The clash of battle rang. Booming thunder sundered the air. Despite the cacophony outside, Kosta felt at peace. He moved swiftly and efficiently throughout his workshop, working automatically as old drills took hold. Kosta gently placed the fist-sized phaetra core into his pack and strapped it to his shoulders, ensuring that it was nice and secure while he gathered his tools and swept all his talismans into the bag as well.
Kosta hoped that the keystone’s specialized design would secure Dytifrourá against these invaders, but it was best to be safe. Even untuned, it would ease the transfer of energies between different sections of the wall. The dendrac’s blessing might have enhanced its strength and aligned it with aspects of protection and durability, but this would serve well enough to empower the wards.
And if Headsman Linus was at the walls, even better. He was an imperfect match, but right now Kosta would take whatever he could get.
His eyes scanned over his workshop like a hawk. Kosta trained his gaze upon anything that might prove useful. Any one of his hundred projects that may help his town. Nearly all of his talismans and his small collection of phaetra dust had been gathered already. The potential of a few others stood out, but he ultimately looked away.
There was one last resource he could draw upon. Kosta hoped that he wouldn’t need it.
Kosta strode over to one of his hidden lockboxes and knelt after a moment’s hesitation. He brushed his magic against it. The lockbox was keyed to Kosta and Kosta alone. It shuddered, then its transpoietic arrays shone a blinding white as the top of the lockbox slid back to reveal his savings…what wasn’t secured within the Dytifrourá storehouses, anyway, which often acted as sort of a bank for citizens.
This was the supply that he used to purchase supplies or kept on hand for emergencies.
Boom!
Kosta was fairly certain that this counted as an emergency.
He dumped everything that he could into the pack. What didn’t fit there (mostly due to the bulk of the phaetra) was unceremoniously shoved into the many, many pockets of his chiton. Kosta did one last scan to ensure that he’d gathered everything that could be useful, nodded to himself, and then hurried out into the street. His pockets jingled with every step.
Boom!
Kosta flung the door open and gaped.
Chaos!
Dozens of Dytifrouráns streamed out of their homes with everything that they could carry. Given how many of the townsfolk possessed magic to assist them in physical labor, that could sometimes be quite a lot. He’d almost find the enormous stacks of goods, food, and precious items on their shoulders comical if the situation weren’t so serious.
Children were strapped to their backs if too young to walk, or if they would slow their parents down. Infants and toddlers stared around with wide, frightened eyes as they clutched their parents close. Many cried or wailed, adding to the cacophony of the crashing storm as fierce gales, sheets of hammering rain drops, and thunder blasted over the town.
Older children were silent, particularly those that had gone through their Dòrognosis. They could feel the terrible power pervading the valley. It saturated the air now, brought in by the storm and its black clouds, and pressed down upon the inhabitants like an enormous weight. Kosta nearly sagged beneath its pressure and again wondered what sort of terrible entity had found its way to their doors.
Dread filled him.
Was this an Aretan? Had they attracted one of the demigods’ ire?
No, impossible. The nearest was Calix the Lesser, far to the east in Progi. One of their standing wouldn’t bother with Dytifrourá. If they did, the town would have fallen at a glance. This was something else. Perhaps one of the storied Kleosians? Many served as an Aretan’s favored fist or nudging hand.
There was no point speculating until more information was available, so he put it out of mind for now. All that mattered was making it to the walls! Perhaps Headsman Linus would know more.
Kosta grit his teeth and shoved his way past the trampling horde of townsfolk. Most were so frightened that they were sightless and deaf to his protests. Part of him longed to join them as they hurried to the evacuation point. The lines of militia were gone, so now only hordes of civilians poured forward to the eastern gate in a shambling mass.
“Get out of my way!” He snarled at a family that took up nearly the entirety of the road. They barely noticed him as he pushed past. No one was about to keep him from Clymere! More fleeing citizens replaced them. “Move!”
Boom!
More lightning. The white griffin still intercepted every bolt sent to attack the lone figure, although it had slowed a touch beneath the incessant assault. Part of Kosta felt relieved at that. At least they weren’t invulnerable! They could be harmed.
The streaming townsfolk redoubled their pace. Kosta was nearly trampled beneath the sudden surge since so many focused upon the enhancement of their bodies. He was forced to Project a grey barrier to force them to go around. Even then, one burly man’s frantic elbowing nearly shattered it. He dimly recognized him as one of the town’s builders, but right now he was just another father urgently trying to get his family to safety.
Mama and Papa must have made it to the rendezvous by now. Were they waiting for him? They would have known that Clymere would be in the thick of things. There was little doubt in his mind that they’d leave with the rest, though. He shouldn’t expect any heroics.
He pressed forward, every inch stolen worth a mile. The onslaught of humanity fought him for every step. If it weren’t for the Projected barrier, he would have been overrun and trampled into the dirt right now. No one had any patience for someone going against the tide.
