Pylos hated, it was bureaucrats.  Actually there were many things he hated, but bureaucrats were undoubtedly at the top of the list.  Frustration began to take a hold of him as he stood before the senators who were surrounded by the excesses of public service.  Among these faceless officials ran private servants who darted back and forth carrying carafes of wine, plates of exotic fruit and messages that were always delivered in whispers.  Concubines lazed on the steps of the senate chamber, content with their lot in life.  The Senate had become a place of indulgence, of distraction and frivolity, and General Pylos Castalia was at the end of his tether.  Rays of light streamed in through the open windows set high in the dome of the Senate House, cascading over the robed figures reclining on cushions and rugs.

        ‘Senator Leippa, I do not believe my request is unreasonable,’ the azure-eyed Pylos stated through gritted teeth.  He stood in the centre of the round room, a lonely figure under the cynical gaze of twenty-five Helyan senators, all men, all at least twice his age, and all unimpressed by the submission being put before them.

        ‘Oh but it is General Castalia,’ countered Augustine Leippa, an overweight, pompous man bedecked in red satin robes and gold bracelets.  He held a small wicker fan in one hand with which he unconsciously swiped the air.  ‘We live in peaceful times.   In fact…’ he added, looking around the room smugly, ‘there are those who would argue that our army and naval forces no longer serve any justified purpose.  To come here to request more money to fund the armed services… why, it borders on the ridiculous!’  It was a deliberately provocative comment and Leippa leaned back against plump, purple cushions to await Pylos’ response.  

        The only indication that Leippa’s comments had hit their mark was a slight shift in Pylos’ stance.  He was an impressive figure, not tall but possessing a body that had been chiselled from a life of combat.  He was clad in the plain, white sleeveless tunic of the Helyan army.  Around his waist a leather belt hung, sans the short sword and scabbard he was asked to remove upon entry to the Senate House.  Pylos’ skin was bronzed and his closely cropped dark hair adorned with a simple blood-ivy garland.  Pylos hated wearing the garland but it was a part of the uniform required for formal occasions such as this one.  His face, whilst not beautiful like some of the male concubines in the chamber, was youthful; he could be mistaken for a man twenty-years his junior.  But his countenance was characterized by sobriety, a sternness made all the more severe by the unmistakable scar that ran vertically from his forehead to the base of his left-cheek.

        Pylos cleared his throat quietly and drew upon the restraint he had developed over thirteen annual appearances before the Senate.  His voice was controlled and measured.  ‘Any justified purpose?’ he said, quietly echoing the senator’s inflammatory comment without the emotion Leippa was hoping for.  Pylos paused, and held the senator firmly in his gaze.  ‘Senator, if you wouldn’t mind, please justify this – atop the outer wall of Sulis, 200 foot statues of members of this very senate are being erected whilst the gates below are in such a state of disrepair, they cannot even shut!’

        A few laughs broke out across the chamber, but these were confined to concubines and servants who had temporarily forgotten their places.  The senators were unimpressed with the General’s observation.    

        ‘The gates!’ Leippa scoffed.  ‘Again, the gates.  General, forget about the gates.  I have lived longer than you and cannot remember a time when they were required to be shut.’  He looked among his peers and momentarily spoke about Pylos as if he were not standing ten feet away.  ‘Always on about the gates this one.’ 

Senator Leippa’s colleagues nodded enthusiastically back at him.  He clearly held sway over quite a few of them, and Pylos suspected that a coin or two guaranteed their loyalty to the fat man.  Grunting dramatically as he turned his corpulent body back to face Pylos, the senator gibed: ‘General, the city of Sulis is not so weak that we need to hide behind a closed door.’

        Another senator, an older, gentler man than Leippa calmly put across his view.  ‘General Castalia, there are those among us who would argue that already too much money has been spent on equipping, training, housing and payrolling our armed forces and that those funds would be better directed towards more relevant pursuits.’

        ‘With all due respect Senator Agenor,’ Pylos said quietly, ‘you will soon see the relevance when you are at the pointy end of an enemy’s sword.’

        A thin, rakish man to the left of the semi-circle listening to Pylos’ petition started applauding him.  His name was Thassus Pi and Pylos thought him to be most disingenuous man alive.  ‘General, you should be a politician,’ he said sarcastically.  ‘You disguise your threats with rhetorical phrases such as with all due respect.  What would you have us believe – that we are in dire peril?’  He smirked at Leippa who mirrored the self-satisfied expression.  ‘Who are these enemies?  There are no marroks at the door.  No-one is baying for Helyan blood.’

        A snort of laughter from Leippa was all that was needed to set the gallery into a round of disrespectful mirth.  Thassus ran his thin hands through his greasy hair, resting them together when they arrived at the nape of his neck in a gesture of supreme arrogance.

        Pylos was not going to dignify Thassus’ contemptuous comments with a direct response.  He looked up into the rows of senators spread before him, scanning the room for less antagonistic individuals.  ‘Senators, I only ask that you appreciate the ramifications of denying the armed forces the support you have given them over the centuries.  The freedom you enjoy will be lost if we allow ourselves to be complacent.’

        At first, no-one spoke.  It was as if the novelty of the occasion had worn off and the assembled representatives just wanted to move onto other matters.  All that could be heard in the chamber was the clinking of goblets on the stone rostra upon which the Senate was arrayed.  Someone towards the back of the room coughed.  A concubine yawned loudly.  Whispers could be heard as a senator tried to get the attention of a servant carrying a plate of honeygrapes.

        Leippa enjoyed the pregnant pause, but was first to break it.  ‘It seems our discussion has run its course General.  Thank-you for taking time out of your busy schedule but there is no point continuing this palaver today.  Your point-of-view has been heard –’

        ‘Nothing has been heard!’ Pylos shouted, his restraint exhausted.  This show of anger was music to Leippa’s soul; it looked as if his ruddy face would burst with glee.  Pylos stepped forward and his chief antagonist edged back into the deep, purple cushions supporting him.  Pylos raised a finger and pointed it threateningly at Leippa.  ‘The only beneficiaries of this pointless debate will be our enemies who will see Helyas’ indolent body lazing in the sun inviting them to strike!’

        Senator Leippa dropped any veneer of protocol and sneered at Pylos.  ‘Really General!  From whom would you protect us?  You are a soldier without a war.  Diplomacy has made you obsolete.’  

        ‘And what if diplomacy fails?  What if a new regime rises in our neighbours?  What if the good Emperor of Ankara is succeeded by his mad son?  What if another usurper claims the throne of Sessymir?  And there are countries beyond our maps that could sail north and attack us.’  Pylos knew as soon as he said these things that they would be subjected to ridicule. 

        The beams of light had imperceptibly tiptoed across the cool floor of the chamber and lit up a small shatterbug at the foot of one of the Senate guards.   He had no head for politics but he found himself agreeing with Pylos, and caught himself nodding as the General spoke.  Realising the temerity of his action and hoping it wasn’t noticed by anyone in the Senate House, he cast his eyes down and stared at his feet.  He noticed the little bug and a tender look glimmered in his eyes as he watched it scurry away.  It ran an irregular path towards the first row of reclining senators where it was promptly squashed under the sandaled foot of Senator Leippa.  

        The senator clapped perfunctorily and held the sole of his foot out for an attendant to clean.  A young man clad only in a loin cloth kneeled before the fat man who smiled a lascivious smile at the youth.  This smile quickly disappeared as Leippa lifted his head to address Pylos in the bitter manner he reserved for his exchanges with the General.  ‘And why would the Sessymrians invade us, General Castalia?  Or the Kheperans?  Or the Ankarans at the behest of the Emperor’s mad son?  By all the ancient gods Pylos, you are paranoid!’  He paused to whisper something to the youth attending his foot who smiled back and promptly ran off into the shadows behind the rostra.

        Pylos’ stomach churned at the sight of the compliant attendant and was repulsed at the thought of where his liaison with the senator would lead.  Scanning the room with its fawning attendants and ornamental concubines, his mind reeled.  He thought it necessary to remind the senators of the proud and noble traditions that took place in the sunburnt training fields outside Sulis’ walls. ‘Senators.  Helyan males spend all their adolescence preparing for war.  It defines us.  It makes us what we are.  To dismantle our armies –’

        ‘Enough General.  It is you who is refusing to listen.’  The venomous Thassus Pi stood and stretched out his hands, dramatically appealing to the gathering of senators who blinked back dully like a flock of shelp watching something they didn’t fully understand.  ‘Perhaps,’ he said, pacing towards Pylos, ‘they should spend less time getting killed in your wargames and more time on matters that advance our society and augment our culture.’  Thassus made his way behind Pylos, as if he were a prosecutor delivering the closing address to a jury already convinced of a defendant’s guilt.

        Pylos was incredulous.  Despite the senator’s hubristic parade, he just stared ahead and said, ‘What you say is offensive in the extreme sir.  Augment our culture?  Why, our prowess on the battlefield is at the very heart of our culture.’

        ‘Oh is that what you believe, is it General?’ the lean senator spat as if the words were poison on his tongue.  ‘You have spent so much time abroad gallivanting around with your friends in the Cessair Guard, you have failed to notice that your country has changed.  Helyas has progressed General.  Perhaps it is time you caught up with it.’

