by Morgan Rice
He’d had no idea Angel had it in her; he saw the fierceness in her eyes as she stood over him and he realized she had a true warrior’s spirit and was much more complex than he knew.
Thor turned and threw himself into the fray and he and his men attacked relentlessly, all of them banding together, as they had in so many places, a fine-tuned killing machine, all watching each other’s backs. They fought beautifully together, knowing each other’s rhythms. As Elden swung his battle-ax, Indra hurled her spear, killing those he could not reach. Matus swung his flail, killing two pirates at once, while Reece used his long halberd to kill three pirates before they could reach Selese. And Selese, in turn, sprinkled the dust from her sack on their wounds, healing all their wounds as they went and keeping them strong.
Slowly the tide turned, as they cut down one man after the next. The bodies piled high, and soon there remained but a dozen of them.
Eyes wide with fear, the dozen remaining pirates, realizing they could not win, dropped their daggers and machetes and axes and raised their hands, terrified.
“Don’t kill us!” one yelled out, shaking. “We didn’t mean it! We just went along with the others!”
“I’m sure you didn’t,” Elden said.
“Don’t worry,” Thor said, “we’re not going to kill you.”
Thor sheathed his sword, stepped forward, grabbed the pirate, lifted him over his head, and hurled him overboard, into the sea.
“The fish will do that for us.”
The others joined him, driving the remaining few overboard with their weapons, into the sea, and Thor watched as the seas soon turned red, sharks circling and drowning out the cries of the pirates.
Thor turned to the others, who looked back at him. He could see in their eyes that they were thinking the same thing as he: victory, sweet victory, was theirs.
CHAPTER NINE
Erec bent over the rail and looked down in the torchlight into a sea filled with Empire corpses. A dozen Empire soldiers lay floating, all killed by Erec and his men, all pushed over the rail, and as he watched, slowly, one at a time, they sank.
Erec looked up and down his fleet of ships and saw his men on all of them, all now free, thanks to Alistair’s breaking their bonds. The Empire had been foolish to leave but a dozen soldiers to guard each ship, thinking themselves invincible. They had been vastly outnumbered, and once Erec’s men’s bonds were broken, it had been easy to kill them and retake their ships. They had underestimated Alistair.
They also had no reason to fear an uprising because they had completely surrounded Erec’s ships. Indeed, as Erec looked up he saw that the Empire blockade, with their thousand ships, was still intact. There was nowhere for them to go.
More horns sounded, more Empire soldiers cried out in the night, and Erec could see the lanterns being lit all up and down the fleet. The Empire, that sleeping dragon, was slowly rallying. Soon they would enclose Erec’s men like a python and strangle them to death. This time, Erec was sure, they would show no mercy.
Erec thought quickly. He surveyed the Empire ships, looking for any weak spot in the blockade, a place with fewer ships. As he turned and looked behind him, he noticed a spot where the Empire ships were more spread out, spaced perhaps twenty yards apart. It was the weakest point of the circle—though, even so, the blockade was hardly weak. It was the best of the worst options. They had to make a run for it.
“FULL SAIL!” Erec shouted, and as he rushed into action, his orders were shouted and echoed up and down his fleet.
They hoisted the sails and began to row, Erec standing at the bow, his ship out front, his fleet close behind. He looked out ahead, aiming his ship for the weak point of the blockade. He only hoped that they could ram it quickly enough, before all the Empire ships closed in and tightened their positions. If they could only get through, then they would have open seas before them. He knew the Empire would follow closely, and that most likely it would be a chase he could not win.
Still, he had to try. Some plan, even a reckless plan, was better than conceding to defeat and death.
“Can we ram it?” came a voice.
Erec turned to see Strom coming up beside him, hand on his sword, still red with blood where he had killed the Empire soldiers, peering into the night.
Erec shrugged.
“Have we a choice?” he replied.
Strom stared into the horizon beside him, unflinching.
