The Gift of Battle Read online

  His men did as commanded, jumping from his ship to several others in his fleet, distributing their weight evenly amongst the ships. Finally, Erec’s ship righted and gained speed.

  Erec turned to watch the last of the men jump from Strom’s ship. Strom raised a torch and ran up and down the ship, setting flame to everything, then threw it with all his might. The torch landed on the mast, lighting it, setting the whole ship in a huge conflagration, and Strom turned, leapt back onto his brother’s ship, and stood there, watching, as the ghost ship, aflame, drifted down current—right for the Empire fleet.

  “Row!” Erec yelled, wanting to gain more distance from the flaming ship, from the Empire.

  They gained more and more distance, speeding upriver.

  The Empire fleet tried to turn out of the way—but there was nowhere to navigate in the tiny river. The flaming ship caused chaos. They attacked it, not realizing it was unmanned, wasting precious arrows and spears. The ship was pummeled from all directions—but nothing could stop the flow of it.

  Within moments, the ship, a burning wreck, floated right to the center of the Empire fleet, parting it down the middle. And they had no way to stop it.

  The ship struck the others, and as men shrieked and jumped out of the way, flames began to lick, spreading left and right, causing chaos in this Empire fleet. Soon, several other ships were on fire, with their soldiers scrambling to put them out.

  “SIR!” Erec heard someone call out.

  Erec turned to see one of his men pointing, and as he looked back upriver, he was struck by an awe-inspiring sight: a majestic city that could be no other than Volusia.

  “Volusia,” Alistair said, confidence in her voice, and Erec felt it to be so.

  He glanced back, saw they had gained precious time—perhaps hours—and he knew they had a chance, albeit slim, to enter the city and get out before the Empire could catch them.

  He turned and nodded to his men.

  “Full sail ahead,” he commanded.

  *

  Erec’s fleet, sailing steadily upriver for most of the day, finally reached a turn in the bend, the current picking up, and as they did, Erec looked out, in awe at the sight. Spreading out before them was what could only be Volusia. A magnificent city, the most luxurious he had ever laid eyes upon, it was built of gold, shining even from here, its buildings and streets more orderly and meticulous than anything he had ever seen. Everywhere were statues, shaped as a woman who appeared to be a goddess, dazzling in the sun, and he could not help but wonder who she was, and what cult worshipped her. Most of all, Erec was taken aback by its glistening harbor, filled with every manner of ship and vessel, many golden, sparkling in the sun, so bright he nearly had to look away. The ocean crashed on its shores, and Erec could see right away that this was a city of tremendous wealth and strength.

  As he studied it, Erec was also surprised by something else he saw: black plumes of smoke. They wafted over the city, covering it like a blanket in every direction. He could not understand why. Was the city on fire? In the midst of an uprising? Under attack?

  It was baffling to him. How could such a city, such a bastion of strength, be under attack? What force was there in the Empire strong enough to attack an Empire city?

  And what concerned him most of all: was Gwendolyn involved?

  Erec squinted, wondering if he were seeing things; but as they neared, as he heard the distinct sound of men crying out their death cries, he realized he was correct. And as he looked closer, he blinked in confusion. It appeared that Empire was attacking Empire. But why?

  Everywhere, men were falling, thousands of soldiers pouring through the streets, through the open gates to the city, sacking it. These invaders wore the armor of the Empire, but it was a different color—all black. He saw they also flew a distinctive banner, and as he looked closer, he recognized it from his history books:

  The Knights of the Seven.

  Erec was even more perplexed. The Knights of the Seven, if he recalled, represented the entire Empire horns and spikes, all the provinces. What were they doing here? Why were they attacking an Empire city? Was a civil war breaking out?

  Or worse, he pondered with dread: were they all here to kill Gwendolyn?

  As they neared, Erec felt a sense of relief, but also of dread. Relief, because he knew the soldiers of Volusia would be distracted, would have their hands full, and that they would have no time to mount a defense as he entered their harbor. Yet he also felt dread as he sized up the strength and breadth of the invaders, wondering if he would have to fight them, too.

  Either way, he would have to prepare for war.

