Olimpia

Kathren's eyes swept over the score of archers on the rooftop, ignoring the mild irritation from her eyes as it felt like they were grinding against ash somehow plastered on the inside of her eyelids. Her hand didn't so much as twitch in an attempt to raise and rub at the irritants. Kathren knew from way too much experience recently that any action would only make it feel worse, but the real reason was she didn't have the energy to notice all of the different discomforts she felt at this point.

The archers lucky enough to be on the ground were stirring from their near comas as those on watch kicked out to wake them. It was the right call. Bending over while resisting the oh-so-sweet sirens song of the ground took a monumental effort of willpower, and it was in short enough supply already that wasting it was stupid.

Well, that wasn't exactly right. Everyone was calling them archers, but people would only call the majority of those up here archers when they are trying to insult anyone who actually makes their living with the bow. There was very little skill up here.

Really, Kathren made half the people up here look bad, and the rest were around her level. The only one who deserved the title of archer, much to Kathren's annoyance, was Redgenald.

All of his arrows, even after the… it would be thousands of arrows by now, right? It had to be. My hands weren't this raw after my weeks of practice as I learned to shoot.

If raw was even the right word. Having a blood-stained bow string and her hands that felt like they were more broken blisters and weeping wounds than flesh wasn't being done justice with the word "raw."

It wasn't just her either, as it was becoming popular to toss aside the bow and gather large rocks to drop. But they only had so many large stones and so much strength to collect them, while they had what felt like an endless supply of arrows.

Anyway, however many shots Redgenald made over the last couple of horrible days, he was still hitting where he wanted. The best Kathren could say about her shots was that they usually landed in the mass of animated flesh marching toward them.

Not that you needed much skill to stand up and shoot down, but it was nice to know that she provided more to the battle than a distraction, as she typically didn't go more than six draws before an arrow thudded home in flesh. But even if her shots were only deflected by the attacker shields like some of the others, they were serving as a necessary obstacle.

Their attacks slowed down the attackers, as the puppets had to move in formation. And it made whoever commanded them choose whether to block attacks from above or on the ground, opening up gaps in their defense.

Which was the source of her current problem.

If she called out that an attack was about to be launched from below their feet, then everyone up here might all throw down their weapons as they go to "help" their comrades. An act that would be like opening your arms wide for an embrace and inviting your enemies to march their swords into your chest. Why should she do anything to make the enemy's advance easier.

That is assuming that they even believed Redgenald had sensed anything and acted on the information in a timely manner. Which was far from guaranteed. And it's not like she could give them orders, as she technically wasn't in their chain of command.

Kathren never thought she would be annoyed at the nebulous place in a legion a scout maintained.

As for sending a pulse, if it even got through, it would alert everyone, including the attackers, of the assumed threat, which could, again, cause a panic. And maybe just cause their attackers to launch an attack early before defenders could get into position, wasting their chance.

The Union wasn't an option, as the network once linking the centuries together had long since collapsed. The disruption that was affecting their pulses put pressure on the Union, making it cost more psy to maintain. After they fell back to the manor, there just wasn't enough psy or need to justify the expenditure of maintaining it.

Everyone knew they had to defend their area, and if they were about to be overrun, a shout or runner would work just as well as a pulse.

Which left… turning to Redgenald, who had a mischievous smile that she ignored, she nodded her head to the stairs. They had to go together.

Kathren didn't sense anything, so she wasn't credible. And Redgenald wasn't a legionary or the most loved at the moment by the Tribune, so it was likely he wouldn't be able to get to the man and make a report.

Then again, she was sitting in the same boat right along with Redgenald. The worst part was she couldn't bitch about it, as the opinion wasn't totally misplaced. No matter their intentions or orders, they were the ones that led them to this manor, which ended up being nothing but a supply base they were now trapped in.

The only reason everyone didn't already consider him and his men a traitor was that Redgenald was sticking right with them after they all fell into the latrine. But even now, the thought was in the back of everyone's mind.

Kathren had to remind quite a few men that he didn't have a reason to remain here at their point if he wasn't on their side. They were trapped, and he could have slipped away at any time.

What Kathren said was perfectly logical, but no one had to explain to her that emotions were fickle things. She was well aware that at any moment, the legionaries could easily decide to kill all the traitors as retaliation for getting them into such a situation.

If a respected centurion or tribune with morals wasn't nearby to stop the men, it could easily happen in the midst of a desperate situation. There were stories of it happening in the past for less than this.

