For a moment the two forces only stared at one another. In a way, it was almost awkward. A somehow unexpected meeting of two strangers. They stole brief glances of the opposing side. On the Dytifrouráns’ part, it was bizarre for the vile barbarians to appear so normal.
Somehow, Kosta expected them to be as monstrous as their actions implied. Kosta had envisioned the Hesperians with horns like rams or pockmarked skin oozing pus and blood. Even hulking men with beastlike stature, hunched and eagle-eyed, would have spoken to his imagination.
But they were disappointingly normal: men and women here to pillage and take what wasn’t theirs. Dytifrourá had been built upon over twenty years of hard, backbreaking labor. Every day its bounty was claimed with sweat and toil.
And the envious Hesperians hoped to pay for that bounty with rivers of blood instead.
Even their armor wasn’t so different from the Dytifrourán militia armor. Heavy layers of linen, sometimes with an overlay of apeironic bronze sheets secured by straps of leather, guarded them alongside ornate bronze helms. All manner of weaponry was wielded by them: spears, axes, xiphos blades, warhammers, and in one odd case, a fat orange mushroom.
Kosta was most wary of the one with the mushroom. She looked too confident.
He didn’t know what the Hesperians saw, but whatever it was, it was soon overshadowed by the raging conflagration that erupted from Clymere’s spear. The soldiers behind her lowered their spears and cast bolt after bolt of raw magic into the midst of Hesperians. Their power took on all hues of the rainbow, channeled and enhanced by the simple arrays carved into their weaponry, and the barrage caught the first Hesperians off guard.
Two fell, but a grid of interlocked white hexagons immediately manifested to catch the rest, though it strained beneath the unrelenting assault. Magic poured past it, but the warders focused their entire attention upon blocking this initial rush.
Kosta’s eyes tracked a lobbed ball of hissing sludge, vile fumes roiling off the brown-purple heap, and he thrust out his hand as soon as he realized it was headed straight for Clymere’s flames, likely an attempt to spread toxic gas throughout the Dytifrourán ranks.
Instead, he did what he came here to do.
He was Clymere’s shield. She was his spear.
A grey barrier Projected just ahead of the sludge ball as it lobbed past the Hesperian shield; the toxic mass spilled helplessly against his magical wall. It spilled back on the Hesperian ranks, but Kosta caught sight of the mushroom girl holding her odd weapon high—the poison simply drained into the fungus with a purple sheen, then vanished entirely from reality.
That was an odd one. Kosta felt like his wariness of her was justified.
Unfortunately for the Hesperians, Clymere was not feeling merciful today. She lowered her spear, braced her feet against the damp stone, and her power erupted with twice the ferocity even as her soldiers continued to fling bolt after bolt of raw power into the Hesperian barrier.
With a sound like cracking ice, the hexagonal grid shattered beneath her might.
The front six Hesperians screamed as they were set ablaze in a torrent of magical flame. Their howls were like those of a tortured beast—Kosta could hardly bear to hear it. He wanted to shut his eyes, plug his ears, and run, but he couldn’t. Their armor was set with simple arrays that would protect against blunt force and most elements, but that only went so far.
All it did was prolong their deaths. Kosta’s fire would have washed off the wards entirely. Clymere’s devoured them whole.
The screams stabbed him like knives. The sight of their flesh melting into their armor, drooping and sagging like candle wax, scorched black, would never be forgotten. The smell…Aretans above, the smell!
And Clymere did not relent. Magic burst forth desperately from the dying and those who hoped to save them, but Kosta found himself automatically erecting a solid, flat barrier behind the first layer that had been caught so that they couldn’t escape. As the Hesperians flailed madly, their magic erupting from every way to protect themselves and heal the horrible wounds inflicted upon them, they failed to fall back to where a healer might manage to save them.
He stared blankly as they burned and burned and burned.
Be a rock, Kosta reminded himself.
That was the only way he could survive today. It was the only way he would remain sane.
The Hesperians surged forth with hate in their eyes once those unlucky six finally fell to the bolts of piercing magic spraying into their ranks. They shouted various names, some insults for the Dytifrouráns and others likely prayers and weeping cries for their dead and dying. One wept even as they hurled spheres of blazing white fog at the defenders.
Clymere’s spear tip blazed again, but she fell behind the ranks of her soldiers and allowed their interlocked shields, shimmering with pale magic as the protections embedded into each were joined, to hide her from the Hesperian gaze.
Yet she cast more flames forward through her spear. The Hesperians were strong as they crashed into the phalanx, their warder shielding the initial attackers, and the militiamen holding the line grunted and groaned as terrible strength was brought to bear.
