The next four days followed a strict schedule. Eat in the morning, train, eat at night, sleep. Nihlukei’s voice took on an added furor as he prepared his men for the largest battle of his lifetime. Heror and Braylyn stood beside him, giving the troops instruction as they spent time learning forward attack techniques. His lessons were urgent and grueling, and each evening, the conscripts came away with sweat layered over their faces, their limbs floating lifelessly from exhaustion. Nevertheless, they slept well, something they hadn’t done in weeks.

Each night, after dusk, the three siekariphae met Nihlukei in the central tent to discuss the progress amongst the troops, and Nihlukei passed along the khilung’s strategy for the coming attack. Their strategy was fairly straightforward; they intended to move through Kraana’s Pass swiftly, and overwhelm the Midan fortress with sheer numbers and strength. Nihlukei confided in his siekariphae that he would have liked more detail from his superiors, but he was confident that, so long as each unit did their part, they would emerge victorious.

Braylyn and Nihlukei often debated about the Ardysan strategy, but Heror and Plaezekei focused more on the operations of the group. As siekariphae, Heror no longer sparred, but instead watched each fighter and gave advice on form and posture. Plaezekei, meanwhile, sparred to give the conscripts more experience against an able fighter, and also provided hands-on assistance. The two spoke every so often. Heror learned that Plaezekei was an orphan like him. His father had been a fisherman, before a storm swept him out to sea. His mother died of sickness. Like Heror, he’d worked on the docks.

Heror thought about how many times he might have passed by Plaezekei. How many times he might have worked alongside him. And through it all, as the days blended together in an unconscious ambrosia of heat and hunger, he hadn’t even noticed.

A quiet friendship formed between Heror and Plaezekei, but on the last night, it was Heror who stood alone past the edge of the encampment.

The tents now extended far beyond Nihlukei’s area, sprawling out along the edge of the wall. Each day since the last battle, around 2,000 Ardysan soldiers had arrived from the south, each led by an outfit of siekarums. They set up camps and fires, and lingered in silence, waiting for their call to action. Heror knew they would see him differently if he approached them, but from afar, their stares did not reach him. And at last, he felt like he was a part of something.

On the fourth night, Heror again stood in silence, watching as the Sun’s amber beacon fell below darkened tufts of cumulus. He glanced down at his wolf patch, now clipped to the red cloth just below his breastplate. He then reached inside his armor pouch and pulled out his kinship cloth. In the dying light of the Sun, it was hard to see, but he could make out the name ‘Heran’ against the dark background, and the stray white wolf fur fletchings that danced in the wind.

He’d never been one to dwell on the Gods. He didn’t think they dwelled on him very much. But he wondered if it was a coincidence. The wolf on the cloth, and the wolf on the pin. Nihlukei’s words. He wondered if there was some hidden meaning he wasn’t seeing. But he refused to believe anything other than coincidence. The Gods hadn’t been there for him before. He struggled to understand why they’d try and speak to him now.

Like most nights, he was lost in thought, when he heard a voice behind him.

“Heror.”

The young man jolted from his daze and turned to see Nihlukei approaching. Heror nodded to the siekarum, folding the kinship cloth back inside his torso, and the siekarum nodded back. Nihlukei stepped up beside Heror, and the two stood in silence for a minute or two.

“How are you feeling?” Nihlukei asked after a moment.

Heror glanced at the siekarum, then gave a single nod.

“I think I’m ready,” he replied. “You?”

“I would be,” Nihlukei said with a chuckle. “If I hadn’t talked to Braylyn.”

“What’s Braylyn saying?” Heror inquired.

“He’s still not very keen on the idea of charging a pass without more information,” Nihlukei explained. “I can’t say I disagree with him. He fought for decades in the Charoctides, for Opela’s sake. He has far too much fighting experience for me to discount what he says.”

“Did you ask the higher officers for more information on the pass?”

“I did,” Nihlukei replied. “But they emphasized that our information we have now is sufficient. They say we have the numbers advantage, and that the Midans’ strongest soldiers – the elinji – are not present at the base. We’ll have to trust them.”

“Do you trust them?” Heror asked.

Nihlukei gave Heror a small glare, then sighed.

“I know you don’t like them,” he said. “But they would never knowingly put their soldiers in harm’s way. And I have to say, I feel much more confident now that the forces from the other Khi Thungs are here. We have the greater numbers, and we have the greater fighting capabilities. If the Midans have something in store for us, we’ll be ready.”

