Terror rose from the city–shrieking on the storm's winds–as Nerithon's residents arose to the horror of the day. Out from the trees strode monsters of old lore, terrible in the plain light of day. Arrows flew like rain, but many drifted on the strong wind. Those which found their mark did little but stoke the cyclops' fury. The largest of their kin reached the walls. It was taller than the battlements and as wide as any tower at the shoulders. Raising a massive arm, it swept the stone like a tabletop, then gripped and wrenched against the rock. Planting its feet, it heaved, and roared, and with a resounding crack, rent the stone free.

Skippii flinched at the sound, as loud as if someone had slapped their hands over his ears. He and Tenoris knelt in a copse of trees growing close to the walls. Awestruck, they watched on as the ground trembled, and the cries of the defenders rose frantically. As though fueled by their terror, the storm bellowed. The Coven were reacting–their invocation coming to fruition. Whether it was due to Cliae's message or not, he couldn't know. He could only hope that the legions would be ready once they opened the gates.

"Get down," Tenoris said, pulling him into a scraggly, overgrown bush. One moment later, a cyclops strode nearby their hiding spot. Skippii had not detected it coming over the wind and sounds of battle. The monster was the smallest of its kin, with long tangled hair like knots down to its wide hips–the same female he had hid from beneath a cart a few nights ago.

The cyclops shrieked, joining its brethren at the walls. Five in total beset the walls, climbing and rending the stone. Bolts flew from siege engines as a hail of arrows rose from the city beyond. But neither the heights nor the piercing missiles could slow the cyclops' assault.

One monster–taller and skinnier than the rest, with bluish-grey flesh– pulled itself over the parapets, once thought so indomitable by the defenders. The cyclops sat atop the wall, as though on a saddle, peering over the city with a dumbfounded stare. Then a ballista bolt struck it in the chest. The monster howled and half-toppled over the wall into the city beyond, shaving the battlements' heights with it. More climbed through holes wrought, dragging with insurmountable strength their bloated stomachs and bulging limbs, driven by hunger and a hatred inhuman.

"Remember, the southern gatehouse," Skippii said. "No matter what happens, if we get broken apart, we must make it there and open the gates."

"Or else break them," Tenoris said eagerly, half-rising from cover.

"Wait," he said, unfurling the cloak–which he had been using as a carrysack–from his spear. "What do you think?"

"To wearing the legionnaire's arms?" Tenoris looked from the red cloak in Skippii's hands to the one he had fastened beneath his wolfhide mantle. "We are legionnaires, are we not?"

"I don't know." Skippii rubbed the dirty fabric between his fingers. "It seems wrong to discard it for the dirt. But can we wear it, as deserters?"

"Should I unfasten mine?" Tenoris asked.

"We'd get further atop the walls if we looked more like the enemy. We might make it to the gatehouse without being opposed," Skippii thought aloud, and snorted. "Your beard already makes you look like an Ürkün."

"And your reddish tan like no one I have ever seen," Tenoris said. "It is as though the legion's reds are pronouncing upon your skin."

"It is?" Skippii said softly, inspecting his hands. Ever since his transformation in the Trial of Absolution, had taken on a slight rosey tone beneath his usual brass tan. "It'd be smart to go disguised."

Raising the cloak to his neck, Skippii fastened it with his mother's brooch. It was a simple thing–one of the few possessions of his that hadn't warped and burned, or been lost in recent weeks.

"To depths with caution," he said, rising from hiding. "Let them know that legionnaires have taken their walls."

"To glory." Tenoris held out his strong arm.

"For Auctoria." Skippii clasped, and the two beat their chests together. Then Tenoris did something which surprised him. Sticking a leg behind his ankle, he pushed and tripped him, sending him to the ground.

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"The Corona Muralis is mine!" Tenoris shouted, charging ahead at the walls.

Skippii picked himself up, laughing incredulously, and followed after him. The grey stone seemed to grow as they neared, rising like a wave to pummel them. Drawing his magia, Skippii overtook his fellow, bolstered by Boiling Blood. Neither of them were molested by arrows or stones–the defender's eyes were solely fixed on the cyclops incursion further north, beyond the western-most tower.

Overtaking him, Skippii ran a good ways into the shadow of the walls, aiming for the spot which they had chosen on the southern edge where an huge tower formed a cornerstone, splitting the emerging wall north and east to circumvent the city. Where the tower jutted, a shadowy crevice would provide purchase and some relief from the rain.

