CITY OF THE GODS: FORGOTTEN (72 page)

The archer next to him nodded. “How good are you with that bow, tracker?”
      

D’Molay looked at the man, not sure if he had met him before. “My archery’s not as good as I’d like it to be. Still, if they storm the fort, I’ll pick off a few.”

The archer smiled slightly. “I like an honest man. They call me Tycho. I saw you at the capture of the beast. What brings you back to the Olympian realm?”

“Just can’t stay away from trouble.”

“Then you’re in the right place. We may have been lucky the day we caught that beast, but look what’s it’s brought us. With half the army of Olympia in the Lost Realm trying to recapture a Titan, we’re short-handed. Now is the worst time to fight this war.”

“So, you think we should have turned the beast and Aavi over to Set?”
 
D’Molay tried hard not to sound as angry as he suddenly felt.

“Yes.
 
I say let the enemy have them. They are not Greek.”

“Enough,” Kastor interjected. “We have our orders, Tycho. You question the wisdom of the gods at your own peril. I’ll hear no more of it. Any enemy who dares assault Ares’ own fort will fall like a weed under our sandals.”

The three men turned their attention to the activity beyond the walls until their tempers settled. Eventually, D’Molay felt moved to reconcile with Tycho. Although he didn’t agree with the man’s opinion, he understood his fear and resentment. His people would be falling in battle for reasons they did not even know. Furthermore, it seemed unwise to bear a grudge against someone he would soon be fighting alongside. He offered a few words of hope.

“I’m reminded of something my men would often chant before battle back on Earth. ‘He makes my feet like the feet of deer, and sets me on high places. He teaches my hands to make war, so that my arms can bend a bow of bronze.”

The archer silently considered the blessing, nodding his approval. “Good, as far as words go. At least Ares has blessed us with these arrows. Here.”

Tycho gave him a long arrow with a perfectly straight shaft made of light reddish wood.
 
Its silver arrowhead had a sharp, jagged edge and the fletching at the back was comprised of iridescent dark green feathers. “It’s a perfect arrow if ever I’ve seen one,” D’Molay said with all sincerity.

“It’s better than that. These were made by Hephaestus’ own craftsmen. They will fly further and truer than any others. No matter how bad a shot you are, you’ll do better with these, my friend. There’s a crate full over there. Swap your old arrows for these.”

D’Molay went to the crate and replaced his arrows.
 
After he returned, all stood at the ramparts engaging in idle chat to help cut the building tension. The moon slowly rose above the tree line on the horizon as they waited for whatever was next. The artificial calm was broken by the excited whisper of one of the other archers.

“I think I see one!”

D’Molay scanned the ground below searching for the trespasser, but it was Tycho who spotted it. “Over there, by that boulder.”

“Ah, yes . . . in the shadow, I see it,” Kastor confirmed. “Watch for others. That one may have been sent out to distract us.”

D’Molay stared into the night, frustrated that he had not yet seen what the Greeks had. A few more tense seconds passed before he finally located the figure, crouching beside a large rock looking ready to spring.

“I think I can get it,” Tycho said as he took aim.

“No one shoot unless I give the order!” Kastor barked out. “They probably sent this scout to test our range. Let it get in closer, so they won’t know just how far our arrows can actually fly. When they’re close enough to smell, we’ll take it down.”

“There’s another one, off to the left!” D’Molay’s eyes at last seemed to have adjusted to the night. He pointed out what he had seen to Kastor.

“Then you have your target.”

D’Molay notched one of the arrows and took aim as he drew back his bow. He breathed steadily and kept his weapon centered on the foe as Kastor enjoined the other soldiers to keep their eyes on the woods. As his target approached, he could see it was a crocodile-headed beast of Set’s army. His enemy and Tycho’s came closer and closer to the fort’s wall.

“Now - let fly!” Kastor called out. Arrows sped into the darkness. Some missed their targets completely, but three of them found their marks. Tycho’s arrow went right through his crocodilian’s head, killing it instantly. D’Molay’s shot hit the other creature in the chest. It let out a horrendous howl as it tried to stagger back to the trees. Another archer’s arrow struck and it fell to the ground, dead.

“Got it,” one of the men called out.

No other crocodile men emerged from the woods after that. A calm vigilance fell over Kastor’s guards. Little was said as they kept close watch on the open land surrounding the fort. Every so often D’Molay thought he saw dark figures massing along the tree line, but just as quickly, the shadows were lost in the cover of the forest.

“They attack soon. It’s just a matter of time,” Kastor said, pacing behind him. D’Molay watched the moon rise over the tree tops. Though the night air grew cooler, the heat of battle that had been kindled in the men did not diminish.

Through the hours of darkness, a few more of Set’s crocodile warriors probed the fort’s defenses.
 
D’Molay had used their incursions to practice a bit more and was fairly certain some of his arrows had found their mark in the torsos and heads of the man-like creatures.

“Looks like you’ll be of some use yet, D’Molay,” Tycho said.

“I’ll try to pull my weight. I only got this bow a few days ago.”
 
D’Molay tried to recall the last time he had used a bow on a regular basis and realized it was probably close to twenty years ago on a mission with Sergius.
   

“Ha!
 
Well that explains -” Before Tycho could finish his friendly insult, Kastor cried out into the darkness with a loud clear voice. “They’re surging forward!
 
At the ready!”

