A Clash of Honor

chapter THIRTY EIGHT

King McCloud burst from his castle as the second sun was setting in the sky and ran across the plaza of his royal court, filled with rage. He leapt onto his horse, followed by dozens of his loyal men, and kicked, taking off at a gallop through his small city, through one of the arched gates, and onto the dusty road leading up the mountain. He kicked the beast harder and harder, outrage burning through his veins. He had just received the news that his son had escaped, his bride with him, had broken free from his grasp before he’d had a chance to torture and kill them both and make a public display of them.

McCloud burned with the indignity of it all. He could not believe that little witch had outsmarted him. He had been in a foul mood since returning home, and now he was in an outright fury. If it was the last thing he did, he would hunt them both down, find them before they could reach the safety of the MacGil side, and torture and kill them both himself.

McCloud galloped, dozens of men following, desperate to reach the hilltop outside his court where he could have a good vantage point, see exactly where they were, and decide how best to hunt them down.

Ungrateful little boy, he thought. He realized now that he had made a mistake to let Bronson live all these years. He knew from the time he was born that he should have had him killed—should have had all of his sons killed—so that no one could ever threaten to depose him. He had been too soft. Now he had paid the price.

He had also been foolish to keep that MacGil girl alive as long as he had. He knew from past experience that it was always a good idea to kill women as soon as possible, and not take any chances with them. He again had become too soft in his old age, and he resolved to be crueler and more vicious than ever before.

McCloud screamed and whipped his horse again and again, until it bled, the horse screaming, as they all charged and finally crested the top of the hill.

From this vantage point, the setting sun flooding the sky in scarlet, matching his mood, McCloud could see on the horizon his son, Bronson, with Luanda, riding for the Highlands. His anger burned anew. It looked like they had a good day’s ride on him, and catching them would not be easy. No matter. He would hunt them down, make a sport of it. He would ride all night if he had to, and would not rest until he pounced on them and crushed them to death with his bare hands.

McCloud sat there on his horse, watching, breathing hard, and was about to whip his horse again, to charge off after them, when suddenly, something came into view which confused him. He blinked several times, unsure what he was seeing.

Before him there came into view an army of horses. It was the biggest army he had ever seen, unlike anything he had ever laid eyes upon. It appeared to be a million men, covering the entire countryside, swarming his way, like a swarm of ants.

He turned, and in every direction they were there, millions of men, turning his land black with their bodies, their horses, closing in on him from every direction. He could not understand what was happening. From their dress, they appeared to be Empire men. But it was not possible: they were inside the Ring. Across the Canyon.

Did the shield fail? he suddenly wondered, his heart skipping a beat.

Before McCloud could process it all, suddenly there crested above the hill, right in front of him, a thousand men, just a few feet away—and at their head rode Andronicus, on a single horse, twice the size of his.

Andronicus sat there, on his horse, a few feet before McCloud, grinning down at him, an evil grin, his fangs protruding, his sharp teeth glistening in the sunset. His demonic yellow eyes told McCloud all he needed to know: he had been beaten.

McCloud was suddenly overwhelmed with panic, and he turned and looked behind him, as if to flee—but an instant later thousands more Empire men closed in from behind.

He was completely surrounded. There was nowhere to run.

McCloud swallowed hard. For the first time in his life, he felt what it was like to feel real fear. He felt what it was like to be utterly defeated.

McCloud licked his dry lips as he looked up at Andronicus, wondering if there was any way out of this.

“My Lord,” he said to Andronicus, his voice shaky, all of his confidence gone.

“You had your chance to strike a deal with me,” Andronicus snarled, an ancient deep voice, rumbling forth from his chest. “And you refused.”

“I am sorry, my Lord,” McCloud said, his voice catching in his throat. “I was just about to send men to you, to send you a message, that I wanted to let you in.”

“Were you?” Andronicus said.

He leaned back and roared with laughter.

“Somehow, I doubt that very much,” Andronicus answered. “You are a poor liar. But it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. In my world, there are no second chances.”

He leaned back and smiled wide.

“Now you will learn what it means to defy the great Andronicus.”