He pumped the bellows of his magia and slammed his palms into the earth. A Seismic Quake shivered through the earth and crashed upon the stone. The walls shook with debris as a plume of dust obscured the air, rising high above the tower's top. Loose stones cracked and fell about its base–hand and footholds for the climb ahead.

Besieged as they were, the defenders still did not sound the alarm; the quake was just another calamity amongst the storm. Skippii rose, observing the battlements, and once again, Tenoris raced past him. Spear tied to his waist and shield slung over his back, the big man flung himself at the wall before the dust had time to clear and began to scale the wall.

Shutting his eyes, Skippii focussed on the earth and the power beneath his feet. Drawing it with breath, he let it sweep through his limbs–a cleansing heat that burned away all fear and doubts. Just as he had learned during his first trial, he set the magia into flux, creating a spiralling current at his core. He did not grip it, but rather wielded it. If standing atop the walls was anything like the bridge of Erithas river, then he would have difficulty drawing power so high above the earth. He would need now to store all he could muster, and spend it wisely upon the defenders. He might not get another chance at a stoking breath until the battle was done.

Bursting with power, Skippii grinned menacingly and climbed after Tenoris. His fellow was slow to rise. The stone shook with a distant impact as the cyclops–obscured now beyond the tower–raged against the wall. Feeling light, and unencumbered with gear except for the axe at his belt, Skippii overtook Tenoris and soon reached the parapet. The wind howled in his ears, tearing at his cloak like a flag, but his fingers held strong against the rain-slick stone. Voices cried over the storm, impossible to tell their distance, for were they carried or subdued by the winds?

Below, Tenoris lagged on the rock, planting his feet and dangling one arm at a time, staring up at its zenith. Sweat soaked his brow, and his flesh had turned as red as Skippii's. Just above him, a face appeared in a narrow archer's-slit. The voices came again, harsher this time.

"Hurry!" Skippii shouted, clinging to the top by one arm. Rather than surmount it and hide behind its cover, he lit a beacon in his hand, allowing a slither of his raging magia to burn in the cold air.

"Here, heretics!" he yelled. "I am who you seek. I have to come to kill you, and send you to our Gods."

An arrow flew in response, shot from somewhere above. It glanced off the rock beside his hand and pelted his chest. After receiving a cyclops' fist, the arrow's glance was feeble. More arrows came, but Skippii ignored them, shrouding himself in a Blazing Armour. Those which sprung accurately nipped his flesh with flashes of firelight, but none could further pierce his silver tunic–none but those who possessed a strength greater than Hespera.

Reaching down for Tenoris, he watched as the bullish man slipped and scraped up the final metre of the climb and finally clasped his arm. Hauling him up took a great deal of strength–it was not what his magia was intended for. Boiling Blood pumped through his muscles as he burned brighter still. But Tenoris was unburned by his embrace. Beneath his wolfhide mantle and legionnaire's cloak, the amulet of Oyaltun kept him safe.

Big as he was, Tenoris looked like a mimicry of the mighty cyclops as he surmounted Nerithon's walls, and planted his feet on the cobblestone beyond. Swinging his shield around, he turned to face the tower from which arrows flung, unfastening his spear. Triumph sailed upon his voice.

"Witness my ascent, Summitor, Mountainlord. The crown of Muralis is rightfully mine."

"Unless they give it to the cyclops," Skippii shouted over the winds, climbing after him.

"They better not," he roared and charged headlong at the tower.

Skippii lunged and grasped the tails of his cloak, dragging him back like a disobedient ox.

"It's the other way," he shouted over the storm. "To the southern gate, where the legion awaits. We shall open it."

"Of course." He spun, slinging his shield behind him to cover his back against the tower's archers. Now, atop the tall parapet, Skippii could see a dozen or more dark faces, and weapons: stones and spears and bows. Those, he was not afraid of, for his Blazing Armour would absorb the blow, but for a miniscule use of his magia reserves. However, a well-shot bolt might catch Tenoris in the back, and as it stood, they were surrounded, with a garrison at their fore and rear. But he had a plan to secure their flank.

"Go ahead," he yelled, preparing a Seismic Quake. "I'll catch up."

But it was redundant. Tenoris had already sprinted the length of the wall and battered down the door of the nearest tower. Skippii grinned as missiles fell about him, then unleashed his wrath.

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