One Hesperian, a bearded man with hot tears in his eyes and a surprisingly noble face, fought through with brute force. His hammer swung and landed upon the shields as if they were anvils while his kinsman protected him from the spears of the two soldiers behind the initial phalanx who attempted to poke and prod with their own weaponry.
Every hammer blow left his weapon shining brighter, and each successive attack strained the magic of the shields more and more until the defensive enchantments shuddered with a groan and bled away.
Kosta’s eyes bugged as he pulled away from the battle, unwilling to be anywhere near that monster. What sort of strength did he have?! That should have stood up to a concentrated assault!
Yet even as the hammer-wielding Hesperian landed another blow and broke the phalanx with a shockwave that sent Kosta stumbling, he roared as Clymere’s next conflagration erupted—the whole while she had sprayed flame above the Hesperian ranks. Her flames had seemed as if they were cast wide, though one of the Hesperian warders seemed intent on stifling their flow, but he had ultimately failed.
It was now clear what Clymere’s mission had been. She’d earlier ordered one of her soldiers to fill the buildings past the defensive walls with any tinder and fuel he could find once Kosta had sealed the barricade up.
Now they saw the fruits of that labor.
Clymere’s flames burned long and hot and finally boiled away the water which soaked the wood. With nothing left to shield against it, the fire devoured the protective enchantments inlaid within the small shops and homes. Their wooden frames were set alight, first with little tongues of flames which soon became a blazing conflagration as their greedy licks discovered a great reservoir of fuel.
Scorching heat and hot air exploded forth from the windows and the open door. One Hesperian in the rear cried out as the sudden rush of heat seared his skin, although it was too little to do much real damage against his protected form. Mushroom girl drank up some of the flame that came too close to her fat fungus, although she grimaced all the while.
Their leader fought without interruption. His mighty hammer swung down with terrible force and crumpled one of the militia’s shield and the arm which supported it. The man reeled backwards, only for an opportunistic Hesperian to lunge forward with his own spear in an attempt to pierce the Dytifrourán’s throat.
The spearman snarled as Kosta’s small grey barrier Projected in the spear’s path. It was pierced, but blunted the strike and angled the speartip into empty air.
Another militia woman fell as her own defense was shattered by the hammer-wielding Hesperian. The shockwave tore right through her shimmering shield, the defenses now fueled by her own strength, and Kosta only saw a brief glimpse of fear in her wide eyes before the hammer came down upon her head.
Her name was Aneka. She’d joined him and Clymere for a night of drinking at Eneas’ shop on occasion.
Bastards!
The hammer man turned his own attention to Clymere, though the remaining militia quickly grouped around her to protect their leader before he could strike. Her face was twisted in a grimace of concentration, her free hand outstretched, and Kosta quickly manifested another grey wall to shield her from a Hesperian in the rear, who fought without a weapon.
When the Hesperian’s magical bolt was dispersed and broken upon Kosta’s barrier, the Hesperian turned her black-lined eyes to him. He quickly ducked behind some of the cover that he’d created, well-aware that she’d likely cast a bolt his way the second his head poked out.
They’d clearly recognized Clymere as the biggest threat present. While every member of the militia was a competent soldier and trained hard, Clymere pushed her limits each and every day.
Headsman Linus had seen that and kindled her spark. He had taught her well, and the fruits of those labors were now revealed.
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As the scorching conflagration reared behind the Hesperians, forcing them forward lest they be devoured, Clymere opened her eyes.
Her outstretched hand closed.
A victorious roar erupted from her throat, guttural and primal, and Kosta squeezed his eyes shut as the twisting inferno grew brighter and hotter and redoubled again and again!
Even the hammer-wielding Hesperian paused his relentless attack, though his last swipe slew the Dytifrourán with the broken shield arm. Broken bronze and bone and blood were strewn all about in a grisly splatter.
His name was Quinn. He had commissioned a small crystal flower for his mother’s birthday once.
Be a rock. Grief could come later.
“Protect the commander!” One of Clymere’s phalanx, a wiry man named Lex, shouted. Another militiaman rushed from another gate to lend his spear now that two of their number had been lost. Each was felt keenly, both in spirit and in their awareness of how precariously they were perched upon the edge of defeat.
Kosta was desperate to help, well-aware of how damned useless his hammer and chisel were here. He flung barriers wherever he could. Blows angled off flat planes. Misty grey walls saved lives. Barriers manifested wherever they would cause the most chaos. The Hesperians couldn’t fight without his minor barriers throwing them into disarray.
