The roar of the waves was constant, unlike the clamor of battle. On the deck of the great ship, Commander Darim stood, staring at the horizon.
"This cursed sea is too long…" he muttered, running his hand along the hilt of his sword. "If it were only the battle, it would be easier."
"Sir?" said one of the soldiers behind him.
He turned toward him. The soldier was young, maybe not older than twenty, but his eyes were filled with the tension of silence.
"Are we close?"
"Yes, sir. The watchman says we'll arrive within an hour or less."
Darim nodded, then looked again at the sea. He did not fear combat. He wasn't even thinking of it. He had fought all his life. What occupied his mind now was what awaited them on the shore.
"The savage barbarians…" He spat on the wooden floor, then pulled his cloak tighter around his chest. "We'll send them all to hell."