        Leippa leaned forward, enthralled by his colleague’s cross-examination of Pylos Castalia.  He could see Pylos’ temples twitching.  Leippa imagined that the climax of the action was only seconds away.  He envisioned Pylos spinning about, whipping out the sword from a flanking guard with the speed and skill for which he was famed.  He imagined the General, in a state of fury and frustration, burying the blade up to the hilt in Thassus Pi’s bony chest.  In his mind’s eye, he revelled in the sight of gouts of Thassus’ blood splaying out across the Senate House and spattering the audience assembled.  However, when the fantastic vision faded, he saw Thassus was very much alive, stalking around Pylos’ statuesque figure.  

        Pylos’ response did not disguise the hatred he bore for Thassus, but it fell well short of the tragic drama of Leippa’s imagination: ‘How dare you, Senator!  The Cessair Guard has done more for Myrran unity than any other body on the face of the Myr.  And if I remember correctly, it was this senate that originally nominated me for such a position.’

        Thassus grinned to his audience.  ‘We thought it would do you good to get out and see the world, Pylos.  After all, there is naught for you to do here.’

        Pylos bit his bottom lip before responding.  Thassus was taunting him, putting him on the defensive.  It was not a position to which Pylos was accustomed.  ‘Do not cast a shadow over what I have achieved here or abroad.  I need not remind the Senate that it was I who led our battalion against the Sedomo when they invaded the Tamu Plains.  It was I who stood at the helm of our flagship when the Helyan navy cleared our shipping routes of the Tethran pirates that had slaughtered the crews of twenty merchant ships.  And it was I who fought shoulder to shoulder alongside the Arnakki when the Sessymirians tried to establish a foothold upon Western Arnaksak.’

        Thassus Pi walked away from Pylos, as if his response were of little consequence.  ‘General,’ he hissed softly, ‘with all due respect, these are skirmishes – not wars.’  Thassus clasped his hands behind his back, indulging in the sense of superiority he felt over Pylos.  ‘General Castalia, when was the last time you defended our country on Helyan soil?’

        Pylos stood silently.

        ‘Ah General – your silence speaks volumes.  You have never defended Helyas because Helyas has never been attacked.  Helyas will never be attacked.’  The certainty of his statements echoed around the chamber.

        ‘But… but it is our reputation that protects us.’  Pylos was out of his depth.  He voice had lost its conviction, not because he did not believe what he was saying; he faltered because he knew he had no chance of convincing anyone present in that hostile gathering.  ‘Surely if we relax our–’

        Thassus cut him off with a sharp, barking growl.  ‘No Pylos!  It is not our reputation that protects us.  The world has moved on.  It is time you accepted that.  The barbarous times you yearn for have long since past.’  

        Old Agenor leant forward and raised a finger to his mouth whilst looking at Thassus, who fell silent immediately.  Of all the senators, Pylos disliked Agenor the least, but he was still a member of a group of men who had long forgotten who it was they had been appointed to serve.  ‘Pylos, I have watched you grow up with great interest.  You were exceptional as a child and you have been equally impressive as a man.  You have performed your duties admirably.  As Helyan Consul, you have protected Ambassador Rhodes on five journeys to Cessair, and reportedly saved his life on two of those occasions.  As General of our armies, you have brought out the best in the Myr’s finest troops.  As a member of the Cessair Guard, you have ushered in an era of peace unrivalled in the Myr’s history.  What’s more, you have the people’s respect more than any member of this Senate.’ 

Pylos waited for the sting in the tale.  He had never trusted compliments, even from one as kind as Agenor. 

‘But –’

        ‘I knew it,’ Pylos said to himself.  ‘There is always a but.’

        The old man had paused, allowing Pylos time to ready himself for the qualification: ‘– but you are not an adept in the realm of politics.  We tax our people highly.  Too highly some of us would argue.’  A few nods were outnumbered by looks of annoyance from the senators.  ‘We cannot continue to pour money into a venture that offers little return, especially in peaceful times such as these.’

        Pylos winced at the words.  ‘Senator Agenor, since when has the training and maintenance of our armed forces been considered a venture?  And I would argue sir, that there are some lessons that cannot be learnt anywhere else but a battlefield.  It is the Helyan way.  Our very culture is at stake here.’  

        Agenor’s eyes were misty.  He genuinely liked Pylos and admired what he stood for.  But he also believed that it was time to let go of the past.  Agenor wanted to see in a new era before his life’s journey concluded.  ‘Cultures change Pylos.  That’s what keeps them alive,’ he said softly.  ‘We are suggesting a gradual dismantling of our military engine.  We are not advocating any wider changes than that.’  

        Pylos' head dropped.

            ‘Your request for more funds has been heard, General,’ smiled Senator Leippa.  ‘We will handover your request to a committee and…’

        The word committee was the final nail in the coffin and it took every ounce of control Pylos had left to not walk over to the fat, annoying senator and throttle him.

        It fell to Agenor to close the proceedings.  ‘Pylos it is in the Senate that real change is effected.  The hand wielding the sword is important, but it is the hand that signs the paper that keeps two counties in peace.’

      ‘Metaphor and rhetoric!’ Pylos thought to himself with disgust.  But he was silent.  He had stated his case as best he could and would do no more.

The triplet moons shone down on Sulis.  Pylos walked out onto his balcony to take in the evening air.  Below him the city streets spread out in intricate patterns, bathed in the silvery light raining down from the night sky.  All over the city, the amber light of lanterns flickered outside the houses on the main streets.  The comforting drone of sandcadas reverberated across Sulis as one would expect on such a warm night.  Above this gentle hum, Pylos could hear snippets of conversation float up from the café on the street below.  A warm spring night had lured many Sulians out of their domiciles to enjoy a carafe of wine and familiar company. 

In the small park across the way, Pylos could see his neighbours playing Siege with pieces as large as a small child.  A young boy was struggling to lift a piece for his father who bent down and helped him move it across the multi-tiered board.  A shriek of laughter split the air and the boy danced around the piece he had just moved.  He had helped his father execute the winning gambit.  The two adults playing the game shook hands as the boy scrambled to the uppermost tier of the board holding his fists aloft in triumph.

        He leaned one elbow against the marble balustrade of his apartment’s balcony whilst his other arm reached for a goblet of wine milked from the black grapes adorning the slopes of Mt Taran.  Whilst the dark juice was not accompanied with the same reputation of Nessan wine, Pylos was no oenophile and would be the first to admit he could not taste the difference.  

        A warm breeze blew in from the north.  Pylos inhaled.  He usually enjoyed the scent of desert sand carried by such winds, but there was something else.  Something stale.  He tried to identify the smell, and failed; then the breeze fell away and the scent dissolved under his nose.  

        He put down his goblet and looked northward.  Close by, a straight trail of orange lights indicated the main avenue leading up to the city gates.  Lined by the palatial residences of Sulis’ wealthy, the wide avenue was rather empty when compared to the lanes and alleys surrounding Pylos’ abode.  Clearly Sulis’ elite had more sophisticated pleasures to enjoy than the simple company of neighbours on a balmy desert night. 

From his balcony, Pylos could see twenty-one of the twenty-five statues the Senate was in the process of erecting on the walls above Sulis’ main gates.  They were colossal.  Each giant senator adopted a heroic pose, some with hands clasped confidently on hips, others ironically holding weapons aloft in a show of power and might.     

        Pylos emptied the contents of his goblet down his throat and absent-mindedly reached for the carafe.  His hand stretched out but the carafe was gone.  Pylos caught a whisper of movement in the drapes behind him and instinctively threw himself at whatever was behind them.  He slammed into the body of a solidly built man who groaned in pain.  The curtains ripped from the railing and Helyan wine spilled out over the floor.  Pylos found the man’s neck under the material and gripped it within an inch of breaking it.  

        Suddenly bolts of intense pain exploded across Pylos' groin; the figure beneath the drapes had swiftly brought his knee up between the General's legs.  An age-old Helyan obscenity erupted from Pylos’ mouth as he rolled off his surprise visitor, taut hands wedged between his thighs.

        The man beneath the curtains pulled the thin material from his head.  Shock, guilt and annoyance were mixed haphazardly on the muddy palette of Pylos’ face.  There sprawled on the stone floor amongst the torn drapes and spilt wine was the Helyan Ambassador, Pedaeus Rhodes.  Even in the relative darkness, there was no mistaking him – lean, olive-skinned and a handsome head crowned with closely-cropped, black hair.  Winded and sore, he was panting heavily.  ‘General, you’re supposed to protect me, not kill me,’ Pedaeus joked, his hands rubbing his throat which was bright red where Pylos had grabbed him.

        Pylos stood immediately, and then extended a hand to his old friend.  ‘I’m sorry sir.  You took me by surprise.’

        ‘A rare feat indeed!  How is it that a mere diplomat can catch Helyas’ greatest warrior unawares?’

        Pylos did not bother to hide his chagrin.  He picked up the brass carafe and laid it on the balustrade.  ‘I was a world away, and you – Ambassador – are no mere diplomat.’  

