Two Crosses

In the dead of night, two cloaked figures moved through the alleys of the copper lanes. With a hostile army outside the gates, even this district was under heavy patrol from a garrison under constant threat, but the legionaries stuck to the main streets that crossed the quarters. Intimately familiar with the area, Martel had no trouble plotting a course that kept them hidden and avoided the main thoroughfares.

The merchants' quarter was another matter. The streets had lamp posts, illuminating anybody trying to cross them. More than once, the pair was forced to wait for agonising moments until the patrol had disappeared around the corner. Every grain of sand in the hourglass counted; the night sky slowly grew brighter, twilight would soon be upon them, and dawn would not be far behind.

At last, the merchants' gate came into sight. They stood where an alley met the road that led to their destination, counting the guards. Ten on the ground, probably the same number or more inside and atop the gatehouse, and who knew how many on the adjoining walls.

As for the gate itself, it was a simple construction. No complex machinery or chains like a drawbridge or portcullis. Just two wooden halves that could be opened and closed, currently barred by a crossbeam.

The two rebels looked at each other. There was no need for complex planning or extensive discussions on what to do. The fight was simple, and they both knew how the other person acted in battle. Stepping out from the alley, they broke into a sprint.

As the guards noticed them, Martel unleashed his lightning. It felled seven of them with ease, but three stood too far to be caught by the spell. They shouted in panic with cries of alarm. Eleanor reached the first and cut him down. Working together, spells and steel slaughtered the remaining two. Yet already, boots and voices told them that more came, running down the stairs of the building towards the doors on either side of the gate.

Martel raised his wall of flames to block one of the entrances while Eleanor dropped her weapons to lift the great crossbeam on her own and throw it aside. As she took position by the remaining entrance into the gatehouse, once more armed, Martel pushed one half of the gate open. It happened slowly, his empowered strength far less impressive than hers, but finally he could move through. Standing outside, he summoned two flaming crosses in the air, giving the signal to Legio XX Orientis.

As the symbols faded away, Martel went back to see Eleanor fighting. Blocking the doorway, a mageknight against ordinary legionaries, they stood no chance, and she easily held them at bay. So far, everything according to plan.

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Arrows landed in front of him from directly above, and he stepped back into the shadow of the building, pressing himself up against the gate. Martel considered what he might do; he would have to step out of cover to shoot back, and he did not know how many archers waited for him. He could use his magical shield to protect against the arrows, but it would not help if scores stood upon the battlements to rain projectiles down on him. He was also mindful of his spellpower, nearly at an end. As long as he stayed under the gatehouse, and Eleanor defended the entrance, they would be safe from archers.

But not from reinforcements coming from the city itself. Patrols, attracted by the noise, ran towards them down the street. Martel knew he had to protect Eleanor's blind spot, and he took position to cover her back. Aware that he would be close to the end of his strength with the casting of this spell, Martel unleashed his lightning again. Half a score of soldiers fell, dead or so wounded that they had lost their appetite for the fight. Despite this display of fearsome magic, to their credit, the remaining legionaries continued. They reached Martel, who defended himself with his staff, swinging it to keep them at bay while adding a fire bolt when he had an opening. Behind him, he heard Eleanor swinging her sword with tired movements; neither had much left to give.

A rider appeared, startling Martel; he had not seen anybody ride down the street. As the horse man began hacking away at the legionaries, he understood. The mounted cohort of the Twentieth Legion had arrived. More riders pushed through the narrow opening while others dismounted to grab the gate and widen the entrance. Centuriae after centuriae poured through. Those already dismounted took Eleanor's place, fighting their way up the gatehouse; Martel dismissed his wall of flames, allowing them another entry point. As for the remaining riders, they thundered through the cobbled streets towards the bridge district and its gate.

***

Martel sank to his feet, leaning against the building where they had fought. Around him, he could still hear the sounds of battle and screams of dying men. His own soldiers were clearing the fortifications, killing all the archers. Elsewhere, they would be fighting in the city as well. Row after row of legionaries marched past him as the Twentieth made its entry. Arianna, the legion prefect, saluted with a grin as she rode past her captain.

Next to him, Eleanor sat down as well. "We did it," she breathed. She had a few cuts, her shield lay shattered on the ground, and her clothing was dyed in blood, but he knew she was otherwise uninjured. He praised the Stars that they had made her a mageknight with all the defensive spells such warriors learned.

"This has been the longest night of my life. Probably the worst," he admitted.

"Imagine how much worse if we had failed. Our soldiers are taking the city. This is a victory."

Assuming nothing unforeseen happened. If the garrison rallied faster than expected, they might be able to defend the bridge gate. If the attackers were not reinforced by the legion waiting to the east, the defenders could conceivably push the Twentieth back through the streets, especially if more mages joined them like Gilbert had at the previous battle.

Martel wished he could have gone with the soldiers to the bridge district and fought there as well, doing everything to ensure it was taken. At the same time, he knew that would be pointless. He had no magic left, except the simplest of spells or effects. Anything more would push him into exhaustion. He could do no more. The rest was in the hands of others.