On the other hand, slipping into the puppet's ranks when none of the defenders were looking would be as easy as a brief fall and a quick sprint through a field of bodies. It was something he and his gang could have done if they wanted to. Or, that was another of Kathren's arguments for keeping him alive.

Though, now that she thought about it, it could be the tribune's point in putting Redgenald and his men up here was that he hoped they would sneak away. It would rid him of one potential problem if they did, and if they didn't, it would be proof they had the chance. That seemed like something a good leader would do.

Standing to her full height, Kathren turned and pried open her right hand, making a disturbingly loud ripping sound as the dried blood was pilled off the wood. She stepped away without looking back as the cursed wood stick clattered on the ground.

It might look like she was just leaving behind a bloody stick, but the reality was different. She was also leaving what felt like the top four layers of her left hand and right forearm, along with more than a few drops of blood.

But she was taking with her a burning hatred for the bow and a new desire to do anything to avoid shooting another arrow… So there was that.

Oh, and getting away from the constant threat of archers on the surrounding buildings is good, Kathren thought. It wasn't like the threat was realized at any point after the initial attack, as no more archers had shown up, but the danger was still there, constantly handing over their heads. Which was annoying. Though it did make one wonder where they all went.

With the sudden noise, many on the rooftop glanced over at them, but only the Optio in command of the rooftop so much as opened his mouth to call out to stop them. "Hey, wh—" a decision he quickly rethought after Kathren leveled a glare and threatening shake of her head at him.

Maybe he decided to give them the benefit of the doubt that they had something important to do and weren't just running from combat. Or it could have been that Kathren's glare contained her focused, searing disdain at the thought of picking up the weapon that shall not be spoken of, and should he believe he had the authority to order her to use it again, he would be the object of her immediate vengeance.

It was probably a combination of both.

“—Ahem!" The not-at-all-intimidated Opito's rough cough sounded, getting everyone's attention, "Why are you still lying on your asses? Get up and take your positions!"

During Kathren's little interchange, she noticed that Redgenald made a complicated series of hand signs to the wiry knife man with a pile of head-sized stones next to him, getting a nod in reply but choosing to ignore it. The man was one of his men. She had no right to question him about mysterious messages.

An opinion she kept all the way up until he caught up with her a few feet from the stairs entrance before she casually asked, "So, what did you tell him?"

Redgenald gave her an amused and easygoing glance like she hadn't just tried to call him out on delivering a secret message to one of his gang. "Nothing special," he rasped as his throat was also torn up from the smoke, “just… to keep an… eye peeled. And to come… should I call."

"To desert his post." Kathren pointed out.

"Not a posting… if you're not… in the legion. Besides… he's wasted… up here." By the end, his voice turned grave and confident as he spoke.

"The Tribune doesn't trust you," Kathren pointed out, then threw one last glance around, looking at the burning town before stepping down into the shadows of the house as if to mirror her environment with the dark twist her tone took. "And given the extent the dark elves infiltrated our city, there are more than a few traitors within our midsts."

"True," Redgenald agreed, his casual tone taking on a bit of a forced edge like he was trying to ignore Kathren's mood shift or darker thoughts of his own. "he has… good reasons… but I do not… go back… on my word. And I do not… intend to die… here, how else… can I take… you to dinner."

Kathren nearly stumbled down the flight of stairs as she heard his comment about taking her out to dinner thrown out so casually. But even as her foot was slipping out from under her and she could fall more than a few inches, a strong band slipped around her waist, pulling her back and up into his broad, hard chest.

She felt his head move next to her, his lips close enough to her ear she could feel his voice brushing against her skin as he rasped, "Are you okay?" then, after a moment, amusement filled his voice as he said, "Or is this… an invitation… to take you up… on your offer?"

Freezing like a mountain lion had suddenly closed its jaws around her neck, Kathren's mind emptied of everything but three words. Her mind was locked on what she said a minute ago when he first told her of the attack.

Time slowed for Kathren, and the moment between the frantic beats of her heart stretched until it felt like an eternity had passed. Then Kathren felt Redgenald's chest swell against her back as he sucked in a long breath threw his nose. Like that motion was the dropping of a flag for a race, Kathren smacked his wrist with the palm of her hand and slipped out of his embrace quickly stepping down the stairs.

"Oh?" Kathren sang, her voice airy as she tried to sound casual as if nothing important had happened, "And you think this is the time to be talking about going out to dinner and having fun?"

Instead of a flippant response like she expected, Redgenald's voice turned serious. "When things look… the bleakest… it is the… best time to… look for a light. People fight harder… when they have… something to return to." Then his tone shifted into the lackadaisical attitude she expected, "And if… spending the night… with me makes… you fight harder… to live… I can not say… I am not flattered."

