Thylon spanned two hills with a gorge running through its centre. Once, the water must have flowed freely, but its banks had broken and bled upon the valley a green scummy mire. The nearest hill knelt low in the bog–its building wading out into the murky waters as their foundations slowly drowned and were obscured by reeds. The furthest hill rose taller, ringed by a rotting palisade wall, and at its crown was a temple. A dark steeple rose from the temple like a giant maggot from a corpse, lifting its head towards the sky.

Skippii had ridden ahead with the cavalry to inspect the land, and now, the reality of their besiegement dawned on him. It wasn't that Thylon' defences were formidable–in fact, they seemed worse than the encampments a legion erected each night, with fewer towers and obvious weaknesses in the wall. His major obstacle would be the mire. Closest to where the river had run, it must be metres deep, sloshing in the first-floor windows of the houses it had claimed. The southward street out of town rose steadily out of the mire and banked the foremost hill. That would be his best avenue of attack.

"We take the closest hill," he said, scanning the landscape, drawing his finger over the leading ridge. "It's less well defended. There, we'll have a good staging point to attack the second."

"I think they will abandon the first hill if we show some force, and hold up in the further," Arius said atop one of the Lacustrian's lean, grey-black horses. He and Kylinissa had accompanied Skippii to the surveillance point. Kylinissa's steed was a powerful pure-breed, blonde with a ginger hue and bright orange mane.

"How should we navigate the bog?" Kylinissa said, wrinkling her nose in the stagnant air.

Though it was true that areas of the town had risen above the bog, much of the lands around were mired and impassible. Thereupon the water drifted a few floating spots–rafts and row boats, like pond insects, moving from wreckage to ruin.

"What are they doing?" he said, and counted around forty rafts.

"I see casks," Arius said, squinting. "Stores. Sacks. And trinkets too."

"They're scavenging," Skippii said. "How recent did this flood happen?"

"It's not natural," Kylinissa said. "It's no work of the pantheon, not unless all the Gods have betrayed Lacustris and Viridor."

"Do you think…" he began. "Could the banks have been broken in response to our coming? A defencive measure? Surely, no town could live like this through the seasons. They must be starving in there."

"Disease will be rife," Arius said.

Skippii gave Kylinissa a knowing look. "Cultists. The heretic."

She nodded curtly, then her gaze turned to the dark steeple atop the second hill. "The last of the rats who didn't have the sense to run while they could."

A whisper of wind brushed her cloak, freeing a dark rivulet of hair. Was it a trick of his eye, or did her skin seem a shade paler than when they had first met? The Coven of Kylin had all been pale of skin, despite hailing from Auctoria. It may be that, being devoted to the Stormstress did more than just temper their moods, it changed their bodies too.

But he had been changed likewise since becoming the Primordial heres. It had stripped his head of hair, lengthened him and put a gleam of amber in his eyes. They were each the tool of a higher power.

Catching his gaze, Kylinissa raised an eyebrow at him. "Yes?"

Skippii caught his breath and cleared his throat. "What could your wind magia do… about the smell, and the cleanliness of the air?"

"A little, in a small radius," she said. "I told you, my affinity to Kylin alone is merely an errant breeze. We pantheonos magi must band together. However…" she raised a palm from within her deep blue cloak. "Here, I am alone."

"Have you thought about improving it? Training it?"

Her eyes grew wide and she tilted her head, then she set her jaw and looked aside. "Do you doubt my devotion, Skippii Altay?"

"No, not devotion. Certainly not."

"For there is no distinction between one's power and devotion. Kylin gifts her strength to her most worthy subjects."

"Is there nothing you can do yourself?" he said, but a stiff feeling in his chest warned him to stop.

"Only with what power I am blessed," she said sternly, not looking at him.

"We should place watchers," Arius said.

"Yes," Skippii said, grateful to change the subject. "We can post auxiliaries on the hills surrounding. Five to a post. Ten posts. That should cover this southern stretch and prevent anyone coming in and going out."

"Fewer posts," Arius said. "More men. Eight."

"In case they get attacked?" Skippii said.

Arius nodded. "Six eyes for the watch. One more, a horseman, for messages. And one more, to replace any injured or sick."

Skippii considered the numbers, inspecting which of the surrounding high-positions to occupy. "Okay, so seven posts in total. I trust your wisdom. Do you have some experience?"

Arius just nodded.

"Were you a scout before a legionnaire?" Skippii pried. "Or cavalry?"

Arius smiled wryly. "No."

Skippii waited, and hoped that he would say more. He had learned little of Arius' history, only that he hailed from Clidus, a city renowned for its archaic societies and mystic arts.

"Should I relay the command," Arius said.

