Xeator tilted his head at the hoofprints of the sun in the snow. Must it communicate some pillow talks only they knew. He took a careful glance at Julius, damp cheek with a dew hanging on his chin.
"Shut up," Julius grunted.
He put up both hands, his lips compressed.
As Ariadne made her escape among the scouts, leaving through the defile to the north, another squad of cataphracts rode south guarding a wagon. If Lorenzo still wanted to capture her for whatever ends, the wagon should be able to pull the wool, and by the time Lorenzo realized he had been after red herrings, she'd be long gone. Xeator kept his fingers crossed.
Looking to the woods in the south where torchlight undulated like waves, he snuffed up the chill air, his eyes squinting. Lorenzo and his men had arrived. Well-armored cavalry fanned out in a battle line up front while the lord himself fell behind, trotting on a blood bay, with phalanxes marching on his flanks and chariots trundling in the back. Xeator raised an arm. The cavalry horses neighed to a stop. He bounded up to Lorenzo through moistening equine breaths and bowed his head before the blood bay. "My lord," he said, lifting his eye.
"I've dismissed the Turisian," Lorenzo replied, his brows knitting, his wind-burnt face patched and claret. "All our soldiers have been informed of our change of plan regarding the Tursian invasion." His vermilion surcoat snapped in the same direction at which the tall crest atop his helmet trained. "The catapulted heads during the seance were such a surprise though, I must say, and quite unpleasant."
"Apologies, your grace," said Xeator, musing on the hind legs of the horse in the many flames jiggling atop firebrands. "When I wrote the message, I only suspected that Ahmed would send assassins and act behind your back. But I had no substantial proof and didn't know for certain how I should help you ditch him until he acted." He kept his gaze on the ground to avoid meeting Lorenzo in the eye while observing their steeds. The hoof-pastern axis of the southern destriers wasn't as well aligned as those bred in the north, he found, a small defect that could make a big difference on icy grounds.
"Anything else I should know?" asked Lorenzo, cocking a brow.
Xeator debated himself over whether he should broach that which Julius despised. Whereas he couldn't deny the hubris in negotiating terms to share the victory yet earned, it gnawed at him not knowing what Lorenzo had decided on his own in the past days. He nibbled his bottom lip.
"I'll take it as no," Lorenzo went forth. "Regardless, everything can wait for now. Take us to our positions, and let's hunt some bloody Turisians before sunrise!"
Trawling the words for their undertow, Xeator sketched a wary bow, then turned to the men at large. "Infantry!" he hollered, his face strained, his voice chafing his throat. "Change to maniples and take covers in the ridges, following the lead of the northern legion! Cavalry! Ready your bows and arrows and javelins! Gather with the cataphracts!"
Feet and hooves thumped the frosted earth at the fall of his voice.
Lorenzo's eyes fell on his shadows – he could feel it.
"The Turisian armies are known for their speed," swiveling back to the lord, he explained. "Their formations are led by swift archers on horseback, who would leash shower shooting as they advance. But these mounted archers have two fatal weaknesses. One is their need for space, and two, their light equipment. So long as we can drive them into the mountain treks where Julius had already set traps, they'll– " He stopped as he saw Lorenzo hold up a hand.
"No need," said the lord favoring him with a smile that almost felt true. "I'm more interested in learning how you, an infiltrator, became privy to Julius' information about the lurking Tursians."
"I was captured," he replied forthwith. Any moment of pause, a lull between thoughts, a tentative second, could give himself away. "Julius' scout came to report while I was tethered to a flagpole. Upon learning about the invasion, I had to modulate the plan. I'm sure that you, my lord, wouldn't wish to see harm to our borders?" Lifting his eye, he chanced a glance at Lorenzo.
Who chuckled, and whose large green eyes, rheumy from the cold and smoke, had rendered his face even less decipherable. "Go find Marius," he replied in place of an answer, his half smile somewhat meaningful. "I have him bring you your destrier." Then, wheeling his mount around, he rode away at a canter.
