in the black night his cheeks
blushed red. The ships sat there smugly, anchored safely, none expecting an
attack. Of course. Who would dare attack them? Especially in the black of
night, and in a snowstorm?
Duncan felt all
his men’s eyes on him, and he knew his moment of truth had come. They all
awaited his fateful command, the one that would change the fate of Escalon, and
he sat there on his horse, wind howling, and he felt his destiny welling up
within him. He knew this was one of those moments that would define his
life—and the lives of all these men.
“FORWARD!” he
boomed.
His men cheered,
and as one they all charged down the hillside, racing for the harbor, several
hundred yards away. They raised their torches high, and Duncan felt his heart
slamming in his chest as the wind brushed his face. He knew this mission was
suicide—yet he also knew it was crazy enough that it just might work.
They tore down
the countryside, their horses galloping so fast that the cold air nearly took
his breath away, and as they neared the harbor, its stone walls hardly a
hundred yards before them, Duncan prepared for battle.
“ARCHERS!” he
called out.
His archers,
riding in neat rows behind him, set their arrows aflame, torching their tips,
awaiting his command. They rode and rode, their horses thundering, the
Pandesians below still not aware of the attack to come.
Duncan waited
until they got closer—forty yards out, then thirty, then twenty—and finally he
knew the time was right.
“FIRE!”
The black night
was suddenly lit up with thousands of flaming arrows, sailing in high arcs
through the air, cutting through the snow, making their way for the dozens of
Pandesian ships anchored in the harbor. One by one, like fireflies, they found
their targets, landing on the long, flapping canvas of Pandesian sails.
It took but
moments for the ships to be lit up, the sails and then the ships all aflame, as
the fire spread rapidly in the windy harbor.
“AGAIN!” Duncan
yelled.
Volley followed
volley, as fire-tipped arrows fell like raindrops all over the Pandesian fleet.
The fleet was,
at first, quiet in the dead of night, the soldiers all fast asleep, all so
unsuspecting. The Pandesians had become, Duncan realized, too arrogant, too
complacent, never possibly suspecting an attack like this.
Duncan did not
give them time to rally; emboldened, he galloped forward, closing in on the
harbor. He led the way right up to the stone wall bordering the harbor.
“TORCHES!” he
cried.
His men charged
right up to the shoreline, raised their torches high, and with a great shout,
they followed Duncan’s example and hurled their torches onto the ships closest
to them. Their heavy torches landed like clubs on the deck, the thumping of
wood filling the air, as dozens more ships were set aflame.
The few
Pandesian soldiers on duty noticed too late what was happening, finding
themselves caught in a wave of flame, and shrieking and jumping overboard.
Duncan knew it
was only a matter of time until the rest of the Pandesians woke.
“HORNS!” he
shouted.
Horns were
sounded up and down the ranks, the old rallying cry of Escalon, the short
bursts that he knew Seavig would recognize. He hoped it would rouse him.
Duncan
dismounted, drew his sword, and rushed for the harbor wall. Without hesitating,
he jumped over the low stone wall and onto the flaming ship, leading the way as
he charged forward. He had to finish the Pandesians off before they could
rally.
Anvin and
Arthfael charged at his side and his men joined in, all letting out a great
battle cry as they threw their lives to the wind. After so many years of
submission, their day of vengeance had come.
The Pandesians,
finally, were roused. Soldiers began to emerge from the decks below, streaming
forth like ants, coughing against the smoke, dazed and confused. They caught
sight of Duncan and his men, and they drew swords and charged. Duncan found
himself being confronted by streams
blushed red. The ships sat there smugly, anchored safely, none expecting an
attack. Of course. Who would dare attack them? Especially in the black of
night, and in a snowstorm?
Duncan felt all
his men’s eyes on him, and he knew his moment of truth had come. They all
awaited his fateful command, the one that would change the fate of Escalon, and
he sat there on his horse, wind howling, and he felt his destiny welling up
within him. He knew this was one of those moments that would define his
life—and the lives of all these men.
“FORWARD!” he
boomed.
His men cheered,
and as one they all charged down the hillside, racing for the harbor, several
hundred yards away. They raised their torches high, and Duncan felt his heart
slamming in his chest as the wind brushed his face. He knew this mission was
suicide—yet he also knew it was crazy enough that it just might work.
They tore down
the countryside, their horses galloping so fast that the cold air nearly took
his breath away, and as they neared the harbor, its stone walls hardly a
hundred yards before them, Duncan prepared for battle.
“ARCHERS!” he
called out.
His archers,
riding in neat rows behind him, set their arrows aflame, torching their tips,
awaiting his command. They rode and rode, their horses thundering, the
Pandesians below still not aware of the attack to come.
Duncan waited
until they got closer—forty yards out, then thirty, then twenty—and finally he
knew the time was right.
“FIRE!”
The black night
was suddenly lit up with thousands of flaming arrows, sailing in high arcs
through the air, cutting through the snow, making their way for the dozens of
Pandesian ships anchored in the harbor. One by one, like fireflies, they found
their targets, landing on the long, flapping canvas of Pandesian sails.
It took but
moments for the ships to be lit up, the sails and then the ships all aflame, as
the fire spread rapidly in the windy harbor.
“AGAIN!” Duncan
yelled.
Volley followed
volley, as fire-tipped arrows fell like raindrops all over the Pandesian fleet.
The fleet was,
at first, quiet in the dead of night, the soldiers all fast asleep, all so
unsuspecting. The Pandesians had become, Duncan realized, too arrogant, too
complacent, never possibly suspecting an attack like this.
Duncan did not
give them time to rally; emboldened, he galloped forward, closing in on the
harbor. He led the way right up to the stone wall bordering the harbor.
“TORCHES!” he
cried.
His men charged
right up to the shoreline, raised their torches high, and with a great shout,
they followed Duncan’s example and hurled their torches onto the ships closest
to them. Their heavy torches landed like clubs on the deck, the thumping of
wood filling the air, as dozens more ships were set aflame.
The few
Pandesian soldiers on duty noticed too late what was happening, finding
themselves caught in a wave of flame, and shrieking and jumping overboard.
Duncan knew it
was only a matter of time until the rest of the Pandesians woke.
“HORNS!” he
shouted.
Horns were
sounded up and down the ranks, the old rallying cry of Escalon, the short
bursts that he knew Seavig would recognize. He hoped it would rouse him.
Duncan
dismounted, drew his sword, and rushed for the harbor wall. Without hesitating,
he jumped over the low stone wall and onto the flaming ship, leading the way as
he charged forward. He had to finish the Pandesians off before they could
rally.
Anvin and
Arthfael charged at his side and his men joined in, all letting out a great
battle cry as they threw their lives to the wind. After so many years of
submission, their day of vengeance had come.
The Pandesians,
finally, were roused. Soldiers began to emerge from the decks below, streaming
forth like ants, coughing against the smoke, dazed and confused. They caught
sight of Duncan and his men, and they drew swords and charged. Duncan found
himself being confronted by streams
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