A Vow of Glory

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Andronicus rode proudly down the center of McCloud’s royal city, flanked by hundreds of his generals, and dragging behind him his most prized possession: King McCloud. Stripped of his armor, half-naked, his hairy body rolling with fat, King McCloud was bound by ropes and tied to the back of Andronicus’ saddle by a long rope circling his wrists.

As Andronicus rode slowly, reveling in his triumph, he dragged McCloud through the streets, over dirt and pebbles, stirring up a cloud of dust. McCloud’s people gathered and gaped. He could hear McCloud calling out, writhing in pain as he paraded him through the streets of his own city. Andronicus beamed. The faces of McCloud’s people crumpled in fear. Here was their former king, now the lowliest of slaves. It was one of the finest days Andronicus could remember.

Andronicus was surprised at how easy it had been to take McCloud’s city. It seemed as if McCloud’s men had been demoralized before the attack had even begun. Andronicus’s men had conquered them in a blaze of lightning, his thousands of soldiers swooping in, overriding the few soldiers who dared to defend, and swarming the city in the blink of an eye. They must have realized there was no point in resisting. They had all laid down their arms assuming, if they surrendered, Andronicus would take them captive.

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