"Yeah," Skippii said. The command. It sounded wrong to him. Was he really more qualified than men like Arius or Orsin, or Thales, or Kylinissa to command the company? He had spent his childhood watching Legion III do battle with the Urkun from the stoop of his mother's wagon among the impedimenta. But had it prepared him for this? To take these men's lives into his hand and execute the Imperator's will. His thaugia gave him a huge advantage in battle, but he would still need the aid of his company to take Thylon. And certainly, he would need them thereafter to keep the peace.

"I'll wait here," he said. "Tell Cliae to catch up with me. I want to draw a rough map of the area."

Much later, after Skippii had soaked up the terrain, he and Cliae mounted his steed and set off to reunite with their company. A cloud of flies followed them like a shadow, nipping at his neck. Exhaling, he put heat into his flesh, making sure it did not travel beneath his shoulders and burn his steed, or Cliae riding behind. The air shimmered before his eyes, singing the wings of anything which came too close. Still, they made a meal of his ankles and calves.

His stallion's hooves splashed in the mud, which deepened unexpectedly, sinking up to its knees in places. His horse too was of Lacustrian breed–lean and muscular, and hot tempered with a will of his own. Skippii had not ridden in years, and his stallion was no well-tempered mare. Often, he reared and wrenched the reins from Skippii's hands, or suddenly sped down an errant path as though testing Skippii's control. No medallions or honours could impress the beast–only his willpower to reign its master.

"Steady, Hypeston," he said, heeling the stallion about. "This way."

He spotted his company's footprints, alongside deep, cylindrical holes from where they'd used their spear's shafts to test the ground. Following their trail, he and Cliae rose out of the bog into a miserable vale. Lichen coated the trees' lower trunks, and mushrooms sprouted in poisonous clusters. There were no birds above or creatures below, no bees or flowers, only fleshy spoors and flies.

"Here," Drusilla hailed him, then slapped his neck. "Light a fire to keep the gnats off, would you?"

Skippii left his steed, Hypeston, with Cliae to tack and pitch. With what little dry wood they could find, they built a campfire and gathered around. It was no use trying to hide their presence to the defenders, the Urkun scouts would have seen their coming. Present was his companeight, Thales and Kylinissa, and half of his cavalry, and one boy whom he did not recognise.

"It stinks worse than a slave galley." Cur took a walnut from Orsin and slipped it under the rag he'd tied around his mouth. That was the last of the stores which they'd foraged on the road. "There's no good ground to pitch a tent. It's all sodden. And no game, or crops, or even water."

"We can all see that," said Orsin.

"Will they have storehouses in Thylon?" Kaesii asked, peering at the town. Scant fires shone dimly upon the two hills. "I had thought the plan was to refill our stores there."

"It was," Skippii said. "That, and foraging, and taking from farmers. It seems the enemy has made that a lot harder for us."

"They must be devout," said Tenoris, "to destroy their very lives and livelihoods merely to hinder our coming."

"Hjingolia did this," Skippii said, glancing towards Thales for confirmation. The old philosopher stooped over his stave, cowled in his robe. He bowed his head in agreement.

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"Not all of the people of the land are to be blamed," Skippii went on. "Many are victims. Just look at Nerithon. They had become a subjugated people, too weak to resist. The same could be said for here."

"We shall soon discover their strength," Tenoris said eagerly.

"Where are our allies, the Kronaians?" Skippii scanned their group until his eyes fell on the boy. His dark grey tunic did not match any legion design. He stepped forward and spoke in Philoxenian; Thales translated.

"The Fifty-Three are encamped three miles south, before the worst of the bog. They won't come close until the time of battle."

Skippii listened and considered the tactical reason for their distance.

"Do they expect an attack at the rear?" he asked.

"No," Thales translated, then narrowed his eyes as he listened to the messenger speak. "It's because… Well, simply put, they don't want to get their cloaks and armour dirty."

"Oh, but ours don't matter," Cur said.

"Kronaians," Kaesii mused. "I know little of them, but I am beginning to think they are a pompous, insubstantial people.

"Do not pass judgement so quickly," Arius said.

"Then when shall battle come?" Tenoris said. "We should not deliberate here in this foetid land. Let us sally forth, and wade through whatever scum and detritus stand in our way."

"This enemy will be different to us," Skippii said. "At Nerithon, the Urkun were united around their heretic magus. Many powerful tribes had banded there–many warriors. But here, these are the stragglers and fools who have not fled with the rest of the horde. They may fight desperately, for there is nowhere to run. But I do not expect they will be able to resist us, nor me.

"The real danger is in this Hjingolia," he said. "I wish to hear Thales' counsel first, as he knows the incursors better than us. He knows the Urkun too."