They didn’t have to protect Clymere for long. The Hesperians fought backwards, well-aware of the trap that they’d fallen into, as the flames which engulfed the house behind them came alive. Red and gold became white and blue for a moment, the twisting fires reared up like a serpent poised to strike, and every defense mustered by the Hesperians was devoured in an instant as they were surrounded on all sides by the superheated flame.
And when they were trapped, the fiery serpent coiled and fell down upon them with a roar!
Clymere could never hope to generate a flame like this on her own. It would sap her dry in an instant. But controlling it…that was a different story. It was always easier to amplify and manipulate than to generate.
Nearly a dozen Hesperians were devoured in the blink of an eye. It seared through their protections. Their wards failed, devoured by Clymere’s magic. Their skin twisted and boiled and burst. Their eyes dripped and melted from their sockets. The light of their soul, their magic, fought valiantly in their defense, but it could only prolong the inevitable.
Eleven warriors dropped beneath the heat of the inferno.
One remained, the hammer-wielding warrior. Kosta stared in horror as the man, scorched and burnt by the flames but far from dead, charged forward with a raspy howl. His eyes, undamaged and alight with a hatred brighter than the hottest flames Clymere could muster, locked onto Kosta’s twin.
The phalanx around Clymere raised their shields high, but it did not matter.
The warrior had nothing left to lose.
He was a huge man, though not so large as Headsman Linus, and he brought all that strength and the magic which infused him to bear even as his cloth armor burnt away atop him. Flames still licked his skin, but his magic forced it away and healed damage nearly as fast as it could make its appearance known.
Kosta could only stare. If every Hesperian was like this, Dytifrourá would have fallen ages ago. He was no Nephonaut, but he was mighty. Yet his power would be exhausted soon: every hammer stroke, every blow, and every absorbed attack cost him a bit more of his remaining life.
His blows shattered a shield and sent the soldier behind them reeling. His meaty fist pounded into the helm of Lex, denting the metal. Lex stumbled away, his spear and shield clattering to the floor, and walked a few steps in a daze before collapsing. Gloved fingers barely managed to tear the broken helm off his head before he fell into unconsciousness.
Lex’s skull was shattered. Twisted metal lay embedded in it. Scarlet blood pooled.
Kosta could only watch, horrified. The sight managed to break through his armor of numbness. Fuck!
He still might survive, right? Clymere had said that Lex was strong, likely to be promoted soon. Perhaps his magic would repair the damage if he was left alone….
Kosta couldn’t heal, but he could help. He scurried from behind the miniature stone fortifications that he’d constructed and dragged Lex behind some other cover, then barely hurled out a Projected barrier to block one of the hammer-wielding man’s strikes before it would have shattered another shield.
“I am Alketas! You will know my hammer!” the juggernaut roared. A spear pierced his stomach. He pulled himself deeper into it with a roar and smashed his hammer through the militiaman’s helm.
There was no saving that one. Euphranor was a gentle soul. He could always be found whistling while on duty, and always lit the day of anyone who met him with his jokes, stories, and easy laughter. Even Kosta was not immune to his charms.
He was no more.
“Death!” Alketas roared as he stepped forward, the spear still embedded in his gut and flames licking at every inch of exposed flesh. He appeared a monster, a living wraith of flame and rage that mortal weapons could not touch. “Death! Give me more!”
Clymere had been distracted by his appearance, but she regained control of the flame. A valiant effort of her surviving militia managed to drive Alketas back, albeit not through their own weapons. One, a red-haired woman named Eunike, rushed behind Alketas, her armor likely specially built to be resistant to flames since she often worked with Clymere.
As another goaded him forward, Eunike yanked upon the flaming spear embedded in his gut. He grunted in agony as she wrenched it back, turned to smite her with his hammer, but Clymere finally struck again.
“Space! Flee!” She demanded, voice strained, as she set the conflagration upon their terrible foe. Other militia seemed to have beaten back the assault on the northern gate, and several others had begun to come and assist.
The inferno which still engulfed the houses fell upon Alketas. He seemed heedless of its devouring agony. Alketas stepped forward again and again, hammer poised to tear through Clymere’s skull, but Kosta saw the truth of things.
Clymere’s flame bit at him. His skin was scorched and blackened in some places, raw and red in others. His strength was finally failing.
And then one of the militiamen behind Kosta tossed another of those alchemical concoctions upon him. The enchanted ceramic burst as it struck its foe, and the clinging green flame engulfed Alketas entirely.
At last, Alketas screamed. He could step forward no longer. There was no escape from the alchemical concoction. His power was great enough to regenerate from Clymere’s flame, so great that Kosta had wondered if that was what he had specialized in, but where the fires lashed and twisted and spat, the adherent mix offered no opportunity for relief.