Heror eyed the siekarum, then turned his gaze back to the setting sun. Another short silence set in.

“The troops are learning quickly, too,” Nihlukei added. “Correlicai is starting to catch on. And Khoulane… something has clicked for him. After we helped him a few days ago, he’s become almost unstoppable. He’s instinctive, and lightning quick. I can’t wait to see him when he becomes older, and stronger. He needs time to learn new things, but once he’s seen it, it sticks. I see lots of potential with this group.”

Nihlukei smiled to himself, then paused. His smile faded.

“That’s my biggest fear, actually.”

Heror glanced at Nihlukei again.

“What is?”

Nihlukei was silent for a moment. Then, after a few seconds, he let out a short, cynical laugh, and his eyes fell to the ground.

“The legends make it seem like there’s a rule,” he began. “That all great swordsmen live longer than the rest. That the swordsmen who live the longest are simply the greatest by default. But in truth… there is no mercy in battle. Not for the worst, and not for the best. Not for good men. Not for the young. Not even the Gods protect their chosen heroes when a blade is heading for their throat. On the battlefield, death is a fate we all must be ready for. I thank the Gods every day that I’ve lived this long. But even I know that tomorrow… they may call me to Sereweh. And I cannot deny that call.”

He let out a sigh, and his eyes rose again to catch the Sun’s last light.

“Far too many great swordsmen die before they are great,” Nihlukei told him. “Some of the best swordsmen I’ve known died because they made one mistake. This is what worries me.”

Heror remained silent, Nihlukei’s words again echoing in his mind. After a moment, Nihlukei let out a sigh and shook his head.

“But we are as prepared as we can be. I have faith that we’ll succeed.”

Now they both looked on, toward the western horizon. The sun was gone in an eerie mist of vapor, and above, the stars dominated the skyscape. It was peaceful, like the nights before, but an overcast trickled in from the mountains to the north. Nihlukei turned toward Heror one last time. He gave the young man a pat on the shoulder, and then started his journey back to camp.

“We should rest,” he told the siekariphae. “Big day tomorrow.”

Heror nodded. He turned, and the two walked back to camp, side by side, saying nothing as they did so. The cold hovered over the fields, wrestling with the fires.

~:{~}:~

On the fifth day, the soldiers woke. And it was time.

They ate and drank what they could, then started for the wall breach. A light overcast sent down a gentle drizzle which dampened the dirt road. There was no thunder in the distance or sharp gusts of wind. Only silence.

By now, the Ardysan force numbered around 13,000. The siephalls clustered in endless rows, their gilded armor and red robes dulled by the cloud cover. A few isolated siekarum commands echoed through the dense morning air, but aside from that and the sound of boots, it was quiet.

Nihlukei got his unit ready early, but by the time they reached the road, the army was already forming. Nihlukei led his troops alongside the crowd, in the mud on the side of the road. Eventually, they came to the front of the armored force, not far from the wall breach. A gap in the front lines lingered on the left side, and slowly, Nihlukei’s men filled the open space.

Heror stood next to Nihlukei and Plaezekei in the front row. He took a deep breath and glanced to the right, toward Tralics’ unit. For a moment, he tried to find Ucankacei in the crowd, but it wasn’t long before he remembered that Ucankacei would not be joining him this time. His gaze returned to the wall breach. His fingers tapped nervously against the hilt of his sword.

They stood for some time, in the unsteady silence of the morning. After some time, Khoulane spoke up from the second row, standing behind Plaezekei.

“What are we waiting for?” the boy asked.

“They must be getting the formation ready behind us,” Nihlukei answered, glancing over his shoulder. “For larger armies, a horn is used to coordinate advances. Once we hear that signal, we’ll march. Patience.”

They waited for a few minutes longer, but the entire moment seemed frozen in time to Heror. Embers of dead campfires simmered and smoked in the drizzle. Heror only heard his pulse inside his head, and the deep lurch of his breathing as he inhaled and exhaled. After a short while, however, he heard a horse’s hooves coming up on the left. He turned his head to see a lone scout racing toward the gap in the wall. The scout rode over the flattened rubble pile, a smaller horn hanging from his neck, and disappeared into the morning mist.

“Battle scout,” Nihlukei commented. “A safety measure. He’ll alert us if we need to fall back.”

Heror could tell Nihlukei took security in the scout’s presence, but he himself still felt uneasy. He took another deep breath, waiting as the mist collected on his forehead, mingling with dry, cold sweat. Silence set in again, but not long after it did, a distant voice carried through the empty morning air.