        Pylos was referring to Pedaeus’ skill as a soldier.  As youths, they had taken part in the Festival of the Forging, a brutal Helyan rite of passage where the weak were quickly separated from the strong in a bloody, physical contest.  Pedaeus and Pylos managed to extract victory from almost inevitable defeat and their triumph was still celebrated as one of the greatest moments since the event began.  On the battlefield, Pylos had few rivals, but the blade of Pedaeus’ mind was the sharpest in Helyas, and his wits saved their skins that day.  This did not go unnoticed.  In the ensuing years, Pedaeus was fast-tracked through the army ranks.  By the age of eighteen he was a member of Helyas’ elite Black Shields, a team of highly-skilled soldiers who conducted covert operations in countries as far away as Sessymir and Acoran.  At the age of twenty-one, Rhodes was added to Helyas’ diplomatic arsenal.  As a Helyan emissary, he served abroad for fifteen years: five years in Scoriath and ten years in Tuirren.  When his predecessor, Ambassador Ophion died, it was a forgone conclusion that the position would be offered to Pedaeus Rhodes.  He took the post on one condition – that his boyhood friend Pylos Castalia would serve as his consul.

        Consuls were usually high-ranking members of the military, and were experienced in combat.  There was a simple reason for this. The Consuls were entrusted with the wellbeing of their country’s ambassador.  Once a year, each country’s ambassador would travel to Cessair, the great tower-city where the Assembly of Nations was held. They would be accompanied by their consul, who usually performed many roles: protector, advisor, confidante and friend.

        It was unheard of that anyone would refuse such an honour, but Pylos was nervous about dividing his time between the army and the diplomatic corps.   Whenever he was accompanying the Ambassador abroad, he worried terribly about his troops.  This concern doubled when the Senate recommended him to join the Myr’s international peace-keeping force, the Cessair Guard as well as continuing in the role of Consul.  Despite his trepidation, Pylos managed these duties and represented himself with characteristic commitment and attention to detail.

        Whilst he was away, control of the Helyan armies was left to Semiramus, a good man and a fine soldier but one hamstrung by a dreadful stutter.  Pylos appointed him because he knew he was incorruptible, but there had been problems.  Pylos had heard of entire platoons that had rolled on the sand in fits of laughter as Semiramus tried to give out commands.  But that swiftly ended when they witnessed his prowess with a sword.  It was for men like Semiramus that Pylos had plied his case with the Senate.  He was not looking forward to telling such men of his failure.

        Pylos returned to his contemplative stance on the balcony.

        ‘I heard about your chat with the Senate today,’ commented Pedaeus as he joined him.

        ‘Waste of time,’ Pylos grunted.  

        ‘Perhaps not.  I hear that you stated your case well.’

        ‘Who told you that?’ Pylos asked, his curiousity only mildly piqued.

        ‘Old Agenor.’

        ‘He’s just like the rest,’ Pylos growled.

        ‘I understand your anger, but I do not think the Senate will dismantle the armed forces.  It’s all part of the political games they play.  By saying they’ll give you nothing, when they finally do give you something, it will look like an act of generosity when in actual fact they’ve given you less than you originally requested,’ Pedaeus explained, his smooth voice tinged with a slightly sardonic flavour.

        ‘Gah!  I have no head for such tricks,’ Pylos stated bluntly.  ‘They make me sick.’  He pointed dismissively at the statues lining the outer wall.  The ones that had already been erected were lit from underneath by huge braziers filled with slow-burning Cold.  The statues were beautifully sculpted, capturing the likeness of each senator in the most flattering way.  It was as if each statue had been chiselled twenty years earlier, and whilst the senators were all recognizable, the wrinkles, the paunches, the bags under the eyes had somehow failed to find their way into the finished work.

        ‘The Senate believes that the populace needs to have people to look up to.’

        ‘Oh come on, Pedaeus. The history of Helyas is replete with heroes but have the senators seen fit to honour them?  Not even the ancient gods were considered.  It borders on sacrilege.’  Pylos looked towards the city’s main gate, over which stood – in pride of place – a fantastically inspiring sculpture of Senator Leippa.  ‘Look at that fat fool, holding a sword outstretched as if he were fending off the hordes of Antaeus.  It is hypocrisy in the…’  Pylos’ voice trailed off to a murmur.

        ‘Extreme?’ Pedaeus offered, thinking Pylos had forgotten the word.

        ‘What was that?’ Pylos said to himself slowly.

        ‘What was what?’

        ‘Out there.’

        Pedaeus followed his gaze.  Pylos was still looking towards Leippa’s vast statue.  ‘Out there?’ Pedaeus said, unsure of where he was meant to be looking.  ‘On the wall?’

        ‘No.  Beyond the wall.  Out on the Sand Meadow,’ he said pensively as he stared out through the broken gates of Sulis.

        ‘Way out there?’ Pedaeus said scornfully.  He squinted, scanning the purple darkness outside the city.  In the daylight the Sand Meadow was a broad expanse of brightly hued sand, but at night it glowed an iridescent purple and mauve as the heat rising up from the desert dissipated into the empty night.  

        Pylos continued to stare.  ‘Something is there.’

        ‘Pylos how can you see that far?’

But he was gone.  He had picked up his prized shatterstone sword and leapt over the balcony to land on his neighbour’s roof.  From there he jumped from house to house making his way up the street where he and other senior military staff lived.  At the end of the row of dwellings he leapt off into the night air.  He caught a beam jutting out from the eaves of the local tavern, and high above the oblivious patrons twenty feet below he used his momentum to carry himself clear across the narrow street and over a tall sandrock wall on the far side.  

        Pylos landed outside a stable where twenty or so piebald snorses stood grunting to each other in low tones.  He did not stop moving.  As soon as his feet hit the ground, he dashed across the straw-strewn yard to where a large, calico-coloured snorse stood tethered to the wall.  In one fluid motion Pylos removed his sword from its sheath and swung it as he leapt up and landed on the beast’s back.  The blade, shining darkly in the moons’ light, sheared through the rope that kept the headstrong snorse in the stable.  The same sword was then tilted and swung behind the creature where the flat blade slapped across the snorse’s rear, instantly sending it into action.  Its bulbous eyes shot up on their long stalks and the beast gave a low grunt as it bolted out of the stable and tore through the city streets.

        Pylos leaned forward and patted his snorse.  ‘That’s the girl, Lampetia, we’re in a hurry.’

The snorse whinnied in response and effortlessly skirted around a fruit stall around which a small crowd had gathered to dine on gorseberries.  As Pylos shot by, a number of them exclaimed, ‘Wasn’t that the General?’ but he was out of earshot by the time anyone gave a reply.  

        Lampetia effortlessly jumped a small stone fence and cut down a steep alleyway leading out onto the broad avenue that ran from the city gates to the town square.  She was a magnificent mare and considered the fastest biped in the land.  Her small forearms swung uselessly as her powerful legs thrust her forward.  A thick, bushy tail almost as long as her neck extended from her rear and she used this to keep her stability.  Her broad, padded feet thumped rhythmically over the flagstones as she ran and hopped her way down to the avenue.

        When they exited from the alleyway, Pylos could see a number of soldiers routinely marching down the wide street.  Further up the avenue, a small stone guardhouse was situated beside the gate.  A few citizens strolled down the street, their faces lit by the lamps that lined the way.  Occasionally a shatterbug zipped past but there was nothing in the immediate area that shouldn’t have been there.  All was as it should be.  Nothing was amiss.

As Pylos rode up to the courtyard at the city’s entrance, the soldiers on duty saw him and quickly stood to attention.  The General’s sudden appearance may have been a surprise but the men were armed and manned their posts with a sense of discipline the Senate could never understand.   The squad raised their hands and saluted their general.  Pylos saluted back and jumped off his mount.  Without being asked, one of the soldiers, a young private named Melpone grabbed Lampetia’s reigns whilst Pylos strode up to Semiramus, a tall, slender man who wore a permanently nervous expression on his face.

        ‘Where is the Captain of the Watch, Lieutenant?’

        ‘He is p… p…’

        Pylos nodded encouragingly at Semiramus.  He had known the man since childhood and loved him dearly despite his constant stammering which could be most frustrating in the heat of battle.  Semiramus was a fearless soldier and excellent tactician, but these qualities were sometimes overshadowed by this infamous stutter.  Fortunately, he had introduced a system of hand gestures to give orders on the battlefield, and these were soon adopted by the entire army so effective were they in influencing the tide of a battle.

        ‘Patrolling, Semiramus?’ Pylos offered.

        The lieutenant smiled broadly.  ‘Yes sir.  Qu… Qu… Quintinius Mediolanum is on the western wall.’

        ‘I want you to send someone to fetch him.  Also send a man to the barracks.  Wake the entire company – we’re in for a fight.’

        Despite his complete lack of comprehension, Semiramus signalled to a nearby soldier to fetch Quintinius and another to run to the barracks  to rouse the company.  A trio of soldiers by the guard house were given the signal to close the gates as best they could.  These thick oakaen doors had long since fallen from their hinges and it took all three men over a minute to shut just one of them.

In that time, Pylos had clambered up the steep stairs to the walkway atop the city’s broad walls where sentries patrolled the ramparts on either side of the gates.  Further along the walkway huge towers of scaffolding stood alongside the newest additions to the pantheon of massive sculptures that adorned the city’s outer wall.  The scaffolding stood as high as the statues, a full 200 feet above the ground.  Pylos commanded two of the sentries to climb the scaffolding.  ‘Call out if you see anything moving across the Meadow.’