  Erec checked back over his shoulder and saw the remainder of the Empire fleet, having rebounded from his burning ship, beginning to close the gap again. There was not much time; if he was going to invade Volusia, to find Gwendolyn, he had to do it now—civil war raging or not.

  “Are we walking into somebody else’s fight?” Strom asked, looking out, beside him.

  Erec examined the horizon, wondering.

  “Only one way to find out,” he replied.

  His men, he could see, were all equally confused by the sight and all looked to him for direction.

  “ROW!” Erec yelled out to his men. “FASTER!”

  They gained speed, and as they neared the docks, Erec spotted something that made his blood cold: iron bars, as thick as trees, blocked the harbor, their spikes lowered down and disappearing into the waters. This iron portcullis, in the water, was a gate to the city’s waterways, perhaps built to keep out invaders in times of trouble. But there was no other way in. If they did not find a way through it, Erec realized at once, they would be trapped—and at the mercy of the approaching Empire.

  “Can we ram it?” Strom asked.

  Erec shook his head.

  “Our ships would shatter,” he replied.

  Erec stood there examining it, looking for some way out—when suddenly, he saw a curious sight, one which made him furrow his brow as he peered into the sun. It was an overweight man, running, heaving through the streets, looking very out of shape; beside him were several companions, looking as bad off as he. They all appeared to be drunk, and did not fit in here. They were clearly not soldiers. And from their dress, they did not appear to be from here.

  And as Erec stared more closely, he realized with a shock that he recognized the man: the King’s son. Godfrey.

  Erec’s confusion deepened. Godfrey? What was he doing here, in the midst of a civil war, running for his life toward the harbor, his big beer belly leading the way?

  Yet as Erec watched him approach, squinting into the sun, he knew it was true. Godfrey was here. He had seen many strange things in his lifetime—but none as strange as this.

  *

  Godfrey stumbled and ran for the harbor, gasping and heaving, not knowing his body could move this fast. He trailed the others, Merek and Ario, and Silis and her men, gasping, wondering how they could run that fast. The only ones slower than he were Akorth and Fulton—and that didn’t mean much. As sweat poured down his eyes, down his back, Godfrey cursed himself once again for drinking too many mugs of ale. If he ever survived this ordeal, he vowed to get back into shape.

  Godfrey heard a shout behind him, and he turned and looked back to see the Volusian soldiers getting hacked to death by the invading armies of the Knights of the Seven. He gulped as he turned back and looked forward, in the distance, at the gleaming harbor of Volusia, feeling like a million miles away. He did not know if he could make it.

  His lungs burned so badly that he finally had to stop, gasping. Immediately, Silis turned back and looked at him.

  “Go without me!” he heaved. “I cannot run so fast.”

  But Silis stopped and turned.

  “No,” she insisted. “You once came back for me, and I shall for you.”

  She ran to him, draped an arm over his shoulder, joined by her men, who also went back for Akorth and Fulton, and began dragging him. His ribs ached a
s they ran with him through the streets, all of them hobbling along toward the harbor of Volusia.

  Godfrey heard a rush of footsteps behind him, and suddenly she let go of him, turned, and drew her dagger.

  There came a shout, and Godfrey turned to see she had stabbed a soldier in the throat, right before he could stab Godfrey in the back. He looked at her in awe; she had saved his life.

  “I owe you,” he said to her, in gratitude.

  She smiled back.

  “No you don’t,” she replied.

  They continued to run, sprinting across the wide open courtyard, through all the chaos, always keeping their eyes on the harbor before them, packed with glistening ships.

  As they neared it, there came another shout, and Godfrey turned to see a side gate collapse in the courtyard, and watched as hundreds more Knight of the Seven burst through. Volusian soldiers fell as their city was overrun, the Knights cruel and merciless, attacking and murdering all who stood in their path—even defenseless slaves. They raised torches and set everything to fire, and Godfrey realized they would not stop until they had razed this city to the ground. He did not understand why, but clearly they had some vendetta against Volusia herself.

  Godfrey turned away from the sight, looking back to the harbor—and he was suddenly filled with dread. The boats they were heading for were all suddenly set aflame by the Knights.