“Forward!” the voice bellowed, barely audible from the front of the group. “Through the breach!”

Several siekarums repeated the order, and without delay, the front lines started forward, making their way toward the wall breach. To a chorus of boots and clicking buckles, they marched on soil and stone. As they came to the breach, the rows condensed, and one by one, the soldiers stepped over the rubble.

“Reorganize on the other side!” a siekarum shouted from the right.

Heror climbed over the wide rubble pile – stepping carefully over clumps of crumbled rock and brick – then dropped down. And now he was on Midan soil. He stopped for a moment, looking down through his helmet slats to see if it was any different. He’d heard stories from Ucankacei, about how the soil was a dark, ungodly blue, and how the blades of grass had prongs, through which the wind hissed and snarled. At first glance, he didn’t notice any difference. He twisted his boot into the ground to get a better look, before he heard Nihlukei say his name.

“Heror, we need to keep moving. So they can pass through.”

Heror nodded and started forward again, lining up with his row. The dirt road ended on Ardys’ side of the wall, and so on the Midan side, they marched forward through an unkempt field of dirt and grass, ahead of which a small forest lay. At the edge of the forest, Heror saw the battle scout through thin wisps of fog, sitting on his horse as he waited for the army to reach him.

They kept marching until they reached the forest edge. By then, Heror’s boots were heavy with mud. Once they reached the edge, a voice called out from far behind them. Nihlukei stopped marching, and the other siephalls followed his lead. For a moment, the morning’s silence returned. But not long after it settled, it was broken again.

“Siephalls!” a distant voice roared. “Today… we march… on Mide!!”

There was a war cry from a cluster of soldiers farther back. Heror glanced at Nihlukei, whose steely focus from the first battle had returned, his eyes staring into the mist. Shortly after the battle cry ceased, a lonely, hollow horn released a note into the dawn. Then, Heror heard the familiar voice of the siekcithung, a few blocks behind them.

“Opvae!!”

Now Nihlukei repeated the order, as did Tralics, and the other front line siekarums. The line began to move again, and the Ardysan army took its first steps into the high woodlands of Mide, through fog and flora.

Heror glanced back, and as he did so, he saw that the army formation stretched all the way to the wall, which was now more than a half-mile in the distance. Rows and rows of siephalls layered upon one another, devolving into a metallic mix through the light fog. When Heror turned his eyes back ahead, they were entering the forest.

Their boots trudged through the underbrush, golden buckles glistening with dew. All through the forest, a soft pitter-patter filled the air, as drizzle from above collected on the leaves of the canopy, and fell to the ground as second rain. Far above, a bird cawed, its call echoing through the trees.

As they walked, Braylyn spoke from down the line, positioned to Nihlukei’s left.

“Clouds are low,” the ashen elf warned. “Visibility will be even worse up the pass.”

Nihlukei nodded, then turned to the rest of the group.

“Stay alert,” he said firmly, careful not to raise his voice too far. “Eyes open.”

“Must be that damn Sakhlogh having some fun with us this morning,” a siephall behind them muttered.

They carried on through the woods by the hundreds, redcloak rows only breaking to part around elder trunks. The trees themselves were tall, wide, and nearly covered in sheets of blue-green moss that snaked down from the tops. The moss clustered near the roots, which spread and stretched across the littered forest floor, rising and falling through a blanket of organic detritus, like serpents in a lagoon.

After some time, the ground started to rise, and the soldiers continued up a slight incline. Walking past a wide tree, Heror caught a glimpse of the battle scout in the distance, his horse turned sideways as he waited for the army to close in. When they were halfway to the scout’s position, the scout rode off into the fog again, swift and discreet.

If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

“Do we know where we’re going?” Heror muttered to Nihlukei.

“If you have to ask, yes,” Nihlukei said softly, with a small laugh. “The scout knows the way, but they provided the directions to us in briefings. Straight north from the breach. We’re on our way up to the pass now.”

Heror glanced back behind him. From what he could see, the first 4,000 or so siephalls were clustered together in one large group, walking in silence, but far back in the distance, he could see a gap starting to form between the formations. He pursed his lips and turned his eyes ahead again, keeping his right hand close to the hilt of his sword.

They walked for a few minutes longer in the morning fog, when suddenly, out of the silence, a high-pitched cry emerged. Heror jolted into focus, unsheathing his sword and raising his aspidan, and many others did the same. Nihlukei, however, listened in. The cry repeated itself, and Nihlukei’s hand crept toward his sword as well.

