He walked in a daze. If it weren’t for the soldiers on his heels he would have collapsed, but their relentless march spurred him on. Finally, he picked up his pace, beginning a shuffling run. Dion suddenly realized that he was sobbing as he ran, hot tears burning in his eyes and spilling down his cheeks, carving a path through the grime on his skin.

Hearing a whinny, he looked up and saw two soldiers on horseback carefully making their way down the hillside from above. He recognized the light armor and red cloak of a Xanthian mounted scout, but the two riders rode past him without a glance and drew up further below, watching the approach of the Ilean army. A moment later they were heading back toward the Gates of Annika.

Dion knew his brother and the army of Xanthos wouldn’t be far behind. He realized with a sense of desolate abandonment that Nikolas was now the only family he had left. He’d come from Lamara as quickly as he could.

But he was too late.

Nightfall was approaching when Dion once more reached the pass, weariness in every limb, but knowing that he needed to give his brother one vital piece of information.

He was relieved to see that Nikolas had his men in good order. Red-cloaked hoplites in disciplined formations blocked every approach to the pass. The terrain was unsuitable for horses and cavalry were generally absent, but hundreds of archers stood gathered behind the heavily-armored hoplites, side by side with columns of javelin and sling throwers and the common infantry.

As Dion approached they soundlessly parted, turning dark eyes and fierce scowls on him. These men knew that their city had fallen. They could only hope that their wives and children had survived the attack, that with their enemy moving so swiftly, there had been little time for razing, rape, murder, and pillage.

Dion was in foreign clothes, which explained their glares. But he also knew many of his brother’s comrades by name and was pleased to see their faces. Passing an officer he recognized, he nodded a greeting.

The soldier hawked and spat on the ground at his feet.

Too stunned to react, Dion decided to quickly leave the area; perhaps the soldier hadn’t seen his face. But he now saw more grimaces and snarls on others that he knew were close to his brother.

Then Dion found Nikolas.

Half a foot taller than Dion, burly and as strong as an ox, Nikolas filled every inch of his leather armor with brawn and muscle. The bushy black eyebrows under his curly black hair were arched over his dark eyes as he issued barking orders to an officer twice his age. His red cloak was trimmed with gold and he wore a steel helmet with a plume of crimson horsehair, the vertical cross guard plunging from the rim to cover his nose.