Two miles outside of Thylon, they erected a pavilion with the combined canvases of the Brenti auxiliaries. Inside, they housed their injured upon piles of cloaks. Eight Brenti had taken wounds. Two were in bad shape. Three more had died during the assault. But none were infected as Drusilla was.

The big legionnaire lay still. His colour had returned and he breathed softly now. The blanket lain over him sagged at his right side in the absence of his arm. Kaesii sat atop his shield beside him, face sullen. Thales knelt beside him, a gentle hand on Drusilla's brow.

"He is recovering," the old philosopher said. "His heart is strong. It is well that you stopped the infection when you did, and before it spread further up the arm. Had you amputated it at the shoulder… he would likely not have lived."

Arius murmured dryly. The hawkish legionnaire stood over his companion, arms behind his back, keenly watching as Thales practiced his thaugic healing.

Daubing a little oil onto his fingertips, Thales rubbed Drusilla's eyebrows and temples. The man stirred, but did not open his eyes. A powerful sour smell trickled through the pavilion, wrinkling Skippii's nose. It was not wholly unpleasant, but potent.

"What is that?" Tenoris asked. "What do you apply?"

"A tonic," Thales said. But Skippii knew it was more than that. When he had seared Drusilla's flesh, he had felt his life's essence. It had been one of the few times in which he had touched the heat of something other than the source. Such a heat felt thin and distant, and sacred, as though it was not his to meddle in. At best, he could bend his powers to warm their flesh as he had done for Eirene when he found her in the Temple of Cor. At worst… he could hurt his allies… cause them such agony as to curse him, and strike him.

"If only you'd been there," Skippii whispered. "I didn't… I couldn't…"

"You saved his life," Thales said softly. "He will forgive you."

"Why do you trace his brow like that?" Cliae asked, kneeling beside Thales.

Thales looked at them and was silent for a while. "There are grooves. Rivers. Ways which energy flows. A delicate hand may tend to them."

"Will you show me?"

Thales took Cliae's slender wrist and held it over Drusilla's heart. "What do you feel?"

"His heartbeat," Cliae said.

"What else?" Thales placed his hand over theirs, and Cliae shut their eyes in concentration.

"I feel… his lungs. I feel his bones, his blood. I feel his-"

Suddenly, Cliae's hand shot away from Drusilla's chest. They held it in a shaky fist over their heart and stared at Thales, and whispered. "His pain."

Thales nodded soberly and returned his hand to Drusilla's brow. "Pain is as much a part of living as pleasure. I have learned to hold each in my hand without forming a fist. That is what it takes to practice thaugia."

Cautiously, Cliae returned their hand to Drusilla's chest. "Guide me. I would like to learn."

Thales took a deep rumbling breath. "Sit and observe then. But stay any further questions. I must focus now."

Just then, a few Brenti warriors arrived with fresh water for their injured comrades. Quickly, the tent was becoming crammed. Skippii knew he could no longer help, but was reluctant to leave his comrade's side.

"Come," Arius said, and led him outside. "We have much to discuss yet."

Kaesii and Cliae remaining behind while the remainder or his companeight gathered downstream of Thylon. When they had arrived in the rocky thicket less than an hour before, the streambed had been damp, but not flowing. Now, it rushed with renewed vigor, carrying detritus in its foaming, dirty waters. The infection that was Thylon's bog had been pierced, and now its fluid was leaking all over the land.

Beyond, a winding rod of smoke rose from Thylon's heart to the heavens. Screams of distress and pain rang out on occasion as the Kronaians seized control. Gradually, with the bog's recession, its suburbs were unearthed and arose again, coated in slime. Yet one patch remained frozen–the mound of deluge which Skippii had burned and turned to clay. It rose like an ugly monolith out of the valley's bank

"Lacustris is returned his rivers," Tenoris said. "The Gods shall be very pleased."

"You're welcome," Cur said sarcastically at the lake. "Want us to scrub the clouds while we're at it? Lift up the sun?"

"Are you not proud to return these lands to their domain?" Tenoris said.

"I guess," Cur grumbled. "But where's my boons? My blessings? Don't we get something in return?"

"Glory," Tenoris said, as though it were obvious.

"Glory?" Cur glanced back at the pavilion full of injured men.