“Sounds like djauuls,” he muttered. “Xaktili dialect. Communicating to others.”

“Shoop! Shoop, shoop!”

The cry echoed through the empty forest air and reverberated off the trees, first from their left. Soon, an identical cry emerged from the right, and then Nihlukei unsheathed his sword.

“It’s an ambush,” he told Heror hastily, before turning back to his men. “Ready!!”

At that moment, a hail of spears came toward the formation from all directions, flying in from beyond the fog. At the same time, several djauuls dropped from the trees and onto the formation, blades careening into unsuspecting targets. Several siephalls fell after being impaled by spears, and there was an uproar as the siephalls inside the formation rushed to respond to the surprise attack.

Heror deflected a spear as it flew just inches from his face, and as he did so, three djauuls emerged from the fog in his line of sight. One djauul swung for Heror’s side, but Heror easily parried the attack and sliced upward, sending the bloodied djauul into the dirt. Another engaged Heror from the left, but as they swung, Heror spun away from the blade, resetting his feet and bashing the djauul in the face with his aspidan. The djauul stumbled backward, and Heror sent a devastating backhand swing into the djauul’s legs. The djauul fell to the ground, and Heror quickly readjusted his blade, before killing the enemy with a final stab to the midsection.

At that moment, Heror turned to his left and saw Nihlukei decapitate two djauuls with one swing. A third lingered behind them and stopped. He turned and started to run, but Nihlukei quickly picked up a spear and sent it back to its owner, impaling the djauul in the back. The djauul fell forward from the momentum, and disappeared into the fog.

Nihlukei stepped back into the formation, readying his sword. His eyes darted around. Then he leaned forward and peered down the line.

“Tralics!” he shouted. “See any more of them?”

“No, siekarum!” Tralics replied from a distance, before calling out to the siekarums on his right.

Nihlukei glanced at Heror, his brow furrowed, and then he turned forward. And the horn sounded off again. This time, it played two notes in succession, and the lines began to move again, slightly faster than before.

“What was that?” Heror asked Nihlukei, his eyes falling on a dead djauul as they started walking again. “Twenty men isn’t an ambush. It’s just a waste.”

“They must be trying to spook us,” Nihlukei theorized, though he himself sounded uncertain. “We need to pick up the pace. They’ve likely been alerted of our presence.”

The formation continued through the forest, a few men lighter than before. As they did so, the siephalls on the boundaries peered through the fog, eyes wide as they remained ready for further attacks. The ground started to become more rocky, and after some time, they passed a short waterfall and grove on the left side. They didn’t stop to rest, however; the horn urged them on again, and they kept moving.

It had been almost three hours since they started moving through Mide, when a break in the tree cover appeared far in the distance, letting in distorted daylight. The rain had stopped falling, but a low overcast still plastered the sky in a peeling white, and a light fog lingered. The air was cooler as they moved farther up the ridge, but even so, hauling a suit of armor for hours had begun to take its toll. Even though it was lighter armor, Heror felt a dry, cold sweat lingering around his shoulders and armpits, and inside his boots, water from the wet underbrush had begun to pool.

As they walked, Heror kept his eyes out for the battle scout. He didn’t see the horse rider at the edge of the forest, and in the low visibility, the missing scout made Heror nervous.

“Haven’t seen the battle scout in a while,” Heror noted to Nihlukei.

“Don’t worry,” Nihlukei muttered, his eyes focused on the path ahead. “They’re trained to avoid danger.”

Heror eyed the siekarum.

“But they’ve never trained for this.”

“Yes they have,” Nihlukei argued, sending a glare in Heror’s direction. “Just keep your eyes up.”

Heror took a deep breath and looked ahead once again. He again scanned the forest edge for the horseman, but he saw no one through the trees.

They kept walking, and in minutes, the front line of the Ardysan army reached the edge of the woods. There, the forest gave way to a clearing underlain by short, dried grass, through which the incline continued upward. The clearing was around fifty yards wide, marked by rocks jutting out of the dirt on either side. A tall, steep cliff face loomed on the right. The clearing stretched ahead for what seemed like miles, lined on the edges by dense, spiny alpine forest. Still, the thin fog sat in the air, flowing like water in a calm pond.

“This must be it,” Plaezekei remarked, catching his breath. “Kraana’s Pass.”

“It is,” Nihlukei said with a nod. “The fortress is a few miles up.”

At that moment, a shout rang out from far behind them. Heror turned, and through the trees, he could barely make out a gap that remained at the edge of the first group, which was still around 4,000 soldiers strong. The other 9,000 were still in the forest. Something was holding them up.

