47. The Grandfather of the Revolution
Mardonius stood on the city walls looking down at the army coming toward him. An old man he contemplated all the things that had led him to this point. An old man who had sold statues in Byz, Salutius and Mardonius had been friends but often Mardonius simply had various antiques he found interesting, things from another age. The wind picked up, and he stared at the men down below coming to besiege Wahatan.
“This city is quite the aged city…” he whispered, “like me I guess.”
“I am sorry sir?” A man said with a siege crossbow.
“Do not worry my friend,” Mardonius said with a gentle hand, “just an old man musing on life.”
The man nodded.
Mendek’s flag could be seen fluttering in the distance. Salutius appeared.
“Nichomachus took out the evangel rumoured to be Proxenus. Mendek has retreated from the village,” Salutius said, nodding, “I hope you are well.”
“I am well,” Mardonius said humbly, “how fares the rest of Yerek?”
“Prospering…” Salutius said, “do not imperil yourself too much, you know how these Mendek evangels fight right? They are very quick.”
“I have heard of the rumours,” Mardonius quietly said, “they fight dirty.”
Clearchus marched his army up to the walls, and quickly scaled up the walls in the typical Mendek fashion. Mardonius shot a crossbow at one of his officers, exchanging a typical greeting between the two factions. Mardonius returned to the walls, the crossbowmen shooting salvos down at the approaching Mendek soldiers. Siege crossbows shot thunderous shots that took off several of the approaching Mendek soldiers, not used to such stiff resistance, thinking that Clearchus would soon clear the walls and allow them entry to the city and an easy victory as always. Mendek did not get an easy victory, the endless sound of snapping crossbows made the Mendek horse bolt into stopping, waiting for their commander’s actions. Clearchus gallantly surged forward, killing one crossbowmen after another, bolts flew in his general vicinity, nearly shaving off his head, but he parried them effortlessly. He took three people with ease, slicing throats and tumbling the defenders down the walls. Mardonius threw a blade at Clearchus and he was startled, throwing a knife back, only for Mardonius to retreat with a crossbow that he fired in Clearchus’s general direction. The two fought each other on the battlements, the city a panoply before them, and them a sight for the city; thousands watched the sight as the old man, the grandfather of the revolution fought for their city, fought for their liberty, fought so they would not be looted. The man shot crossbows, flung knives, and Clearchus eventually despite the interruptions scrambled through the gates, cutting man after man. Mardonius grabbed the evangel and teleported him away from the building, a risky and near fatal decision, but one that saved many lives. The Mendek soldiers were already nearing the crossbow range, expecting to be able to enter the city, but Mardonius fought the man to a standstill. The longest 10 minutes in Wahatan’s history, for the entire city watched the spectacle of an old man teleporting and a younger man whizzing about so fast they could hardly see him. Both fought so well, and yet neither died. Both sweaty, Mardonius had sweat in his eyes, teleporting back to avoid the strokes of death.
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“You fight well old man, it is a shame you serve the wrong god!”
“The God of Battle is a foolish choice young man,” Mardonius chastised the man, “even without money we need trade. The God of Battle leads us only to misery.”
“Misery?” Clearchus repeated, “that is your god and your Republic, a miserable state that doesn’t have a proper military, a proper religion and even a proper monetary system!”
“We give to our citizens and you take from them!” Mardonius said loud enough that even the people down below could hear.
“You make your people weak!” Clearchus said.
Soldiers looked in awe, at the battle of ideologies, all looked upwards or to the side.
“Don’t bother shooting soldier, you might end up killing Mardonius,” a commander said, “only if that Clearchus gets close.”
The gatehouse was again attempted to be cleared, but Mardonius again shot at the man.
“You are one tenacious old geezer huh?” Clearchus said.
This time aiming for his legs, feinting and then aiming for his chest. Mardonius was on the tallest battlements, shooting down, then appearing behind Clearchus who leapt with ultra quick speed, and again Mardonius evaded the man. In this battle of wits, Mardonius went from place to place, and after another five minutes of shouting and shooting, Mardonius said:
“Yerek and the Republic will live. People will always fight for it! Mendek can only survive off of corpses. Spendius has created nothing of value!”
“Mercurius is a fool, a blasphemer and deserves to be hanged! Anyone who does not accept our supremacy will meet the blade!” Clearchus said.
Mardonius tried to be too smart, shooting the man from the back, but Clearchus anticipated this, leapt and struck Mardonius in the shoulder. Mardonius smirked throwing a knife at Clearchus’s foot before teleporting once more only to struck across the back. The whole city gasped. Nichomachus joined in the defence of the city, seeing the bloody figure of Mardonius he threw knives in a fit, suddenly Salutius came back, and worst of all Zelra, the three of them terrorised the Mendek commander. Mardonius groaned behind them, and the Mendek commander had a grin on his face.
“Damn it! No… this can’t be!” Nichomachus said.
Salutius was not even saying words, tears flowed down his face. Zelra had tears but was in total fits of rage and sadness, she teleported after the bastard who had killed her love, determined to kill the evangel of the God of Battle and general of Mendek.
“The Republic will live! I have bested one of their generals,” Nichomachus said mostly to himself.
Clearchus tried to retreat, but Salutius and Nichomachus chased him all the way back to his camp. The two male evangels to the God of Trade largely failed to catch him, missing Clearchus’s rhythm. it was Zelra enraged and full of fervour who managed to throw knives that hit his feet and back, slowing him down, allowing the two men to pin down Clearchus’s hands to the ground. Zelrdelivered the fatal blow, slitting his throat and avenging the death of her love. The Mendek army slipped away, not even bothering to besiege the city. Mardonius wheezed his last breaths, distracting the ire of Nichomachus, Salutius and Zelra.
“Thank you… these times have been like a dream,” he whispered, staring especially at Zelra.
“No my love, you can’t, I have your child. You can’t just go now…” she said blubbering, tears and snot all over her face.
“No don’t!” Salutius said, “we have so much more to hear from you, you were supposed to die of old age in your bed.”
“Ah…” Mardonius whispered, “the stories will be much more interesting this way don’t you think… I must go,” he breathed, eking out.
And so the grandfather of the Republic, the God of Trade and the revolution perished, to wailing crowds down below, people not that familiar with the true majesty of the man, only just introduced to the religion he had helped create, the man who had started everything.