The men of Myrmien after being pressed forward managed to break the halfway point. That achievement however coming at great cost, almost a quarter of their forces were either dead or incapacitated. Bodies of the dead and dying littered the slopes, snaking down toward the bottom of the hill, the brown hard packed dirt turning crimson and moist with the shed blood.

All was not well for the defender’s though; the engagement had taken its toll on them as well. Losses were mounting as exhaustion took effect, stamina reserves depleted from the constant combat and retreats. In addition, although they suffered one loss for every ten to fifteen enemies, they were still outnumbered, and the besiegers showed no sign of slowing their ascent.

There was however a detail that commander Iphiclus and his officers may have noticed but considered a minor issue. That was the placement of the wolf pits, the spike traps had caused significant disruption, but more importantly it constrained the marching column; forcing the soldiers to pile closer towards the center as the traps permeated the sides of the path.

These randomly placed and cleverly hidden obstacles were far too numerous to simply avoid or fill with corpses. A file of infantry may have attempted to break away from the tagmat, opting to make their way up the sides only to find half their number pinned by lethal traps. Those soldiers stripped of their comrades and their shields were then quickly dispatched with ranged fire. Having suffered such setbacks numerous times, the attackers opted to remain on the beaten path, braving the defender’s ranged harassment as opposed to the fears of the unknown.

During this period of adaptation, the besiegers took constant casualties, however little by little they did adapt. Rather than the larger hundred-man tagmats, formations were reorganized into smaller mobile twenty-five-man Ile’s. These infantry squadrons were appointed a Dekastaroi to lead them, giving each ten-man file leader another fifteen to lead. Two Ile’s would then work in conjunction moving forward while guarding one another’s flanks, by employing this method the Myrmiese force was able to reduce damage from projectiles and increase their marching pace.

The formerly serene and beautiful hill had become an image of the underworld, with the dead laying sprawled all over. This scene was in turn engulfed in the cacophony of war, the clashing of metal, the screams and wails of the dying, and the whispers of the dead. The only true victor of any such battle was the god of death, no matter which pantheon, war brought nothing but misery, with only the gods of the underworld rejoicing in the influx of souls.

At the crest of the hill, the area where the path connected with the plateau above, Apollonius, the young champion, and those under their command observed the ongoing battle. Little by little the Myrmiese pressed forward under a withering hail of missile fire, yet they did not stop, herded onwards like a pack of frightened sheep. What mattered was that the Temrenosian defenders had been pushed back to the final line of defense, the last point before the defense of the wagon camp.

“All of you, I require your assistance. The final trap needs to be sprung… and lucky for all of us, we get to spring it. Now help me get these into position.” Apollonius pointed toward the group of logs that the defenders had spent days processing and hauling uphill. Each of the three logs were thick enough that two men were needed to wrap their arms around the trunk, the weight of which required three to lift.

“What is it that you need us to do? I’m afraid there are not enough here to establish a palisade… even if we did, I doubt we have the time to do so before the enemy breaches this point.” Viriato was quick to point out what many of the others were thinking. After all, what good were these if they could not cover the area. Perhaps they could restrict the wide swing of a sword, but the thrust of a spear would not be impacted in any way.

“Don’t worry, this is part of the Scholar’s plan. You will see soon enough, just help me roll these into position. As soon the last of our people retreat to the plateau, we will spring our trap. After all our enemy has lined themselves up perfectly… You’ll know what I mean.” The men were curious and wanted to know more, but it was clear from the look on Apollonius’s face that the time for talk had passed. Putting aside their questions, the group split into three groups of three, with the remaining six standing guard, informing the others of the situation below; specifically, the position of the Myrmiese force based upon the pre-placed markers.

As the group of frontline defenders pushed the logs into position, the skirmishers under Timeaus abandoned their final defensive line. Unloading the last of their javelins into the Myrmiese formation, they turned and ran up towards the camp; with the archers and slingers following close behind.

“FALL BACK! FALL BACK TO THE CAMP!” Timeaus yelled his orders for all to hear, not only did it push the defenders to pick up their pace; it also reinvigorated the Myrmiese who broke ranks and rushed forward to cut down the fleeing defenders. They soon learned the folly of their greed, hidden within the shadows were Timeaus’s own elite ranger unit. The squad of five took the opportunity provided and immediately unleashed their arrows in rapid succession upon the unsuspecting and undefended soldiers.

