EPHER

"Siege tower at the Gate of Myrrh!" rose the cry across the city. "Enemies at the Gate of Myrrh!"

When he heard the cry, Epher was fighting on the eastern wall, facing the desert. The legions had set trebuchets on the eastern mountainside. Relentlessly, they flung boulders—carved out from that mountain—chipping the defensive walls, shattering turrets, sometimes sailing overhead to crush homes and people within the city. Epher fired another arrow, struggling to reach the trebuchets, and turned his head toward the northern cry.

"Legions at the Gate of Myrrh!" A cry in Zoharite, pained, afraid. "We need aid!"

Epher panted. There were seven gates in Beth Eloh, eight if you counted the mythical Gate of Tears, a hidden gate through which Maya was said to have entered. The Gate of Myrrh was the northernmost gate, serving a road that stretched between Beth Eloh and Ma'oz in the northern hills. For centuries, merchants had brought myrrh, frankincense, and other spices into the city through this gateway. A small gateway, humbler than the others, its defenses sparse.

Epher ran.

He raced along the eastern wall, moving between archers firing at the enemy below. Olive ran with him, swinging her sling, firing stones off the wall. Where two walls connected with a fortress, Epher and Olive ran down a ramp into a courtyard, calling for warriors to join them. Soon a hundred men and women followed. They raced through the city, leaping over tombstones in a graveyard, passing through a tunnel, then back onto the wall. They ran past turrets and arrowslits, through a tower, then onto the northern wall. The mountains flowed toward distant rocky hills. Epher could just make out the hills of Erez on the horizon, the homeland of Uncle Benshalom. The towers and battlements of the Gate of Myrrh rose here, shading a courtyard full of refugees and their cattle.

"It's a fucking giant," Olive said, pointing. Her cheeks paled.

Beyond the wall, on the northern mountainside, the legions were beating drums and chanting. A massive siege engine came rolling toward the city. It was the largest one Epher had seen, a beast of wood and metal, taller than the city wall. Leather hides hung across its sides, while iron sheets protected its front facade, emblazoned with a massive eagle painted in gold and black. Its wheels were taller than men, and battlements rose atop the tower, holding legionaries. Through narrow slats in its defenses, Epher beheld many layers inside the tower, like the floors in a building, each housing more legionaries ready to spill onto the wall.

Zoharites manned the gatehouse and the wall around it, firing arrows and stones, but the projectiles scattered harmlessly across the siege engine's iron plating. Some men tossed clay jugs full of flame, but the fire found nothing to catch; the tower's wooden structure was hidden behind leather and metal. Legionaries within the tower responded with arrows and bolts, tearing into the city's defenders, sending men and women crashing down.

With a thud and shower of dust, a gangplank swung out from the siege tower and slammed onto the wall. Legionaries spilled out from the tower, shields held before them, spears thrusting.

Olive sneered and raised a sword in each hand. "Let's go kill, my husband." She kissed his cheek, then charged across the wall's battlements.

Epher raised his sword and shield, terror pounding through him, and joined her.

The legionaries kept flowing from the siege tower, spearing defenders, spreading across the wall. The walkways were narrow, only wide enough for a single warrior. Dozens of those warriors, Zoharites and legionaries alike, fell to the courtyard below, shattering against the cobblestones. The city people scattered, wailing. One legionary landed on corpses and survived the fall; city folk leaped onto the man, slamming bricks and clubs against him.

A legionary charged toward Epher on the wall, swung a gladius, and knocked a Zoharite down. That gladius thrust toward Epher next. He raised his shield, taking the blow against the wood, and thrust his own sword. The blade hit the legionary's helmet, doing the man no harm.

Olive was shrieking, leaping from merlon to merlon above the walkway. An arrow slammed into her scale armor and snapped. Her helmet fell, and her red hair flailed like fire. With a battle cry, she leaped from a merlon, landing between two legionaries, and thrust a blade in each direction. Both Aelarians fell.

By God's beard, Epher thought, looking at his wife fight. He felt like a cumbersome beast by comparison. The legionary ahead of him thrust again. The man's eyes were blue, Epher saw. He must have been an auxiliary soldier from some northern land. Whatever his nationality, he now fought for Aelar, and Epher swung his shield mightily, knocking the man off the wall. He crashed onto the mountainside.

Another legionary charged toward him, a brute who towered a head taller than Epher. A spear thrust. Epher raised his shield, catching the blow. He screamed as his shield shattered, as the spear drove through the wreckage to slice along his arm. His blood spurted, hitting his face. The legionary snorted before him, among the largest men Epher had seen. Epher felt like a child before him. The brute chortled. Epher lashed his sword, aiming for the arm, but the legionary raised his shield, then shoved that shield forward. An iron bolt rose in the shield's center, slamming into Epher, shoving him against a merlon. The spear thrust again. Epher lashed wildly with his sword, diverting the blow away from his chest. The spearhead drove instead into his thigh. Pain exploded, an inferno of fire.