        ‘Yes sir!’ they said in unison, each moving off to a tower without delay.

        Pylos turned and placed one foot atop the short parapet before him.  He leaned forward, his eyes burning as they searched for some sign of movement.  He had seen shadows moving quickly across the violet meadows but now he saw nothing.  Had his eyes played tricks on him?

        No.  Pylos was not one to second guess himself.  This is what made him such a formidable force in the field.  He had seen something out on the sands and the fact he couldn’t see it now made it all the more suspicious.  Below him, stretching out from the base of the walls, the sands pulsed their gentle, purple light.  Something was there – he knew it.  An eerie silence had settled all around.

He was gravely concerned but he would not let his men know it.  He pushed down the panic that had risen from the pit of his stomach and breathed deeply.  Whatever lay out there on the Meadow believed it had the element of surprise but it had lost the advantage – Pylos was aware of its presence.

He tried to bring order to his thoughts.  Before he could command others, he had to command his mind.

        ‘Excuse me, sir?’ a nervous voice squeaked behind him.

        Pylos turned to see the broad figure of the Captain of the Watch standing beside him on the wall, his hand raised in formal salute.  Pylos smiled to himself.  Although he had known Quintinius for years, he could never get used to the fact that such a hulking body held such a tiny voice.

        ‘Quintinius – that was quick!’ observed Pylos, dismissing the salute.

        ‘You wanted to see me?’

        Pylos put a hand on the captain’s shoulder and gestured to the desert beyond.  ‘Tell me Captain, can you see anything?’

        Quintinius surveyed the area beyond the wall but could not see anything amiss.  ‘No sir.  Everything is as it should be,’ he said as confidently as he could.

        ‘Really?’ said Pylos skeptically.

        The captain was a little unnerved by his general’s doubt.  ‘Ah, yes sir.  It’s been a quiet night.’

        Pylos nodded.  ‘Has it, Captain?’

        Quintinius was even more unnerved by this question.  He was not a man of great intellect and found it a lot easier to hit things than to answer questions.  He wasn’t sure how to respond to Pylos’ question so he just stared off into the distance as if he had not heard it.  After some excruciatingly long seconds, he realized Pylos was calmly looking at him, still awaiting a response.  Quintinius’ nerves frayed further, knowing he had to say something.  ‘I’m sorry sir,’ he confessed.  ‘I’m not sure I follow.’

        ‘I want you to close your eyes, Quintinius,’ Pylos instructed.

        ‘Yes sir!’ the captain replied and shut his eyes so tightly, Pylos feared he would hurt himself.

        ‘Relax,’ Pylos said, amused by Quintinius' desire to please him.  ‘I want you to tell me what you hear.’

        Quintinius’ shoulders slumped as he tried to relax.  There was not much to report.  He could hear his own breathing, which was still laboured after his sprint through the streets to report to Pylos.  He could hear the sound of the sentries climbing up through the scaffolding towers to his left and right.  He could hear the soft flapping of his tunic as the warm breeze blowing across the sands swept over the wall.  But these were not things that required comment.  Everything was normal.  Keeping his eyes firmly shut, Quintinius said, ‘General Castalia, I don’t hear anything unusual.’

        ‘Open your eyes Quintinius.’

        ‘Yes sir!’ he squeaked and promptly opened his eyes as wide as he could.  

        Pylos was staring back at him sedately.  ‘Tell me Quintinius, do you hear any sandcadas?’ he asked.

        Quintinius quickly shut his eyes and concentrated.  There was nothing.  ‘No sir!’ he said in reply, his eyes clenched together like a fist.

        ‘That’s a bit odd isn’t it Captain?’ Pylos said conversationally.  ‘On a warm night like this?’  Pylos gazed beatifically at his subordinate and added, ‘You can open your eyes now Quintinius.’

        The hulking captain frowned.  ‘Yes sir.  That is odd.  I remember hearing them earlier.’

        Pylos smiled and Quintinius beamed back, relieved he had satisfied the General.  But Pylos had one more question for the Captain of the Watch.  Fortunately, it was an easy one: ‘What makes the sandcadas go quiet Quintinius?’

        ‘That’s easy sir!’ Quintinius exclaimed.  ‘Two things make them go quiet.  Cool weather and, well, people make ‘em go quiet.’

        ‘And it’s not exactly cool tonight,’ Pylos said, his mood suddenly solemn.  ‘There’s something out there Quintinius,’ he said staring across the Meadow.  ‘Something that shouldn’t be there.’

        Quintinius leaned forward to peer down into the Meadow.  It was the same sandy field he had marched across countless times.  In the moons’ soft light everything seemed flat but suddenly, out of the corner of his eye he saw movement.  He couldn’t say he saw something move because there was nothing to be seen on the sand.  And then he realized what was going on.  ‘General!’ he exclaimed.  ‘Under the sand!  There are things moving under the sand!’

        ‘Yes,’ said Pylos.  ‘We’re about to be attacked.’    

Suddenly, the sand below them exploded.  Everywhere.  The Ghul had arrived in Sulis.

        One look at the skitteriks the Ghul were riding told Pylos the ten-legged steeds were as vicious as they were ugly.  Free of the sand, the skitteriks hopped and scurried across the rock flats at the base of Sulis’ walls.  Their staccato-like movements could be heard as they scrambled up the tall, sandrock walls.  As they neared the top, the two sets of mandibles framing each skitterik’s face began frenetically chomping at the air in preparation for the feast ahead.

        Quintinius started edging back away from the wall.  Although he was Captain of the Guard and a soldier of some strength and reputation, he had never faced anything as frightening as this.  The air became thick with the sound of mandibles snapping.  Hundreds more mounted soldiers rose up from the sands and scurried up the wall.  Quintinius was almost at the stairs leading down to the guardhouse when Pylos spoke again.

        ‘Quintinius,  I’d stop moving if I were you,’ Pylos said calmly.

Quintinius froze just as a swarm of the skitteriks burst over the top of the wall. ‘General?’ he said nervously, his voicing close to breaking.

         Pylos did not turn away from the ghastly attackers, nor did he immediately draw his sword.  He just stood there atop the broad walkway atop the wall, staring straight ahead.  He had faith his soldiers would know what to do.

        Without warning, a thick familiar noise drowned out the chilling sound of the skitteriks.  It was the sound of 100 arrows being loosed at exactly the same time.  Pylos didn’t have to turn.  He knew that Semiramus would return in time.  Assembled in the wide open space inside the city gates, a company of implacable Helyan warriors stood, their eyes fixed on the volley they had sent into the marauding hordes that had dared assault their city.

        The arrows flew past Pylos and Quintinius and broke like a wave upon the creatures that had spilled over the top of Sulis' wall.  Many of the skitteriks screeched in pain as the metal-headed shafts sliced into their multi-faceted eyes.  Arrows that hit the skitteriks’ bodies just bounced off their chitin exoskeletons and flew off into the night.  Quite a few of the Ghul riders were dismounted by the sheer force of the volley of arrows slamming into them.  At least twenty skitteriks and riders fell back into the desert outside the wall, but there were many more to come and Pylos and Quintinius were all alone on the walkway.  Below in the Meadow, hundreds more creatures were emerging each bearing a pallid rider armed with bone-white weapons.

        The General and his captain were not alone for long.  As soon as the archers had let fly their first volley, Semiramus had sent in his infantry to take to the walls.  Within a minute a line of soldiers bearing pikes had taken their positions across the wall.  They filled the area between the two scaffolding towers.  Every twenty yards, a massive marble statue stood between the Helyan ranks.  Unlike the troops, the statues had the luxury of being able to face the other way without being cut down by the fierce beings spewing over the top of the wall.

The fighting was brutal.  Although the pikemen managed to repel many of the creatures, they could not hold them all back.  A number of the skitteriks had made it onto the wall’s wide top where they could wreak bloody havoc.  The legs of the beasts ended in sharp claws that could shear through flesh with ease.  The twin sets of mandibles on each skitterik took a terrible toll upon the lightly armoured Helyans.  Some of the soldiers had literally lost their heads as the snapping jaws of the skitteriks carved a passage through the throng on the wall.  And whilst their steeds made their presence known, the Ghul also wasted no time in reducing the Helyan numbers.

        The Ghul did not have the brute strength of the skitteriks, nor did they have the combat skill of the Helyans.  But they were fearless.  They just kept coming.  Many were shredded by a solid row of swordsmen behind the line of Helyan pikemen.  These swordsmen hacked and thrust at the strange warriors and still they kept coming.  Incredibly, many Ghul got up after the most devastating of blows.  In fact, Quintinius was sure he had killed the same opponent at least three times.  The shining Sessymirian steel of his sword was coated in the thick, green blood of the Ghul but there were no corpses at his feet.

        Pylos knew he had killed at least a dozen of the pale soldiers attacking his city, but he had nothing to show for it.  Every time he struck the wan-skinned warriors atop the skitteriks, they burst into flame.  Their immolation was as violent as it was surprising.  Pylos received minor burns to his arms and face but nothing to stop him from ploughing through the enemies at his walls.

