‘Forward!’ The men took it up.
‘Forward!’ Nikolas roared as he raised a fist to the sky. ‘Counting march!’
Linked shield to shield, the men started to count.
‘One!’ They took a step forward, pushing back the enemy line.
‘Two!’ They grunted as they moved again.
‘Three!’ The enemy fell to spears and swords.
Finally, the army of Ilea broke.
They ran for the city and Nikolas saw that the gates were wide open as their yellow-cloaked comrades helped them flee. With savage joy the hoplites chased after them, cutting them down from behind.
A rearward guard held the gates for a time, and then the first of Nikolas’s men swarmed through, followed by a flood of crimson-cloaked men, rushing to reclaim their city.
Nikolas looked up and saw that the skies were clear. Like a flock of frightened birds, the enemy eldren were retreating, flying over the city and beyond. On the battlefield, a group of silver-haired eldren, those who had fought on the Xanthian side, were now searching for the bodies of their fallen.
Only then did he realize that the battle was won.
An archer behind him was panting as he clutched his weapon. Nikolas turned to thank the man who had saved his life, and his eyes widened.
Dion was covered in blood, looking up at the palace as his chest heaved. He lowered the composite bow that Nikolas had given him.
‘We need to get to the harbor,’ Dion said.
Together the brothers rushed through the open gates and into the streets of the newly liberated city. Red-cloaked soldiers were everywhere, desperate to find loved ones and to ensure there wasn’t a single man in a yellow cloak left alive. Reaching the grassy bank near the palace, where an unfinished wall barely a foot in height did nothing to protect the city from the sea, Dion cursed as he saw that they were too late.
Already the enemy warships were growing distant, their cargo of soldiers now embarked for a new destination.
An officer came forward. ‘Your orders, sire?’
Nikolas wiped a hand over his face, and then looked at the palm, seeing that it was entirely red, the blood dry and sticky.
He glanced up at the palace. ‘Send some men to take care of the bodies of the king, and the . . . those with him.’
The officer nodded. ‘Already done.’
At that moment a regular soldier ran forward, white-faced as he gasped for breath. ‘Commander—’ He corrected himself. ‘Sire.’
‘What is it?’
‘Your son,’ the breathless soldier said. ‘He’s . . . He’s in the palace.’
Nikolas felt a terrible dread sink into his chest.
‘Nikolas—’ Dion said.
‘Clear the palace!’ Nikolas called out to his men. His voice lowered to a whisper. ‘Let me go in alone.’
55
Dion stood in the middle of the deserted agora of Xanthos, a shambles of broken market stalls and blood-stained marble steps. Toward the sea, the huge bronze statue of a hoplite was toppled over. The temples had been looted and the priests murdered. Many of the city folk had survived the destruction, but not all were so lucky.
He tried to tell himself that soon Xanthos would be as it had once been, but the thought seemed impossible. His parents were gone, and now he was on his own. He tried to blot out the horror of the battle to free his homeland. Xanthos was once more in the hands of its people. But Triton’s eldren and the sun king’s fleet had left mere hours ago, heading for Phalesia. The fight was far from over.
Though the few surviving priests had more work than they could handle, King Markos and his queen had been given their final resting places, with the army arrayed in front of the Temple of Balal and the black-robed magus chanting sorrowfully as they were interred. Dion’s parents would now sleep together in the deep royal crypt beneath the temple. He vowed to himself that his mother’s secret would die with her.
Nikolas had requested that he be alone for the burial of his wife. Dion had tried to provide the right words as his brother exited the Temple of Edra, but Nikolas would not be comforted. The new king of Xanthos still wouldn’t let anyone into the Royal Palace.
Despite the scene of carnage at the battlefield, already the bodies of the fallen Xanthians were growing few and far between as their families gave them their last rites and buried them with honor. Dion had spoken with Zachary and the eldren with him, who were waiting outside the city walls. Fearful for the fate of the ark, the eldran had asked Dion when Nikolas would lead the army to Phalesia. Dion had told him soon.
But he was worried.
Dion’s own emotions were ragged, but he needed his brother to keep going, just for a little longer. Chloe would by now be in Phalesia. The Ilean warships were on their way.
Finally, Dion could wait no more.