Ash fell like rain.

Heat swelled.

Thunder tolled.

One of the distant fires was soon extinguished, likely put out by a band of Hesperians in its infancy, but the others raged on. They were still fairly small, having climbed upon just a few buildings at most, but Kosta knew that they would grow quickly and sow confusion all around.

Though the Merakian Stelios could no doubt bring down a cleansing rain, the champion simply watched and waited. It seemed his job was done. Perhaps he was simply here to break the wards and then protect his people should a great hero of the Dipoli interfere. Nothing in Dytifrourá could challenge him.

“What if it reaches the other holdouts?”

Clymere rested heavily upon her spear, panting. She cast the dull remnants of the phaetra to the slick stone and smashed them beneath her heel. “I tried to aim away from the other bands of militia, but it’s a risk we have to take. The Hesperians know we’re here. No doubt they’ll recognize that we repelled their attack and return with a swarm—they won’t risk losing more warriors in a halfhearted assault like the last one. We have to break their cohesion.”

Other soldiers nodded along, but three looked nervous. Kosta sympathized.

From there, the defense of the crossroads turned into a fairly routine affair. The occasional Hesperian scouts came by, but took one look at the shriveled, burnt corpses of their fellows—and their eyes always widened at the sight of burly Alketas—and fled.

They did not give chase.

Each escaped Hesperian scout left them uneasy and restless, however. Every word that passed from their lips increased the odds that a new attack would come.

One warband placed the northern wall under siege, but they fled as soon as Clymere made an appearance. News was spreading.

Kosta spent his time cobbling together whatever fortifications that he could. He did not invest too much of his dwindling power into it, not when the Nephonaut might sweep by at any moment and shatter his work with a single strike, but he did ensure that lesser foes would find themselves slowed and stymied.

Each shriek of a griffin and distant roll of thunder made them all jump and sent shivers down their spines. They came frequently now, though the high buildings and clouds of smoke which strangled the sky as Clymere’s flames spread all through Dytifrourá obscured their vision. Kosta hoped that it would sting the griffins and make their bloody work harder.

But Clymere’s signal had attracted more than curious invaders. It was unlike Kosta, but he nearly wept as a few militiamen and townsfolk limped and staggered into their line of sight, desperate for any hope that they could grasp.

They came slowly at first, but gradually more and more trickled in.

After half an hour of relative peace and quiet, nearly ten new militiamen had joined them. Most were injured or unable to fight as effectively, but they stood guard over the fifteen refugees who had accompanied them and set to work stripping the Hesperians of anything useful that had survived the inferno.

Most were dead-eyed, numb to horror after the battles that they had lived through.

One of Ademia’s combat medics made it through, though they had no clue where the healer had ended up. It was better than nothing, however, and the medic immediately set to work healing whatever light wounds and injuries he could.

The medic’s power was clumsy and crude, wielding healing powers like a cudgel, but he was capable of scouring wounds of infection, closing bleeding vessels, and numbing pain with a touch. Only Ademia herself could properly restore flesh…even with her skill, regeneration was a painfully slow process.

But their magic was enough to preserve lives and send them back to combat in a semi-useful state, or at least keep them in a support role. It restored a few of their number to fighting condition, even if quite a few were so severely injured that the medic could do nothing for them.

“The roads are largely clear. The Hesperians have broken into smaller groups to fight back the flames,” one militia leader told Clymere. He must have been a fairly low officer, as he still had a silver plume and seemed happy to defer to her. “We only ran into one or two on the way here, and they didn’t seem interested in fighting.”

“Good,” Clymere seemed happy at the news. It meant her plan had worked. She wiped a streak of sooty sweat from her brow. Her energy had begun to return after the enormous expenditure of power used to unleash the artillery barrage, though Eneas’ bread was responsible for the bulk of her recovery. “Hopefully the other strongholds will have a moment to breathe.”

The tall man hesitated. Clymere’s eyes narrowed. “There’s only one other,” he confessed. “Their Nephonaut has broken most. Mine fell a short time ago. We regrouped with survivors of another, but…”

Kosta was no general, but the day had made him cynical. He hammered a nearby fortification to invest it with a faint touch of power. It wouldn’t stop magic, but it could provide cover from flame and arrows. Others piled up remnants of wood and stone into waist-high barricades at his instruction. “Perhaps the roads leading here were opened for a reason.”

Clymere’s mouth twisted into a scowl. Several nearby soldiers had made themselves into something of an honor guard for Clymere. They whispered amongst themselves as Clymere responded. “You think they’re concentrating us into one position?”

“Despite their mounts, the Nephonauts can’t be everywhere,” Eunike said from Clymere’s left. She bore a nasty cut across her face, although one of the civilians had attempted to bandage it. “It would make sense. Drive the survivors here, then extinguish the last of the resistance with a single sweep of their blades.”