“They’re lagging behind,” Nihlukei growled, growing agitated.

“What’s going on?” Plaezekei wondered, listening as the shouts continued.

“Sounds like another small band of djauuls, trying to break the formation,” Nihlukei replied, before muttering to himself: “Just deal with them and keep moving.”

The front line lingered at the edge of the forest as the fighting continued far behind them. As they waited, Nihlukei kept his sword and aspidan ready, and he scanned the pass.

“Stay alert,” he said firmly after a long, frozen silence. “It’s no good sitting and waiting like this.”

As they waited for the rest of their group, Braylyn too scanned the pass, eyes fighting past wisps of fog and haze. After a few minutes of uneasy silence, he shook his head and leaned in toward the siekarum.

“I don’t like this,” Braylyn muttered.

“What about it?” Nihlukei grumbled.

“Looks like a good spot for an ambush,” Heror analyzed.

“Exactly,” Braylyn exclaimed in a whisper. “Low visibility, thick tree cover along the clearing. Small but steady incline. This is a damn trap, siekarum, and we’re the prey.”

“They only have 5,000 soldiers,” Nihlukei hissed in an urgent whisper. “They have to leave some in defense of the base. There’s no way they’d leave enough to thin our numbers here.”

“What if they have more?” Heror asked.

“Heror, enough,” Nihlukei scolded.

“I know you trust them,” Heror said. “But I don’t see the battle scout anymore.”

Heror eyed his siekarum, who stayed silent, his jaw clenched.

“What if they miscalculated the threat?”

Nihlukei fumed silently for a moment, but soon, he saw the reason in Heror’s words. He sighed and shook his head, his eyes falling to the ground. He opened his mouth and was about to speak, but as he did so, a noise stopped him. In the cool mountain air, the Ardysan horn sounded again, this time even more distant than before. Nihlukei glanced behind him and saw that the gap between formations remained. They were only 4,000 strong at the pass. The others were farther back.

“They’re calling for us to advance,” one siephall said in shock.

“Are they mad?” Braylyn scoffed. “We should at least wait to reorganize!”

At that moment, a shout rang out to the right. Heror turned to see Tralics standing in front of his unit, donning gilded armor and rich green robes. He lifted his sword high in the air, letting the tip catch the silver sunlight.

“Opvae!!” he yelled. “For Ardys!!”

Now Tralics’ unit started forward, unsheathing their weapons, and several other siekarums on the right side followed his lead. Even the siekcithung Plekei, lingering in the middle of the group, advanced with little hesitation, his white robes mingling with the fog. Nihlukei, however, did not. Holding the left side of the line, he stood still, swallowing a lump in his throat.

“Siekarum, it has to be a trap,” Braylyn persisted. “It has to be.”

Nihlukei blinked, his chest heaving as he stood still, in a tense moment of indecision. Low murmurs began to fill the air in the units behind him, as they waited for the order to advance from the front line commander. Braylyn glanced toward the men in the back, then looked back at Nihlukei.

“It’s a trap, Nihlukei.”

Nihlukei thought for a moment longer. Then he nodded. And he raised his sword into the air, signaling for the group to advance. Braylyn’s eyes went wide, and he gritted his teeth.

“Nihlukei, it’s a trap!”

Nihlukei took a step forward. His sword stretched into the sky.

“I know,” he managed.

Braylyn turned back toward the pass, his eyes still wide.

“Then what are you doing??”

Nihlukei clenched his jaw again, then let out a strained breath, eyes frozen ahead.

“I can’t let them go alone.”

With that, Nihlukei ran forward, hurrying to catch up with the others. Before he could think twice, Heror’s legs carried him after the siekarum, and he too was charging into the pass. The other siephalls and siekarums followed, and soon, they caught up to the rest of the 4,000.

As they jogged ahead, Heror’s eyes darted from end to end. He was closer to the left edge of the pass than the right, but there were too many soldiers between him and the forest for him to see anything. He tried to keep his eyes ahead, but the woods provided too much cover for him to be at ease.

After a few minutes, the soldiers on the right started to slow down, and soon, Nihlukei’s guard caught up with them, reforming the rows. Nihlukei glanced to the right and saw that Tralics had stopped. The fog started to settle in again, and as Heror looked right, he saw Tralics frozen ahead of his unit. The siekarum was staring at something up ahead. Instinctively, Heror gripped his sword tighter. His pulse began to elevate, as the front lines were halted again.