Snorting, Kathren didn't deign to respond to that last comment, and the two fell into a companionable silence. They soon entered the third floor, quickly passing the old bedrooms filled with weapons as they briskly walked to the main flight of stairs. In the silence that heralded the coming battle, the only thumps were their footsteps on the matted and stained carpet.

Down the staircase to the second floor, they walked around the banister for the landing until they stood at the top of the flight of stairs. With every step they took, Kathren's heart dropped a little lower.

Her hands might have felt like she walked up to a lit stove and held them against the steel until her flesh was blistering and melting together, but that was her only real complaint. Hardly anyone on the rooftop had a real injury.

Streaks and splatters of blood and gore were painted on every surface on the first floor. If it was from an enemy or ally, Kathren couldn't say for sure.

Legionaries were sprawled against every wall, blood-stained bandages of torn cloth covering multiple parts of their bodies. A fear that everyone was already dead and they were just waiting to be overwhelmed exploded to fill Kathren's mind.

Then, as if they were waiting for her fear to be realized, she saw the slow-moving chests a moment after she felt many of the legionaries harmonizing their rumbling snores of sleep.

But not all. Those against the wall closest to her had the unmistakable pallor and stillness of the dead.

Moving her eyes away from the dead after a moment of acknowledgment, she looked to the outer wall. The front door was blocked by a bookshelf tipped on its side and a desk with the rubble of broken walls piled around the obstacle. In the line where the large double doors would meet, a hand was driven onto a spear facing out, its middle finger up, as a challenge to their emotionless enemies.

Kathren didn't know how long they could keep up the defiance, but she did feel a certain savage pride that they were still fighting at the sight of the appendage. And she had no doubt that the hand belonged to a legionary, who drove his own severed hand onto a spear to better show it off to their foe.

"I'm giving the lads a few more moments of sleep before the next bout." Snapping her head to the side, Kathren followed the hoarse, grating voice, spotting a centurion lounging in a chair placed a few feet from the bodies that she had missed while focusing on the dead. He brought his short pipe to his mouth, took a puff, and slowly blew out the smoke, a brief moment of bliss in this hell passing over his face before his hard eyes settled on them again, the air of authority slamming down onto him as he spoke, "Shoddy they might be, but I doubt you've run out of arrows yet— Heh~, never thought I would be saying that during a battle. So why you two down here?"

"I have an urgent report for the Tribune, Centurion…" Kathren said, leaving the last bit hanging, waiting for a response.

"Borment," He stated, then the Centurion flicked his hand to the side, motioning down the hallway to his right, "Down in the cellar with the rest of the gravely wounded. The old fool took a sword to the chest, trying to act like a young man a fourth his age, and he's now hacking out blood every other breath. I guess I'm in command now. So I ask again, why you two down here?"

Kathren took in the news without any reaction. It wasn't that she was expecting it or anything, but so much had gone to shit lately; what was one more thing? Getting worked up took energy she didn't have, so accepting and recalculating the plan was the most sympathy she could dredge up at the moment.

Tilting her head to Redgenald, Kathren said, "Our local gang leader here says he detected a signal pulse from below us. I'm inclined to believe him."

The Centurion's eyes narrowed at Redgenald, his short, stocky pipe slightly quivering as it was clamped in his teeth. Kathren felt a slight vibration in their air as some casting passed next to her, connecting with Reginald. "You sure, boy?"

Redgenald simply said, "Yes."

Accepting the statement with a sharp nod, the Centurion plucked his pipe from his mouth and popped to his feet. "Rise and shine, lads! There's no more time to laze about; we have to earn our coin today!" His roar filled the first floor and, no doubt, traveled out into the surrounding grounds quite a ways.

Like they were pulled up by strings, the legionaries were clambering to their feet, some of them without their eyes opened yet. It was as if their bodies were reacting without any conscious control on their part. But, to a one, they were all clutching weapons in their hands they couldn't put down, even in sleep, as if they had spent so much time with the weapons they were now physically attached to them.

"Kormarat! Bring you squa—

As if he was the arrow on the string of a bow, Redgenald tensed on the stairs next to Kathren, facing the hallway Borment gestured to earlier, a sword appearing in one hand and a dagger in the other. Looking at him in surprise, she reached out to him as if to reassure him but changed where her hand was going mid-gesture as she heard his words. "There was… another pulse message."

Grabbing and drawing her sword, Kathren’s body tensed for a fight as she searched the shadows.