The Forum erupted into chaos. Masked men poured into the street from all directions, boiling out the city’s seams like rats in a sinking ship. They surrounded the Guard, weapons beating against their shields, screaming like wild animals. And yet, that wasn’t what Libro cared about the most. His sole focus lay on the butcher’s knife aimed directly towards him.

He fell back, arms raised, cowering behind the standard as the gaunt man swung at him. He screamed as the weapon came down, but instead of cutting flesh, it stuck fast to the wooden pole he'd raised up just in the nick of time.

With a hard wrench Libro pulled away, taking the heavy slab of metal, and the man holding it, with him. The gaunt man stumbled forward, lost his grip, fell face first to the ground. The other guardsmen were on him in an instant. Centums chopped and hacked the rebel to pieces as a fresh line of soldiers raised a defensive wall around Libro. More masked men circled around, tried to cut a way through, only to find their hopes, and brains, dashed across the flagstones for their efforts.

“You all right?” one of the Centum’s asked, placing a hand on Libro’s shoulder, giving him a reassuring squeeze. 

“I think so.” Libro blinked for the first time and looked down. The butcher’s knife was still wedged into the pole, mere inches from cutting through. With a trembling hand he yanked it out and tossed the evil thing away. Nido’s tits but was close. If the knife had been any sharper, if the pole had been any thinner, he’d have been cut down on the spot. The thought alone left his stomach twisting into knots.

“If you say so,” the Centum said. “You look ready to keel over faster than these rebel bastards.” As if on cue there came a scream as a head went flying past, golden mask sneering.

“Still getting the hang of things, is all." Libro bit his lip. What a terrible time to start telling the truth now. The Centum gave him a curious look. 

“You green or something? How’d one of you end up here. I thought you lot were supposed to stay with the Captain?”

Frustration tore at Libro’s chest. “I’m not a Greenhorn gods damn it! I’m the Chronicler!”

“A Tribune?” The Centum laughed, spotting the Archive chained to his side. “My apologies then, but you had me fooled. Where’s the other one? I thought there were two of you?” A good question, Libro thought. Where the bloody hells was Culter? That bastard had disappeared faster than a Guardsmen in a whorehouse. Wherever he was, he hoped the albino was getting a proper thrashing.

“Don’t know. He disappeared before all the chaos started.”

“How fecking convenient. Well Tribune, as you can see we're right and truly surrounded. We’ll hold them off as best we can but we need a plan, and right fecking now, I’d think.”

“A plan?” Libro felt his heart sink into his guts. Last time he’d come up with a plan it’d left him sprawled out on the dirt with a split lip and a bruised jaw. Planning was meant for the real soldiers, not him. “I...I don’t think—,”

A rebel broke through the ranks and charged at the two of them. The Centum turned and swung his shield, smashing into the rebel’s face, knocking the mask clean off. A few hard swings from the Centum’s ax and he wasn’t getting up any time soon.

“Looks like the rebels are breaking through. I’ve got to reinforce the line.” The Centum gave Libro another reassuring pat on the shoulder. “I’m called Cent by the way, Chronicler. If I die make sure they remember my name.” And with that, he was gone, disappearing into the sea of bodies, screaming bloody murder all the while.

“Wait!” Libro called, his voice quickly swallowed up in the chaos. He stood there, trembling like a lost child in a busy market. What should he do? What could he do? He was a Chronicler, an officer meant for the Captain's tent not the front lines. 

He needed to come up with a plan. That was what Cent had said. Without Culter, he was the only one leading things now. They would listen to him. They had to listen to him. He was the only Tribune there, and yet his doubts continued to claw at him. Perhaps it would have been better to run to the Captain, to warn him, but that would mean leaving the front column behind. A coward's act for sure, but then the Guard could be led properly.

Libro reached down and stroked the spine of the Archive. No, he couldn’t run. When the Voshtok came riding over the hillside, his ancestors stood firmly against them. Their bravery, their pride, their honor flowed through Libro’s veins.

He needed to take command. He needed to make the plan. The Guard were surrounded and the number of masked men only continued to grow. No matter how many were cut down, more simply appeared out of thin air. They’d be overwhelmed soon if nothing else was done.

Libro looked down at the standard in his hands and an idea sprang into his mind. Just as a potter would manipulate his clay, so did his plan take shape. It was an ugly, desperate plan, but it was something.

Breaking the twine, Libro raised the standard high. The canvas caught the morning breeze and unfurled, billowing high and mighty over all. The Vangen’s four armed cross blazed over a checkered field of black and gold, tassels twisting and snapping in the wind. He pushed his fear down as far as he could muster and let out a righteous yell.

