Kosta slipped through the shoddy construction of the southern barrier constructed by the militia. He brushed it as he passed through, allowing a sloppy rush of magic to pour in and shape it up to make it a little less appealing to any Hesperians that attempted to breach it.

Suddenly a roar, then a spear nearly plunged into Kosta’s chest.

“What the hell!”

“Shit, it’s the sculptor! We thought you were a Hesperian,” a middle-aged miltiaman apologized, clearly embarrassed. He kept his eyes trained on the gap and ignored his partner’s smirk. It looked like each of the other crossroads entrances were manned by two soldiers each, although the western gap where the Hesperians were most likely to enter was held by Clymere and four others.

The remaining civilians were gone, Kosta noted. No doubt they’d been sent ahead with the wounded militia as soon as the Hesperians drew too close. They wouldn’t risk them being unable to escape the hungry blades of the invaders.

Should he have gone with them? It seemed an appealing prospect now that he saw the beginnings of battle.

Howling arrows swirling with focused wind and crowned with crackling tips hammered down, only to be intercepted by two of the Dytifrourán militia who erected their own barriers around the crossroads. They were impermanent, but the two militiamen worked in perfect synchronization to manifest them wherever a projectile came. It spoke of a long partnership.

Each arrow found itself stuck in a flexible membrane the color of citron. The projectiles would strike, force their way in, only for the shimmering yellow barrier to simply flex back into position and hurl the arrows back into the horde of attackers that must be beyond the wall.

Arrows kept coming, but the barrages were slower now, more measured. Bolts of pale magic often joined them, striking just as hard and fast as the arrows but instead dispersed into the flexible defenses.

They were so fast! The warders manifested their shields in the blink of an eye. Kosta couldn’t help but marvel at them. He might attempt to incorporate that technique as well into his barriers, although Kosta doubted his own magic would appreciate such a flexible form. It was rigid, unmoving, and stern in his defense.

Kosta’s Projected barriers served him well, but they had their weaknesses. They were individually more powerful than what the militia warders brought to bear but also sapped more of his strength. Inflexible, as well. They would block or they would break. There was no in between.

He stepped past the militia guarding the southern barricade and hurried to some of the soldiers who waited alongside the warders. They eyed each exit speculatively, wary of any attack and ready to support their fellow militia in defense of the crossroads.

Other lights and magic exploded all around Dytifrourá’s skies from other pockets seeking to buy as much time as possible for the main forces to retreat. It was comforting for Kosta to know that there were at least three more in their situation, although he feared that they might not have an escape plan like this group did.

Still, it was relieving to know that the Hesperians couldn’t simply focus all their might on a single group of holdouts. Kosta didn’t know the Hesperians’ numbers, but this would at least spread them thin. So long as the Merakian didn’t deign to smite them from the heavens, at any rate.

The roar of flame attracted his attention, and he turned to Clymere as she fired a billowing pillar of hot flame through the gap in the walls. Kosta barely had time to catch sight of a Hesperian with short cropped hair catching fire before the man retreated in a bout of screams.

He felt a little ill at the smell of roasting human flesh (it reminded him far too much of cooked boar for his liking) and the acrid scent of burnt hair, but the brutal attack dissuaded any Hesperians from attempting to enter the choke.

Her men cheered. Clymere was grim, though, silver plume blazing in the mist. The fog came in redoubled now, the new rain coming down steadily to feed it, and Kosta heard the burning man’s screams cut off.

“Hold!” Clymere boomed and aimed her speartip at the hole as she caught sight of Kosta coming to her side. She turned to him, eyes bright and wild and fierce, and awaited his instruction. Another soldier armed with a similar spear replaced her and shouted out curses and dared the Hesperians to breach the wall. “Did you do it?”

Kosta nodded. “We have a way out through the southern wall. It’s only large enough for one person to pass through at a time,” he warned. “Evacuation will be slow.”

Relief shone on Clymere’s face as brightly as the sun peeking through the clouds. She grabbed Kosta’s shoulder through his soaked chiton and squeezed tightly enough that it hurt, though Kosta didn’t say a word.

