Morgan Rice - A Dream of Mortals

“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.

Darius stood in the circular dirt courtyard enclosed by high stone walls, its periphery lined with Empire guards, and he fought against 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.