Morgan Rice - An Oath of Brothers

Erec looked out and saw, in the distance, a huge outcropping of rocks, rising up from the water, a good thirty feet high, and stretching for a mile in either direction.

“We won’t be sailing into them, my brother,” Erec said. “We will clear them by a good hundred yards.”

“And yet,” Strom replied, “this does not seem the most direct route to the Empire. We should be sailing more northeast than due east.”

Erec turned and looked out at Krov’s fleet, beside him and slightly ahead, leading.

“Krov knows these waters better than anyone,” Erec said. “We follow his lead, as we have from the start.”

“And yet our maps show otherwise, my lord,” Strom said.

Erec furrowed his brow, wondering.

“He may be leading us around some shallow shoals,” Erec said, “or some other unseen danger. He knows these waters. Father trusted him to guide him, and we must, too. Maps don’t always tell the whole story.”

Erec, though, was now intrigued, and he signaled for his watchmen to signal Krov’s fleet.

Erec looked across the waters and saw Krov at the bow of his ship, leading his small fleet. He was perhaps fifty yards away, and as Erec’s men signaled, he came close.

Erec leaned over the rail as they came within shouting distance.

“Your ship looks worse for wear,” Erec called out with a smile.

Krov smiled back.

“That’s what years of pirating will get you,” he said. “They were weathered to begin with, and I didn’t think they could look much worse. I should have known, following you for a day can do that to them.”

“Do we sail in the right direction?” he yelled out.

Krov hesitated, surprised, as he looked back.

“Do you question this old sailor?” he yelled back, sounding offended. “Are you watching the maps? Don’t mind them much. Shallow rocks up ahead. If we had followed them and sailed straight, your ships would likely be at the bottom of the ocean right now,” he said with a roguish smile.

Erec, feeling reassured, turned back to Strom, who nodded, clearly reassured, too.

The two brothers turned and slowly made their way back toward the bow.

“It’s a clear, calm day, my brother,” Erec said, clasping his shoulder. “Try to relax. That was always your problem: you worried too much.”

“When we reach the Empire,” Strom said, studying the horizon, “I want to be first in battle. I’m going to kill the man that comes for you first. You can kill the man that comes for me—just the way they did in father’s time. Or you can stand back and let me kill them both,” he added with a smile.

Erec laughed, glad to see Strom back to his old confident self.

“Why don’t I just let you fight the entire Empire by yourself?” Erec said.

Now Strom laughed.

“Now that would be a fine idea. How many Empire soldiers do you think I could take with this—”

Suddenly, they were interrupted by a shout cutting through the air.

“UP AHEAD!”

Erec turned, snapping out of it, and looked up at the mast; way up high, sitting perched at the top of the pole, was the lookout, pointing and shouting.

Erec, alarmed at the lookout’s tone, turned and looked out at the horizon, puzzled, not seeing anything. Yet there was a mist on the horizon, and as Erec watched, it slowly began to rise.

Erec was shocked to see a hundred huge Empire ships, easily identifiable by the gleaming black and gold banners, emerging from behind the rocks. Thousands of Empire archers stood at the edge of the boat and had their arrows pointed down at their fleet, the tips flaming. Erec knew that with the slightest nod from their commander, his entire fleet would be destroyed.

They were too close to get away, and Erec suddenly realized, with dread, that they had been ambushed. There were no possible options—he could not run, and he could not fight without assuring a certain death for all of his men. The Empire had outsmarted them, and they were at their mercy, with no choice but to surrender.

Erec turned to Krov, immediately concerned for him, feeling guilty that he had led him, too, into an Empire trap.

Yet as Erec looked at Krov, he was confused: Krov did not look scared, or surprised, as Erec expected him to. Instead, Krov nodded to the Empire commander, who nodded back at him knowingly. Even more shocking was that none of Empire the arrows were aimed on Krov’s boat; they were all aimed at Erec’s.

That was when he realized: Krov had set all of this up, had led them here, to this vulnerable spot beside these rocks. He had betrayed them.

Krov’s boat glided up along the Empire’s, and Erec watched as one sack of gold after the next was thrown over the rail, landing on Krov’s boat, and he flushed with indignation.

Erec could feel all of his men looking to him in the silence.

“Is this how you repay my trust?” Erec called out to Krov, his voice echoing over the silent waters.

Krov turned and faced Erec. He shook his head.

“It is your fault,” he called back. “You never should have trusted me, Erec. Your father didn’t. I’ve always told you I sell myself to the highest bidder—and your bid, my friend, was not the highest.”

“Drop your swords!” shouted the Empire commander, a fierce soldier in gleaming armor, standing before all of his men.

Erec could feel the eyes of all of his men on him. Strom looked at him, too, and Erec turned and looked at Alistair, who lay there weakly, still spent. More than ever Erec wished for Alistair to be able to use her powers. But she lay there, so weak, and could barely lift her head. Without her help, he realized, there was no chance of victory.

“Don’t,” Strom urged. “Let us all die here, together.”

Erec shook his head.

“That is a solution for a soldier,” he said. “Not a leader.”

Heart breaking inside, Erec slowly, gently, drew his sword and placed it on the deck. It hit the deck with a hollow thud, the sound piercing Erec’s heart. It was the first time he’d ever laid down his sword before the enemy. But he knew he had no choice: it was that, or have all of his fine men, and Alistair, killed.

All around him, on all the ships of his fleet, his men followed his lead, and the air was soon filled with the sound of thousands of small swords placed on the decks, shattering the stillness around them.

“You have betrayed us, Krov!” Erec shouted. “You have given up your honor for a sack of gold.”

Krov laughed.

“Honor?” he yelled. “Whoever said I had any to begin with?”

Krov laughed.

“You are Empire property now,” he said. “And I am a very, very rich man.”

Loti walked with her mother, her brother Loc at her side, following her as they had been for hours, taken on a meandering trail, wondering how this all came about. She understood her mother needed her to help to help convince new villagers to join the cause, but she wanted to be back in the main camp, with Darius and the others, helping them fight.

Loc limped along beside them, sweating beneath the sun, and Loti wondered how much longer this would all go on.

“How much further?” Loti asked her mother, impatient.

Her mother, as she always did, ignored her, just hiking faster through the woods, pushing back branches that snapped in Loti’s face.

It was impossible to get anything out of her. All Loti had been able to learn was that one of the neighboring villages, populated with the strongest slaves, was reluctant to join their cause and would only join if Loti urged them to. Her mother said they could bring a thousand slaves to the cause, nearly doubling the size of the army. She said they had great respect for Loti, that her fame had already spread, stories told and retold about what she had done to save her brother’s life. Her legend was growing, as the one who had escaped from the Empire’s clutches, the one who had managed to make it back to her village on her own. It was only she, her mother said, who could convince them.