Unease and uncertain, Xeator cleaved through the marching formation to look for Marius and found Ulpius on a mare. The prophet bared his teeth to a grin that made Xeator cringe.
Xeator returned a perfunctory smile. His heart sank.
"Moon!"
He turned to the voice. On the back of a sleek stallion, Marius trotted in his direction, taking the bridle of a black destrier on the side a little behind him. He handed the reins to Xeator. "How in the name of blighted gods are we fighting with Julius now?" he spluttered at a fast clip; his head bobbled in disbelief, plaits flopping about his shoulders.
Xeator took the reins. "I thought Lorenzo had explained."
"Yeah, but…"
"Lorenzo may have twice the men, but the northern legion is the backbone of our military power. To wane our best with the rest, then attack us while we're at our weakest, must the Turisians have itched for this day for years." He mounted as he spoke. "I should have seen it coming. It's my oversight." Seized by a fit of cough, he punched his chest.
"You alright?" Asked a new voice, which took Xeator aback.
Xeator tossed back his head and saw a lanky lad ride up to them, torchlight caught in his amber eyes. "Cyprian," he smiled, exhaling the words as he dropped the pace to ride abreast with him. "Good work, mate. I've been meaning to thank you in person."
"Your father treated me well. Anything for Consul Claudius," Cyprian whispered while his mouth kept still.
Xeator clenched his hands, savoring the profound acrimony. The name he hadn't heard in thirteen years was brought up twice in the past day, and whose sound stirred up dust of the lost, the sealed, and the forgotten. It startled him that other than echoes of distant voices and fading images hung in tatters, he could no longer remember his father as a man as he had intended. Vengeance had rendered him almost fictional so he would be worth avenging for. But to those who wanted him dead, what if he deserved to die? Shuddering at the thought, he clenched his jaw, his knuckles white wringing the rein. He reminded himself of Mother, of how they had executed her, his eye wide again with rage.
No one deserves to die like that.
He heaved.
Regarding both men as he turned to his shoulder, he queried under his breath, "Tell me what happened. Why is Ulpius still here? How is he still a free man? Didn't we take him out using the mole?"
"We did," Marius glanced back, exchanging a disquieted look with Cyprian. "And for a while, he had been kept away with the Exonians," he grumbled, his sigh pensive. "But at the seance, the old shit said something to Lorenzo. Then, everything changed! Lorenzo treated him like nothing happened."
A small tuft of snow fell from a pine tree and splashed on Xeator's wrist, prickling his skin as it melted. Over the foliage, the mottled moon hung forlorn in the clear sky where the craggy sierra wound into disappearance. Turning to Cyprian, he said brusquely, "It's good to see you, my friend. We'll talk more when it's all done," then sent his destrier to a gallop. His mind raced while the hooves hurdled the trenches once again hidden beneath the earth. Under their covers, the warp and weft of ditches that had been used as water channels were now drained and bedaubed with a mixture of sulfur and lime. While he trusted the engineering at work, he worried about the timing for the trap to succeed. On top of that worry weighed his trepidation. Julius might scoff, but he needed to ask him about the mole so he could posit Ulpius' next move and put it to an end before they were sorry. Gripping his legs, he clutched the rein and stopped next to Julius.
Whose rugged face looked drawn but calm backlit in the moonlight. He wheeled around on Sling Silver, a double-ended dory spear gripped firmly in his hand. "What?"
"Tell me about the– " Xeator gulped the words, having espied Lorenzo and Ulpius. "About the change of our formation," he finished his sentence.
Julius tilted his head, one brow spiking over the other. They'd gone through the tactics three times prior to Lorenzo's arrival.
Hissing with a small sigh, Xeator held forth. "While we may have sufficed in number against the Turisians for now, our different legions have never fought together before. Collaboration could be jarring, and to avoid misunderstandings in the field, it's requisite that Lord Lorenzo hears about the details."