  Silis stopped, too, along with all her men, and stared in shock. For the first time since Godfrey had met her, she seemed to be at a loss.

  They all stood there, breathing hard, hands on their hips, watching their future burn away. Godfrey realized they were now trapped, and would soon all be dead. There was no way out.

  “Now what?” Ario asked, turning to Silis.

  “How are we going to get out of here?” Merek asked.

  Silis looked everywhere, scanning the harbor, eyes filled with panic—and he saw from her gaze that it was over—there was no way out.

  Godfrey, heart pounding, scanned the harbor himself, looking for any sign of hope—just one empty ship. There were none.

  But as Godfrey scanned the horizon, he saw something that caught his eyes in the distance. He blinked, wondering if he were seeing things. There seemed to be a small fleet of ships snaking its way upriver, sailing into the harbor. Those banners…he seemed to recognize them. But he knew it could not be.

  Could it?

  As the ships sailed closer, Godfrey squinted into the sun and saw that they were indeed ones he recognized: the banners of the Southern Isles. Erec. The greatest knight of the Silver.

  But what was he doing here, in Volusia?

  Godfrey’s heart skipped a beat as it swelled with joy and hope. Erec. Their greatest knight. Alive. Here. Sailing into Volusia. His throat went dry with excitement. Godfrey felt a sudden surge of confidence, felt for the first time that they might actually make it out of here—when suddenly he realized that Erec was sailing into a dead end. He saw the iron gate up ahead, and he realized at once that Erec was in danger.

  Godfrey, heart racing, surveyed the harbor and saw the huge iron crank beside the gate—and he knew at once that if he did not raise it, Erec and his men, pursued as they were by the huge Empire fleet behind them, would all soon be trapped. Dead.

  And then something crazy happened: Godfrey no longer felt fear for himself. It was replaced by a burning urgency to save his friend. Without thinking, he began to run, through all the chaos, right for the harbor, and for that crank.

  “Where are you going?” Silis called out, horrified.

  “To save a brother!” Godfrey yelled back over his shoulder as he sprinted.

  Godfrey ran and ran, breathing hard but this time not slowing. He knew that by running like this in the open courtyard he was exposed, and would likely get killed. For some strange reason, he no longer cared. Instead, he kept his eyes fixated on Erec’s ships, on that crank, and remained determined to save them.

  Godfrey was surprised to hear footsteps, and he turned to see the others running up beside him, catching up with him.

  Merek smiled back, equally throwing caution to the wind.

  “You better know what you’re doing,” he called out.

  Godfrey pointed straight ahead.

  “Those ships,” he called out. “Those are Erec’s. We must lift that gate!”

  Godfrey looked out and saw the Empire fleet closing in on them and he ran faster than all the others, surprising himself, gasping in one last sprint until he reached the crank.

  He jumped up, grabbed its huge handle, and pulled with all his might.

  But it didn’t budge.

  The others caught up, and as one they all joined in, Silis and her men, Merek, Ario, and even Akorth and Fulton, all of them leaning on the massive iron crank and pulling with all their might. Godfrey strained and groaned beneath its weight, desperate to free Erec.

  Come on, he prayed.

  Slowly, the crank, with a great creaking noise, began to budge. It groaned and protested, but slowly it moved, and as it did, Godfrey saw the iron gate raise an inch.

  They all let go of their grip, exhausted by the effort.

  “It’s going too slow,” Ario observed. “We’ll never open it in time.”

  Godfrey looked over and realized they were right—the crank was just too massive.

  Suddenly, there came a barking, and Godfrey looked down to see Dray at his feet, a rope in his mouth, barking frantically. He realized that Dray was trying to tell him something, and he looked over to see a carriage and several horses, abandoned, a few feet away. His eyes lit up.

  “You’re a genius, Dray,” Godfrey said.

  Godfrey burst into action, looping one end of the rope over the crank, then running over and looping the other over the carriage. He then grabbed the whip off the back and whipped the group of horses again and again.

  “RIDE!” Godfrey yelled.

  The massive war horses neighed, then reared and took off with all their strength.

  Suddenly, the crank began to move, again and again, faster and faster, as the horses ran farther and farther away.

