sight of him. The villagers began to stop
what they were doing, farmers stood where they were, fishers began to pull back
nets, all staring in surprise.
The Empire began to notice, too: one by
one, Empire soldiers began to turn from their tasks and watch the river, looking
curiously at Erec’s ships. Clearly they had never seen their like before, and
had no idea what to expect. Perhaps they assumed they were Empire ships?
Erec knew he had but a brief window of surprise
until the Empire soldiers realized they were under attack—and he was determined
to take advantage of it.
“Archers!” Erec shouted. “Introduce
these Empire men to the strength of the Southern Isles!”
There arose a great cheer as Erec’s men rose,
as one, up from behind the rails, took aim, and sent a volley of arrows towards
the shore.
The Empire soldiers turned to run—but they
were not quick enough. The sky blackened with hundreds of arrows, arching high
and descending, piercing the taskmasters one at a time.
They cried out, dropping their whips and
swords where they stood, collapsing to the dirt, while terrified women and children
screamed and fled.
“Anchors!” Erec cried out.
His fleet dropped their anchors, and
they all followed Erec’s lead as he jumped over the rail, flying through the
air a good ten feet, landing in the water, up to his knees, then drawing his
sword and charging on the sand.
As Erec led the charge to the village, Strom
a foot behind him, dozens of Empire soldiers rushed forward to meet him, swords
and shields at the ready.
The first sword slash came down, right
for Erec’s head. Erec blocked the blow with his shield, then swung around and
slashed the soldier in the stomach. At the same moment he was attacked from the
side, and he turned and slashed the other soldier before he could lower his
sword, then turned the other way and kicked one back in the chest, sending him
back, splashing in the water. He head-butted a fourth, breaking his nose,
smashed another with his shield, and stabbed another in the chest.
Erec spun in every direction, a
whirlwind, cutting through the ranks of hundreds of Empire soldiers. His men
were close behind, and Strom, at his side, fought like a man possessed, felling
soldiers left and right. Cries ran out in the morning air, and Erec lost more
than one soldier, as more and more of these vicious Empire fighters seem to
pour out of nowhere.
But Erec was filled with indignation at
how these cruel taskmasters had treated the defenseless women and children, and
he was determined to set things right and liberate this place, whatever the
cost. He had also been eager, for far too long at sea, to let loose his
aggression on the Empire, hand to hand, man to man, on dry land. It felt good
to wield his sword again.
The sound of a whip cracked through the
air, as an Empire soldier came at them from behind and lashed them with his
long whip, catching Erec and Strom by surprise as he lashed the hilt of Erec’s
sword and yanked it from his hands. Erec reacted quickly, turning and throwing
his shield sideways; it went spinning through the air and hit the soldier in
the throat, knocking him down. Defenseless, another soldier brought his sword
down for his face—but Strom stepped up and blocked the blow for his brother,
then stabbed and killed the man.
Erec charged forward, ankles splashing
in the water, grabbed his sword, extricated the whip, and kicked the taskmaster
back, then stabbed him in the chest.
The fighting continued, on and on, thick
and heavy, the waters running red with blood, men dying in every
direction—until finally, it slowed. The clanging became less persistent, the
smashing of shields dropped away, the sound of armor clinking died, as did the
shouts and cries of men. Soon all that could be heard was the running of the
river, thick in the air of silence.
Standing there, breathing hard, sweat
running down the back of his neck, Erec looked about and surveyed the
battlefield, and