The lord smiled, shaking his head as he flicked his eyes at Julius. "No Renanian army is more seasoned or disciplined than the northern legion, and no general more decisive than General Julius. I was just telling the General that all my legions shall be at his command against the invaders. If we're to fight together, our men must know by whose command they should abide. And we should avail ourselves of whatever time that's left to prepare for battle. Ulpius and I will try not to get in the way, and as for you," he swiveled at Xeator, "You'll do whatever the General asks."
"Yes, my lord," Xeator intoned, dropping his eye.
When he raised his gaze, Lorenzo had turned his steed and trotted away with Ulpius lurking in the shadow of his steps.
Could Lorenzo really keep the priorities straight? Xeator mused, his eye glaring.
"What did you actually want to know?" Julius' voice sounded in a whisper from his left.
A wry smile passed his face. Regardless of how this would end, he'd always remember their moments together in the past few days when he didn't have to explain himself every step of the way, or measure the salvo of possibilities and extent to which every word he spoke could be intentionally wronged, and when talking felt not so much as an irk but a joy.
"The mole," Xeator said under his breath, his voice overlapping with the commotion in the background, of sploshing hoofbeats and trundling wheels, of yells and whickers. "Your father has been locked away, and it can't be him who set the mole in Lorenzo's camp to help you. So who? And why?"
"Remus Scipio," said Julius, his eyes panning the six maniples of heavy infantry on either flank. "He and father share many businesses. While I don't know about the details, I don't think the Scipios would be too happy if you completely squash us. Then, on second thought, perhaps you do plan to take down all of us, no?" He scoffed.
"And why would Ulpius do what Remus asked of him? Little doubt Ulpius frequents Scipios' brothels, but, what exactly does the Scipios have on the prophet?"
"Some debts? How am I supposed to know? I didn't even know Ulpius was the one who recruited the mole until you told me just now." He shrugged, then, after a brief pause, he chuckled, glancing sidelong at Xeator. "But thanks, anyway."
"What for?"
"For watching my back, what else?" He returned his gaze to the maniples. "But you heard Lorenzo. He has handed me the full command of his legions, and let's focus on crushing the Tursians for now. The last few days have been such chaos. I'm just glad to finally have some clarity about who I'm fighting against." He leaned back, tossing the dory spear to the other hand, the flat leaf-shaped head and the silver butt spike glinting in chorus. "Who knows," he continued. "The invasion might be a blessing."
Before Xeator could reply, he prodded Sling Silver to whirl and rode away to check on the cataphracts in the last line. His vermilion surcoat snapped. Wound from both flanks were bugles heralding the commencement of their staged melee.
Snuffing up the sulfur-infused air, Xeator balked at his misgivings. Unlike him, Julius was willing to overlook the past so as to make way for the future, the half-full against his half-empty. He glanced up at the mottled moon watching over their turmoil with tranquil elegance so indifferent it verged on insolent. How the gods must have watched them suffer and yet exhaled only a sigh, a breath, a giggle. All their screams, their strivings, and their losses meant little to the gods while all acts of atrocity committed in the name of justice were, in truth, self-serving. Gnashing his teeth, he tugged the reins and rode to his position among the light cavalry in the eastern flank.
Bonfires torched the sky in gusts of smoke. Soldiers clunked swords in pairs and cried at their loudest amidst the banging of drums. A squad of archers on horseback galloped, circling the front of the camp as they shot arrows to the long slope slanting down to the south, their bronze cuirasses a rippling shimmer. Xeator swung his head at either shoulder, surveying the ruse intended for the enemy.
If Lorenzo is faking a collaboration like we're faking the melee, why did he hand over his command of the legions?
He brooded over the smokescreen meant for Julius, trying to peer through. Until the enemy's blaring trumpets came sharp and focused, rending the canopy of night. The Turisians had arrived.
Fuck!