His twin’s mind worked quickly, weighing the words, and her fists tightened. “It’s what I would do,” Clymere said, and that made up her mind. “Epaphras?”

The low-ranking officer who’d shared news stiffened.

“Will you lead the civilians away? There’s a gap in the walls to the south. Supplies have been hidden nearby.”

He pounded his breast. “Aye, Clymere. I’ll take them,” he said, then hesitated. “Are you certain? I can still fight.”

“Take them east to the Elpoc Citadel,” Clymere reaffirmed, her mind made up. “That’s where the rest of the town will have fled. Find Evanthe and Isidora. Let them know what happened today. And just in case…” she trailed off, then steeled herself after sharing a glance with Kosta. “Tell my parents that they’re right pricks most of the time, but that I love them anyways.”

Epaphras chuckled and nodded. He saluted. “Fight well, Clymere.”

“I’ll see the rest of you soon, you hear?” Clymere said. “All of you owe me a drink after this. I’ll hold you to that!” she warned. Clymere shot a furtive glance at some of the more rattled members of the militia who had stood with her. “Take Erma, Elek, and Hipolit with you. They’re quaking in their boots. They’ll break soon.”

There was no judgment in Clymere’s words, only warning. Epaphras saluted one last time, then gathered up his folk to begin the evacuation.

Clymere sighed as she watched most of their number flee. Only the original skeleton crew and a few devoted soldiers who were unable or unwilling to leave their home behind would stay with them.

“Go with them,” she murmured to Kosta, voice low enough to escape the notice of the others. “Leave with Epaphras. Protect them.”

“What? No!” Her words shook something loose in Kosta. The violence had sent him far, far away from the ashen and storm-ravaged remains of Dytifrourá, yet that simple request from Clymere brought him back in an instant.

“That’s an order, soldier.”

“I’m afraid that I must resign, then.”

Smoke and cinders billowed from her nostrils. She stepped closer to him so that the heat pouring off of her skin washed over his own. “Leave. Please.”

She was desperate. The mask of the confident commander threatened to slip.

“Clymere…” Kosta reached out and took her free hand between his. Her soot-stained fingers closed around him desperately. “I’m not going anywhere. We came into this world together. I’d rather die here helping you than live on with half a soul.”

Her eyes squeezed shut. Clymere nodded stiffly, then wrapped him in a one-armed hug. She didn’t let her spear go for an instant. The militia and civilians paid them no mind, too busy with their own preparations to begrudge them. Any that did notice quickly looked away to offer them some privacy.

“We leave soon,” Clymere promised, voice ragged. Kosta nodded. “We buy a little time, then we go. The fires will keep the Hesperians busy. With any luck, they won’t pursue us.”

With a little luck, this whole day might not have happened. Kosta responded in agreement.

She turned away from him, then paused. “Maybe this makes me the worst sister in the world, but I’m glad you’re here with me. There’s no one I’d rather have by my side.”

By some unspoken resolution, they each returned to their duties as they prepared whatever defenses they could while the large group of soldiers and civilians finally left the crossroads. Lex was gone, the unconscious man ferried away by one of his family members.

Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

Including Kosta and Clymere, ten remained.

Four Kosta did not know, although Clymere had greeted them warmly as they came to the crossroads.

Eunike and Vasos accompanied Clymere everywhere she went. They would not waver at her side. Kosta just felt relieved that she had such stalwart shields. As for the others, they had all taken up positions around the gates. Two held the north and two held the east, although Kosta doubted any of the Hesperians would come from that direction.

They’d have to go around the crossroads first, and there had been little activity since the last few scouts. One of the warders remained, thankfully. He was a short man with a massive beard that Kosta had passed several times in the agora, although they’d never spoken..

That didn’t matter. They were all brothers and sisters now, the last bastion of resistance in Dytifrourá.

He set his chisel to reshaping the fortifications. There was little to do, but standing still would drive him mad. His limbs craved motion. Kosta’s breath caught in his chest and if he ever stopped to think, he’d go mad. The northern gate was properly barricaded now.

Hopefully that would account for their lesser numbers.

Each soldier who remained behind was hardened and resolute. That didn’t mean that they weren’t spread thin.

“Take your positions! We’ve got more of those bastards showing their ugly faces.”

Clymere’s warning was all the notice they had. As fires raged throughout Dytifrourá and belched black smoke into the air to join the crowds, a rhythmic stomping made itself known. New thunder was heard: the clap of spear butts pounding against the stone. It was such a familiar sound that Kosta almost hoped that it was just another group of wayward Dytifrouráns.

But no, they weren’t that lucky. The events of today had proven that much.

Several rows of Hesperians marched towards them, materializing as if from nowhere as they emerged from the smoke. Whereas the last bands of Hesperians had been composed of scouts and vanguards eager to pillage and slay isolated Dytifrouráns, these warriors were the real deal.