"Our deeds shall be recognised in the heavens, once this life is over," said Orsin. "They best be, anyway."

"Too right," Cur said. "I should have retired when I had the chance."

"Nevermind the Gods," Skippii said. "We did this on the Imperator's orders. We liberated Thylon. We've saved its peoples. We've lifted them from suffering. With Kylin's rains, the city can be purged. It can heal. We don't know what good we've done… we won't know until the streets are clean, and clean water is lifted from their wells, and their crops start to grow again. And then we can say, this town exists because of us. Because of our valour. And sacrifice."

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Each of his companions looked at him earnestly. Orsin blinked as though waking from a dream. "Someone has made an orator of you, Skippii. Spoken like a true primus."

"I only say what's true," he said, and knew that he must go on, but was afraid to. Drusilla's wound had removed a fog that had clouded his mind. Until then, he thought he knew the risks of their quest. He knew the reality of war. He knew that they may be hurt, or killed, fighting the enemy for the glory of Auctoritas. But more than that… for the good of humankind.

He knew the risks, but he had not yet felt them. He had not seen them ravage Drusilla's beautiful, sculpted flesh, and bend a man–so strong and firm–to writhing agony. They had assaulted the temple on his orders, not the Imperator's. He could have waited for reinforcements. The Kronaians had not been far behind. Or he could have gone in alone, and risked his life only. But Drusilla had followed him, willingly and proudly, into the enemy's lair.

What right had he to ask more of them in going on? More than the Imperator decreed; indeed, against his better judgement. However, try as he might, his lips broke, and his heart poured forth.

"Ikaros," he whispered, then drew a breath. "Ikaros will become like this. They will pillage its stores and take them back to Urkunland. They will enslave the women, in chains or in this dark magia. They will turn the city into death. A cesspit. They will leave nothing behind for the legion to recover. Nothing but sludge, and ash and blood."

To his surprise, tears stung his eyes. It was not the plight of Ikaros that summoned his sorrow–merely it was the final spark that set alight the pain he had witnessed in Drusilla, pent up and released. He drew a shaky breath and looked at each of his companions in turn, unashamed. "Will we let that happen? Can we? Should we? After all we've seen? Can we abandon that city?"

Skippii jerked aside and strode aimlessly back and forth. "I keep thinking of Nerithon. I keep thinking of that city view from high on the wall. You remember it, don't you?"

Arius nodded silently. Tenoris raised his voice. "I do, Skip. I remember it."

Skippii jutted his chin at Thylon. "That's what will become of it. Of Ikaros, I mean. Just imagine it."

"So what do we do?" Cur said plainly. "Chase the Urkun through the pass to the east? Us… what, one hundred of us? Can you kill that many, Skippii? Can you kill a horde?"

"No," he said. "We must get to Ikaros before them." Then, a though which had long took seed in his mind blossomed. "The mountain passes. They're said to be treacherous, but not impenetrable. And, if I remember the map correctly, Ikaros lies just beyond them."

"It does," said Arius. "And Thales knows a way."

"He said as much to me," Skippii said. "Have you asked him yourself?"

Arius nodded shortly.

"So it is to be the passes," Tenoris said. "Ah, I am delighted now that I abstained for your games, Cur. For I would have lost. I was sure it would be the coast, and us biting at their heels. But, there is reason to taking your route."

Skippii froze mid-pace, frowning. "What?"

"Are you sure, Skip?" Orsin asked. "If we did make it to the coast, I know the Brenti could man whatever boats we found. There's got to be fishing villages down there. We grab the boats and take them-"

"He's already made up his mind," Cur said. "Hand it over."

"We take the boats," Orsin insisted. "And row upstream to… what's it called? How am I forgetting now?"

"You're flustered," Cur said. "I would be too with what you wagered."

"To Gryphonia," Orsin said.

"Gryphonis," Arius corrected.

"And then, we seek their alliance."

Skippii held up a hand. "Hold on. You've been planning it yourselves?"

"Ever since we caught you wistfully staring out of the balcony at that massive horde," Cur said. "We knew then what you were going to say then. Yeah, at first, I wanted to fight you on it. But…" The old veteran held his arms out in defeat. "Who am I kidding? If I'm going to die on this fool's venture, I may as well make some money out of it."

