The Gift of Battle

Erec turned back and checked the horizon. He knew from his scouts that Volusia lay just beyond the bend somewhere – yet, at the rate at which the Empire was closing the gap, he wondered if his small fleet would reach it in time. He was starting to realize that if they did not make it in time, they would have to turn around and make a stand – and that was a stand, so vastly outnumbered, they could not win.

Erec heard a sound that raised the hairs on the back of his neck, and he turned and looked up to see a sight which left him with a cold dread: a wave of Empire arrows had been unleashed, and they now sailed through the air, blackening the sky, heading, in a high arc, for his fleet. Erec braced himself and watched with relief as the first volley landed in the water all around him, perhaps twenty yards from his ship, the sound of arrows hitting water sounding like heavy raindrops.

“ARROWS!” Erec yelled, warning his men to take cover.

Most of them did, and not a moment too soon. Another volley soon followed, these shot by crossbows with a further range, and Erec watched, horrified, as one reached the deck of his ship and one of his soldiers yelled out. Erec turned to see it sticking through his leg, pierced by a random arrow, the only one with a range just far enough to hit.

Erec felt a flush of indignation – and of urgency. The Empire was within range; too soon they would be overtaken, and with the Empire’s fleet of thousands of ships, there was simply no way Erec’s men could outfight them. Erec knew he had to think quickly.

“Shall we turn and fight, my brother?” asked Strom, coming up beside him.

Alistair looked back, too, standing calmly beside him.

“You will prevail, my love,” she said. “I have seen it.”

Erec felt encouraged by her words, as always, and as he stared and studied the landscape, an idea came to him.

“Sometimes,” he said, “we must sacrifice to achieve something greater.”

Erec turned to his brother, confident.

“Board the ship beside us. Evacuate it, then take up the rear,” he commanded. He then took Strom’s arm and looked him in the eye.

“When you’re done,” he added, “set that ship aflame, and sail it right for their fleet. You will jump on my ship before the flames overtake it.”

Strom’s eyes widened in appreciation for the plan. He jumped into action, running and leaping from the deck to the ship beside him, executing his brother’s orders. He began barking orders, and the men fell in all around him, jumping into action and beginning to abandon ship, jumping onto the deck of Erec’s ship. Erec could feel the weight of his ship growing heavier.

“More oars!” Erec cried, feeling them slowing.

He doubled the number of oarsmen on board, and they all pulled, heaving, as Erec’s ship began to pick up speed.

“Spread out!” Erec commanded, realizing his ship was going too slow. “Jump to the other ships!”

His men did as commanded, jumping from his ship to several others in his fleet, distributing their weight evenly amongst the ships. Finally, Erec’s ship righted and gained speed.

Erec turned to watch the last of the men jump from Strom’s ship. Strom raised a torch and ran up and down the ship, setting flame to everything, then threw it with all his might. The torch landed on the mast, lighting it, setting the whole ship in a huge conflagration, and Strom turned, leapt back onto his brother’s ship, and stood there, watching, as the ghost ship, aflame, drifted down current – right for the Empire fleet.

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