Kryptic ↟ Deimos

ten: the final push

"YOU!" MENEXINOS BARKS as Lesya emerges from the shadows. Fear mangles his pinched face, and he swallows hard —it was never a good thing when one of the Cult's champions came for a visit. His shout is loud enough to summon guards, had there been any left alive in the leader's villa. One of her blades is painted red and dripping onto the floor. He doesn't have time to reach for his mace before Lesya is there, her hand twisted into his oily black hair and the edge of her blade sinking into his throat. With several labored breaths through the spurts of blood, the leader of Megaris is no more. It hadn't taken an army to bring about his demise either.

Kassandra and Stentor are crafting a plan to assassinate the leader as a final blow to Athens before meeting their forces on the battlefield. Neither of them expects Lesya to stride into the tent and toss down the severed head of Menexinos at their feet. The Eagle Bearer hides her surprise well, Stentor less so —he looks down his nose at the woman, affronted by her blatant disregard for authority.

"The Athenians are preparing for a night assault," Lesya says, handing Stentor a scroll marked by the seal of Athens. He unrolls the piece of papyrus and quickly skims over the text, finding what she's announced to be true. Kassandra and Lesya glance at one another as Stentor paces around the map table, considering the new information.

He looks between Lesya and Kassandra —one goes to war because she must, the other because she craves the thrill. Something in Lesya's sharp green eyes unnerves him. He's heard stories from some men about a goddess of war and destruction who can tear through even the most trained regiments. A piece of him wonders if this is the warrior of whom they speak. But as much as Stentor hates to admit it, her prowess will be useful. 'Prepare for battle," he declares, and the two sentries move from their post to disseminate the news through the camp. Sparta will take the Megarid from the Athenians today.

THE SHOCK COMBAT ends quickly. Taking the Athenians by surprise had been a decisive move assuring a Spartan victory. Stentor approaches the two women after the battle is over —now he is certain Lesya is the ghost his men spoke of. He's never seen a person look so at ease covered with blood. She fights like Ares, mercilessly. A light foot soldier approaches, bows his helmed head, and turns his attention to Kassandra. "The Wolf has requested the presence of the mercenary," he announces.

The general's son bristles at the thought of leaving his pater with a sellsword. "It appears I have other matters to attend to." He lifts his chin and turns toward the decimated Athenian encampment. Lesya nods toward where the Wolf awaits —Spartans are not known for their patience. The Eagle Bearer takes a deep breath and moves up the path to confront her father.

"Don't think for one second I don't know who you are," Stentor growls, approaching Lesya after the misthios is gone. It felt like an insult to fight alongside her after the atrocities she and Deimos had committed against Sparta and its people. His fingers itch to draw the short blade on his belt.

Her smile is grim and arrogant when she shifts to look at him, eyes darting to his hand hovering over the hilt of a dagger. "Then you know what I'm capable of," Lesya sneers. The blood in her veins still runs hot from the battle. Spilling the blood of a few more men would make no difference. Stentor's harsh stare falters —he swallows, throat dry, and returns to assess the day's losses and gains.

Lesya is gone when Kassandra descends the cliff in haste. The Eagle Bearer glances around the clearing in the forest but does not stop to search when she cannot find the woman. Shaking her head, she continues to the Adrestia before the Spartans realize what had happened to their general.

Nikolaos is not on a path to rejoin his men after speaking to his daughter. Lesya intercepts him, making sure there are no lingering eyes. The general meets her steel gaze, and recognition flashes across his face, but he does not tremble as others do. "You know who I am," she notes.