        After a few minutes of frantic fighting, Pylos found that the attackers gave him a wide berth, preferring to throw themselves into thicker fighting than face him.  This afforded him the opportunity of taking in the situation.

        Although his men were performing brilliantly, it would not be long before they would have to give up the wall.  Many pikemen had fallen, which meant the giant chilopods were able to wreak havoc upon the Helyan troops with their mandibles.  The attackers continued to spill over the wall and a quick glance at the Meadow revealed that countless more were on the way.  Below him, inside the city, Pylos’ archers had kept their positions, every man poised to let fly the arrow each had nocked in their bows.  Behind them a row of soldiers stood watching, waiting for the moment when they would be ordered into the fray.  Each of these soldiers carried a small dark shield in one hand and short sword in the other.  At their waists hung daggers, maces and bolas.  Each man was a walking arsenal.

        Pylos sighed, relieved at the sight of the infamous Black Shields, Helyas’ fighting elite.  They stood patiently observing the fight, secure in the knowledge that they would soon be called upon to contribute where it was most needed.

        Pylos glanced at the gate below. ‘That’s strange!’ he said to himself.

        ‘What is?’ said a familiar voice behind him.  Pylos did not have to turn around to know it was Pedaeus.

        ‘Nice of you to join us Ambassador,’ Pylos said dryly.  ‘Don’t worry – there’s still a little bit of work left to do!’

        Pedaeus shrugged off Pylos’ comment.  ‘You said something was strange.  Apart from the fact we are being attacked by living corpses on over-sized bugs, what’s strange?’

        Pylos plunged forward, burying his shortsword in the throat of a skitterik who had unwisely opened his mandibles wide to bite the General in half.  The creature fell into a wild spasm, its death throes spectacularly animated.  Pylos stepped back and said, ‘The gates.  Why aren’t they coming through the gates?’

        Another skitterik reared up and scratched at Pedaeus with its savage claws.  Fortunately for Pedaeus, Pylos managed to slice off three of the claws before they got close.  The skitterik toppled forward giving Pedaeus the opportunity to ram his blade through the top of its broad head, skewering it to the top of the wall.  Meanwhile Pylos swung his blade in a wide circle that ended deep in the head of the Ghul riding the skitterik.  The head promptly exploded.

        Pedaeus was most impressed.  ‘How did you do that Pylos?’

        ‘Do what?’

        ‘Make it explode like that.  I have stabbed and cut at least twenty of them and they don’t explode for me!’

        ‘I have no idea Ambassador.  Maybe you’re not hitting them hard enough.’ 

Pylos looked around at his men.  They were inspiring but they were also losing.  Many had been slain and many more were almost spent.  ‘We can’t hold the wall for much longer.  We’ll have to pull back.’  

        He looked down into the courtyard to signal to Semiramus to pull back.  Semiramus was looking at him, as if anticipating Pylos' needs.  He gave a deep, unintelligible cry and then raised his fists together high above his head.  He then brought them down sharply to his hips.  Within seconds the soldiers on the walls dropped to the ground as a volley of arrows shot over them into the bodies of the Ghul and skitteriks atop the wall.  The volley gave the Helyans enough time to vacate the wall without compromising their safety.  The squad of Black Shields moved forward and formed a perimeter along the base of the wall.

        Strangely, the attackers made no move to follow the retreating Helyans into the courtyard.  They just lined the top of the wall, arrogantly ignoring all the arrowheads that were trained directly at them.

The Helyans could hear the skitteriks’ mandibles clicking maniacally.  The creatures’ thin angry snarls reverberated across the courtyard and they twisted their heads around crazily, as if the temporary cessation of chomping and biting had driven them mad.  By contrast the Ghul just stared impassively at the soldiers below, almost disinterested in the bloodied warriors they had been trying to kill only seconds earlier.

        A space was made on the wall to the left of the gate.  A huge black skitterik stepped forward.  This one was not only bigger than the others but was also adorned with bone armour, not unlike that worn by the Ghul, only considerably larger.  A fat, sneering figure sat on a leather saddle strapped to the skitterik’s back.  She had long black hair which was thick and matted.  Her eyes were small and cold.  Her face was a portrait of bitterness and discontent.  Even though Pylos thought all these warriors were ugly, he felt this one stood out as exceptionally unpleasant on the eye.

        ‘My name is Sergeant Defecious.  We are the Ghul!’

She shouted it as if the very name was meant to instill fear in the hearts of all who heard her introduction.  But it had been many centuries since the name of the Ghul had been uttered in Helyas, a country more preoccupied with sport and warfare than myth and legend.  None of the soldiers were familiar with the name nor were they impressed.

        Pedaeus leaned across to Pylos and asked, ‘They are the what?  I didn’t quite catch that.’

        ‘They are the girl,’ Pylos replied tentatively.

        ‘That doesn’t make sense.  They are the girl?’

        Pylos didn’t respond.  The squat spokeperson atop the wall clearly had more to say.

        ‘We seek one called Remiel Grayson.  If you harbour this individual, produce him and we may spare your city.’  Her shrill voice echoed across the courtyard before the gates.

        Pylos turned to Pedaeus and said, ‘I’ve had enough of this already.  Semiramus, when I give the word I want all your archers to fire.  I want every single arrow on her.’

        An incredulous look spread over both Semiramus and Pedaeus’ faces.

        ‘You want all these men to shoot the same person?’ exclaimed Pedaeus.

        ‘Her?  That’s a f… f… female?’ exclaimed Semiramus.

        Pylos stepped forward, his eyes fixed on the Ghul’s leader.  He carried himself with absolute authority.  His confidence in the face of such overwhelming odds seemed to irritate Defecious who sneered at the man standing proudly in the court below her.  ‘I did not give you leave to approach me, overworlder,’ she rasped, her eyes glowering from their deep sockets.

        ‘I will not waste my words upon you, foul thing, other than to say this – there is no such man in the town.  And if he were known to us we would not hand him over to one such as you.’

        ‘So be it!’ spat Defecious.  ‘It matters not.  We wouldn’t have spared you anyway.’  

        Pylos turned his back on Defecious and walked back to the Helyan ranks.  ‘Kill her,’ he said casually.

        Semiramus lifted his right arm and slid his left hand along his forearm.  All the archers’ bows bent back in unison.  Two fingers of his left hand then pointed directly at Defecious whose small eyes widened to twice their size when she saw his gesture.  He closed his fist and the air became a blur as 100 steel tipped shafts shot across the courtyard and dug their way into her flesh.  Remarkably, not one arrow missed.  Some had buried themselves in her neck, legs and arms, but the majority tore into her torso, ripping it to shreds in less than a second.  A few arrows pierced her cheeks and one had obliterated her left eye.  For a second she hung there in a macabre pose as if the arrows had pinned her to the very air.  

        And then she toppled forward, over the wall and into the dusty courtyard.  Her body bounced when it hit the ground and a good number of arrows were driven in deeper, many of which pushed through her back in an obscene explosion of dark green blood.  

        Upon the wall, nothing moved.  All eyes were upon the bloody body of the Ghul sergeant, even the beady black orbs of the skitteriks.  What was surprising was there was no horror upon the faces of the Ghul.  To Pylos, it seemed a particularly gruesome way to die, and the apathetic gaze of Defecious’ subordinates puzzled him.  They just stared at their commanding officer’s body with mild interest.  There was no violent response, no call to arms.  They just looked at the sergeant’s moist and mottled remains with little more than passing curiousity.  At first it appeared that they regarded the slaughter of their leader as nothing more than a trifle.  Then Pylos realized something.  They were waiting for something.

Defecious’ glutinous, green blood had spilled out over the sandy rock around her corpulent body.  She was face down.  Her arms, legs and hair were splayed out; it almost looked as if she were clinging to the ground.  Broken arrow shafts covered her body like quills.  Her left leg was twisted at an obscene angle – it had clearly been broken in half.  Even her thick bone armour had been shattered from the impact.  The Ghul above just continued to stare.

        ‘What are they waiting for?’ Quintinius’ meek voice said, echoing the thoughts of many.  He stepped forward, unnerved by the uneasy quiet that had fallen over the courtyard.  Following the gaze of the Ghul above, he looked down at their fallen leader.  Suddenly, a few stray strands of hair lifted and fell, as if disturbed by her breath. No one else seemed to have noticed it, not even Pylos who usually missed nothing.  Perhaps it had been an errant gust of wind, but down in the courtyard Quintinius could not feel any breeze upon his face.  The night air was still heavy and warm.  

        Impelled by curiousity, he walked forward tentatively, his blade drawn and ready.  As he approached Defecious’ body, he was sure he had caught a thin smile spread across the faces of the some of the Ghul above.  He prodded the body with his sword.

        Nothing happened.  

        He looked up again and a number of the Ghul had moved forward, teetering over the edge of the wall to catch a glimpse of what he was doing.  Quintinius poked the body again.

        Nothing.

        He pushed harder with his sword and it pierced Defecious’ skin and slid into her side.  He was not sure why he did this.  Maybe it was an attempt to unsettle the invaders leering down at him, or maybe he just wanted to make sure she was dead.  The body did not move and Quintinius quickly felt a sense of embarrassment wash over him as he accepted that no one could have survived the punishment that had been meted out to the Ghul commander.  He turned to return to the other Helyans.