At least ten and as many as twenty fell to this surprise attack, cutting down the front line and forcing the humbled attackers to retreat within their ranks. Not only did the surprise attack cause damage and buy the time needed for the defenders to retreat to their camp, but it also forced the enemy to act more cautiously, fearing another surprise attack from the shadows. There would however be no follow-up, the ambushers having already retreated to their final defensive positions. What it did accomplish was keeping the Myrmiese formations tightly packed and moving slowly, lining them up perfectly for the biggest surprise yet.

That surprise came in the form of three massive logs barreling straight down the path. There was nowhere to flee, as the men were aware of the danger hidden to either side. Like an animal caught between two predators, they froze, the majority unable to decide on a course of action. This left them immobile and confused, some put up their shields, as if the thin plank would help against hundreds of pounds of force hurtling towards them. Others fled to the right or left, many of whom fell into the hidden traps laid in advance. While the last group hit the dirt, praying that the massive chunk of death did not roll over them on its downhill journey.

When the logs finally struck the outcome was as expected, utterly devastating. Those in front hiding behind their shields were crushed into paste, what was left smeared across the earth. The men further back did not fare much better, with the truly unlucky having their bodies partially crushed yet remaining alive somehow. The aftermath was as expected a grisly sight, blood and entrails carpeting the earth as if it were a paved roadway, the screams and cries only adding to the terrifying atmosphere.

“Impossible… How can this be happening?” Iphiclus questioned his sanity, questioned the reality that lay before his eyes. The surrounding cavalry were the same, staring open mouthed at the aftermath of the final trap.

“Co… Co… Commander, what are we to do? The army has been decimated, should we not retreat back to the city?” One of the young cavalry men cautiously approached the shell-shocked Iphiclus. It took a few seconds to even process the fact that the man was speaking to him, after which he released his pent-up frustrations.

“Retreat! RETREAT!... There is no room for retreat! Every single one of us is expendable, cast out by our superiors. If we won, they would rob us of our glory, and if we were defeated… well its better we die here than return as cowards.” Iphiclus pulled a palm sized wooden carving which he kept hanging around his neck, the horse was misshapen and deformed, barely recognizable as a horse at all. But the man could not help but love the keepsake, a gift from his youngest daughter to protect him on his journey. He could not help but be filled with regret, he was but a year away from retirement, a year away from a cozy farm outside the city; a plot of land all his own, for he and his. Yet all his dreams had burned up into nothing, going back to Myrmien would doom himself and his family to death and enslavement.

Iphiclus closed his fists tightly around the carving, praying to whatever higher powers would listen to his plea, expecting none to come to his aid. With a heavy heart and a strong resolve, the man turned to his loyal subordinates. “I apologize for everything; it was not our decision to come here to lead this force… However, I should have declined more fervently, perhaps we would have only received a light punishment for insubordination. Now we have no choice but to give our lives… only through sacrifice will our families escape enslavement… Men! If we are to die… THEN LET US DIE FIGHTING!” With that final cry the horsemen surrounding Iphiclus washed away their hesitation, a grim resolve settling within their eyes.

The confusion and fear had been wiped from their minds, the ramifications of such thoughts and actions made clear. A decision was made, a final charge into the maw of the defenders, if fate was merciful, they would pierce through the defense and die honorably. “FOLLOW ME MEN, FOR MYRMIEN!” Iphiclus appeared resplendent raising his spear high into the air, bronze armor glinting in the midday sun. An image around which the men quickly rallied forming into a tight wedge formation.

“FOR MYRMIEN!” the men answered in unison. Together as one the formation trotted forward, traversing upon the path of death laid before them.

Sadly, fate was often unkind to the losers, it cared little for the needs and wants of men. Before their formation could so much as step one hoof upon the bloody path, a hail of arrow fire fell upon them. The armor and shield providing some protection, but not enough, two of the men went down in the first volley.

Turning to face the forest Iphiclus watched in horror as a squadron of cavalry burst onto the plains, the chorus of bow strings a prelude to disaster.