"So you bet the route?" Skippii said.

"I did not," Tenoris said. "It seemed improper."

"Nor did I," Arius said. "It would be unfair. I already knew your where your mind wandered."

"Bollocks," Orsin said. "Unfair how? Cause you knew the answer? Then why didn't you tell me, Arius?"

Arius grinned. "Entertainment is hard to find on the road."

Orsin's shoulders shrank. "That's cruel, old fellow."

"Pay up," Cur said, flapping his fingers against his palm.

"Coin's in the mule's bag," Orsin grumbled.

"Fetch it then," Cur said. "Oh, and fetch double. It's not right that Drusilla's made to pay up at a time like this."

"Then waver his stake," Orsin said.

"No," Cur wrinkled his nose. "That wouldn't be right either. You loan him it."

"Get stuffed," Orsin said, and stormed off.

"Battle brings out the worst in some men," Cur said sagely.

"Anything else you're betting on that I should know about?" Skippii said.

"No, of course not," Cur said. "But… if we were, well, telling you would ruin the stakes. But…" Cur glanced at him slyly. "In the future, if you need me to bend a private ear towards some tactical advice…"

Skippii huffed and shook his head. On a better day, he may have laughed, but his spirits would not lift that easily. "I'm going to inform the others. The Brenti and Lacustrians, and the Kronaians. I won't force them to join us. I won't force you lot either."

"Don't be foolish," Tenoris said. "None of us shall abandon you now, come injury or death."

"Who will take Drusilla back to the legion though?" Skippii said.

"You should speak to him first," Arius said. "A boar with one tusk removed may still gut the hound."

"And, there is more to consider too," Skippii went on. "Supplies. We're low as it is. Travel through the mountains will be hard. Harder with a substantial force. I don't think hunting will prove well. Or sequestering from the land. What use would we have coming to Ikaros' aid half-starving?"

"That was Orsin's point exactly," Cur said. "I told him, speed is key. Those were the Imperator's words to you, weren't they. I knew, the second I saw you gazing off that balcony, that you'd sooner drag us up those mountains and throw us off the edge than walk back to Nerithon empty-handed."

Skippii grimaced and looked away. "Are you always watching me like that?"

"Like my life depends on it," Cur said. "Oh, wait. Of course, it does."

"How will you speak to the men?" Tenoris asked. "Will you command them, or seek to persuade?"

"I'll just tell them the truth." Skippii's voice dragged as he spoke. His lungs felt heavy. He was about to ask them each for their lives, and he barely even knew their names. "They've sworn no oaths to me. It'll be on their honour to join us, or to set up a watch here. I will need to leave some behind, or a civilian militia. What if Hjingolia returns?"

"Let them deal with it," Cur said. "Let the Kronaians bring in their allies and build up the walls. I want to be out of this stench as soon as we can. Even if that means the mountains."

"Wary, the wisher," Arius said. "It is cold, high up. The way will be tough."

"Fresh air, though," Cur said. "Clean air. I can't wait. Ah, here he is."

Orsin returned and slapped a handful of coinage into Cur's hand. "There. Last time I'm taking a wager like that."

"Want to bet on it?" Cur smirked.

"Will you four come with me?" Skippii said. "Accompany me to speak with the others. I want them to see the sort of stock of men that have accepted my quest already, willingly. Let them know whose might they match by joining us."

"You sure Cur should come then?" Orsin said. "Might put them off."

"Hey," Cur protested. "To reach my age in the legion takes more than muscle."

"Yeah," Orsin said. "It takes a habit of sticking at the back of a phalanx."

"Right next to my best fellow, of late." Cur put an arm around the younger veteran and his grin widened. "Letting these youngsters do the fighting for us. I know you know the game."

Orsin shrugged him off and glowered, but said nothing more.

"Spread the word," Skippii said. "We'll gather a little further into the thicket. I'll build a fire. This wood will burn, even if it's sodden. Round up the Lacustrians and Brenti. And, if we can find the pack animals, gather them up too. What wine we've got left, I'd like it shared out at the gathering. And any food, even if it's just millet for the mules, let's get a stewpot going. Let's fill their bellies before we make our case."

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