        A sudden tug at his left leg stopped him in his tracks.  He swivelled around to see Defecious’ right hand around his foot.  Her head was raised and her mouth wide open revealing jagged, yellow teeth.  She bit down hard upon his ankle and the shooting pain that fired up his leg accompanied by an ugly, crunching sound put him in no doubt – she was very much alive.  

        Quintinius fell immediately, his ankle broken.  As he hit the ground, he was vaguely aware of movement atop the wall but he was given no chance to dwell upon it.  Defecious had sprung up over him and in a fury of teeth and claws set about taking her revenge.

        The skitteriks cascaded down the wall like dark water over rocks.  They let loose an ear-piercing shriek that rattled even the stoic members of the Black Shields who bore the brunt of the attack.   The scraping of their claws and gnashing of their mandibles upon the soldiers’ shields was terrifying, but Helyas’ elite held the line until the sheer weight of numbers pouring down from the wall reduced some of the Myr’s bravest soldiers to pulp.

        Pylos gave the word to pull back but it was too late.  In the space of a few seconds, a large number of the Black Shields were gone, killed under the ferocious onslaught of the Ghul.  Semiramus wasted no time in preparing his men.  His entire phalanx of archers had their bows drawn back again, waiting for a signal to release the shafts into the wave of enemies bearing down upon them.  The archers had taken a kneeling position and had laid out their quivers before them so they could fire off successive volleys within seconds.

        Behind the archers a long line of men stood whirling bolas above their heads.  The bolas were simple weapons, basically three iron balls joined together by lengths of chain, but in the hands of a Helyan warrior they could be an incredibly effective way to incapacitate an enemy.  Behind these men ran a supply line of sorts which connected this line of defence to the armoury inside the guardhouse.  The soldiers who were not on the front lines had sheathed their swords so they could stock their brothers-in-arms with all the bolas they needed to keep the attackers at bay.

        The skitteriks scurried over the bodies of the fallen Black Shields.  Their riders held aloft swords that were already drenched in Helyan blood.  Suddenly almost all the Ghul riders on the front line of skitteriks were unceremoniously dismounted as countless bolas pummelled into them.  Most of the bolas had wrapped around the Ghul’s necks, breaking them instantly.  The skitteriks were momentarily confused when their Ghul masters disappeared from their backs.  Their heads swivelled around looking for the missing riders.  When the skitteriks’ gaze turned back towards the Helyans, the sound of 100 arrows being released from their bows signalled the last thing the creatures would see.  Semiramus had directed his men to take out the skitteriks’ eyes.  The hideous shrieking that filled the ears of the Helyans was strangely reassuring – they could take down the invaders if they used the right tactics.

        The skitteriks and the Ghul kept coming and the Helyans maintained the same defensive manoeuvres, cutting down the attackers before they got within mandibles’ reach.  It seemed incredible to most of the Helyans that the Ghul did not devise a way to counter their simple but effective defence but Pylos knew better.  There was method to the Ghul’s unwavering attacks.  It was not complicated – there were more of them than there were bolas in Sulis.  Sooner or later, the Helyans would run out and when that happened the Ghul would swarm over them like Tethran stonemites.

Pylos and Pedaeus had moved behind the troops to discuss options.  Pedaeus was uncharacteristically reserved, a reaction to the loss of the Black Shields, a force he had once served with in his younger days.

        ‘We need to set up a barricade,’ Pylos said sombrely.  ‘We have to contain this situation. Once those creatures get past us, there’s no telling what they will do.’

        ‘My friend, there is no time,’ the Ambassador responded.

        Pylos looked at the strange battle being fought in front of him.  Although the Helyans were holding their own, it was not a stalemate.  It would be only minutes before his men had nothing left to throw at the Ghul.  Once that happened the invaders would rampage through the streets and slaughter every innocent in Sulis.

        He looked up at the swarming hordes that continued to pour over the northern wall.  Suddenly Pylos’ eyes gleamed.  ‘Ambassador, I have need of your skills.  You and I must bring down the scaffolding towers.’

        ‘Huh?’ was all Pedaeus could say.  

        Pylos pulled four men out of the supply lines and gave them orders.  ‘You two,’ he said to two thick-necked soldiers, ‘will come with me.  Grab maces.’  They nodded despite having no idea what they were about to do.  ‘And you two,’ he said to two others with even thicker necks, ‘will go with Ambassador Rhodes.  You will escort him to the right-hand tower.  You must bring it down.’

        ‘Anywhere?’ asked Pedaeus, a little stunned by the plan.

        ‘No.  Take out the corner supports.  Aim for the oaka tree at the far end of the courtyard, where the avenue begins.  That’s where the towers should meet.’

        ‘A barricade,’ said Pedaeus, understanding Pylos’ intentions before the soldiers did.  He shook his head.  ‘Scaffolding, Pylos?  It won’t contain them for long.’

        Pylos nodded.  ‘I agree, but it might delay them.  And I don’t think it’s just these fiends we have to worry about.’

        The Ambassador frowned.  ‘What do you mean?’

        ‘I think something’s coming.  Something big.  And it’s coming through there.’  He pointed to the half-open gates.  In the darkness beyond the gates was a deeper darkness, a place where the sands didn’t glow and the stars didn’t shine.

        ‘What is that?’ asked Pedaeus squinting into the gloom.

        ‘I don’t know but it’s moving closer.  It explains why the Ghul went over the walls instead of through the gates.  Something is coming through those gates any moment now.’

        ‘Well, we better get on with it then.  Now what exactly do you want me to do whilst these two are hammering down the tower with their maces.’

        A wry grin spread across Pylos’ face.  ‘Just keep them alive Ambassador.  Just keep them alive.’

Pylos disappeared into the shadows to the left of the courtyard battle.  Pedaeus Rhodes moved off to the right.  The Ghul were so intent upon breaking the line of Helyan soldiers in the courtyard they failed to notice the men making their way to the scaffolding towers.

In the middle of all this bloodshed, a squat, ugly figure rose unsteadily to her feet and surveyed the battlefield with her remaining eye.  Defecious was truly hideous to behold.  Long strips of flesh hung off her body, like pieces of pink meat hanging in a butcher’s shop.  Her left leg was broken so she put all her weight on her right.  At her feet lay the bloody body of the Captain of the Guard.  Quintinius had been mauled beyond recognition.

        Suddenly a deep creaking noise drowned out all other sounds in the courtyard.  It was a long, drawn-out noise, like a yawn of a giant being roused from slumber.  Every head in the courtyard looked up, including the Helyans who were just as surprised to see the two huge scaffolding towers to the left and right teeter high overhead.  After an excruciatingly long time hovering over the lip of the northern wall, they started falling.  The tightly packed line of Helyan soldiers were in no danger of being crushed.  The towers fell simultaneously at 45 degrees to the wall.  

        Semiramus felt his heart skip a beat when the structures pounded into the ground behind his ranks.  A great cloud of dust and sand billowed into the night air.  The timber beams of the scaffolding bent and cracked as they impacted upon the city floor.  

        Now the soldiers were trapped.  At their front were the Ghul and skitteriks; at their back a tangled mess of wood.  Semiramus was not sure why the towers had come down, but his mind raced to think of a way it could be turned to his advantage.

Defecious put a bloodied hand up in the air and the Ghul stopped in their tracks.  The skitteriks’ claws scraped on the rock as they halted their manic push down the wall and across the courtyard.  Semiramus’ archers pulled back on their bows and waited for the signal to shoot.  

        ‘You stupid overworlders will now learn it is useless to stand against us.  Let it be known across your sun-stained lands - any city that harbours Remiel Grayson will suffer the same fate as your miserable town.’

        ‘We have not suf… suffered,’ shouted Semiramus proudly.  ‘We… we can d…d… do this all night if we… we have to.’

        A cruel smile spread over Defecious’ torn face.  ‘You sh… sh… should not be their spokesman, tumble-tongue,’ she said derisively.  She swivelled around and shouted to the darkness beyond the gates, ‘Unleash Anaresis!  Let it loose!’

        Pylos rejoined Semiramus by the front line and said, ‘Did I just hear her mock you?’

        Semiramus blushed as he nodded.

        Pylos cast a quick look at Defecious who had folded what was left of her arms in smug anticipation of the terror that lay beyond the gates.  She bent down to Quintinius’ dead body.  Grabbing him by the ear she pulled up his huge but lifeless frame, so that he sat up like a large child.  ‘This is what becomes of all who defy Caliban!’ she cried.  ‘We praise him for this bounty!’

        ‘Defy who?’ said Pedaeus who had also returned, his face beaming with triumph having brought down the scaffolding tower exactly where Pylos wanted it.

        ‘Someone called Caliban,’ Pylos replied.

        Pedaeus shrugged.  ‘Who’s Caliban?’

        ‘No idea,’ said Pylos.  ‘I imagine he’s the one who’s looking for that other guy.’

        ‘What other guy?’ asked Pedaeus.   

        ‘What should I do?’ asked Semiramus.

        Pylos considered these questions and decided to answer the easier of the two.  ‘Kill her,’ he said to Semiramus.

        ‘We already tried that,’ Semiramus said.

        ‘Then kill her again.’