“How long until they know we are coming?”
They received their answer as an arrow whizzed through the air, right past Erec and Strom, and found its target in one of Erec’s men, just a few feet behind them. The man screamed out and fell on his back, clutching the arrow in his chest, pulling at it with both hands, quivering on the floor as he was dying.
Another arrow whizzed through the air, then another, and another. Neither he nor Strom ducked, both standing fearlessly, holding their ground.
Erec looked out and made out shapes in the darkness, saw the Empire soldiers taking aim, lining up, firing rows of arrows, and he knew this was going to be bad. They still had a hundred yards to go until they reached the blockade.
“Shields!” Erec yelled out. “Get together! Stay close! Man to man!”
Erec’s men obeyed, falling into formations, raising their shields, and Erec, satisfied, did the same, kneeling beside Strom and others, and holding his shield overhead.
Erec felt three arrows land on it in three quick thuds, the vibrations shaking his arm.
Shouts cut through the night, and Erec heard a body plunge into the water; he turned and his heart sank to see the commander of one of his ships falling over the rail. The man plunged into the water, two arrows in his chest, and Erec could see the fear in his men’s eyes as the ship beside him was beginning to stray. Erec knew that without their commander the ship would not follow, and he would lose his men. A ship needed a commander—especially now.
“Strom!” he called out to his brother, frantic. “Can you make the swing if I get close enough?”
Strom looked back at his brother then out at the ship, and in an instant, he understood what Erec wanted. He nodded back with confidence, and without hesitating, he ran to the rail.
Erec ran to the wheel and steered his ship closer to the other, and as they got close enough, Strom, ignoring the arrows, stood on the rail. He raised his bow, quickly tied an arrow to a rope, aimed high, and fired.
The arrow, with rope attached, flew high in an arc over the mast of the ship, and looped around it.
Strom tugged at it, satisfied, then grabbed it and leapt into the air.
Strom sailed through the air, a good forty feet, swinging in an arc, until he finally reached the other ship, jumping down and tumbling on the deck, to the astonished looks of all the sailors on board.
Strom gained his feet and took the helm, and as he did, all the men, re-energized, fell in behind him.
“Forward!” Strom yelled out, taking charge. “We follow my brother!”
The men went back to their positions, taking up oars, hoisting sails, ignoring the arrows sailing down on them.
As Erec turned and faced the ships, getting ever closer, the sea of arrows thickened, and more of his men screamed out and fell over the rail. Erec knew something had to be done. He had to keep the Empire off guard or else risk losing too many of his men on the approach.
“Archers, take positions!” Erec called out.
His men did as commanded, and they followed suit on the other ships as well, Strom echoing his command.
“Fire!” Erec yelled.
His men sent back a volley of arrows at the Empire ships, and Erec was satisfied as he heard the shouts of dozens of Empire archers, high on their masts, falling down to the decks. Others fell over the rail, dropping into the sea, and finally, there came a lull in the arrows coming their way.
“Again!” Erec yelled, and his men sent another volley, narrowly avoiding arrows themselves as the Empire regrouped.
Back and forth t
he two sides went, volley after volley, men dying on both sides, and Erec’s fleet, in the meanwhile, getting ever closer, narrowing the gap. He was now about fifty yards away, the arrows coming down heavily, and he set sail right for the hull of the closest Empire ship, preparing to ram it. Erec turned and looked back over his shoulder and he saw the greater Empire fleet beginning to rally, to head their way. He knew he hadn’t much time. He had to ram this blockade, and their odds did not look good.
Desperate, Erec suddenly had an idea.
“Man the catapults!” Erec yelled. “Arm them with spears, and set the tips aflame! Now!”
Erec’s command was echoed up and down the ranks of his fleet, and he watched with satisfaction as men placed flaming spears on catapults normally reserved for boulders. He wanted to fire, but knew he had to get closer, within range, to make sure this worked; he would have no second chance.