“Good man,” she said quietly. Kosta wondered just how heavily the burden of leading these men and women to their inevitable deaths had weighed upon her. “Thank you, Kosta.”

“What can I do to help?” He eyed the chaos which reigned all around. Militiamen lobbed tiny ceramic jars over the barricades, earning screams as splashes of raging green flame exploded in the Hesperian ranks. It was physical and clinging in a way Clymere’s fires were not and spread quickly amongst the invaders, heedless of the rain.

Some of the Hesperian warders began to intercept and block them. Others cast the jars back with great gusts of wind, but thankfully the Dytifrourán warders managed to catch them in a flexible citron membrane and guide them back to the hands of millitiamen to be thrown back.

No Hesperians seemed to have made it to the northern or southern barricades, thankfully. Kosta knew that they could hold from one direction for some time. But their numbers would fail them as soon as they were encircled.

“Hipolit, find the crack in the wall and ferry supplies over. Stay unseen!” Clymere hissed. A fox-faced man in light armor saluted and hurried over to the mound of food, medical supplies, and enchanted items hidden beneath a still-standing stall. She turned back to Kosta, grim-faced. “Lenci and Vince are too busy protecting us from arrows to support the barricades. Protect us when you can, understood? Spare your power whenever possible. We may be here for a long time, Aretans willing.”

Kosta could do that. “What of any other civilians that attempt to pass through? Should I direct them to the wall?”

“It’s too late. No more are coming,” Clymere said grimly. Her fists tightened around her spear. The blazing point seemed washed out in the grey rain, its brilliance smothered by pelting sheets. “The Hesperians scour the streets. Any of our people who have not escaped already will be at their mercy. Poor bastards.” Her eyes shut briefly. “Their Merakian won’t descend to deal with us pests, but we hold the line. We buy the people who have escaped every second we can, understood?”

Kosta’s throat was tight. Evanthe, his parents, even the crotchety old Isidora…he hoped that they’d all escaped. And even so, they were all at risk. Bands of raiders may be hunting them even now. All that he could hope for was that the remaining resistance would occupy too much of the Hesperians’ attention.

“Let us hold the line, then.” Kosta clasped Clymere’s forearm. He dug into one of his pockets and gingerly placed a small pile of phaetra dust in Clymere’s gloved hand. Her eyes widened, then she grinned savagely. “Spend it well.”

“Oh, I will,” Clymere murmured as a hail of magic bolts fell upon them, only to be intercepted again by the yellow membrane cast by the warding militiamen. She reluctantly pulled away and jabbed her spear above the wall, where a stupidly brave Hesperian had attempted to vault over to land in their midst.

He wasn’t caught up in the raging torrent of flame, but it certainly convinced him to hurry back to the opposite side.

From there, the siege began properly. The Hesperian scouts who initially fell upon them had pulled back and only sent minor barrages to test their defenses. Kosta took the brief interlude to fortify the other entrances as well, though it began to sap him dry.

Tension mounted as only cursory attacks probed them. Occasionally another band of marauders would swing by and attempt to batter their fortifications, but Kosta’s work held strong. He imbued every spare ounce of strength into his work, investing his will to protect the soldiers here into the stone and wood.

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Cracks had already begun to form in the westmost barricade, but several attacks had come and gone. The Dytifrouráns only managed to inflict minor wounds upon the Hesperians now that they were more cautious. More and more of the Hesperians could be heard gathering beyond.

But Kosta couldn’t help but worry. He knew his own limitations. With the materials and time that had been available to him, he knew in his bones that a focused attack would bring his work to ruins.

“You!” He called out to a young warrior running back and forth to support different walls. The man, a fresh-faced recruit that Kosta recognized as Tobias, sent him a questioning look as he ground to a halt. Kosta dug a few loaves of Eneas’ bread from his pack and shoved them into the soldier’s hands. Tobias lit up at the sight, well-aware of who had made it. “Split this up. Pass it out during the lulls. Understood?”

