The two of them ran back to the city, where they found the southern gates still opened as thousands bustled and shoved to try to enter.

  It was as they sought entry that Otrera stood tall, when she took notice of how some of the children of the farmers had begun to stumble. Courage was soon taken in hand, as surely as compassion was by the youngest of Prithia’s nieces. Screaming at first to be heard, she it was who upon reaching the guards ordered them to deploy more guards.

  “There are too many piling in, in this manner you must restore order at once,” Otrera commanded the two city-guards who stood by the gates helplessly.

  They looked upon their lady with relieved eyes, wherefore they swore to do as she had bidden. Having had to push her way forward through the crowd, alongside the other woman, Daegan panted and struggled to remain where she was by the wall, rather than being pushed along.

  As the vast waves and waves of individuals who were by the gates had to number in the thousands she thought dazedly. There were so many farmers along with their wives and children, so that there was naught but pandemonium outside of the great-walls of Dytikástro.

  This done, the heiress of Dytikástro turned next to the people struggling to get in and throwing themselves against one another. Many of them panicked all the more when they noticed, the guards and merchants nearest to the southern gates hurrying to close the immense gates.

  “My people! On this day we must gather together what strength we have, what courage has been endowed to us by our ancestors! Time is of the essence, with darkness ahead and death all around us we have but one choice; to stand together or perish alone! Therefore I beg of you, to look not to myself, but to my aunt, to your Warlady, and to one another and to Namaia. We must look to these things if we should desire to live, to survive, and to pass down to our children what we have fought so hard over the years to preserve and what was passed to us by our fathers and mothers and their own before them!” Otrera yelled out over the din, succeeding at last in gaining their attention. “Therefore be not afraid, do not argue, do not bicker and do not hasten to rash action but gather together, assemble before the guards of the city and aid us in this most dire hour of our most noble city!”

  At that moment she may not have wholly realized it, but she was truly the heiress of Dytikástro she was born to be. Her voice was clear as the great blue skies, and strong as the greatest of tempests.

  Order and calm restored, as the people hesitantly began to file into an array of lines, with the women and children at the front. For the farmers of Dytikástro were a noble people, ones who in spite of their people’s reputation for barbarity were capable of great courage this in spite of their desperation. Not a single man put himself ahead of his wife, sister or daughter or son, and not a single son come of age put himself ahead of his father, wife, children or mother.

  Such was the valour of these simple folk and of their lady who took painstaking care in screaming for the gates to remain open and to escort the farmer-families in that she could only stare in admiration.

  Her awe was truly genuine at that moment, for she could not imagine her own laird Badrách being willing to stand unarmed by his people’s sides, as they faced danger unarmed herself, save for her words and philosophy. It was then that she began to truly appreciate this beautiful young woman, who had become so deeply attached to her beloved father.

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  Torn from her peculiar state that was half trance, half hesitancy to slip into the city, Daegan near leapt as high as the gates themselves when she was addressed by the heiress of Prithia. “Daegan, you must slip into the city! Only you may convey to my aunt that I shan’t arm myself, for my duties lie herewith our people.”

  Daegan wished to argue, truly but there was such resolve in the eyes of the other woman that she soon found herself nodding her head, rather than arguing.

  Hurrying thither into the city, as neither the guards nor the people thought to deny or block her entry into the city. She soon found her way to the gates in question, whereupon Prithia stood in the full majesty of her hauberk and glimmering helm.

  She was every bit the warrior at that moment that her ancestors were, with the equally armoured Andvari, Fergus and Stamatios by her sides. Along with all of her guard-captains such as Penthesileia and Gavriil the head of the vanguard of the Amazons, with both of them every inch as grim as their chieftain was at that moment.

  “What shall we do?” Stamatios asked just as Daegan arrived up the ladder, after having paused by the armoury to exchange her pink-woollen dress for armour, hauberk and greaves.

  In the distance there were waves after waves of shadowed and green-ranked warriors, all following the dark banner of the bright-red gemstone. That was the symbol of the Dark Laird. It was an image that he had used for nigh on a hundred years, in both Tirreinia and upon Antillia.

  Prithia stared out across the great expanse of soldiery that was still gathering some distance from the city. Her expression was grim and she offered nary a response when Daegan reported, where Otrera was and how she was determined to not abandon the people.

  “She is comporting herself as a true Warlady ought to,” Fergus said approvingly.

  “Aye,” Andvari agreed gravely, a hint of terror in his eyes as he looked upon the distant hordes that packed the horizon to the north of the city.

  “Laird Stamatios, why did our scouts and allied towns not report the advance of this great horde?” Gavriil questioned in a panic turning now to the equally stunned and panicked chief-of-scouts.

  “I do not know,” He replied earnestly, a hint of desperation in his voice.

  “They must have been taken or betrayed us all at once,” Penthesileia guessed.

  “Or mayhaps a little of both I might say,” Fergus said without enthusiasm.

  Daegan could only look from one man or woman to the next she had hoped that there might be a plan of some sort on their part. She had hoped that Prithia would be in a flurry of action and anger as she so oft-was, rather than the stilled silence that had taken hold of her.

  Prithia when she did answer, did so with steel in her voice though, exactly as they had all hoped for from her, “It matters little how they have reached us, all that matters is that war is upon us. We must now send messengers to all of our southron allies, and the distant Centaurs and Arns, and the Norléanians.”

  “To say what?” Stamatios asked in a hushed voice, dark eyes once more on the distant standard.

  “To do what we Amazons in days of yore, refused to do; beg for aid.” Prithia growled back turning away to descend the ladder from the wall they stood upon.

  “Beg!? But milady surely there is another way!” Penthesileia screeched furiously.

  “No, there is none,” Prithia snapped at once, her voice firm as the rocks of the Highland mountains, “And I will not gamble with the lives of my people, for a less humiliating and more costly way to save them… I will do what duty demands.”

  Once she was gone they stared out at the fields which a short-time ago had been green and gay, with sycamore, alder and ash-wood trees as far as the eye could see along with farmland. The great expanse of corn-fields had been the pride and joy of the people of Dytikástro. Abandoned they were not quite smoking or in tatters yet, but there was no one who doubted that the Dark Laird intended to demonstrate the slightest pity towards them.

  In the distance, the black-banners with their vivid crimson-jewel fluttered in the cold wind. The dark-banner heralded doom to Dytikástro and all those shielded by her walls.

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