Xeator bit his underlip. He needed more time. Snapping around in his armor, he looked to Julius, who had raised his right arm, his dory spear in hand.
"Vanguard cavalry!" Julius thundered, "On your marks!"
Xeator drew his sword along with others, steel singing against their sheaths, limning many a silver arch under the night sky. He could hear the hoofbeats of Turisian cataphracts over the distance now. Judging from the sound, Xeator knew they had already passed Lorenzo's encampment on the lower terrace and were about to flank left, destroying Julius' legion from the weaker right. A classic tactic that could have worked had Julius really been in a melee with Lorenzo and too exhausted to reposition.
"Charge!"
At Julius' command, the calvary catapulted, as did Xeator. Wobbling on the back of the destrier, he stumbled upon a feeling of pride he had not experienced over the last thirteen years when he scuffled with oafs, brutes, and plaster saints every day to breathe, to gain, to subsist, but never fought a battle he thought worthy of his blood or time. And perhaps Julius was right about the invasion being a blessing, he lamented, gnashing his teeth.
Tongues of flame trashed atop firebrands, licking at the umbrage of the pine woods as they projected shadows of burly men on horsebacks. The Turisian cataphracts were in the shooting range. Their heavy armors of polished metal gleamed, hiding every inch of their skin. They seemed impervious to the assaults of weaponry, as did their stallions caparisoned in silver barding. The flash of their steel and silver guaranteed a chill down their enemy's spine.
"Invasion!" screamed the decurion leading the charge, and blared on the bugle as they engaged the Turisians three times in number. "Fall back!" He boomed, holding up the laminated shield against the pelting javelins. "Fall back to camp!" He tilted his torso, turning the horse. Behind him, an ursine shadow loomed large. As remarkable in size as in raiment, the rider wore a muscled silver cuirass under a gold trim cloak. While his greaves were adorned with glittering gemstones, his helmet was of one piece hammered over a mold, crested with a taxidermy falcon upon the high dome that defied blows. Unlike the rank and file armed with javelins and long scabbards for offensive, the mounted behemoth doubled an iron chain between fists and wenched. Whirling his right wrist, he motioned a meteor hammer at the end of a six-inch long chain to a thrumming spin.
"Watch out!" Xeator growled after the decurion, his voice muffled by the phlegm in his throat and lost over the distance. He turned his destrier. Boiled leather squeaked against his skin.
The meteor hammer thrust out as its wielder loosened his grip.
Xeator slid back his legs in the same breath he leaned forward, sending his horse to a gallop. As the destrier bolted just ahead of the Turisian stallion, Xeator tilted his sword at the approaching firebrands. The flame caught on the blade reflected and startled his mount, causing it to kick the hind legs so hard it nearly threw him off the back.
"Easy," padding the destrier on the neck while it whickered, he glanced over his shoulder. The kick hadn't startled the well-trained Turisian stallion, but only made it veer, and the sudden change of direction altered the landing spot of the meteor hammer. The iron weight, having missed the decurion, skidded at Xeator. Who ducked, laying flat on his back as he watched the dark shadow swoosh over his nose.
Clang.
It recoiled, hitting the Turisian giant on his own silver pauldron. He released a roar of curses in a tongue both foreign and terrifying.
Only then did the decurion glare back over his shoulder. "Make haste for retreat!" he hollered.
Xeator sat up, prodding his steed to another gallop. The poor creature jibbed, neighing in pain. The sudden kick on the slippery slope of thin ice had likely sprained his forelegs.
Fuck.
He remembered how the hoof-pastern axis of the southern horse wasn't as well aligned. "Come on, boy," he muttered while parrying a javelin leveled at his flank. "Come on."
The destrier brayed as it moved, limping behind the file. Each breath he drew felt heavier than the one before.
"Good boy," Xeator crooned. Never had he felt so guilt-ridden for a horse.