Tobias saluted and greedily tore off a hunk of the honey-glazed loaf for himself. He shoved it into his mouth and immediately stood straighter and prouder, the toll of exhaustion wiped away by Eneas’ power. “Got it. Thanks, sculptor!”

With that, the recruit left as the sounds of bloody battle reached Kosta’s ears: sundering air as thunder rolled, the violent screams of the living and the dying, and the humming power that filled the atmosphere as hundreds of warriors added their own magic to the mix.

It was disgusting! Ugly. The stories declared war to be a glorious thing, full of honor and great deeds and honorable sacrifice, but Kosta couldn’t see the nobility here. All he heard were the raging cries of blood-drunk warriors and the wet sounds of the grievously wounded. What fool would want this?

Kosta felt sick, but he swallowed down his feelings and allowed his disgust to be his armor. The pain and blood washed off of him like a river around a stone.

Yes, that’s what he must be. Stone: solid, unchanging, unbroken, unfeeling.

To be anything else today would drive Kosta mad.

He wrung his hands as he paced back and forth, eyes on the westward barricade as Clymere and her soldiers held it against a more determined attack. Heavily armed warriors could be seen in the brief space beyond—though none attempted to enter the choke—and hurled bolt after bolt of lightning and raw magical power into their midst.

His barricade held, although Kosta had to rush forward to invest a little more power into maintaining its defenses. Those miserable scrap heaps originally erected by the guard would have fallen in the first attack.

Kosta’s interwoven wood and stone constructions still stood strong…well, strong might be generous. Some wood was already shattered beyond his ability to repair, and each weakness in the integrity of the structure spelled one less attack to go until it broke beneath some spell.

But they still stood. That was what mattered.

“Come, Hesperians!” Clymere snarled as more attacks came from the northern gate. Two burly men rushed to reinforce the two militiamen already protecting it. Kosta felt a bit of pride in his work. Without his destruction of the bridge, the main force of the Hesperians would be able to easily cross and attack from multiple angles.

A new press came against the western barricade as well. It seemed those Hesperian scouts had spent time gathering all the men and women that they could for a true assault.

“Come to us! Come taste the strength of Dytifrourá!”

Her soldiers cheered and added their own taunts and jeers to the mix. Some proclaimed their own strength and begged the Hesperians to let them prove it. Others came up with creative words regarding the Hesperians’ bloodlines, the intense attraction of their mothers for cyclops, minotaurs, and the occasional donkey, and a dozen other scathing, crude insults that could only have been cooked up in the barracks late at night after a few draughts of wine and ale.

It encouraged the Hesperians to attack harder, though, so Kosta supposed it worked well enough.

They gave as good as they got, though. Kosta froze as the first insults came back.

He hadn’t expected to comprehend the words of barbarians, but they were mostly intelligible. The barbarian tongue was spoken in an odd, lilting accent that was comprehensible enough. It seemed as if the rain and cold redoubled as the barbarians hissed back from over the wall with their hateful words, and fog slowly crept in through the cracks of the barricade.

“Blights upon our land!”

“The streets will run red with your blood!”

“Flee while you still can! We will take back what is ours.”

“Anatolenes, Androtimos of Tychopolis comes for you! Worms, neutered beasts, the shit in the dirt…you’re lower than it all! ”

“I bet your mothers are ugly! Your sisters too!” Several of the Hesperians shouted in agreement.

Clymere and Kosta exchanged a look. She rolled her eyes, barked out an order, and one of her militiamen tossed another of their alchemical concoctions in the direction of that last one. They jeered again as frantic yelps came from the Hesperian side of the barrier.

Insults continued to trade lips, each more vicious than the last. Not to mention fouler. Kosta heard words that he’d never imagined before. Who knew the soldiers possessed such creativity?

But that firebomb heralded the beginning. Not a single lobbed projectile made it past the Hesperians again. They had warders of their own now and several warriors on duty to intercept or blow back the Dytifrourán attacks.