As if charmed by a spell, every man pulled back his bow to take aim at the black mass swarming from the dark trees. D’Molay tried to pick out a target, but it was like a taking aim at a torrent of water. He was bound to hit something as long as his arrow went into the surging mass of figures.

“Hold! On my order!”
 
Kastor commanded as the crocodilians scrambled over rocks and bushes, getting closer and closer to the fort. D’Molay counted six seconds before all heard Kastor’s voice shout out the order to fire. A wall of arrows flew off the ramparts. D’Molay could hear the whistling sound of the arrows as they flew, then the grunts, snaps and squeals emanating from the enemies’ jaws as the arrows pierced them by the dozens.
 
Ignoring their casualties, the crocodilians pushed forward without pause, like angry ants running out of their hill. Wave after wave of arrows rained down. Countless creatures lay dead or immobilized but this did not stop the others.
 
The crocodilians managed to get to the wall and much to D’Molay’s shock started to clamber right up. Quickly he took aim down the wall and started to pick them off as they climbed.

“Shoot down the walls! They’re climbing up at us!’ he cried out.

“Keep them off!” Kastor ordered, using his rank to support D’Molay’s initiative. The archers adjusted their aim straight down. The crocodile men seemingly defied gravity as they scaled the side of the fortress with ease. Picking them off one by one was the soldiers’ only defense. It was an effective tactic. Soon the bodies of the creatures started to pile up at the foot of the wall, but in the distance, D’Molay could see more running out of the forest. Marveling at their sheer numbers, he kept up a steady rhythm of arrow shots at the creatures below.

Despite the defenses, several crocodilians reached the top of the wall and jumped onto the ramparts. They were taller than the Greeks and their muscular, dark hides were hard and leathery. Around their necks were gorgets made of bronze. These and their tattered skirts and bronze belts were marked with Set’s symbol, a jackal head, in bright red paint. They carried no weapons, but their powerful arms and clawed hands seized any archer in reach and threw him off the ramparts.
 

Hearing the screams of the victims, some men dropped their bows and picked up swords.
 
As two Greeks engaged one of the creatures, another came up behind it and shoved a pike into its side, trying to shove it off the wall. Bright red blood flowed out of the wound and the creature barked and growled angrily. It slashed at one man who got too close, killing him instantly, while the other Greeks managed to force the jackal off the ramparts. Another crocodilian attacked several archers, throwing one over the wall to his death. Seeing an opening, D’Molay turned, took aim and shot an arrow right through its head. Without taking time to see the creature die, he turned his attention back to the wall where others were clambering up toward him. It was extremely disconcerting to see these large creatures crawling up the side of the fortress, but D’Molay kept his wits and continued to reduce their numbers. The smell of blood and the screams of the dying surrounded them now. He glanced over at Tycho, but the man was so focused on shooting arrows he didn’t appear to be aware of anything save the targets below.

As the night wore on, the pile of dead crocodile men beneath the ramparts continued to grow.
 
A few times an hour, several lucky ones would reach the top of the rampart and attack, trying to kill as many archers as possible. Over a dozen of Kastor’s men had been lost. As the darkness began to give way to dawn, the crocodilians seemed to retreat with the night. Perhaps they did not like the light, or Set had other plans for them. Whatever the reason, D’Molay thanked the gods for it. Had the attack continued, their sheer numbers might well have won them control of the ramparts.

All had been quiet for some time when bursts of light in the eastern sky gave the Greeks something to look at besides dead crocodile men. An aerial battle was taking place. D’Molay could see the outline of a Mayan raft on fire as it slowly fell to the ground.

“Good,” Kastor said wearily as they watched it crash. “If we don’t destroy all those flying rafts they’ll drop troops right on our heads.” He instantly regretted voicing his opinion as the archers began to worry about the prediction. Kastor realized they needed a respite before the next crisis to prevent their morale from breaking down. “In turns, men. Fall out for water and rations. Re-arm and patch yourselves up.”

D’Molay was among the first to abandon the line, but not to serve his own needs. He had to check on Aavi, make sure she was still safe. He dashed down the stairs and back into the fortress, shouldering his way past a long line of servants and priests who were carrying supplies down one particular hallway. The young priest who had helped him at the healer’s was coming toward him.

“What’s this?” D’Molay asked, gesturing at the activity.

“Everyone who isn’t fighting is moving to the fortress stronghold,” the priest said as he marched on without pause, the burlap bag of grain he carried trailing a spill behind him. D’Molay dodged between the evacuees and made his way back to Aavi’s room, wondering if he would find her there or if she had already joined the others in the stronghold. When he threw open the door, he found her napping in a chair. Sometime during the night she had changed into the clothes he had obtained from Leonidus. D’Molay smiled at the awkward way she had tied the leather straps of the sandals around her calves.

“Aavi.” He gently touched her shoulder and she came awake with a bright smile.

“You’re back!” Aavi practically jumped out of the chair, but he held her back with a friendly hand. “I haven’t heard anything about what’s going on. Is it all over?”

“You’ve heard nothing?” D’Molay studied her face, which seemed free of worry now that he was safe and sound in front of her. He was relieved she was unaware that Set had offered to not attack the Greeks if they turned her and the beast over.

“Something is worrying you. I can see it in your glow. What is it?”

D’Molay inwardly kicked himself. He was on the verge of giving away the secret. Luckily, he did have other worries which he could voice. “You worry me. The others are going deep into the fort to a safer place. Will you let me take you there?”