Leather straps secured heavy bronze to their bodies. From a distance, he could tell that it was largely mundane metal, although arrays were etched into the armor to provide basic warding. The Hesperians clutched a heavy aspis in one hand and spears tipped with shimmering apeironic bronze in the other. Their enormous wooden shields slotted together easily, and a tiny notch atop the shield allowed the Hesperians or those behind them to layer their spears in for stability.

Grey plumes like storm clouds billowed out from their helmets, a match for the silver sunburst of Dytifrourá.

They seemed heedless of the flames scorching the air around them. The smoke did not choke them. They advanced like automatons, unfeeling and merciless. Kosta could barely imagine the kind of wards that had been placed upon them to make them so resistant.

He had to believe that their endurance came from wards. If they were all as powerful as Alketes…

“These are the real deal,” Clymere hissed. Kosta fell back behind her as she began to wrest control of the enormous inferno that twisted above several nearby houses, though it seemed to resist her power. It was greater than it had been during the last attack, and as a result it would take more time and energy to turn against their foes. Yet fire wished nothing more than to consume, and it was easier to bend it towards something than away. “Veterans. My trick won’t work on them. Either they have another pyromancer or they’ve been made nearly immune to fire. Damn it!”

Kosta’s breath hitched as the phalanx approached. The Hesperians seemed dauntless beneath the barrage of magical bolts, lashing tongues of flame, and even the fallen brick that Kosta hurled into their midst (he had to do something). Shimmering barriers manifested from their interlocked shields and simply turned their attacks away. Nothing was potent enough to devour it.

These were the Hesperian shock troops. They advanced, unrelenting, until they were largely out of the inferno and into the safe zone. Kosta only had a moment to blink as they knelt behind their shields, lowered their own spears, and unleashed a terrible storm of magic upon them.

“Down!” Kosta shouted. He lunged behind one of his little stone barricades and made himself as small as possible. Stone shattered all around as the piercing projectiles shredded through anything lighter than stone. A dull moan sounded, and he saw that one of the unknown guardsmen had lost an arm. Another lay dead and crumpled against the stones. Neither had gotten to cover in time.

The man stared dully at the limb as it laid upon the ground just a few feet away, looked at his bleeding stump, and then passed out. Kosta looked away as the phalanx took aim, fired, and vaporized every inch of exposed flesh.

Oh, the smell. That awful smell…

“Stay behind cover! Warder!” Clymere commanded. Shimmering citron barriers manifested ahead of them. A few of the militia, including Eunike and Vasos, dared to return fire from their own spears, although Kosta knew that none of their projectiles would have the raw power to shatter the phalanx’s protections. She turned to Kosta from behind her own barricade, face twisted in concentration as she wrestled with the fire. “Save your energy. Only block something that will kill one of us, understood?”

He nodded even as a high, clear voice sounded throughout the crossroads.

“Anatolenes! You have fought bravely and well.” The speaker was certainly a woman, although her voice was muffled by her helmet. “We know that you are not the ones who slaughtered our people. You are not the ones who dashed our babies against the stones. No more blood needs to be spilled today. Surrender. You will be treated fairly.”

Even as she spoke, the phalanx ceased firing, though their spears remained trained upon the barricades. Kosta peeked out and saw two of their number taut with concentration, spear and shield tossed aside as they raised both hands to keep the twisting flames from swirling down upon their number.

So there was hope. They wouldn’t bother beating back the flames if there was no risk, even if terrible heat must have bled through the air. Unprotected warriors would have been roasted alive simply from the proximity. These barely broke a sweat.

Still, Kosta couldn’t help but frown at her words. Was she speaking of the conquest?

He shared a glance with Clymere, who seemed too lost in her own fight to think much of the Hesperian’s words. None of the others appeared poised to speak, and Kosta couldn’t speak for the militia.

“I understand that this may be a difficult decision, given what you’ve witnessed today,” the speaker called from the front of the phalanx. “We have fought fire with fire and broken your own home. You fight for your people as we fight for ours. But we have our mission, and we will not fail. You will surrender and be treated as honorable combatants, or you’ll fight and die. Either is a victory in our lord’s eyes.”

Several militiamen debated amongst themselves with heated whispers. As a third member of the shock troopers joined the other two in beating back control of the flames, Clymere was forced to relent with a gasp, her limbs trembling with exhaustion. She stuffed her face full of one of Eneas’ rolls that she had stocked away, desperate for sustenance, and grew strong again before Kosta’s eyes.

But even Clymere seemed shaken at the cool confidence in the leader’s voice and her calm proclamation. There was no bluster in her words, nor the frenzied hate and loss of Alketes. She had stated a simple truth.

Surrender or death.

Clymere turned back to look at her frightened soldiers. They would abide by her command, Kosta knew. She had led them this far. Yet they were warriors, and they were ready for what was to come.