Once he reached the higher terrace with the rest, the file split. Circling the campsite, they retreated behind the gaunt debris of tents shrouded still in thin smoke. Xeator glimpsed the other side where, at the heel of a long ridge, Julius rode before two lines of Renanian cataphracts. As the Turisians broke through the woods, Julius threw an arm forward and swooped down leading the charge. His cataphracts followed. Drums banged from all sides, overlapping with the tumultuous Turisian riders, whose hooves shuddered the good earth and ricocheted in the steppe. As the two parties were about to clash, Julius held the dory spear laterally over his head. His cataphracts halted and veered, falling back to either side. Before the Turisians realized what had happened, the Renanian bugle sounded, followed by a shrieking clunk. The planks over the trenches all sundered, taking down with them the formidable Turisian riders.
A swooshing cry filled the air as the bugle died away. A flight of flame arrows hailed at the trenches that had been daubed with the mixture of sulfur and lime. Fire roared where water had flowed, devouring screams. Shadows of men and horses wrenched and squirmed alike, their stout armors a bout of metallic wails and moans.
Xeator gaped at the waves of flame. For as fastidious a plan as theirs to actually work, it'd require an army disciplined to a point he wouldn't have imagined possible. And for their plan to work as immaculately as it just had, Julius could only deploy men of his legion.
Lorenzo, you treacherous swine! He gasped, his eye glaring. You're using the Turisians to wane Julius! You might have handed over the command, but you know Julius would only use his own men for the sake of winning the war!
It seemed so painfully straightforward now as he tumbled to the calculation on Lorenzo's abacus, and he cursed at himself for having taken so long.
Thunders of marching from the south compelled him to turn his head. While their cataphracts bathed still in the sea of fire, the Tursians launched the second attack using light cavalry with archers.
"Infantry!" Julius bawled. "Shields up!"
Upon his command, six maniples of infantry that had flanked the camp stepped forth in unison, slanting their laminated shields at the same angle. As they closed in on the enemy, the emblazoned gold on the polished outer faces cast blinding light, causing the Turisians to shoot at random.
"Trebuchets to the first line!" Julius rode to the back, his spear glinted on both ends over his head.
"Julius!" Xeator cantered up to him. "We need to talk!"
"Not now!"
"It can't wait!" he insisted.
Julius slowed Sling Silver as he turned to face the front, shouting his next command. "Medium weights!"
"It's about Lorenzo! You have to…"
"Fire!"
Stone weights were catapulted, followed by a commotion of whicker and scream. Tribune Sergius Valerius led the charge of the maniples near the front, forcing the Turisian archers into a narrow trek along the winding ridges where they would lose their edge.
"I said not now!" Julius jolted around and snapped. Rage glowed in the blue of his eyes, his face streaked with soot. "And to your position!"
Xeator heaved, shutting his eye. Reins doubled in his hands as he squeezed. He opened his eye. Julius had returned to the third line made of his finest cataphracts, wielding the dory spear forward. His voice drummed. "Cataphracts! Draw swords!"
Cursing under his breath, he wheeled around his steed. His eye widened, having glimpsed Marius in the right flank.
"You're here?" He trotted up to the lucky centurion.
"What'd you mean?" Marius cocked a brow. "Lorenzo asked me to put the best men on horses and ride to assist the charge."
Could I be wrong? Have I wronged Lorenzo? He clutched his chest.
"You alright?" Marius asked, darting a sidelong glance at him.
He nodded. Gulping in ragged breaths, he found himself praying to the blighted gods for the first time in thirteen years that he'd still have the luxury of time to waylay the hidden plight for Julius, his comrade, his brother, his friend.
While the conduits of fire went on blazing, infusing the cold mountain air with the smoke of sulfur and charred flesh, Julius' cataphracts flanked by light cavalry swooped down the steppe at the enemy's last defense as though a crushing wave. With the cataphracts being in the center, the light cavalry skirted, circling to the back to block the enemy's retreats at full speed.