Kosta cursed himself for taking so long to gather his thoughts. Clymere was right: he really was slow! He’d succumbed to his fear and awe and it had paralyzed him. If he’d been quicker to make a decision, then he might already be at the walls.
If the ranks of militia still marched, he would have joined them. They would have heard the words ‘fortify the walls’ and practically dragged him there. Unfortunately, they’d already made it to their positions by the time he’d gathered his belongings.
There was nothing for it.
All Kosta could hope to do was press forward with the core, slot it into the proper place for the wardstone, and pray that it did its job well. It was designed for fluidity, so with any luck it wouldn’t take long to integrate into the defenses.
And this rain! Kosta could barely see the pale faces of those right in front of him. The mist crawled through the streets and obfuscated everything. He suspected that was the goal, and the precipitation didn’t help matters either. By now it was difficult to see much more than the bolts of lightning, the shimmering blue barrier projected by the walls, and the brilliant flashes of silver light as the turrets and defensive towers rained down destruction upon their foes.
Or so he hoped.
The press of humanity thinned at last! Kosta could push his way through easier now. He finally felt confident enough to drop the Projection.
Boom!
“Young Kosta!”
He didn’t dare slow or become an unmoving obstacle lest he be trampled, but Kosta did turn his head to see who had spoken. Kosta’s eyes widened at the sight of old Eneas pushing a loaded cart of bread, cheese, and other foodstuffs down the stone road behind him, taking advantage of the small gap that Kosta had made in the crowd. It was piled so high that it teetered with each step, but Eneas’ magic and stern glare kept the fleeing townsfolk far from it. He normally appeared soft and frail, but such traits were nowhere to be seen.
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He was like steel.
When one panicked mother did try to snag a loaf, the cinnamon-crusted bread rose up and slapped her hand like a scolding parent. She hurried away.
“Eneas?”
“In the flesh,” Eneas said. His lips thinned as he stared at the blue barrier. It had taken another hit, and now a single thin, spidery crack had cut down the center, although it rapidly repaired itself. The barrier was flexible and adaptive. If not, it would have fallen ages ago beneath this focused attack. “I’m bringing food to the walls. I don’t know how long this siege may last, but I pray that this will be enough. Why aren’t you headed to the evacuation point?”
Kosta saw no need to hide secrets. He forced open a wider gap so that Eneas could more easily follow, although a few parents cursed at him and one even took a swipe. A Projected barrier caught it, and Kosta didn’t mind taking a little pleasure at the pained yelp that came from the man as his wrist was jolted by the unexpected impact.
Boom!
“I have a keystone that will help to support the wards…and I need to find Clymere,” Kosta admitted. “I have to help!”
Eneas’ eyes widened. “It’s a brave thing you’re doing, boy!” And with that, he held his hand aloft. The townsfolk scattered to the sides as his voice, empowered by magic, erupted above the thunder. “Make way! Make way, you fools! We go to Dytifrourá’s defense!”
Miraculously, the thinning ranks listened. People still glared at them for getting in their way, but everyone knew Eneas. He was at the heart of Dytifrourá. They certainly thought more favorably of the baker than Kosta, and it helped that there was finally space for them to spread. These were the stragglers, those who had probably rushed from the western reaches of the town.
Kosta feared for those who lived outside the town. Farmers, millers, ranchers…if the walls themselves were threatened, what hope did they have? The invaders might have already swept over them. There was no way the militia could help now, although there were a few stations planted around the more rural areas for a few militia members to man in case of emergencies.
But what use would they be against this?
The northern, southern, and eastern reaches were most likely secure. At worst, they were probably dealing with a few scouts or roving bands of marauders. Kosta knew little of the Hesperians. He couldn’t begin to guess at how large the force was that assaulted Dytifrourá, but Clymere had pounded enough lessons into his mind.
Dytifrourá was well-fortified. The fact that its walls still stood beneath this ferocious attack was testament to that. It had been designed as a fortress, a town to act as a bulwark and staging ground for the Dipoli’s territory. A handful of Khrusopolis’ most talented masons had come in Dytifrourá’s early days to lend their talents. The stoneworkers of the Golden City were responsible for the masterfully crafted wards which veiled Dytifrourá’s interior from danger.
Yet Kosta suspected it had never been expected to stand against this. It was immune to conventional attack. Even standard artillery would be absorbed and deflected by the barrier. But even it would give way beneath a thousand lightning bolts. Starvation and slowly subverting the wards were often more practical options unless the attackers had a great edge.
If he remembered Clymere’s words correctly, that meant that the majority of the force would be poised to assault where the barrier first shattered.
His heart sank.
That meant he was running directly into the fray. If the walls broke…no, he couldn’t think like that. He had to make it there before then!