“Wait for it!” Erec yelled out, seeing the jittery faces of all his men, hands resting on the cords holding back the catapults. He knew they were all as anxious to fire as he, especially as more arrows showered down.
Finally, when they reached but thirty yards away, Erec yelled:
“FIRE!”
The Empire fleet realized, too late, what Erec’s men were doing, and a split second before his men fired, he could see the terrified expressions of the commanders of their ships, as they scurried frantically to command their men to move their ships.
Erec watched as hundreds of spears, all aflame, sailed through the night air, cutting a blazing path, lighting up the black seas. One by one they landed on the sails, embedding themselves in the canvas, on the masts, on the wooden decks.
Within moments the Empire ships caught aflame. As their men scurried to put them out, some fires were dampened—but others spread wildly. It did some damage—but more importantly, it achieved Erec’s goal: it occupied the Empire fleet, distracting them, and finally the barrage of arrows stopped.
“FULL SAIL!” Erec yelled.
Erec’s men, on all his ships, raced back to the sails and oars, and Erec increased speed, taking aim for the closest ship, the only thing standing between them and freedom, an Empire ship half ablaze, its men shouting and struggling to put out the fires.
“Single file!” Erec shouted to the other ships. “Stay close behind me!”
Strom echoed his command and got in line behind Erec, and Erec watched with satisfaction as his fleet came in close behind him. He knew it was their only chance. He did not need to run the entire blockade; he just needed enough space to clear one ship. And then the others could follow on his heels.
He looked up and his heart pounded as the blockade came closer and closer, now hardly twenty yards away…then ten…then five. He knew the impact would be rough.
“BRACE YOURSELVES!” Erec yelled.
Erec grabbed the rail, bracing himself, too, as the ship bore down on them.
Erec was jolted, the entire ship shaking, as they smashed into the Empire ship at a sharp angle. Erec’s entire ship rocked, as did the Empire ship, each rocking back and forth, and for a moment, Erec wondered if his ship would sink.
But a second later Erec felt movement, and he knew they had burst through. The Empire ship spun sharply, smashed out of the way, leaving just enough space to clear between the ships.
Erec, ship to ship with the Empire soldiers, so close he could look them in the face, knew that he had to strike first. He knew that if he tried to just sail right through, they would attack.
“CHARGE!” Erec yelled.
He wasted no time. He drew his sword, rushed forward and leapt from his deck onto the Empire ship beside him, all of his men letting out a battle cry and following close behind.
Erec led his men as they charged across the deck of the Empire ship, slashing Empire soldiers who turned his way, too late, still struggling to put out flames. Slowly, the Empire soldiers realized what was happening, and they turned their attention back to Erec and his men.
Erec charged through the flaming ship, narrowly avoiding the fires, as he fought Empire soldiers hand-to-hand. Their swords clanged in the night, sparks flying, as Erec slashed one large Empire soldier after another, all of them bigger than he, but none a match for his speed or skill. One large soldier brought his sword down, Erec blocked, then he swung around and cut him in two. The man fell, screaming, overboard.
Erec did what he did best, killing one, two, three soldiers at a time, none able to outfight him. No knight in the entire Ring had ever been able to best him, and these Empire soldiers, as fine as they were, were not of his caliber either. Empire soldiers fell by the handful, and Erec did not slow, racing through the ship from stern to bow, his men behind him, clearing the decks.
Erec saw with satisfaction that Strom was leading his own men to leap onto the Empire ship on the other side of the blockade. Like his big brother, Strom charged fearlessly through the other Empire ship, felling men left and right, moving like lightning. The Empire was caught off guard: after all, no Empire commander would ever imagine that these few ships would dare attack them.
Yet as Empire soldiers rallied they fought back fiercely, and with their superior armor and weaponry, they managed to kill dozens of Erec’s and Strom’s men. It was a bloody, fierce, hand-to-hand battle amidst the flames, and men’s screams filled the night.