“Forward men! For the Glory of the Empress! For Byzantia!” Sinking his heels into the flagstones, he grit his teeth and charged.

*

Gray iron flashed past Dux’s vision. A lumberman’s ax, razor sharp and dwarfed in the hands of the giant who wielded it. The mask he wore barely fit over his square, squat face, mouth twisted in an angry snarl. Dux raised his shield and the ax bit deep, nearly knocked him off his feet as metal squealed, spitting sparks into the air.

Dux wrenched the shield back, raised his own ax and chopped into the giant’s exposed flesh. Blood sprayed into the air and the man screamed, losing his hold on the weapon. He continued to howl, clutching at the wound, piggy eyes wide with terror behind the mask.

He never saw the shield coming. Dux wheeled back and smashed the giant in the face, mask and bone crunching. He struck him again, and again, until finally his shield split in two and he was left clutching the leather straps.

But the damage had been done. The giant wobbled on his feet, blood and teeth dribbling down his exposed chin. Dux ripped his ax free, spattering blood onto the flagstones. Gripping the weapon tightly with both hands, he lifted it high and brought it down like he was chopping firewood.

The ax split the giant’s head straight down the middle. There was a jolt of resistance, then a wet crunch as metal bit through flesh and bone. The man fell to his knees, eyes wide with shock before curling up into the back of his head.

With one boot on the giant's chest, Dux ripped his ax free, kicking the body for good measure. He stared at the corpse, blood pulsing in his head, lungs burning with every labored breath. Twenty years ago he could have killed that big bastard without even breaking a sweat, now it felt like every muscle in his body was going numb. Damn it all, but it was a pain getting old. A death sentence in his line of work. Worse then what any stray arrow or bad fall could give you. At least dying was easier. Being alive merely meant dying slowly till you were nothing more then a withered husk.

Dux spat on the ground. feck all that nonsense. The only way he was dying was in a blaze of glory. 

A roar drew him from his thoughts. Up ahead, the Vangen standard rose over the din and clamor, flag fluttering open, the four armed cross rippling in the breeze. He heard Libro yell something incomprehensible before charging forward, Centum’s close behind, cutting down any masked bastard too stupid or unlucky to get out of the way.

Dux found himself smiling despite everything. “Well, would you look at that. The lad’s gone and done it.” He raised his ax in the air, twirling it in a wide arc as he yelled a command. “Follow the Standard, men! Run them down!”

Dux broke into a sprint, shouldering a masked man out of his way and sending him toppling. Civis appeared at his left, sword wet and sticky with blood. Nox at his right, feeding arrows into his monstrous crossbow.

They pounded up the Forum, Dux's heart throbbing painfully in his chest. He dodged a poor aimed jab from a pitchfork, took a man’s arm off at the elbow, kicked a downed rebel in the teeth, feeling the familiar crunch of bone beneath his boot. Everywhere he looked there were more masks leering at him, wide, frightful eyes glaring beneath.

“Captain!” Civis pointed. “Archers!” 

Dux looked up. Men dressed in uniformed armor appeared along the rooftops, flatbows in their hands, red and blue surcoats billowing. “Calligati,” he murmured in disbelief. The Palace Guard. They were here. Custodia had finally arrived. He opened his mouth to let out a cheer, only to splutter a second later. One of the Calligati drew their bows back and aimed it straight towards him.

A loud and thunderous hum filled the air as a flock of arrows came sailing down. Dux jumped, nearly pitching onto the street, before Civis hauled him back to his feet. An arrow meant for him sailed inches from his head and pinged against the flagstones. Others were not so lucky. Men screamed as more arrows found their mark, sinking into flesh, punching through lamellar plates, slicing through tendons and veins.

The bark of Nox’s crossbow echoed back as he aimed and pulled the trigger, catching one of the Calligati clean through the chest and chucking him into the air.

“They’re firing on us!” Civis lifted his shield as an arrow came speeding towards him, snapping into the wood with an audible twang.

"Damn it!" Dux cursed. “Plans changed. We can’t stay on the forum anymore. Sound the horn. We’re moving south.”

“South?”

“Towards the harbor. As far from these damned rooftops as possible.”

“What about the others?” Civis asked. Up ahead, Libro’s column was still barelling down the street, growing smaller by the second.

“They can fend for themselves. They know their orders. Now blow the fecking horn.” 

Civis nodded numbly and pulled the horn from his belt. He raised the mouthpiece to his lips and blew the call for retreat. Dux hoped the others were close enough to hear it, and prayed even harder that they would listen.