“I need to run ahead,” Kosta said as the last of the fleeing citizens passed him by. He hesitated and looked to Eneas, who pushed his cart slowly and steadily so as not to lose any of the precious cargo. “Good luck, Eneas.”
“Wait!” Eneas tossed him a few loaves of bread wrapped in soft white linen. It was still warm, likely protected from the elements by Eneas’ own magic. “Before you go, take this. It’s dangerous out there. Best not to fight on an empty belly, hmm?”
He’d eaten earlier, thankfully: a simple meal of nuts, bread, and cheese, but Kosta was grateful for the gift. He made sure to tell Eneas so. Who knew when or where his next meal might come from? The entire world had gone mad. What could he depend on when the sky itself had turned against them?
But old Eneas offered more than that. The baker’s power was woven into every one of his creations, kneaded into the dough as he worked. One bite would sustain Kosta for a day and restore some of his vigor, though at a certain point his body would fail and demand rest. It was a precious gift.
So Kosta squeezed the loaf into the last of his half-crammed pockets, stepped forward, and ran for his life…no, not just his life.
Boom!
More cracks formed in the barrier. The rain came down harder. A gale fought him, as if aware of his purpose. It took all his strength to fight his way forward. Kosta Projected another barrier to break the wind’s flow and maintained it as he ran, although the concentration required drained him.
Boom!
The next lightning bolt came faster. Its shining arc hammered directly into a crack and widened it.
Fuckfuckfuck!
His heart pounded as dread pooled in his gut. Kosta spewed foul curses into the misty air. They were doing it! They were actually doing it! They were prying open the barrier. He fought down bile—what if they actually made it in?!
More fog choked the streets. Wails erupted from the townsfolk and the militia. Everyone who saw the crack knew what it meant. Death was coming.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The steady rhythm to the lightning strikes was gone. With a hole exposed, the figure tirelessly hurled bolt after bolt into Dytifrourá’s defenses. Great cheers reached him from beyond the walls with every strike, while the dozens of militiamen standing guard behind the western gate groaned in unison. Kosta couldn’t see much of them beyond their linothorax armor and bronze helmets, but he knew that they must have quailed beneath the show of force.
What could they hope to do in the face of this living storm? They trained endlessly. They slew monsters, fought off bandits, and secured these westernmost lands from all who might pillage them.
Nothing had prepared them for this.
Every new bolt carved the barrier apart. It attempted to regenerate, but the blue wisps grew thinner and less substantial with each attack. The energies of the wall were growing exhausted! Kosta charged even faster. He forgot the building fatigue, forgot his fear, forgot everything except for his self-appointed mission.
Kosta had to reach the walls! He knew where to put the keystone—and ignored the piercing anxiety that it wouldn’t even matter against this titan, that this little chunk of sun-kissed phaetra never would have made a difference in the face of overwhelming power—and he must make it.
His legs burned. He used what little talent he possessed for physical fortification to steel his muscles and drain away the ache.
The walls were so close. Even through the brutal, incessant rain, he could—
Boom!
This close, the thunder nearly deafened him. The violent surge and rolling clap struck him to his core. He was half-blinded even behind his slate barrier, but he couldn’t find it within himself to care as a sound like mountains of shattering glass reached his ears. It rumbled like a great rockslide, tinkling like a million broken goblets, and Kosta groaned as it cut deeper than any peal of thunder.
Dytifrourá’s blue veil was stripped away at last. It began to coalesce again from its shattered wisps, but the suspended figure had no patience to repeat its task. The living siege weapon simply caught yet another lightning bolt from the clouds, then a second, then a third, and pointed a cruel hand at Dytifrourá’s walls as they frantically attempted to repair the damage.
For a moment, the world stilled.
Every hair on his body stood on end. His skin tingled, then burned! The air hummed, choking him as it was charged with much more than electricity. Kosta’s vision swam for a moment, overwhelmed as power beyond anything Kosta had ever imagined swept over the valley like a dread wind.
He fell to his knees. Kosta’s barrier vanished into motes of grey fog.
Kosta dimly realized that the rain seemed frozen in time for a moment. Not a single drop twitched. Even the howling gales ceased battering the shops and buildings of Dytifrourá.
And then it all broke.
Rain fell.
Wind raged.
Lightning fell down like the vengeful hammer of a god.
The last remnants of Dytifrourá’s defenses surged in response to the attack. It was in vain. They were swept aside as if by a hurricane.
And then, despite their best efforts, the lightning struck the walls.
They shattered.
The brick caved inwards and showered the ranks of the militia in stone and ceramic. Any soldiers who had been stationed on that section of the walls, just south of the western gate, were crushed and trapped beneath the terrible weight. Screams and howls exploded as the lightning-thrower’s imposed power retreated and the defenders found their lungs again.
Kosta could only gape, then caught sight of a single brick shard heading directly at him—
He Projected a barrier, but it was just like Clymere always said: Kosta was too slow.
The impact struck him, then everything went black.