Without warning the half-open timber gates of the city shuddered as if knocked on by an angry god.  The booming sound bounced off every surface in the courtyard.  Another crashing noise and another.  The gates flew inwards and there at the entrance to the city was the most nightmarish creature Pylos had ever seen.

        Anaresis was massive, at least fifty foot high and just as wide.  It resembled a half-deflated balloon, only where a balloon would have a silken surface, this creature had blood-red tissue and veins.  It was as if its skin had been ripped off, leaving wet and bloody muscle and cartilage exposed.  Underneath its amorphous body hundreds of legs no longer than a Spriggan’s scratched over the earth, moving the vast body forward.  A great deal of the body sagged so much it lay on the ground where it spread a greasy stain upon the rock.  All over the moist surface of Anaresis’ shapeless bulk seething boils and seeping furuncles glistened.  The creature was horrific, its sack-like body as repulsive as anything the Helyans could imagine.  Somewhere toward the top of the pink mass a long, thin neck protruded.  It seemed perverse that something so swollen and tumescent could have such a slender, almost graceful neck.  At the end of this neck was a head that was incredibly disproportionate to the creature’s capacious body.  Anaresis’ head was no larger than a young child’s and had a face just as innocent.  Wide eyes stared out at the band of soldiers that stood before it in the courtyard.

        Defecious bowed to the Helyans.  ‘We will take our leave of you now, men of Sulis.  Let me introduce you to Anaresis.  It will be staying with you until you can produce Remiel Grayson.  I suggest you find him quickly.  Otherwise Anaresis will overstay its welcome.’

        Defecious turned her back on the Helyans and motioned to her troops to depart.  They obeyed instantly, wheeling around and crawling back up the wall and over it.  As swiftly as they had arrived, they departed.  Defecious hauled herself up onto a riderless skitterik and headed out to the Sand Meadow.

        ‘She’s getting away!’ Pylos noted, disappointed by the sudden turn of events.

        ‘We could fire upon her, b... b… but it might be prudent for the men to save their arrows for that thing, sir,’ Semiramus said apologetically, pointing to the slithering, hulking mass making its way across the courtyard.

        Pylos smiled.  ‘Yes, you’re probably right Semiramus.  I just don’t like her,’ he said referring to Defecious who was now gone from sight.

        ‘I still can’t believe it’s a female!’ Semiramus replied.

Anaresis bustled forward, its gigantic body making a slurping sound on the flagstones of the courtyard.  Although its body moved slowly, its neck flicked about like a snorse’s tail.  It did not say anything as it scanned the group before it.  It sniffed, taking in their odours.  The Helyans were so unlike the Ghul.  They smelt wholesome.  Anaresis' mouth opened as it smelt the soldiers but no words came out.  Pylos noticed a stream of saliva come dribbling down the creature’s chin.  It was salivating.

        Suddenly Anaresis’ head dropped low to the ground and the neck swept across the courtyard.  Several soldiers on the eastern side of the line were caught out by the unexpected movement.  The neck barrelled into them from their rear and they were thrown forward onto the skinless flesh of Anaresis’ body.

        As soon as the men touched the moist tissue they screamed.  Anaresis' digestive acids ran over them, eating through their tunics and searing their skin.  Pedaeus rushed forward to pull one of the men away from the wall of dripping meat.  It was Private Melpone.  Pedaeus clutched at Melpone’s hands and yanked him away from Anaresis.  He succeeded in pulling Melpone free but with terrible consequences.  The soldier’s entire back lay bubbling against the creature’s body, dissolving into it.  With his spinal column laid bare, Melpone was dead before Pedaeus had any idea what was going on.

        Pylos realized instantly what was going on.  ‘That’s not its body,’ he shouted to Semiramus.  ‘That’s its stomach!’

        Semiramus watched the bodies of his fellow soldiers being digested alive.  Their agony was beyond comprehension.  He looked over at Pedaeus pathetically clutching at what was left of the man he had tried to rescue.  

        There was no other way.  They had to fire upon the monster.  Hopefully, some of the arrows would grant the dying Helyans a much quicker death.  Semiramus raised his arm and gave the signal to fire.  

        The arrows were swallowed up by the grotesque body and the creature gave no indication that it had felt any pain.

        ‘Fall back to the barricades!’ Pylos yelled and his troops immediately responded.  Although the soldiers did not panic, they wasted no time in getting out of harm’s way.  They clambered up the fallen structure, each man secretly celebrating the virtues of their General who had shown incredible foresight in bringing down the scaffolding towers.  The timber frames would not hold the creature for long, but they would give the soldiers the chance to regain their strength which had been depleted as wave after wave of Ghul had broken upon their line.

Pylos was the last one to ascend the makeshift wall of wood.  He scrambled to the top to find something he had not expected to see – a crowd of civilians had gathered, many of whom had pushed through the soldiers to catch a glimpse of the monster that was attacking their town.  Standing at the front of the crowd was the last person he had expected to find at the scene of a battle.

        ‘Senator Leippa,’ he said loudly, bemused by the man’s presence at the fight.

        ‘Don’t sound so surprised to see me here General Castalia.  These towers almost crushed my house.  I have been told that was your doing.’

        This was not the Senate and Pylos felt free of the protocols and procedures that had always governed what he had said during Senate hearings.  ‘Had I known your house was nearby,’ he said with a smile, ‘I would have aimed a little bit better.’

        ‘This is not the time for humour,’ Leippa snapped, infuriated by a small crowd of onlookers who had heard Pylos’ response and laughed.  

        Pylos looked back towards the courtyard.  Anaresis was still some way off and moving slowly.  Although he was disturbed by the crowd’s presence, they were not in any immediate danger.  He quickly thought of a way to turn the situation to his advantage.  ‘Senator Leippa, perhaps now would be a good time to discuss the annual funding for the military.’

        Leippa drew himself to his full height as if to intimidate Pylos but it was a pointless gesture.  Although not tall, Pylos stood a full foot taller than the fat bureaucrat who wrung his satin sleeve incensed by the impudence of his subordinate.

        ‘Do not think you can stand on the brink of disaster and blackmail me into supporting you and your thugs, General.’

        ‘Senator, it is you who stand on the brink of disaster,’ Pylos retorted, much to the delight of the growing crowd who were clearly on his side. 

        ‘The Senate is above being bullied by the likes of you.’

        Pylos thrust out his sword in the direction of the hulking mass of death that was slowly but surely making its way across the courtyard.  ‘Perhaps you’d rather be bullied by the likes of that?’ he said emphatically.

        Anaresis swung its head in Pylos’ direction.  Leippa squirmed when he saw the horrible beast staring their way.  He had also seen the gruesome deaths of the unfortunate soldiers who had been eaten alive by the creature.

        The crowd all looked to Leippa for a response.  They could see that he was terrified.  Pylos milked the situation for everything it was worth.  ‘Here Senator,’ he said holding out the pommel of his sword.  ‘Take it.  Take my sword.  You go fight the bad monster.’

        Leippa looked down contemptuously at the blade.  His mouth widened as he tried to control his anger.  ‘General, this is a stunt,’ he snarled.

        ‘No Senator.  It is a necessity.  And war is the mother of all necessity.  The creatures that have attacked us this night will return.  And when they do, we either have a fully functional army or we have you standing there, shaking, holding a sword.’

        The crowd cheered.  Leippa glared at them, maddened by their lack of support.  He then risked a look over Pylos’ shoulder at the lumbering creature drawing ever closer.   In minutes it would be at the barricade and there was no guarantee the broken mess of timber beams and poles would contain the thing.  Should it break through all Sulis would suffer and they would blame the Senate.  They would blame him.

        ‘You can have whatever you need,’ Leippa said quietly.  ‘Just kill that thing.’

It had worked.  It was a desperate gambit but Pylos had secured the future of the armed forces.  Now he just had to find a way to kill Anaresis.  ‘Get everyone off the barricades,’ he yelled to some nearby soldiers.

        Pedaeus Rhodes pushed his way through the crowd as the Helyan soldiers started corralling the curious locals out of the way.  ‘You have a plan?’ he said casually to Pylos.

        ‘Not yet,’ said Pylos truthfully, ‘but there’s always a way.’

        ‘You’re as stubborn as a grizzum Pylos, I’ll give you that,’ Pedaeus laughed.  He looked over at the retreating figure of Senator Augustine Leippa.  ‘I see your fan club was here.’

        Pylos gave a reluctant grin.  ‘I asked him if he wanted to fight the…’  His voice trailed off as he turned back towards the courtyard.  ‘Yes,’ he said to himself.  ‘That’ll do it.’

        ‘What is it?’ Pedaeus asked, intrigued by his friend’s change of focus.

        ‘I think I have a plan.’

Pylos quickly found Semiramus.  ‘Do you have any ropes handy?  I need a line over 300 feet long.’

Semiramus nodded.  ‘There sh... should be something that will meet your needs in the ar... armoury.  But that’s on the other side of the creature.’

        ‘Then pick ten of your fastest men to follow me.’

A minute later Pylos was dashing across the courtyard with twelve men in tow.  Semiramus and Pedaeus were also in the group sprinting across the yard to the armoury.  They ran close to Anaresis whose head and neck swung viciously in an attempt to capture some more Helyan delicacies to eat.  The men were prepared for Anaresis’ attacks and effortlessly avoided its attempts to make a meal out of them.

