I glanced to either side of me and saw the remnant of warriors who were still able to stand and fight spread out in a ragged thin line to either side of me on top of the mound. My grip on the sword tightened as I turned to face the enemy once more. We would be wiped out within moments by such a force, but it didn't matter. We had already won.
I felt a hand at my leg and glancing down I saw Nadalarkin standing there bloody and bruised. He had been with me in the arena and the years that had followed and I had only known him to always be faithful to me. He could very well be the last friend I had left alive from the old days.
He was gesturing to the sea behind me, "Look Roric! Surely they wouldn't! They'll be smashed to bits!"
I turned in the saddle to look behind and I saw way out at the head of the bay, a row of sails stretched out full with the wind and colored a bright burgundy with streaks of gold across them. They were the battle sails of only one nation, the Tranquil Islanders.
"Roric their dead men! They'll be smashed to bits on the rocks!" Nadalarkin exclaimed looking up at me.
"Maybe so my friend and then maybe not. Who can say?"
Nadalarkin glanced from the distant sails that were fast approaching the rocks to the glowing sword in my hand and smiled lightly back up at me, "It's been a day of miracles so far. Perhaps they'll be another."