Then Clymere glanced at him. She stared intensely, eyes alight, hesitated, then opened her mouth—

A new power swept over them. It was sturdy and solid, mighty as an old oak, and the air hummed with raw strength. The Hesperians gasped as the breath was stolen from their lungs, then turned nearly as one to face the hulking figure that turned into the street behind them. Only the front line stayed facing the militia and Kosta, shields erected to prevent an attack from the rear.

The conflagration parted before him. Kosta could only see his shoulders and head, but he towered above the ranks of the Hesperians. His armor was battered and shredded in some places by smooth slices, his helm was dented, and one arm hung limp at his side, but he was still mighty.

He was not alone based upon the handful of spears and weaponry that poked above the heads of the Hesperian phalanx, but Kosta could only make out the familiar face of Philo beneath his helmet. Relief filled him.

A dozen illusory warriors highlighted in silver and lavender materialized with a snap of Headsman Linus’ fingers. The Hesperians formed a double phalanx, back to back, as they prepared for an attack from the crossroads alongside Headsman Linus.

“A generous offer!” Headsman Linus boomed, voice raw and cracked as he surveyed his burning city. His power swelled and stole the breath from their lungs. Kosta wheezed, forced down against the damp stone. “Alas, I am not so merciful.”

And with that, the illusory warriors threw themselves upon the Hesperian spears. Bolts of magic tore through them, yet they only wavered. One or two shattered beneath a focused barrage or upon the speartips that blazed with raw magic, but the rest made a fine distraction as Headsman Linus snapped his fingers once again.

A phantasmal minotaur manifested in the midst of the Hesperians, heedless of the shimmering walls which protected them from foreign attack. It stood nine feet tall, roared, and tore the phalanx asunder as it threw itself into their ranks like a berserker. Several managed to slay it with bolts of lightning or blades wreathed in white flame, but the damage was done.

The phalanx broke, the illusory warriors closed the distance, and then Headsman Linus himself waded in.

“You come to my lands! You destroy my town! You slay my people! And you offer peace!” An enormous hammer materialized in Headsman Linus’ hand, phantasmal purple with a shining silver head, and swung clear through two of the shock troopers. They fought, but none of their strikes reached their dread foe. Illusory warriors threw themselves upon every blade or bolt sent to strike Headsman Linus.

If Headsman Linus had been here to greet Alketes, he would have plucked the mighty man up like a child and popped his head like a grape between his fingers.

Several of the shock troopers gave up and flew away on a sudden gust of wind, sprinting up the air as bright green barriers manifested beneath their boots. Kosta eyed them, still stunned by their sudden change in fortunes, and couldn’t help but dully wonder what sort of craftsmanship allowed for such a wonder.

The rear phalanx broke as well. They fled while they could, although two of them fell beneath a sudden barrage of magic and flame cast forth by Clymere and her soldiers. In the end, eight escaped Headsman Linus’ wrath and the projectiles of the Dytifrouráns.

“Away with you!” Headsman Linus hurled illusory spear after illusory spear from his good hand, though most strayed far from his targets. He laughed, black beard stained red with blood, and forced his good arm high despite the obvious pain it offered.

With the corpses of Hesperian veterans at his feet, Kosta thought he seemed a figure of some old, bloody legend. He was still too stunned to say a word, but Clymere and the militia rose from their cover as if in a daze.

Linus measured the ash and blood which covered them, then grinned. Upon his belt were two severed heads still dripping with blood, and he raised them both high to face both those who guarded the crossroads and the black clouds above.

Thunder rolled.

Kosta gaped. In one of Linus’ bearlike hands was the enormous eagle head of a griffin. Its wickedly hooked beak hung open and its fierce eyes were blank. In the other rested a much smaller head, that of a blonde man with thick eyebrows and eyes wide with shock.

“Your heralds, Stelios!” Headsman Linus raged at the sky, then spat a bloody wad onto the ground. Kosta thought there might have been a tooth in it. “It is only the beginning!”

Despite the occasion, Kosta’s mind worked in a frenzy. What an incredible statue this scene would make…it was worthy of being preserved forever in stone. He wished desperately for his workshop. Perhaps it had even survived the inferno, given how well protected it was against Clymere.

Headsman Linus lowered his gaze to the Dytifrouráns. Philo, puny next to their enormous leader, whistled and looked away as Clymere glared hot daggers at him. Several other militia, most horribly wounded in some fashion or another, limped behind. Only their magic and Headsman Linus’ presence kept them on their feet.

Despite it all, he smiled down at them like a proud father.

“Dytifrouráns, rest easy!” Headsman Linus boomed, though his tone was soft. “You have fought bravely. You have done honor to your families and your homeland! But I am here now to shoulder your burden.”

For the first time since the Merakian rode in on his storm, Kosta dared to feel hope.