Semiramus quickly stole into the armoury behind the gatehouse and soon returned with a thick coil of rope in his arms.  Pylos took this and slung it over his shoulder.  ‘Up onto the wall,’ he said, racing towards the steps that led up from the guardhouse to the walkway over the gate.

        All three moons were now high in the sky and the group of soldiers stood in the vast shadow of Sulis’ largest statue.  It was the 230 foot sculpture of Senator Leippa holding a sword aloft in a pose that was as heroic as it was ridiculous.

        ‘Wait here!’ Pylos said to his men.

        ‘Hang on Pylos!’ scoffed Pedaeus.  ‘You’re not going to climb this statue are you?’

        ‘Yes,’ he said with grim-faced determination.  ‘I plan to bring it down.’  He turned to Anaresis who had forgotten about them and was making its way over to the barricade where the smell of Helyan meat was most pungent.  ‘It’s coming down on that!’

        The men accepted his plan without question.  He instructed one group of soldiers to hold onto one end of the rope he planned to haul up the statue.  The other end would be given to a second group once he had wound the middle of the rope around the statue’s neck.  

        Pylos had one last comment to make.  ‘If I don’t make it, one of you must take my place.  Volunteers?’

        All twelve men stepped forward.

        ‘That’s what I hoped I’d see.’  

He was astounding.  The statue was smooth, carved out of Sessymirian marble, but Pylos made light work of it.  He had spent some time climbing the Skyfall in his youth and did not find the statue to be a difficult climb.  He made it up to the Senator’s shoulders in no time and took a moment to take in the view.  Anaresis had crossed the courtyard and pushed itself up against the barricade, sweeping its neck along the top trying to snag the soldiers who held the line there.  Pylos quickly did a quick calculation in his head, adding the height of the wall with the height of the statue and comparing it to the length of the courtyard far below.  ‘Perfect,’ he said to himself.  With irrepressible delight Pylos slung lengths of rope around the senator’s fat neck.  

        This done, he quickly threw the other end of the rope to the men.  ‘Now let’s finish this,’ he called as he took a position behind the head of the statue.

        ‘Pylos!’ Pedaeus barked.  ‘Are you mad?  Get down here at once!’

        ‘No!’ Pylos barked back.  ‘I’ll use my weight to make sure this statue hits it mark.’

        Pedaeus knew it was useless to convince Pylos otherwise.  ‘Suicidal idiot,’ he muttered to himself, as he rushed off to join the men manning the ropes.  The two groups made their way down onto the courtyard, one going left of Anaresis, the other going right.

It was a terrific plan but it had one flaw.  Pylos had no idea of how difficult it would be to topple the statue.  Senator Leippa had given clear directions to those who built the statues that they should be made to withstand the fiercest Helyan sandstorm.  To this end, huge metal rods had been placed in the base of each statue to reinforce it against strong winds.  Twelve men would not be enough to bring the statue down.

        From atop the statue Pylos felt something akin to despair.  He had got it wrong.  He had not gathered enough men to topple the huge sculpture.  Within minutes, Anaresis would be through the barricades and out of range of the statue.  He did not have time to gather more troops, nor did he have any other ideas to kill the monster in the courtyard.

        And then he saw the reason why he was so willing to fight and die for Helyas – the people.  Despite the soldiers who had pushed them away, the citizens of Sulis had returned to the barricades to witness Pylos’ plan.  It was clear to them what was needed.  The soldiers pulling the ropes weren’t enough.  Men and women of all walks of life risked their own safety to climb down into the courtyard to man the ropes.

        The soldiers on the barricade had a choice – they could try to stop the public getting through or they could try to hold Anaresis’ attention whilst more and more citizens poured over the scaffolding to help.

The soldiers gathered before Anaresis, edging dangerously close to the swollen exterior stomach of the hideous beast before them.  Its neck whipped around again and again.  It was so obsessed with catching the elusive soldiers before it, it failed to notice all the tender morsels that were sprinting across the courtyard to help pull down the statue.

        The difference the public made was significant.  The statue upon which Pylos was perched began to move.  He could hear cracking and groaning floating up from the statue’s base.  Suddenly Leippa’s body pitched forward.  The courtyard rushed up to meet Pylos.  He shifted his weight so that the statue fell directly at Anaresis’ bloated body.  With no sense of self-preservation until the last moment, Pylos rode the statue down upon the obscene beast.  Leippa’s outstretched marble sword came down hard upon the pink sack of tissue and blood and staked it to the ground.  At once the stomach burst, like a balloon prodded by a pin, and Anaresis died in a wet and soundless explosion.

        Pylos was thrown forward as the statue hit the courtyard.  He toppled into the brave squad of soldiers atop the barricades who had been distracting the creature.  He heard something snap when he bounced off the men and pounded into some timber beams at the back of the scaffolding.  His head hit something hard and then his senses shut down and he was wrapped up in a cocoon of unconsciousness.

The first sense that returned was Pylos' hearing. 

‘Pylos – the ancient gods fight through you,’ Pedaeus said as he carefully lifted his friend to his feet.

A sharp pain in his forearm made Pylos open his eyes.  His arm had been wrapped up tightly in a white bandage.

        ‘I’m afraid it’s broken Pylos,’ Pedaeus remarked.  ‘The physicians have already seen to you.’

        Pylos shook his head, trying to dispel the fog that had settled upon him.  ‘How long have I been out for?’ he asked, a little perturbed by his situation.

        ‘Not long,’ Pedaeus said.

        ‘And the creature?’

        ‘Dead.  You did it Pylos!  The beast is dead.’

        Pylos felt his entire body relax.  The knowledge of Anaresis’ destruction was like a tonic.  He was bruised and broken, but they had triumphed.  ‘Let me see it,’ Pylos demanded.  

    Pedaeus helped him cross the barricade until they could see down into the courtyard.  It was a strange sight to behold.  The huge balloon of Anaresis’ body had disappeared.  All that was left of it was an ugly wet smear across the flagstones.  In the centre of the courtyard, the gigantic, fallen figure of Augustine Leippa lay covered in the monster’s blood.  The jubilant citizens of Sulis had all congregated around the statue to share tales of what had just transpired.  

        ‘Well, I told you the statues served a purpose,’ Pedaeus said wryly.

        ‘Let’s go down,’ Pylos said.  

Just when Pylos had thought he had seen everything that night, he noticed the bent figure of Senator Agenor making his way through the destruction.  He spotted Pylos and hobbled towards him.  ‘Perhaps you are right General,’ he said gently.  ‘We need our armed forces at full strength.’

        ‘I am pleased to hear you say so Senator,’ Pylos said as he bowed graciously to greet Agenor, ‘but what happened to the hand that signs the paper?’  Together they gazed upon the massive beast before them, skewered at the end of a marble sword.

        Agenor smiled and nodded at the broken statue.  ‘It’s a good thing he wasn’t holding a quill,’ he joked.

        Pylos permitted himself to laugh, pleased by Agenor’s willingness to see things from another point of view.  Agenor laughed too, but his laughter quickly became a splutter and then a hacking cough.  Pylos bent forward to see whether he was alright.  Agenor coughed again and dark blood sprayed out of his lips onto his white beard.

        ‘Agenor!’ exclaimed Pylos reaching out for the senator whose legs were giving way.  Pedaeus let go of Pylos and stepped forward to catch the old man.  Agenor went limp in Pedaeus’ arms.

        ‘What’s wrong?’ Pylos asked as Pedaeus lay Agenor upon the courtyard.  As the senator’s back touched the paving stones, he winced.  Pedaeus carefully turned Agenor onto his side.  Agenor’s tunic had been eaten away.  The skin of his back had suffered the same fate.  Raw and bloody flesh was exposed to the night air.  

        ‘Oh no!’ Pylos gasped as his eyes fell upon the grisly sight.  He turned to Pedaeus.  ‘He must have been struck by a piece of the creature when it exploded.  His entire back has been eaten away.’

        ‘Yes. I’m afraid I got in the way a bit,’ Agenor said barely conscious.  ‘I thought I could help out on the ropes, but –’

        ‘Senator, don’t speak.  Just rest.’

        ‘Oh General, don’t tell me not to speak.  I’ve been speaking all my life.  I’m not going to stop now.’

        Pylos smiled sadly.

        ‘General – the Senate will listen to you now.’

        ‘I know Senator, I know.’

        But Agenor could not hear him.  The old man had died.

Pylos and Pedaeus sat back on the balcony of Pylos’ apartment.  Between them, two empty carafes of wine lay on the floor.  All was quiet in the city below.  In the east the sky was growing lighter.  Dawn was not far off.

        They hadn’t spoken for an hour.  Both were wrapped up in thoughts of the battle at the gates.  Both had lost friends in the attack.  Both knew that more would be lost in the future.  The Ghul would return.  That was a fact.

        ‘What to do Pedaeus?  What to do?’  Pylos sighed.  He rarely called his friend by his first name, but a hard-fought battle and a fair amount of wine had removed the need for formality.

        ‘We do what we do best, Pylos.  We fight back.’

        Pylos leaned back, closed his eyes and fell asleep with a smile on his face.