The Bridge of Istokles

A days ride behind, Varion descried they could not surprise the enemy as they had done with Crod’s Lot. 

Leaving hilly fields behind they were approaching steadfastly a curved bridge of wood and stone which spanned across the river. Evening air threw a deep red across the clouds and pointed in orange gleam the steel cuirasses of the hoplites waiting in orderly line. Varion knew their stance and formation. He knew their weaponry, their skills and, what was much harder, their will. They were smaller in quantity but in phalanx formation they’d outrival thrice their number. Varion was familiar with them because––if the gods were as cruel as the world––he would walk among them one day, forced to wear a cape of red and silver and finest steel in defense of the human realm against the magical.

He told Hemma his doubts and she rode up to Daria, so he could share it with her too.

“I know them, boy,” answered she. “I know them better than you do.” With this she kicked the flanks of her mare and toppled up the wooden planks until she declined on the other river bank. The priestesses remained where they were and when Daria returned, they made ready to storm the bridge.

“Follow me, ears sharpened but weapons retracted.”

The opposite side was sprinkled with flowers as though colorful dots whitewashed rich pasture. On the eastern shore of the river insects buzzed in wild arrangements, drawn in by a musty smell. There was no fight and no ambush awaiting them. The handful of hoplites simply led them across the other side towards their encampment where another handful of corpses lay scattered around.

For a moment the priestesses clasped nervously at their javelins but Daria quickly bellowed them off and let a senior officer do the explaining. His speech was short and he formulated precise as if he was anxious about losing a word too much. Once news spread about Persilaus having been outlawed, and especially about the crime he had inflicted, his hoplites had revolted against their superior officer and killed off his cronies. It might all have come different, had Persilaus, terrified, unaccepting and struggling to reject his position of power, not deserted his sworn in brothers.