The remaining militiamen lowered their spears, took aim, and cast bolts of raw, piercing magic forward. Alketas howled like a beast, lowered his melting eyes upon them, and took one last step forward with his hammer raised as a dozen strikes hammered into him.
He stumbled backward as they erupted through his chest. Alketas raised his hammer again… and it finally fell.
Two militiamen instantly surged forward and stabbed him again and again through the throat, the empty eye sockets, the chest…they would not risk him rising again. Despite the grievous losses that Alketas had inflicted upon them, they did not scream insults or hurl curses upon him.
“Fuck!” Clymere gasped as she eased her control of the conflagration. Its heat reduced to that of mundane fire as it settled back to contentedly devouring the nearby buildings. Some of the militia watched it warily, but Kosta knew Clymere could beat it back should it enter the crossroads.
Kosta stepped forward, numb to the carnage now. It would catch up to him, he knew, but the adrenaline pounding through him did its work well. Everything seemed sharp, yet remote. He felt as if he were witnessing the rows of scorched Hesperians and Alketas’ ruined body from a distant mountaintop.
Clymere stared blankly at the carnage that she’d just unleashed. The lives that she’d taken in a storm of raging fire. Despite her victory, Kosta could tell that she was not pleased.
“I’m in charge for a reason, you know,” Clymere said tightly. Her ash-stained face was wiped clear of any expression. She barked out an order. Two of her surviving soldiers, Vasos and Eunike, leapt at her command and rushed forward with grim expressions to grant the spear’s mercy to any of the Hesperians who still clung to life.
She didn’t look at him, seemingly afraid of his reaction, but eased as Kosta nodded beside her. He still felt as if he were stumbling through a fog.
“It’s bloody work, but it must be done. They would do the same to us,” Clymere said, almost desperately. She pounded the butt of her spear against the stone road. It had been scorched dry by the immense heat. “Dytifrourá!”
A chorus of whoops rose far above the faint roll of thunder in the distance.
“Dytifrourá!”
“We can’t fight another like him,” Kosta heard himself say. “They’ll shatter us.”
Clymere’s fingers tightened around the shaft of her spear until they turned white. Mighty Alketas had slain nearly a third of their number. Each soldier rendered unable to fight was a terrible loss.
“We lost four,” an unseen soldier said tightly from behind him. “Lex is catatonic. I fear he won’t make it past the hour.”
“We hold. Do everything you can for Lex,” Clymere’s voice softened, an edge of raw grief taking root, but she remained Clymere the commander. “We must hold. It’s been less than an hour since the siege began. Our people need more time.”
Several of the eight exchanged nervous glances, morale clearly damaged by Alketas’ desperate rampage, but Eunike led the rest in a firm salute from her place by the burnt and broken Hesperians. Kosta tried not to look too closely at them. “Aye!”
Vasos returned swiftly and whispered something into Clymere’s ear. The rain had finally broken, though the dread form of the Merakian and his enormous white griffin still loomed over Dytifrourá like an eagle-eyed titan.
“Yes,” she whispered. Clymere held her spear aloft. “I’d hoped it wouldn’t come to this…but the city is lost. It must be done,” she said. Grief etched her features. “Better to leave the bastards ashes.”
“Use it,” Kosta said as he and the recruit Tobias broke up Eneas’ invigorating bread and passed it out to the surviving soldiers. They greedily wolfed it down, desperate for the power and endurance it offered. “Use the phaetra. Feel the power of the sun hidden within. It will resonate with you. Bring it out.”
Clymere nodded and raised the phaetra dust in her palm. It glimmered like summer against the dark clouds. Kosta had no doubt that she could accomplish her working without the enchanted stone, but it would be foolishness to sap her strength.
She grit her teeth as power flowed through her. Rolling mist vanished in a wave of scorching heat. Sweat streaked Kosta’s face, and his chiton was suddenly dry and comfortable again. His skin burned.
Flames blazed across her skin and armor. Her speartip shone white, then blue. Smoke curled off the ends of her hair and billowed out with every breath.
Magic begging to be unleashed coalesced into a swirling sphere at her speartip, amplified by the phaetra as it shuddered and released its rosy light, then launched with incredible velocity. Clymere didn’t hesitate. Four more fireballs came into being and were lobbed across the town one after another.
Kosta doubted that she’d been able to aim with any real precision, but as the minutes ticked by, it became clear about what she’d done. Torrents of flame peeked over the nearby buildings, distant fires revealed, and Kosta only imagine the enormous infernos that brewed as Clymere’s enchanted flame fed upon whatever fuel it could devour.
With the grey clouds above and the Hesperians beyond, Clymere finally got to live her childhood pyromaniac’s wildest dream.
She would burn Dytifrourá to the ground.