yelled out. “Surrender now or your men will die!”
Kendrick stared back, furious, knowing he needed to surrender but not wanting to.
“Lay down your arms,” Tirus said calmly, his voice reassuring, “and I will treat you fairly, as one warrior to another. You shall be my prisoners of war. I may not share your laws, but I do honor the battle code of a warrior. I promise you, you shall not be harmed under my watch.”
Kendrick looked over at Bronson, at Srog, and at Erec, who glanced back at him. All of them sat there, proud warriors each, horses prancing beneath them, silent.
“Why should we trust you?” Bronson called out to Tirus. “You who have already proven that your word means nothing. I am of a mind to die here on the battlefield, just to wipe that smug smile off your face.”
Tirus turned and scowled at Bronson.
“You speak though you are not even a MacGil. You are a McCloud. You have no right interfering in MacGil business.”
Kendrick came to the defense of his friend: “Bronson is as much a MacGil now as any of us. He speaks with the voice of our men.”
Tirus gritted his teeth, clearly annoyed.
“The choice is yours. Look all about you and see our thousands of archers at the ready. You have been outwitted. If you even reach for your swords, your men will fall dead on the spot. Surely even you can see that. There are times to fight, and times to surrender. If you want to protect your men, you will do what any good commander would do. Lay down your arms.”
Kendrick clenched his jaw several times, burning up inside. As much as he hated to admit it, he knew Tirus was correct. He glanced about and knew in an instant that most if not all of his men would die here if they tried to fight. As much as he wanted to fight, it would be the selfish choice; and as much as he despised Tirus, he sensed he was telling the truth and that his men would not be harmed. As long as they lived, they could always fight another day, in some other place, on some other battlefield.
Kendrick looked over at Erec, a man he had fought with countless times, the champion of the Silver, and knew he was thinking the same thing. It was different to be a leader than to be a warrior: a warrior could fight with reckless abandon, but a leader had to think of others first.
“There is a time for arms, and a time for surrender,” Erec called out. “We will take you for your word as a warrior that our men shall be unharmed, and on that condition, we will lay down our arms. But if you violate your word, God rest your soul, I will come back from hell to avenge each and every one of my men.”
Tirus nodded, satisfied, and Erec reached out and dropped his sword and scabbard down to the ground. They landed with a clang.
Kendrick followed, as did Bronson and Srog, each of them reluctant but knowing it was the wise course.
Behind them came the clash of thousands of weapons, all falling through the air and landing on the winter ground, all the Silver and MacGils and Silesians surrendering.
Tirus smiled wide.
“Now dismount,” he commanded.
One at a time, they dismounted, standing before their horses.
Tirus grinned, reveling in his victory.
“For all those years I was exiled to the Upper Isles, I envied King’s Court, my elder brother, all of his power. But now which MacGil holds all the power?”
“The power of treachery is no power at all,” Bronson said back.
Tirus scowled and nodded to his men.
They rushed forward and bound each of their wrists with coarse ropes. They all began to get dragged away, thousands of them captive.
As Kendrick was being pulled, he suddenly recalled his brother, Godfrey. They had all set off together, yet he had not seen him or his men anywhere since. He wondered if somehow he had managed to escape? He prayed that he would find a better fate than they. Somehow, he was optimistic.
With Godfrey, one never knew.
Chapter Four
Godfrey rode out in front of his men, flanked by Akorth, Fulton, and his Silesian general, and riding beside the Empire commander whom he had paid off liberally. Godfrey rode with a wide smile on his face, more than satisfied as he looked over and saw the division of Empire men, several thousand strong, riding alongside them, joining his cause.
He reflected with satisfaction on the payoff he had given them, the endless bags of gold, recalled the looks on their faces, and was elated that his plan had worked. He hadn’t been sure of it up until the last moment, and for the first time, he breathed easy. There were many ways to win a battle, after all, and he had just won one without shedding a drop of blood. Perhaps that didn’t make him as chivalrous or bold as the other warriors. But, still, it made him successful. And at the end of the day, wasn’t that the goal? He would rather keep all his men alive with a little bit of bribery than see half of them killed in some reckless act of chivalry. That was just him.
Godfrey had worked hard to achieve what he had. He’d used all of his black-market connections through the brothels, back alleys, and taverns in order to find out who had been sleeping with whom, which brothels the Empire commanders frequented in the Ring, and which Empire commander was open to being paid off. Godfrey had deeper illicit contacts than most – indeed, he had spent his entire life accumulating them – and now they had come in handy. It had also not hurt that he had paid each of his contacts off well. Finally, he had put his daddy’s gold to good use.
Still, Godfrey had not been sure if they were reliable, not until the last moment. There was no one to sell you out like a thief, and he’d had to take the chance that he was being had. He knew it was a coin toss, that these people were only as reliable as the gold they were paid. But he’d paid them with very, very fine gold, and they had turned out to be more reliable than he thought.
Of course, he had no idea how long this division of Empire troops would remain loyal. But at least they had wormed their way out of one battle, and for now, had them at their side.
“I was wrong about you,” came a voice.
Godfrey turned to see the Silesian general coming up beside him with a look of admiration.
“I doubted you, I must admit,” he continued. “I apologize. I could not have imagined the plan you had up your sleeve. It was ingenious. I won’t question you again.”
Godfrey smiled back, feeling vindicated. All the generals,