The Weight of Honor by Morgan Rice

can win. Who I the more reckless of us two?”
    “And what of Ur?” called out a noble. “Shall you secure its beaches with your skeleton force when the Sorrow turns black with Pandesian fleets?”
    “Not my force alone,” Duncan replied. “But all our men, together. Are we not all one Escalon?”
    The men grumbled amongst each other, and most shook their heads and looked away in fear.
    “We cannot defeat Pandesia,” one lord called out. “No matter how well we fight.”
    “Escalon stood free for thousands of years,” Duncan replied. “Are we less worthy than our ancestors?”
    “No,” called out another. “But Pandesia is stronger. It was not then what it is now.”
    As the room became filled with arguing, finally, Tarnis raised a hand, and silence fell. Duncan was surprised to see the old King still had such a command over his men.
    “We cannot win,” he said softly, conclusively. “And a life of servitude, a life of paying homage, is better than no life at all.”
    Duncan shook his head.
    “A life of servitude,” he replied, “is no life at all.”
    Tarnis sighed, at a stalemate, and the room fell silent. All looked to him, Tarnis still projecting an air of authority.
    “You allow your warrior’s honor and courage to guide you,” Tarnis finally said. “It is commendable—but not practical. You are a warrior; you are no King, with a land to worry over. You would fight to the death, as if your livelihood; we, on the other hand, fight for survival. Escalon is indefensible against an army of that size.”
    “You underestimate us,” Duncan replied. “We have other weapons.”
    In the back of his mind, he had to admit, he thought of Kyra, of her dragon.
    “I have heard of your dragon,” Tarnis replied, staring back at him as if reading his mind; he had always had that uncanny ability. “And of your daughter. Is this of whom you speak?”
    Duncan remained silent.
    “I’ll have you know,” Tarnis continued, “that the dragon you depend on has turned its wrath upon our people. Reports have flooded in of villages scorched to the north.”
    Duncan’s heart fell at his words, shocked. In the back of his mind he had been hoping the dragon might come to their aid, and the news floored him.
    Tarnis reached out and placed a hand on Duncan’s shoulder.
    “You see, old friend,” Tarnis continued softly, his voice filled with compassion, “we are left with just our shields and our swords. We cannot possibly fend off Pandesia, however much your honor would like it. Our best hope, our only hope, is to reason with them. To compromise. To surrender and lay down our arms. To protect and save what we have.”
    He sighed.
    “This is why we cannot join you,” he continued. “And this is why you must surrender. Ask for mercy. They are an understanding nation. They will understand. I will use my influence to help them understand, and let you live.”
    Duncan grimaced back, stung by his words, losing any remaining respect he’d had for this man he once loved. He reached up and pushed Tarnis’s hand off his shoulder.
    “You mistake me,” Duncan replied, his voice hard, official. “It was not a request.” He turned and looked out at all the men in the room. “It is a command. We are liberating Escalon, with or without you. We shall fight at dawn, as one nation, and you shall join us. If you do not, you will each be imprisoned or killed. If you hinder us in any way, you will be imprisoned or killed. I did not start this war, but I will end it.”
    A long, heavy silence followed, until finally Bant stepped forward.
    “You have but a few thousand men at your command,” he said, his voice equally defiant, determined. “I have twice as many in Baris, and we can summon many more. Attempt violence against us, and your situation will go from bad to desperate.”
    Duncan stared back, unwavering.
    “As you say,” Duncan replied. “Your men are in Baris—mine are here. You will not leave this room with your