The Gift of Battle

CHAPTER FORTY

Erec stood at the stern of his ship, Alistair by his side and Strom nearby, looking out as the two suns began to fall on the open sea, and feeling alive with a greater sense of purpose than he could remember. Not since his days in the Silver, in the court of King MacGil, had he felt this way. He didn’t realize how much of a sense of loss he had been feeling ever since he left his home, left the Ring, left the company of his brothers, the Silver, left King’s Court and King MacGil. Since then, he realized, a piece of his heart, of his soul, had always been missing.

But now he had a chance to have it all back again, to restore the life he once knew and loved. Now, finally, he could see a future for himself, a place in the world that felt like home. His future was not in the Southern Isles; he realized that now. That may have been where he was born, where his people were—but that was not home. Home, he realized now, was where he had been raised; where he had learned to fight, where he had met his brothers and fought side by side with them; where he had met and fallen in love with Alistair. Home was the land which he had risked his life defending. It was his adopted land, perhaps—but it was home.

The thought of returning there now, of having a chance to take it back, made him feel alive again like nothing else had. Erec would risk it all just for a chance to return to the Ring again.

The Southern Isles, Erec felt, was no place for his people now. The Ring needed to be rebuilt and the Ring needed men and women to populate it. It needed warriors. And he could think of no finer warriors than his people of the Southern Isles. The time had come, he knew, as King of the Southern Isles, to merge their peoples. The Ring, anyway, would need them to take it back. They could help fight for their new home. They had no option to remain isolationists now, anyway; if the Ring was lost, they would all be lost. If the Empire defeated the Ring, they would turn, with all their might, to the Southern Isles next, the last bastion of freedom in the world. To lose the Ring would be to lose it all.

Which was why he would sail there first, rally his people, and convince them to sail to the Ring with him, to join the battle with him and his people and help reinforce Gwendolyn. It was why he had split off from Gwendolyn’s fleet—so that he could return with an even greater army.

“Are we not sailing north?” Strom asked, coming up alongside him.

Erec turned to see Strom standing beside him, Alistair on his other side, very much pregnant, and he could see the look of confusion in Strom’s face.

“But we must sail south to reach the Southern Isles by morning,” Strom added.

Erec nodded.

“I know, my brother. But we are not turning to the Southern Isles just yet.”

Strom blinked, confused, and Erec looked out at to the waters ahead. In the distance, he saw the Dragon’s Spine. It brought back memories he’d rather forget.

“Then where do we sail?” Strom asked.

Erec gestured to the horizon.

“An injustice was performed here that must be rectified,” Erec said.

Erec gestured to a remote outcropping of rocks on the horizon, shooting out from the ocean, with dozens of ships anchored in its harbor. He could slowly see the look of recognition in his brother’s face.

Krov’s isle.

“Those ships once had to cower in the cover of darkness,” Erec said. “Now Krov anchors them openly, with impunity, with no fear from anyone. That is because of the deal he struck with the Empire.”

Erec raised a looking glass to his eye and could see the ships, even from here, overflowing with treasure. He handed the glass to Alistair, who looked, then handed it to Strom, who peered through and whistled.

“Krov’s reward,” Erec said, “for selling us out. Not only does he have Empire protection, but he now has more riches than he could ever dream.”

Strom looked through the glass, his mouth open in shock.

“And to think we trusted him,” Strom said.

Erec sighed.

“All wrongs come back to you, eventually,” he said. “The time has come for him to pay for his betrayal. I never forget a friend—and I never forget an enemy.”

Strom’s look changed to one of admiration, and slowly his smile broadened. He stepped up and clasped Erec on the shoulder.

“I’m beginning to remember why I like you, brother.”

Erec turned to Alistair, whom he now consulted on all things.

“I know it takes us out of our way,” he said, “and I know our time is short. But I feel strongly,” he said.

He expected her to try to dissuade him, to talk him into abandoning the idea, to going straight to the Southern Isles, then to the Ring, to leave vengeance alone.

But instead, she turned to him with a look of determination, a look of agreement that surprised him.

“We live in an unjust world, my lord,” she said. “And every wrong you set right, every small piece of justice, can help set the world right.”

“Then you agree?” he asked, surprised.

She nodded.

“You would be wrong to turn away.”

He looked at her, loving her more in that moment than he ever had, and he knew he had married the right woman. A warrior, like he.

Erec nodded, satisfied.

“We shall wait for the cover of darkness,” he said. “Tonight, we attack.”

Erec sailed in the dark ocean, lit only by the full moon, leading his fleet in stealth as they cut silently through the water. His entire fleet disciplined, silent as he’d commanded, the only sound that hung in the air was that of the lapping waves against his boat, the wind at night, the occasional cry of a gull. And, of course, of the waves crashing against the sharp rocks of Krov’s isle, looming closer and closer as Erec approached it.

As Erec approached Krov’s fleet, anchored in the harbor, his heart beat quicker and he had the familiar feeling he had before entering battle. His senses were heightened; he grew more focused, more intense. He blocked out all else but the strategy before him.