Riding among the cavalry, Xeator felt his destrier spasming at the turn. He wheezed, tilting forward as he ducked from a javelin. "Hang on, boy!" Xeator grunted. A Tursian rider who had fallen off the mount launched at him, raking a lance through the neck of his horse. With a ripping neigh, the destrier reared his head for one last time. Blood splashed, warm and gooey; his forelegs gave out.
Xeator somersaulted forward and sprung to his feet. Whirling back to the rider, he unsheathed his sword and sliced the lance in half. As the spearhead spun away, the rider pulled a dirk girded to his waist. Xeator tilted to the side, drawing in his chin as the dirk swooshed past his ear, then grabbed the rider's arm backhanded and wrung. Bones crack under his scream.
"For the pain you've caused my horse," Xeator hawked, skewing his sword in the other's nape. "This is the price," he spat.
Shoving the dead man aside, he turned on his heel. The enemy approached him like a swarm of army ants upon new flesh. Sword droned as he whirled his wrist. Another bolted at him. Xeator spun sideways, pulled his dagger, and stabbed the man in the neck. From the cornor of his eye, he glimpsed the shadow of a javelin hurling toward him from the left. He held his position for half a pulse, waiting for another man brandishing a lance, then skidded to his right. The javelin went through his attacker's back.
Xeator scanned around.
Too many. He realized. Must he break through and cut his way back to Julius' cataphracts.
Bolting at a heap of dirt, he leaped to the air and stepped on a Turisian's shoulder. A sudden pain penetrated the back of his shoulder as a bolt thrust through the gap between the pauldron and the cuirass. He limped a step and wrenched it out, then drove it into the throat of an oncoming rider. Holding the dead man's still-convulsing corpse as a shield, he fended off another assault from the side.
Julius and the cataphracts were in sight, holding the rest of the Turisian riders immobile as if on an anvil. He wheezed and panted, his breaths more difficult as time stretched on. His vision blurred. Swift footsteps swished from behind. He swiveled back, parrying with his sword. Steel clanged, sending a shudder along his arm. His knees buckled.
This is it. He thought. The moment that should have come thirteen years ago had finally arrived. And if anything, he felt relieved. He closed his eye, awaiting his fate.
A glow flitted across the sky at the sound of a gallop.
Xeator popped opened his eye at his attacker's beheaded body, whose legs went out; blood spurting from the neck.
Sling Silver slowed to a trot and made a return. "Too much?" Sword in one hand, spear in the other, Julius smirked.
Scrambling to his feet, Xeator leaned on his sword and licked the blood off his lips. "Said your mother!" he retorted, grinning flippantly, then ducked and swung his sword upward as he cut down a Turisian horse. The blow sent him skidding. Falling once again to his knees, he stabbed his sword in the frosted dirt.
Julius circled back to him. "Stay behind me!" he croaked.
"Oh yeah?" Xeator snarked, fuming clouds of white breaths. "You asked for it!"
"I'm serious, you cunt!" The white stallion leaped before Xeator as Julius leveled the spear, throwing a chanting Turisian off his mount. "How long can you hold on?"
"As long as you can take it!" Persisting with ribaldry, he choked on his chuckle. So long as he could still keep a bawdy tongue, there was perhaps still strength in him if he kept looking. He roared, shambling to rise. His eye widened; his heart sank. Through the orange glow and the indigo smoke emerged an ursine shadow. The Turisian commander, though seared like a large hanging of human lard, had miraculously climbed out of the trenches of death! The blackened meteor hammer spun vertically on his side, its ghoulish drone already in earshot.
"Watch out behind!" Xeator shouted.
Julius tossed back a glance. "What is this monstrosity?"
"Some drunkard had his way with an ox?"
"Are you done?"
"What? You asked!"
"Fine!" Julius guffawed, tugging at the reins as he readied himself for a new charge. "Then, let's take out this ugly cub!"
