Alcello’s bow was in his hand at the first screams, and by the time the first fleeing peasant reached the tavern, he already had an arrow notched. Looking past the panicked townsfolk as they streamed past the small group of adventurers, Alcello looked back across the town, and grimaced as he saw the banners of Kothar quickly moving nearer. He had already begun to pull back the string of his bow when Farrin spoke, and he couldn’t help but see the wisdom in the other kestaphos’ words, lowering his bow. 

Fighting was already consuming the town, the Mennonite survivors fighting desperate last-ditch battles against the Kothar army, but Alcello could tell that it was all futile. He couldn’t tell if the fires that were already starting to spread across the town had been started by the invading Kotharan’s, by the Mennonites in their attempted defence, or by the town people themselves, seeking to deny anyone from claiming their homes. Alcello moved beside Farrin and he could hear from the noise behind him that the others followed, but he still carried his bow, the arrow still notched as they ran through the streets, his eyes darting around every corner, ready for whatever might come at them. 

Surprisingly, they made it to the stables safely, even as the town was consumed by the battle, but as they moved to free the horses, and secure their escape, their safety was quickly put in jeopardy. Alcello saw the hoplites an instant before Farrin did, and he already had his bow up by the time Farrin had stopped in his tracks. 

He put the arrow through the first man’s throat, before he even had time to register the unusual group, or to raise his shield. Staggering back, the hoplite desperately clutched at his neck, his shield and spear dropped to the floor, long forgotten as he desperately clutched at the grievous wound. He struggled for a moment, and then he was dead, falling to the ground, blood already pooling in the churned mud of the village streets. Alcello was already reaching to pull another arrow from his quiver when he hesitated, cocking his head slightly. A distant thundering echoed above the cacophony of battle that surrounded them, a strange trumpeting that Alcello could swear he recognised, and then a house exploded.

[hr]

Alcello had only seen an elephant a handful of times, and they were wild creatures, not the war elephant that burst through the house, crashing through the side of the Kothar soldiers as they struggled to form up. One man was crushed outright, and several others knocked off their feet as dust filled the air. Alcello had fought beasts larger and wilder than the animal that charged past him, but it was still an awe-inspiring sight, and for a moment he was transfixed by it, catching sight of a dark figure slipping from his saddle upon the beast. But the sudden charging of the Baccum man pulled him back to reality, and he quickly slung his bow away again. 

He could hear the horses screaming and neighing wildly in the stables, panicked by the roar of noise outside of their housings, the smell of burning, and the stench of death in the air. If the group were to ever dream of achieving Farrin’s quest, then they would need to get out of the town alive, and if they were to do that, then Alcello knew that they needed the horses. He doubted any other members of the group had elephants that they could ride in on. But the kestaphos had only made it a few strides towards the stables when a figure stepped out of the dust. Clearly the Kothar soldiers were well-trained, not the type of men to fall apart even in the face of wild elephants, but that did not surprise Alcello. When he had been a younger man, before his calling had become a hunter of nightmarish creatures, he had fought roaming soldiers that threatened his people, and he knew that Kothar bred them tough. 

The hoplite glared at the hooded man, his shield raised, and his spear levelled towards the stranger’s chest. Before Alcello could react, another figure stepped from the dust. Another hoplite. The two stood side by side, their shields coming together to create a miniature version of the phalanx’s that had made the Kothar forces notorious. Miniature, but still deadly. Alcello cursed under his breath. He did not know if his new companions would come to his aid, but he knew if he was to die here, slain by the foul Kothar, then he would die as a kestaphos, not some cloaked stranger. With a shrug of his shoulders, Alcello let his cloak fall to the ground, his batter lamellar armour catching the midday sun as he pulled his sword from it’s sheath across his back. He gave a nod of respect to his two opponents, but neither of them acknowledged him, moving towards him as a unit, their spears levelled. 

The first thrust came from his right, and Alcello’s sword flashed as he knocked it aside. He was already moving to evade the second, and it glanced off his armour as it was driven towards him from the left. Catching the shaft of the second spear with his free hand, Alcello pulled on it with a sharp movement, slamming his shoulder against the onrushing shield of the hoplite and sending the man staggering back a pace. A pace was all Alcello needed. Their formation broken for an instant, he turned sharply to face the soldier to his right. He barely managed to knock aside the spear thrust, feeling it tear through the lamellar just beneath his left shoulder, a sudden searing pain as the point scratched across the skin beneath, but he ignored it, he was where he wanted to be.

The hoplite’s greatest strength is their ability to keep their foes at range, using their spears in great numbers to present an unassailable wall of sharpened metal. But now that Alcello was less than a pace from the hoplite, the spear was suddenly useless, the reach of it too long to be brought to bear. But for Alcello, he had a chakram in his hand, pulled from his sleeve, and it revelled in the desperate struggle of close quarters. 

Realising the danger, the hoplite pushed forward with his shield, attempting to knock Alcello back with the heavy force of it, but the Mennon warrior twisted his body, letting it roll past him, and giving him the fraction of a chance that he needed. The chakram flashed in the air, and it cut deeply into the neck of the hoplite, the sharpened steel biting into the exposed flesh between the man’s helmet and his cuirass. To the soldier’s credit, he didn’t scream, nor did he fall. Gritting his teeth against the pain, the adrenaline flooding his veins dulling the pain, the Kothar man staggered back, raising his shield again even as his companion moved to his aid. 

All this happened in an instant, and Alcello had almost forgotten the second hoplite, so focussed was he on his own assault, and it can only have been by the grace of Alkon that Alcello wasn’t killed outright where he stood. But the spear thrust that would have ended his life glanced off a plate of his lamellar armour, driving Alcello back a pace, the impact like being struck by a hammer rather than punching through his chest. The breath was driven from Alcello’s lungs, and he desperately gasped for breath as he staggered back, his vision suddenly too bright, the noise around him muffled, and the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. He raised his sword as best he could, glaring at the two hoplites as they formed up again, spears levelled. The injured soldier was bleeding heavily from the wound on his neck, but he did not falter, and the two hoplites closed in on the injured Alcello.