Morgan Rice - A Dream of Mortals

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 the 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.