Thales leaned over the campfire and prepared his speech, hands clasped before his white goat's beard. A howl rose from the town and sailed over the reeds and foul mists to their ears. A shrill woman's voice, flowing from pain to triumph to ecstasy in one detestable caw. The company turned their heads to its coming, all except Thales, he remained transfixed on the fire.

"Hjingolia," he spoke at length. "Of wreckage and ruin. All of this is her doing. The servants of the incursors flee this land, and now all her wrath is unleashed. Until recently, the cities of Philoxenia were useful to the Urkun–their crops necessary to feed armies and slaves. But nothing shall now be preserved by their retreat. Soon, all the lands north of Nerithon will come to look like Thylon."

"Unless we stop them," Drusilla said with a snarl.

"Here, we shall find a cult of sadistas–women whose souls rot in Hjingolia's service," said Thales. "But there will be many more spread across this land, and more still converging on Ikaros, via the seaward pass. While we may purge this land, and allow for the natural balance to restore itself with the seasons, for much of Philoxenia, there no such relief shall come."

"The Coven of Kylin have a broad reach," Kylinissa said. She was standing by her horse on the edge of the campfire. "And once the borders are restored, more covens shall come. The pantheon shall restore the land as they have the city. Have faith."

"But not before much suffering and death," Thales said. "The pantheon have been slow to come to the aid of this land."

Thales glared over the fire at Kylinissa, animosity plain on his face. Her expression gave nothing away.

"What do we know about the power of this cabal?" Skippii said. There was a moment's pause before Thales turned to address him again.

"They are not like the priests of Cosmipox–whose power is bent on domination. But they are no less deadly. They are experts in the arts of disease and decay. Do not come close to them. Do not touch them. Do not let yourself be scratched by their needles or darts. Do not even inhale the air of their breath. Spear them from afar, and there lay them to rest. Do not recover or wipe your weapons of their blood. Kill them from a distance, with bows and pikes, and burn the bodies, but do not inhale the smoke. Treat them as a pestilence–a pox of rats. Death may come as quickly as a scratch or a prick."

His company were quiet. Their horses pawed in the wet mud. The fire crackled, and its smoke rose to deter the everpresent buzzing of flies. The sky had darkened, making two silhouettes of Thylon' hills, painted with flecks of dim firelight.

"This won't be a fight which we're used to," Skippii said. "I think, once we destroy the cult of Hjingolia, the rest of the town will crumble. That is, if they put up much of a defence at all. I imagine they will man the palisade atop the second hill, but once we breach it they will be in disarray."

"Why do you think this?" Kylinissa said.

"What could have caused these Urkun to come here?" he said. "Why have they not fled with the horde north-eastward? What kind of combatants are here? What men?"

"The strong," Kaesii said.

"Outcasts," Orsin suggested.

"Devotees," Tenoris said. "Dedicated to their dark god."

"Hjingolia's servants," Skippii said. "Willing to die here, only to hinder our advance. Strong of heart perhaps, if that can be said of someone so vile. But of body and mind? These people… look where they live. Look at what they have chosen. Their minds have rotted. Their bodies too, shall be decayed. Famished."

He turned to Thales. "Does Hjingolia bestow her subjects with gifts of physicality and athletics?"

"She does not," the philosopher said. "That would be the incursor Grakor, of corruption. Rather, Hjingolia consumes the flesh of her supplicants, and uses it for her ends to empower her black magia."

"The people we have seen on the road," Skippii said. "I suspect that is what we can expect of these defenders. And once we behead their champions and burn their temples, they will cower. I have seen it before. When Cosmipox's emissary was stricken by a spear at the Temple of Chrysaetos, all of his subjects–hundreds of them–screamed in agony. And when he burned, they burned too."

"Do not be so modest," Tenoris said. "Speak plainly. It was when you threw a blazing spear to eviscerate our enemy, and your fires which immolated his kin."

All eyes were upon him again, many familiar, but some new. His cavalry, whom he was entrusted to command, watched him with plain faces of fascination, and of admiration.

"Here is my plan," he said firmly. "We ride out at daybreak to take the first hill. Only the cavalry. I shall lead. We shall strike swiftly. The horses move easily through the mire, but us legionnaires… we will have to build rafts for the final assault. That can be done in time, but my first decree is to take the nearest hill. We will follow the route of houses which seem to have been built along a ridge. There is an avenue which has avoided the worst of the bogs. We use that hill as a staging point for the later siege.

"I wish to wait until the morning for two reasons. Firstly, we will need fresh water for the assault. Two scouts shall be sent with waterskins to forage from a beck southward, where the waters are cleaner. Upon their return, I shall boil the waters and Thales shall purify them with his herblore. Secondly, we must begin preparations on rafts. Tonight, we shall clear this forest. We will work in the dark so that the enemy cannot spot our labour. Once the cavalry has secured the hill, the legionnaires will come up the rear, and if our Kronaian allies would be so bold as to join us…"

Thales conveyed the plan to their messenger. The boy nodded seriously and mounted his horse.