"Epher!" Olive cried somewhere in the distance. He could barely see her. His vision blurred.

The giant legionary laughed. "So this is Epher, the Rat King. My domina Claudia wants you alive. But she didn't say I can't cut off your balls first."

The legionary tossed his spear into the courtyard below, piercing a woman, and drew his gladius. He drove the blade toward Epher.

With a roar, Epher pushed off the merlon, hurtling himself toward the giant.

The gladius slammed into Epher's armor, shattering scales. He roared, still shoving himself forward, barreling into the beast. Howling, the Aelarian tried to grab on to the wall. He tilted over the edge. Shouting curses, he fell.

As he tumbled downward, the massive Aelarian reached up and grabbed Epher's leg.

A furious cry rose.

A blade lashed, severing the Aelarian's hand.

The hand still clutched Epher. The arm's stump spurted blood. The giant Aelarian, screaming, fell and slammed into the courtyard below, cracking cobblestones.

Epher panted, pulling back from the edge. Olive grinned, holding a bloody sword. She pried the severed hand off Epher.

"Need a hand?" she asked him.

He blinked. "I cannot believe you just said that." He grimaced, staring at the severed hand. Nausea rose in him. He struggled not to gag.

What happened to the world? he thought, staring around him. The wall was slick with blood. Organs ripped from torsos dripped. Severed limbs and heads covered the walkway. And still legionaries emerged from the tower, chanting for victory, slamming into the defenders.

This is Ashael, Epher thought. This cannot be the world, cannot be the holy city. This is twisted evil risen into the world. This cannot be God's city.

He fought on.

Legionary after legionary. He suffered cuts. He slew men. He roared in pain, fury, fear, a wounded, dying lion. Several legionaries made it to the city, began butchering people before Zohar's warriors cut them down. And still more emerged onto the wall.

"Olive, we must tear down their siege tower!" Epher said.

His wife nodded from across the wall. They fought their way toward the siege engine's gangplank. Other warriors of Zohar fought with them. Every step, more died, crashing off both sides of the wall. If they stood a chance of halting this assault, they had to destroy this tower of wood, iron, and leather.

"Bring torches!" Epher shouted. "Bring fire!"

The exterior of the siege tower was fireproof. Metal even coated the wheels. But across the gangplank, an entrance led into the tower. Inside, it was all wood . . . and human flesh.

Both would burn.

A boy climbed the wall and handed Epher a torch. More torches were brought to other warriors. Epher led the charge. He leaped onto the gangplank, waving sword and torch, driving the legionaries back. Olive fought a step behind him, thrusting a lance over his shoulder, stabbing at enemies. A sword hit a hole in Epher's armor. He cried out, blood dripping down his belly and thigh. He swung the torch, casting back his enemies. His feet sloshed through his own blood. Soon he stood on the center of the gangplank, the city wall behind him, the ground far below, the innards of the siege engine ahead.

This is Zoharite courage, he thought, leaping into the siege tower.

In the shadows, a sea of legionaries awaited him.

Epher blocked a spear's thrust. He took another spear to the side, cried out, nearly fell. He swung his sword, parrying the blow of a gladius. More Zoharites streamed into the tower behind him. They fought in the hot, dusty chamber, and more legionaries kept climbing ladders from below.

Burn, you dogs who piss on walls, Epher thought.

He prepared to toss his torch down to the base of the tower, to see the whole damn structure rise in flame, when the voice cried out.

"Epher!"

He paused. He stared.

A legionary climbed up from below, clad in a costly breastplate rather than simpler lorica segmentata. A woman, Epher realized—rare in the legions. She pulled off her helmet, revealing curly brown hair, hazel eyes, and a pale face.

"Claudia," he whispered.

"They said the king of Zohar himself fought here," Claudia said, meeting his gaze, and her eyes dampened. Across the siege tower, the battle paused, Aelarians and Zoharites panting, watching them.

Epher lowered his sword. All fury and bloodlust fled him.

I loved you. I loved you so much.

"Claudia," he said. "Let us stop this madness. Enough have died. If you want me, I will surrender myself, but let us—"

She raised a crossbow. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

"I want you dead," she whispered.

She pulled the trigger. A twang filled the silence.

Pain stabbed Epher's cheek.

He blinked.

He stared at Claudia. She stared back across the wooden chamber, shedding tears. Her face blurred. Everything began to fade. Epher touched his cheek, felt something hard driving into his head. Through the skull. Deep.

Olive's voice cried from parsa'ot away.

"Epher!"

His torch fell and the ground burned. The world burned. Fire grabbed his feet. Smoke enveloped him. Something was inside his head. Something was in his skull.

"Epher! Help him! Help your king!"

The voice faded.

Hands pulled him from the fire into darkness. He fell. He fell into shadows. Somebody was holding his hand, but soon he felt no pain, felt like he was floating, gazing down at blood, at fire, at Olive . . . and then at white fields that sprawled to endless realms of light and mist.