The Hesperians grew bold as their numbers swelled and focused their power upon shattering Kosta’s barrier: hammers, magic-infused blows, great streams of flames, acidic mist, and heaps of earth all came down upon it. Mundane, fragile materials groaned beneath the sudden strain, threatening to break.

He couldn’t save it! Kosta cried out beneath the strain, fed a steady trickle of power to it in a hope to buy as much time as he could—

Clymere grabbed his shoulder and thrust him away. “Back, back! Form a wall!” Her soldiers fell in line without a moment’s hesitation. Several lined up behind her, shields ready to enclose Clymere the moment she struck. They sealed the gate easily enough, undoubtedly grateful for the cover Kosta had provided. Without his fortifications they would’ve been hard-pressed to block the gap.

Kosta readied himself, though he felt woefully unprepared in his waterlogged chiton. His hammer and chisel hardly seemed threatening beside fully armored warriors with spears, shields, and all manner of other weapons.

Even his wooden xiphos blade that he used for training might be preferable, although Kosta knew his relative inexperience with the weapon would get him killed against a seasoned Hesperian warrior.

His thoughts came to a close as the barricade strained…and then a griffin shrieked from behind. Kosta craned his neck and caught sight of a terrible white shape, though he whispered a prayer to the Demiurge in gratitude that it wasn’t the Merakian’s monstrous companion.

That only preserved his spirits for a moment when its dreadful cry struck them.

A Nephonaut had come!

The armored griffin circled lazily overhead, not even bothering to swerve from the various bolts and magic-infused arrows that shot up at it, confident in its superiority. Whatever arrays lay embedded in the bronze casing that shielded its vulnerable belly must have been potent indeed, as most attacks simply swerved away, redirected by the wards.

Others shot straight back down. Kosta heard a scream as a militiaman’s own blazing arrow struck him in the shoulder, though several of his companions fortunately scraped the alchemical concoction off with an application of magic and saved him.

He simply readied a shield even as the barricade pressed inward. Kosta felt as his work was undone by a mighty strike. The Nephonauts had finally made their move.

Boom.

It wasn’t a tenth so mighty as the Merakian’s commanded lightning bolts, but the brilliant blue lance that hurled from the Nephonaut’s outstretched hand didn’t need to be. The magic came down like a hammer against the barricade even as the Hesperian soldiers sawed away at it with weapon and spellcraft.

The barricade itself didn’t shatter, but Kosta felt the moment the magic that he’d infused was exhausted.

“It’s broken,” Kosta said quietly to Clymere, who didn’t dare turn her eyes from the barricade. She would be useless against the Nephonaut. Her flames couldn’t lash so far from her spear and would be too slow besides. “They come.”

“Brave Hesperians!” The Nephonaut soared above, a man’s voice rolling out like the thunder he’d just commanded. A great lance the length of two men was gripped in his right hand. His griffin shrieked alongside him and the Hesperians on the other side of the barricade cheered and roared at the sight of their champion.

Kosta’s heart fell as he realized it was the same Nephonaut who had dueled Headsman Linus at the gates. Had he fallen with the walls? Part of Kosta had dared to hold out hope. “Purge this town of its defilers! Reclaim what was taken! Reclaim what is yours!”

The Nephonaut’s great griffin shrieked in support of its rider.

“I go to hunt greater prey. Make our champion proud!”

And with that, the Nephonaut left them. Kosta did not miss that the rain went with him. Its fat drops slowed and the storm calmed. The griffin and its rider paid them no more mind now that their job was done. They soared away in a rush of wind, likely to break other strongholds with overwhelming power so that their lessers could sweep away any remaining resistance.

It was the same strategy that the Merakian had used, Kosta realized. The Nephonauts would not trouble themselves with ordinary warriors, not when they could sweep across the battlefield and crack open pockets of resistance like eggs.

But he put that thought out of mind as the barricade strained, then exploded inwards with a blast of raw force from one of the sixteen Hesperians on the other side. Kosta’s heart pounded at the sight of the barbarous warriors, garbed in linen and fur and apeironic bronze, and realized that the true battle had only just begun.