"Who shall accompany you?" Tenoris said. By the solemn look on his face, he had already guessed the answer.

"Anyone with a horse who is battle ready," Skippii said. "Withdraw the cavalry who are accompanying the auxiliaries. We shall need them."

"And the Brenti?" Orsin said. "They're light. They could get through the bog I bet."

"Leave them at their posts," Skippii shook his head. "When we attack, many of the residents might try to escape. Besides, there's no point getting them covered in leeches and bitten by snakes, or whatever else lurks in these bogs."

"But not us," Tenoris interrupted. "Your finest."

Skippii gave pause. "Speed is key-"

"Then I shall strip down to my loincloth and shield, and follow after your steed."

"Did you not hear what the old man said about needles and disease?" Cur said. "You'll be vomiting and covered in sores before you can get to the hill, nevermind fight the enemy."

"Skippii's right," Orsin said. "It's a job for cav, not the phalanx."

"Then I must be given a steed," Tenoris said.

"I thought you couldn't ride," Drusilla said.

"I cannot," Tenoris said. "But one may carry me beyond the bog at least. Or in a cart."

"A farmer's chariot," Kaesii snickered.

"Whatever is necessary." Tenoris raised his voice. "I shan't abandon the Primordial heres in his hour of battle."

"Can we spare a steed?" Skippii asked his cavalry. None broke the silence. He knew that they traveled with spare stallions, but few of the slender beasts could carry Tenoris, and the boggy terrain would only make their labour worse.

"I will pay you." Tenoris suddenly rose. "I have coin–my wages. Cliae, fetch them." He spun, appealing to each of the small bands of Lacustrian horsemen grouped around the campfirelight. "I will not have need of it for long."

"Can you afford to replace one of our stallions?" one asked. "If you are careless, and he falls in battle?"

"I can guarantee my debt."

"He can't ride," another murmured.

"You are too heavy," said a third–a young man, the very same who had wandered over to their camp the previous day. "Too strong," he amended. "Lacustrians are slender, our horses are our kin. We are bred for each other. Legionnaires… you are a different kin. Our brothers, of course. But if you cannot ride…"

He let the sentence hang in the air. Tenoris turned to Skippii. There was genuine pain in his eyes, and Skippii's heart suddenly bent to behold it.

"My friend," Skippii said. "It will only be this time. It is necessary. I will be okay, accompanied by the Lacustrians. And once the rafts are built, you will be soon behind."

Tenoris lowered his head, still standing, and gazed into the firelight. "Then I shall pray for your safety."

The big legionnaire strode to Kylinissa and gave her a quiet word. Then the two departed to beyond the firelight, a swift breeze in the priestess' wake.

"Make what preparations you must now. Legionnaires, take up what axes we have. Thales has one on his donkey, and I believe the Brenti carry them. Find what good timber you can. Tie rafts and bring them down to the bottom of the hill. Follow after us when you are ready, but do not rush, unless I give the signal that I need your aid. Better to arrive without being bitten by the bog, than in haste, and in a weakened state."

"Gotch'ya," Cur said, taking a brand from the fire. "Guess I wasn't gonna get any sleep in this piss-pit anyway."

"Come here and sit," Drusilla said to the horsemen gathered at the fire's perimeter. "Us strongmen will see to the labour. You rest yourselves by the fire."

A few shuffled forward, but more remained stubbornly still.

"Sad you'll miss the fight?" one jeered.

"Not going to be much of a fight though, is it?" Drusilla said.

"You lot sweep the streets so us legionnaires can enter." Cur put on his most mocking tone. "It's about time you pulled your weight in this company."

"Do they need the rest?" Kaesii said. "They've been sitting on top of those horses for a week. It's a wonder they can still stand without the help of their steeds."

"It's a wonder that you can carry all that belly," one responded, just quiet enough that he couldn't be picked from the crowd.

"Come now, sit." Drusilla made a show of clearing the ground at his feet. "Our chief will look after you tomorrow morning, don't worry."

"Don't get scared when there are no red cloaks about," Kaesii added.

"I've seen more of war than you, young lad," a bearded horseman said. He approached Kaesii and looked up into his eyes, shoulders back, feet planted.

Kaesii paused for a moment, fingers curling and uncurling. Skippii held his breath. Then he swung his arm out and struck the man in the shoulder with his palm, firm, but friendly.

"Glad you've still got some fighting spirit in you, old dog."

"Come on," Skippii said, breathing easily once more. "With haste now. We ride at sunrise."

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