It had been an eventful day. 

The Kahreeds had made it up the slop thrice since they were first repelled, attacking in even greater force, though they sent increasing numbers of infantry. The terrain did not support their mamluk's tactics, and Heronticles the One Eye had seen their cavalry forces dismounted and camping, enjoying what food or drink they had. Some of them anyway. The others had joined their lesser infantry on foot; men with wicker shields and boiled leather and mail now marching with their more heavily armored brethren in wielding shorter, more devastating armaments. It was Brasidas's firm opinion that while the light kahreed infantry might be a match for militia, a Protostates will win one on one four out of five bouts. But with dismounted mamluks beside them, along with their strength in numbers, they could buckle at any time. 

Brasidas had ordered his cataphracts to dismount, ushering their horses into the citadel to be under the care of the locals. The Imperial troops would protect their homes and keep them safe whilst they cared for the horses, with only a skeleton crew of sentries posted within the small fortress to keep an eye on things. The townsfolk might be Ashvari themselves, but they knew how the kahreed operated. There was a very real chance if they reconquered Arbela, they would rape and loot and claim it was the Imperials, and the kahreed garrison Brasidas had butchered had not been the best men to rely upon. And so Brasidas had forged an agreement with the elder, and now they were a single unit in the face of their besiegers.   

Loxos had lost a finger in the last engagement, and Argyros had been awake for three days. If he continued his body would break, Brasidas knew, and so he took the post of his Protos Lochias and ordered Argyros sleep. He wished he could say it was out of charity, but he would be damned if he wasn't at the fore, and the only way his men would live to see the next dawn was if he stood among them. Taking a spear and reclaiming his lost mace, he stepped in front of his men and ordered their volleys, arrows scything past him into the enemy ranks as they tried to crest the hill, and he stepped back into his protostate formation and held the line. He thrust with his men, pushed back the enemy with his shield, and when they could no longer bear the weight, he told them to retreat as he called forth "Cataphracts!" Seven hundred men of hard muscle and heavy armor would advance to their leader, mace and sword and broad bladed axe cutting a swathe through the enemy whilst the crows watched above, blood spraying on the shrubs and sand before they would fall back, making sure never to reach level ground with their foe. 

Loxos and Theron, a Lochias of the lower ranks, held the north and south of the town as Brasidas held the east, using the smallest but most elite troops to spare the rest from the brunt of the fighting. Even Sayf and his light nomads could do little, the enemy employing their own steppe archers; a rival clan Sayf explained. Such were the chances of a culture employed as mercenaries. It was unfortunate, however. He did not know what held his old friend, Tychos, or where Georgicus was. Before they had taken Arbela, he had received strange news of desertions and odd enemy movements. Brasidas had never been a pessimest, but he had a feeling he couldn't figure. It had been reinforced by a poor sight he had seen the other day, of a snake clutched in the talons of a hawk; an uncomfortable omen. In boreas, the elders taught such a sight meant great changes were coming. 

It took a day for Brasidas to see any glimmer of hope beyond the fighting and blood, and it wasn't in the form he thought it would be. 
- 

"Archontas, this is the scout." Herokas said, the Protostate giving a salute as Brasidas permitted him to resume his patrol. The shielded spearman hustled away to the south, leaving the Protos Kapetanos, a Lochias, and two of his cataphracts alone in a townhouse with this strange woman who wiped blackened oil off her face, revealing amber eyes and tanned skin. So it was true, she was Miravet. He bid she rise, and so the woman did. She saluted him in the Imperial fashion, but made a vague sign with her hand. Miravet women were strange, but they had his respect from all he had seen and heard.

"Are you Brasidas Khalkós?" She asked, holding his gaze like a cobra. He nodded curtly, giving the greeting of Boreas, punching his fists together audibly. "I serve Protos Kapetanos Phaedra. She waits for the enemy's next attack before she strikes. Our forces are east, in the dried creeks of the lowlands. Prepare your men, Archontas Khalkós." The Miravet's first language was clearly not imperial, but she was also very obviously well versed in it. 

"She has my thanks, as do you. It looks like we're going to have one wild night." He said, thinking Phaedra must be close indeed for so much of the boot polish to remain on this woman during her sojourn into the river. That, and thinking she could attack whenever the enemy saw fit to advance. "You may rest yourself, soldier, if it is what you wish. The wounded and tired are in the citadel. You have my aegis if you are weary from your service." 

"Archontas," she said, stepping forward, squaring her shoulders. "I wish to fight and rejoin my sisters. Nothing more." The two cataphracts looked to one another, and the Lachios nodded in approval. Brasidas grinned.

"Then fight you shall, warrior. Kantos! Go get this soldier some food, water, and our finest spear. Before sunset they will attack again." He told them, and waved his men off to their duties, leaving him and the woman in the room alone. He spoke as the silence fell, though whether to himself or to her, it was difficult to say. 

"There will be plenty of blood for everyone."