Miraculously, the onslaught of projectiles paused, the shock of the sound and smoke stunning the defenders.

“With me,” Cade yelled in Latin, half choking from the smoke. “We stand here!”

He snatched up the torch from where it had fallen and stumbled past the cart, using it to hold himself up. The doors, though warped by the cannonball, were still intact and on their hinges. The splintered, broken bar was on the floor, but a spear haft could easily replace it if the Grays closed the doors again.

They had not secured the entrance yet.

Soldiers pressed forward, raising shields peppered with broken javelins and arrows. They stood shoulder to shoulder beside him, Quintus to his right, Amber to his left. The other contenders, miraculously, seemed to be alive and well, mixed in among the Romans. In the lee of the entrance, the javelins could not reach them, but Cade saw that hardly ten soldiers had survived their charge. Their shield wall was awfully thin, and most, if not all, of his small squad were injured.

He was only grateful that his own team had been protected by the grass bales and the bulk of the cannons beneath, having been positioned just behind the cart. Those farther back had not been so lucky, and a glance back revealed the broken trail of bodies they had left behind them.

By now near two hundred legionaries would be charging toward the fortress, then running along its sides to reinforce them. Two hundred soldiers against a thousand were thin odds. But right now, it was less than a score, holding the doors. And the Grays would be coming.

Already he could see shapes moving in the darkness beyond, and Cade’s fear was confirmed. The Grays worked in darkness. There were no artificial lights here. Only a strange, blue glow emitting from the walls, which were covered in luminescent lichen. Cade might have been fascinated were he not trying to keep his heart from beating out of his chest.

The screeches of the enemy were intensifying, and the shapes were taking form. A shield wall.

“Hold,” Cade growled, lifting the blazing torch.

The sounds of trilling voices echoed down the tunnel. It was melodic, rising and falling in tandem with the crash of spear against shield.

They were singing. A battle song to strike fear into the hearts of their enemies, but all Cade felt was pity. These were not enemies of his choosing. In another world, another time, they might have spoken. Learned from one another.

He was the aggressor here, and they were only defending their home. Their species. Their planet.

But he had a job to do. He was going to kill them.

“We can’t hold against that lot,” Scott called. “What do we do?”

“We won’t have to,” Cade yelled back. “Stand firm.”

The Romans were snarling in Latin, calling for the enemy to come closer. This was their last stand. Their revenge. There was anger here, borne from years of misery and conflict.