  Godfrey turned at the sound of groaning metal and was elated to watch the iron gate opening wide beneath the water. He was thrilled to see Erec’s ships continuing on, sailing right for it, and finally slipping through the opening, just wide enough, and into the harbor.

  “STAND BACK!” Godfrey yelled.

  Godfrey drew his sword, rushed forward, and hacked the rope.

  The crank wound furiously the other way, and the iron gate began to shut on itself again, sealing the harbor just as the last of Erec’s ships passed through.

  There soon came the sound of ships crunching and breaking, and Godfrey watched in awe as several Empire ships, right behind Erec, smashed into the iron gates and cracked into a million pieces. Hundreds of Empire soldiers cried out as their ships were impaled, falling overboard and into the harbor.

  Godfrey saw the joy on the faces of Erec and his men as their fleet sailed into the harbor, safely inside. There came a shout of triumph, and of joy, and Godfrey knew he had saved them. He felt elated. Finally, for once, he had done something worthy.

  *

  Erec sailed through the gates, into the Volusian harbor, and his eyes opened wide in disbelief to look over and see it was Godfrey turning the crank, a dog at his heels, cutting the rope, opening those gates and saving their lives. As he severed the rope, the iron gates slammed close, cutting off the rest of the Empire fleet and leaving Erec and the others free inside the harbor and waterways of Volusia. He and all his men let out a cheer, as the Empire ships cracked and splintered behind them.

  As Erec looked over at Godfrey, beaming, he saw him flanked by a group of people he did not recognize, and he felt a renewed sense of optimism. If Gwendolyn’s brother was here, perhaps she was, too.

  Erec studied the city with a professional soldier’s eye, and he was confused to see battle everywhere, a city immersed in chaos, the Knights of the Seven fl
ooding through the gates and invading what remained of the city, killing the last vestige of Volusian soldiers, who finally turned and fled. They had been completely routed. But why? Why would Empire turn on Empire?

  With the Volusians killed and the city vanquished, horns sounded throughout the city, and Erec watched the Seven begin to depart en masse, leaving the city gates as quickly as they had rolled in. The vast army of the Knights of the Seven was already leaving, heading back out into the desert and leaving behind but a small force of perhaps a thousand men to kill and loot what remained of the Volusians. Clearly, Erec realized, this war had never been about occupying Volusia—but rather about a vendetta. Erec studied city streets, the open courtyards, and amid the thousands of Volusian corpses, he counted perhaps several hundred Knights remaining—about the same size force of men he had in his ships. They were a vicious force of killers—but with their numbers equally matched and the Volusians dead, Erec knew he at least had a chance.

  As Erec’s ship touched down at the edge of the harbor, Godfrey and his men throwing up ropes to help secure them, Erec leapt from the deck, not waiting for the ramp—the Knights had spotted them and were charging already, and Erec knew there was no time.

  He landed below on the golden cobblestone. He was joined by Strom, and all around him his men did the same, jumping down, lowering the ramps, securing ropes and gathering their weapons, all hitting the ground running and ready for battle.

  Even as the Knights charged, Erec scanned the faces, looking everywhere for Gwendolyn, wanting to free her; but not spotting her, he moved on, charging forward, leading his men, and bracing himself for battle.

  There came a tremendous clash as the Knights of the Seven met his men. The clang of armor rang through the air as Erec led the way, the first in battle, blocking an ax blow with his shield, raising his sword and slashing, felling the first knight.

  Erec felt ready for battle, especially after all that at sea. Joined by his brother, his men, and even Godfrey and the others, he let out a great battle cry as he threw himself into the thick of the sea of men, prepared to risk it all for freedom.

  The Knights, well-trained, came at him swinging, and if he were a regular soldier, Erec surely would have fallen. But Erec was too well-trained for that; indeed, he had been trained since the time he could walk for battles such as this. He raised his shield as it glimmered beneath the sun and blocked blow after blow, dazzling his opponents. He also used it as a weapon when he chose to, smashing some knights in the head and others in the wrist, disarming them. He used his sword, slashing and jabbing—but he also used his feet and his hands, kicking other soldiers back and elbowing others. He was a one-man whirlwind of destruction.