Golden Age (The Shifting Tides, #1)(120)

He prepared his last arrow as across the line, the sun king’s soldiers finally charged.

Dion loosed and killed a roaring spearman with a well-placed arrow in his chest. He barely had time to drop his bow and lift his spear before the two forces collided.

The Phalesians held their ground. All along the line snarling men’s faces were barely inches away from each other as shield pressed against shield and spears lunged forward as each man tried to find a gap in the defenses of the soldier in front of him.

The archer at Dion’s right was protected by neither shield nor weapon, and he went down in an instant as a spear found his chest. The line began to buckle. Everywhere there were grunting men and cries of pain. A short, stocky warrior with leather armor and a yellow cloak thrust his spear at Dion’s head. Dion weaved to the side and felt it whistle past his ear. With both hands he jabbed his own spear at the warrior’s face but the man ducked behind the shield on his left arm.

‘Close ranks!’ Amos cried.

A dozen paces to his left, Dion saw Amos fighting with desperation. The scar-faced captain lunged forward to skewer an opponent’s throat with his sword and then slashed down at another, but for every man he killed another took his place.

The youth turned to gasp something to Dion, but he never discovered what he’d been about to say, for an arrow suddenly penetrated the boy’s shoulder and he fell with a cry of pain. Dion closed ranks with the men at both sides again. Finding a gap, he managed to spear the stocky Ilean facing him, thrusting deep into his upper torso and pulling out in a single movement, but the enemy continued to push forward.

Amos suddenly looked along the line, then wheeled his arms. ‘Fall back! Back to the embankment!’

Everywhere the line wavered, then finally crumbled. Dion thrust one last time with his spear and felt the point bite into something, but whirled without looking to see where his blow had struck, barely managing to keep hold of his weapon. Every soldier in blue joined the rout as they ran for the embankment.

He faltered and nearly fell when he felt a sharp stab of pain between his shoulder blades.

Stumbling, he righted himself and continued running. At all sides hoplites and archers ran for the narrow stairs leading up the sloped embankment. Glancing back over his shoulder he saw two swarthy Ileans on his heels. One held the sword that had scored his back. He could almost feel their hot breath on his neck.

Dion spun and threw his spear, making one of his pursuers dodge to the side. He glanced up at the embankment as he reached the bottom of the steps. Risking another look behind him he saw an arrow from above strike the second Ilean’s upper thigh. The yellow-cloaked soldier roared with pain as he fell.

Dion panted as he climbed the steps while arrows smashed against the stone around him. The press of men crowding behind him made him nearly trip into those in front. The short journey up the stairs took an eternity as he expected an arrow to spear his body at any instant.

Finally, he crested the steps.

The first thing he saw was a Phalesian archer dead at his feet. Barely pausing, Dion crouched and picked up the man’s bow and quiver before joining the soldiers forming up along the defensive bastion.

The two forces both paused to gather themselves.

Standing with the last of the defenders arrayed along the summit of the curved stone wall, Dion saw that the fallen of both sides littered the curving shoreline, but the beach was now firmly in the sun king’s hands. The last pair of survivors made it up to the embankment, joining their fellows in guarding the steps that led from the harbor to the agora.

As order gradually came to the ranks of the yellow-cloaked soldiers below, Dion saw a barrel-chested commander, who could only be Kargan, gesturing as he barked orders to his officers. A lanky man with long dark hair and a curled beard, wearing a spiked golden crown and a bright yellow robe – he must be the sun king himself – stood tall on the upper deck of a warship and surveyed the area, before descending a ramp to the shore.

The last defenders waited along the embankment. The Phalesians had lost at least half of their number. The consuls who made up the city’s leadership milled behind them.

He heard Aristocles speaking loud enough for all to hear. ‘No! I refuse to leave the city.’

Dion looked frantically for Chloe, but she wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

Out of bowshot, the sun king’s soldiers prepared to make their final assault. Rank after rank of yellow-cloaked soldiers assembled in orderly rectangles. A silver-haired eldran now stood beside Solon; both were gazing up at the Temple of Aldus. The Ileans had conquered the Phalesian army as easily as they’d crushed the navy.

Dion swiftly assessed the defenders’ numbers. He knew they would fall in the first wave.

A trumpet blared.

The attackers roared. The defenders shook their weapons.

The sun king’s men began to run.

Instantly, every archer atop the bastion drew his bowstring to his cheek and released, and Dion fired with them. But the attackers raised their shields to ward off the volley and few arrows struck home. The Ileans rushed the twin sets of steps and there were suddenly so many soldiers milling below that Dion couldn’t miss striking limb, torso, or shield.

The sun king’s soldiers reached the top of the steps and the Phalesians cut them down. But for every man that fell, another took his place. The rush became a flood, and the flood became a torrent. There were simply too many of them.