"Wait," Xeator put up a hand. "Use me as bait. I can't run too fast now. Let him jump me, then you stop him. Veni, vidi, vici! Still remember how it's done?"
They looked each other in the eye for a moment no longer than the length of a pulse, and the moment froze in the river of time. A wistful smile came to Julius' face. "Don't you dare die on me, Cladius," he said, tossing him his spear. "This isn't over."
Xeator caught it in his left. An ineffable warmth fluttered, spreading from his chest. Something he had tried to forget but couldn't. Something that would soften and strengthen him in the same breath. He gazed up over the white spire and saw the first light of dawn in cerise streaks. "Aye."
Leveling the spear with both hands, Xeator launched back up the slope, while the bulk of charred flesh leaned backward and swung his arm, hurling the meteor hammer. Xeator caught the sooty chain with the tip. Spinning downwards along the pole, the hammerhead squeaked.
Pain burst from the back of his shoulder where the arrow went through. He winced, lurching back a step. The burned man tightened his grip on the chain, pulling Xeator to him. It was then did Xeator get a closer look at the melted face. Behind the burned off lips where he expected to see black and broken teeth was a surprising glimmer of whiteness. Albeit a little crooked, they were just normal teeth, the teeth of another man, not much unlike his own.
They were far too close to each other now for Julius to shoot a javelin without the risk of killing him too. Xeator thought.
Just shoot!
He snarled.
An equine glimmer flung over their heads. As Julius leaped off Sling Silver, he produced a rapier from under his wrist. The steel went through the burnt man's nape, peering out from his larynx. Blood splashed on Xeator's face.
Bugles of victory blasted from the south as the cavalry circled back, having captured the Turisian general.
Julius wrenched out the rapier. "You fight like a crone, Claudius. Should I find you a walking stick, or would you prefer a shawl?"
"Fuck you." Punching the other on the chest, he chuckled. Breaths rasped in his throat.
Julius guffawed. Turning on his heel, he strode away and whistled to find Sling Silver. Xeator followed him with his eye. The sky glowed from the east as the sun began its crest, brushing the sky in an ombre shift of red. Through the smoke, the mist, and the miasma of steaming blood, the white stallion emerged, galloping toward Julius from the south.
Xeator puffed his cheeks, brooding over his destrier, the first mount he had owned in thirteen years, and now very dead. He scrambled to his feet and went to look for his dead horse, hoping that he would bury him himself. But as he turned, his heart clenched. Up on the slope, Ulpius Attianus appeared on horseback with a line of sellswords behind him.
The sellswords! Xeator gaped, shuddering as he whirled to the south. "Julius!" He cried, his voice tearing his throat. Swinging his head over the shoulder, he saw Ulpius raise an arm. A heavy archer with a longbow came forth.
"Julius!" He screamed, his voice devoured by the clamor of victory. "Watch out behind!"
Julius cocked his head and swiveled. A light frown arched his brows. "What?" He yelled back; on his mouth dangled a broad grin.
"Find shields! Shield…" His voice broke as he heard the deathly swoosh. He bolted to Julius.
Whose cerulean eyes widened as three barbed bolts scythed across the air and perforated his cuirass. He swirled on his feet.
Sliding on bent knees, Xeator caught him just in time as he fell. "Stay with me, you hear?" He cried, squeezing Julius' hand. "Stay with me!"
Julius parted his quivering lips while the blue of his eyes blinked. "Ariadne," he mumbled in short breaths.
"Yes! Ariadne, think about her and hang on!" He screamed, looking around. "Help! Where's the blighted healer? Help!"
The quivering ceased as the pale glow of his eyes guttered out.
"Don't you dare, you cunt! Don't you dare! This isn't over! You said so yourself!" Rocking the body that was alive for a fact only a few heartbeats ago, Xeator choked on his cry. Something splintered inside so utterly and irrevocably that this time, he no longer had what it took to put it back again.
Tears gushed out of his eye.