Erec saw the rest of the Empire fleet, each ship packed with soldiers closing in from the corner of his eye and he knew they were losing precious time. Soon they would be completely surrounded.
Erec knew he had to do something quickly. He quickly scanned the ship, spotted a huge metal anchor attached to a chain, sitting on deck, and he had an idea.
“The anchor!” Erec yelled out to Strom. “Destroy the hull!”
Erec ran to the anchor, grabbed its chain, swung it high above his head, and then brought it down, smashing the deck, wood shattering everywhere. A huge hole appeared right in the center of the deck, and Erec looked over to see Strom beginning to do the same. Erec’s men ran over and helped, and together, they all swung the chain higher, faster, stronger, smashing the deck again and again, breaking it to bits. Deeper and deeper the anchor went, to the lowest holds, until finally, ice-cold water came gushing straight up, like a geyser.
Erec heard the satisfying sound of the ship cracking in two, and he felt the massive ship begin to list.
“Back to our ship!” Erec yelled.
Erec’s men all turned and ran across the deck and leapt back over the rail, onto their ship, right before the Empire ships began to sink. They took up the oars and continued forging ahead, right beside the ships on either side of them, which began to sink quickly. Strom, the damage done, escaped back to his ship, too.
Erec squeezed his ship between the boats, all his ships single file behind him, all of them firing back at the Empire soldiers in the greater fleet who were now closer and firing down on them. Some Empire soldiers even managed to jump from their ships onto Erec’s fleet, and Erec’s men rushed forward and killed them, one at a time. They were being harassed on all sides.
Yet they pushed forward and soon, with one final satisfying thunk, Erec broke through the blockade, past the last of the burning ships, and out to open seas.
Erec looked out and saw open seas before him, and for the first time, he felt relief. The entire Empire fleet might be rallying behind him, but at least now he had open seas, a chance to outrun them. For once, he felt like he could really make it.
And then, suddenly, Erec’s heart froze as an awful sight appeared before him: there, coming around the bend, blocking their way again, were two of the largest Empire ships he’d ever seen, five times the size of the others, come from out of nowhere, and creating another definitive blockade.
Their exit was completely sealed.
And this time, they had no way out.
CHAPTER TEN
Darius stood in the circular dirt courtyard enclosed by high stone walls, its periphery lined with Empire guards, and he fought agains
t his training partner until sweat stung his eyes. Back and forth they went, Darius swinging heavy clubs with both arms as his opponent, a slave of a race he did not recognize, with green skin and yellow pointy ears, twice as muscular as he and about his age, defended himself, wielding two shields. Darius brought down blow after blow of the clubs and his opponent blocked each one, the clanging of his shield ringing in the air as Darius drove him back across the ring.
All around the courtyard stood dozens of other slaves, among them Desmond, Raj, Kaz, and Luzi, all of them watching, egging them on.
Darius, breathing hard, was exhausted. He’d been sparring, as had the others, all day under the burning suns, each taking turns under the watchful eyes of the taskmasters. His shoulders ached from the effort, his entire body was drenched in sweat, and he did not know how much longer he could go on. If anyone dared to escape, as one unfortunate soul had tried earlier in the morning, the Empire soldiers were only too eager to step forward with their weapons forged of real steel, and put a sword through his heart.
Darius knew there was no escape—not now, anyway. The only way out was to do as they were told, to spar, to train, and to prepare for the arena.
There came another rumble and roar in the distance, from the direction of the arena, and Darius knew it was the crowd, eager for more gladiators, for more entertainment. Their bloodlust was insatiable.
There came on its heels an even louder shout, followed by a horn, and Darius knew what that meant: another gladiator had died somewhere beyond those walls. The crowd went crazy, but Darius and his men all slumped their shoulders, depressed at the thought. That was their fate, awaiting them soon enough.
