[Folwren]

The sun sank below the horizon. Light still filled the world, flooding it with a reddish tint. The water rippling about the ship’s bow flowed back like a red bird, flying swiftly before them, as though a herald of battle and blood shed.

Hereric with his officers behind him or on the deck below, stood on the edge of the quarter deck. His hand rested on the pommel of his sword, still sheathed, and his dark eyes stared forward from a face set as stone, grim and hard and ready for what came. Archers waited above on the masts, standing on maintops and foretops above. Their bows were strung and arrows waited on the string for a word of command from below.

Ahead, the Corsair’s ships were in sight. There were four of them in all, and on their decks and on the piers of the city, men ran and scrambled to get to their places. The alarm had been given, and Hereric could hear the harsh horns blazing out their warning. He smiled grimly. They had been on unawares, it seemed.