Nihlukei opened his mouth, as if to call out to Tralics, but before he could, a noise farther up the pass stopped him – an inhuman shriek that carried through the trees. It faded, and for a moment, an eerie silence settled in. Then the shriek came again, closer this time. Nihlukei’s eyes darted through the air as the fog thickened. And then, only about thirty feet in the distance, a horse emerged from the mist, kicking wildly and bucking its head. As Nihlukei’s eyes fell on the horse’s saddle, he saw the seal of Ardys.

It was the horse of the battle scout, with no rider atop it.

The horse let out another raspy shriek and skidded to a stop when it saw the Ardysan force. Spooked, it bucked back to the left. As it did so, several siephalls gasped, seeing the scout’s disembodied foot strapped inside the stirrup, bloodied at the ankle. As soon as the horse turned, it scampered into the woods, screaming until its calls were nothing but a dying echo.

Heror glanced at Nihlukei, and for the first time, he thought he saw fear in the siekarum’s eyes.

For what seemed like an eternity, the Ardysan force stood frozen, as the fog lingered all around them. The silence was deafening. Heror felt his heartbeat pounding inside his ears, and his chest was heavy. He squeezed his hand around his sword even tighter, but by now, a thin layer of cold sweat caused his fingers to slip, and he had to wipe his hand on his cloak before adjusting his grip. He repositioned his aspidan, eyes staring ahead.

The timeless moment persisted. They waited, for the fog to birth their reckoning.

And then a lone figure emerged from the fog, and the siephalls all readied their weapons in a dazed, synchronous gesture. The figure was a hulking half-man, unlike anything Heror had ever seen before. It stood almost eight feet tall, holding a barbed club that was almost half as long, with a spear tip on the bottom of the handle. It had dark, wide trunks for legs, massive arms that bulged at the shoulders, and a powerful upper body upon which a dark metal chestplate sat, streaked with red.

As Heror observed the figure further, he saw that his upper body faded into a hairy mess as it worked upward, and his head was not that of a human, but that of a bull, with three ivory horns jutting out from his skull -- two to the side, and one forward. One of the figure’s eyes was a dark, muddy gold, while the other, marred by a scar that crawled down its face and onto its snout, was black.

As the bull-person approached, more figures appeared from the fog behind him. They too were bull-people – elinji – though none were quite as big as the first, and some had human facial features. One next to him wielded a long spear and had a tall, sharp pauldron on his right shoulder. The others carried clubs and spears. Their steps shook the ground ever so slightly. All the while, the Ardysan force stared them down, soldiers paralyzed by fear and confusion.

Now, as the elinji appeared, several djauuls approached as well. One djauul donning a robe and a spear stepped next to the three-horned bull, ahead of the Midan formation. Heror could see his eyes -- a fiery mix of bright blue and orange -- biting through the fog. The robed djauul leered, as the three-horned bull remained silent next to him. Heror glanced at Nihlukei, but before he could say anything, the djauul spoke, his voice strangely calm and firm.

“Perix lich achlach Sim,” the djauul said. “He thanks you… for your sacrifice.”

Now the Midans started to advance. Dozens more emerged from the fog, picking up speed as they closed in on the Ardysan front. Nihlukei set his feet, digging his heel into the dirt. He turned down the line, eyes fierce as he gave a command.

“Defend!!”

Several other siekarums echoed the command, and the siephalls raised their aspidans. However, as they did so, a tremor began to shake the ground, and a furor erupted from either side of the line. Heror turned to his left. More elinji flanked the Ardysan force, charging them from within the woods. They made impact on the side of the formation with the force of a wave, sending several siephalls flying into the air with their first attack. At that moment, the formation began to collapse.

Now Heror turned his eyes back to the front. The Midans ahead were closing in quicker. More Midans cut through the group to his left and right, and already, the noise of the fighting swelled, filling the air. The other siephall units were thinning quickly.

Nihlukei saw this, too. The siekarum blinked and turned forward again. He nodded to himself – wide-eyed, as if in epiphany.

“Show no fear, men!!” the siekarum bellowed as the Midans charged toward them. “No matter what happens… they have no claim to your soul!! Show them the fire that lurks!!”

Heror dug his feet into the ground. At the thought of his own demise, his heart raced, but with a string, he kept his focus. The horde was coming. Like a wave, crashing and sprawling. Deafening. Reaching. Reaching…

Fifteen feet away.

Ten feet… Five feet. Two feet.

Impact.