As Erec neared Krov’s half-dozen ships, bobbing unsuspectingly, he got a good glimpse: sailors lounged on deck, asleep, drunk, feet up, as undisciplined as their commander. Sailors sat slumped against the deck, empty sacks of wine in their hands, not suspecting anything. The decks themselves were filled to overflowing with loot and ransom, and no one bothered standing guard. They had no reason to; they had the protection of the Empire now.

Erec burned with indignation. These men had sold him and his people into captivity, had left them all for dead—and all for a few piles of gold.

Erec directed his ships right alongside Krov’s, his heart pounding as he stayed silent, hoping they weren’t discovered. Each gust of wind brought them closer, and as they neared, he could feel his men, feel his brother Strom beside him, getting antsy.

“Not yet,” Erec whispered.

His men obeyed, waiting, getting so close they could see the whites of the sailors’ eyes, the tension so thick one could cut it with a knife.

They sailed closer and closer still, until they were but feet away, all awaiting Erec’s command.

“Now!” Erec called out in a harsh whisper.

Erec’s men threw their ropes, hooks at the end, quickly and expertly over the rails of the other ships, and as their hooks latched onto the rails of the other ships, they all yanked, pulling their ships next to each other. When they were close enough, Erec led the way, leaping over the railing and onto Krov’s ship.

As they ran through the deck, slowly, Krov’s men roused, seeing the invaders, but Erec did not give them time to react. The moment they did, he raced for them and bashed them with the hilt of his dagger, smashing them on the skull and knocking them out. He did not want them to tip them off to his presence—and he did not want them dead, either, even if these traitors were deserving of death. His men did the same, as Erec had instructed, knocking out men left and right.

Erec’s men, led by Strom, fanned throughout the other ships in the fleet, striking other men, knocking them out quickly and silently, overwhelming the ships before they knew what had hit them.

Erec had chosen the ship which he knew to be Krov’s, and sure enough, he found him where he knew he would—sleeping by the bow next to an empty cask of wine, two naked women lying asleep in his arms.

With all Krov’s sailors contained, Erec walked slowly, confidently, right for Krov, his boots echoing across the deck, until he stood over him.

Erec drew his sword and lowered it until the tip was touching the base of his throat. He stood there, waiting, smiling down with great satisfaction, as Krov suddenly opened his eyes, feeling the tip of the metal at his throat—and looked up at Erec in panic.

Erec smiled down with great satisfaction, finally feeling vindicated.

“We meet again, old friend,” Erec said.

Krov tried to sit up, to reach for his sword, but Erec pushed the blade harder and stepped on his wrist, and Krov lay back down. He raised his hands, trembling, while the two women woke, cried out, and ran off.

“How did you get free?” Krov asked. “I was certain you were dead.”

Erec smiled wider.

“That has always been your downfall,” Erec replied. “You’re too certain of everything. The valiant do not die, my friend. Only traitors do.”

Krov gulped, terror in his face. He licked his lips.

“Don’t kill me!” he called out, his voice shaking. “I’ll give you everything I have!”

Erec grinned.

“Will you?” he replied. “We’ve already taken all of your gold, your weapons, all that is yours. What is there left for you to give?”

Krov gulped, at a loss for words.

“As far as killing you,” Erec continued, “I believe that would be too civil. I have quite something else in mind. On your feet, old friend.”

Krov rose to his feet, self-conscious, wearing only shorts, shivering in the cold, his fat, hairy belly exposed.

“Please!” Krov whined, whimpering, looking pathetic in the moonlight.

“You are spared,” Erec said. “You can return to your home. You and all your men. We’ll be taking your ships, though. Now go!”

Erec prodded him with the sword, and Krov, up against the rail, looked out at the sea, shocked.

“You want me to swim?” Krov asked, terrified.

He turned and looked out at his isle, hundreds of yards away, the ocean black and cold.

“I have no clothes,” Krov said. “Those waters are freezing. I would freeze to death. So will my men. And there are sharks! We won’t make it back.”

Erec grinned.

“I’d say you’re right,” Erec said. “The chances of your making it are remote. Practically none. Just about the same chances you gave us when you sold us out. Now go!”

Erec stepped forward and kicked Krov as he turned, and Krov went flying over the side of ship, shrieking, splashing into the icy water, wearing just shorts and boots. All up and down his ship, Erec’s men shoved Krov’s men overboard, stripping them of their arms first, and their splashes filled the sea all around them.

Erec watched with great satisfaction as Krov and his men started to swim clumsily, heading back toward their isle, already shivering, barely able to catch their breath in the huge rolling waves. Justice had been served.

Erec turned and surveyed with pride all the new ships he had taken captive, all the loot, the gold, the weapons, the armor…. He knew it would serve the Ring, their new army, their new homeland, well. Very well indeed.

It was time now to retrieve his men, to turn to the Ring, and to prepare for the greatest battle of his life.