Blood on the Wind

The night draped cold and heavy over the cliff's edge, the camp a scatter of fading fires and restless shadows. Lysander clutched her dagger, blood dried thick on the blade, her torn cloak flapping in the gusts. The bindings beneath clung tight, frayed but shielding her secret. A girl in the agoge was Sparta's shame, a slash at its honor she'd kill to bury. Her leg throbbed, blood crusting Damon's rag, her shoulder raw from Gaius's whip. Every breath bit, but she stood firm, masking it all. Damon lingered close, his sword stained with helot blood, green eyes sharp and steady. He'd glimpsed too much in that last fight, her bindings peeking through, and Gaius's Dead soon, runt! still echoed. She thought, He's too close, but I can't cut him loose.

Spartan soldiers paced the camp's edge, shields glinting, their captain barking orders. The scarred giant in a red cloak shouted, "Rest's done, march to the ridge!" The herd, five left and battered, shuffled forward, Felix wheezing on his shield, blood staining the wood. Gaius trailed at the rear, whip coiled, his slashed chest oozing red. His laugh from the dark lingered in her skull, a vow of ruin. She knew he held that binding scrap from the ravine, his tool to strangle her. She thought, He's still alive, fury bubbling. I'll finish him if I get the chance.

They trudged up a rocky slope, wind slicing their bare legs, the ridge rising ahead, high and narrow, a killer's perch. Lysander's leg howled with each step, blood seeping fresh, but she marched fast. Damon shadowed her, his presence solid, too solid. His hand brushed her elbow as she stumbled, steadying her just enough. He muttered, "Watch it," voice low, rough with worry. Her stomach knotted. She thought, Not now.

She snapped, "Hands off," forcing her voice gruff, a boy's tone she prayed held. He lingered, eyes searching, too warm, but she pushed ahead. Gaius grinned behind, whip tapping his thigh. She thought, He's waiting, ready to strike.

The ridge crested, a thin strip of stone with drops on both sides, wind roaring wild. The captain halted them, his red cloak whipping in the gusts. "Hold here, scout the valley! Helots are near!" Soldiers fanned out, Felix slumped against a boulder, pale but glaring, watching her every move.

Lysander scanned the dark, valley below, trees swaying, shadows shifting. She thought, They're coming, grip tightening. Gaius limped up, grinning through blood-crusted lips. "Runt's soft, won't see 'em," he sneered, cracking his whip near her boots. Dust kicked up, stinging her shins.

Damon stepped in, sword twitching at his side. "He's sharper than you, bleedout," he growled, voice hard, protective. She felt heat flare. She thought, For me, too damn much.

Gaius laughed, shoving her toward the edge, hard. Her leg buckled, pain spiking, but she caught herself on a rock. "Spot 'em then," he taunted, loud and mean. She growled, "Watch me," keeping her voice low, a boy's edge, dagger up, glaring. She thought, You're meat.

The captain shouted, "Scout, now!" She crept to the ridge's lip, peering down, wind tugging her cloak, blood dripping from her leg. Damon followed, too close, his breath steady behind her. "You're limping bad," he hissed, worry cutting through.

She snapped, "Quiet," crouching lower, eyes on the valley. She thought, He can't see. A flicker, torches, faint, helots moving fast. She thought, There. She pointed, quick. "Below, left flank." Damon nodded, too near, his shoulder brushing hers, warm, real. She thought, Too real.

The captain barked, "Ambush 'em! Down the ridge, go!" Soldiers grabbed ropes, the herd scrambling, five, bloody, ready. Lysander took a line, sliding fast, ropes burning her hands, leg throbbing. She thought, Move. Damon dropped beside her, swift, solid, his eyes on her. "Stick with me," he said, voice firm, too firm.

She lied, "I'm good," hitting dirt, rocks cutting her feet. Gaius landed heavy, whip out, grinning. She thought, He's here. A yell, helots charging up, torches high, spears glinting. She thought, Now! She dove in, dagger slashing a helot's arm, blood sprayed, he dropped, howling.

Damon fought beside her, sword carving a helot's chest, red gushed, hot and wet, he shoved the body off, shielding her from a spear. "Stay close!" he yelled, voice fierce, his arm brushing hers. She thought, Too close. She nodded, slashing another helot's leg, down fast. She thought, He's got me, heat creeping.

Gaius roared, whip cracking, a helot's throat split, blood pouring, he locked on her, charging. "Runt's mine!" he shouted, lashing out. The whip hit her arm, pain flared, blood dripping, she ducked, lunging low. He swung, missing, and she slashed his thigh, quick, deep, red flowed. He roared, whip cracking her back, fire exploded, old cuts ripping, but she rolled, dagger at his gut.

He twisted, whip snagged her wrist, yanked, bindings stretched. She thought, No! She kicked his wound, hard, blood gushed, he cursed, dropping. She slashed his arm, red poured, he stumbled. She thought, Down. Damon yelled, "Lys!" sword slashing a helot off her. She thought, He's mine.

The captain roared, "Push 'em!" Soldiers slammed in, shields bashed, herd surged, helots broke, scattering, torches fell. She thought, Gone. Lysander panted, blood dripping, five left. She thought, Still here. Gaius crawled back, grinning. She thought, Not dead.

Damon grabbed her, steadying, his hand too warm. "You good?" he asked, eyes on her cloak. She thought, Bindings safe, he's searching her face, too soft.

She snapped, "Yeah," pulling free. She thought, Secret holds, but her leg bled, back wept. She said, "Watch him, he's alive." He nodded, eyes deep. She thought, Too deep.

The captain barked, "Back up, rest!" The herd climbed, slow, bloody, Felix glaring from above. She thought, Alive. Lysander hauled up, pain roaring, Damon below, pushing. She thought, Stay back. At the ridge, panting, she slumped, Damon beside, quiet, watching.

Night deepened, cold, sharp, fires lit, soldiers tossed bread, stale, small. Damon sat close, his knee brushed hers, voice low. "You took Gaius again, damn tough, Lys." His grin flickered, real, warm, she thought, Stop it, chest thumping.

She muttered, "No choice," splitting bread, half to him, his fingers grazed hers, slow. She thought, Too slow. "Thanks, for sticking," he said, rough, deep, eyes locked. She thought, Too much. She froze. She thought, Not yet.

She hissed, "Shut up," pulling back, voice low, boyish. A yell, soldiers up, "Helots!" Fire flared, valley blazing, helots back, torches swinging. She thought, Again.

The captain roared, "Line up!" Soldiers charged, herd jumped, Lysander stood, dagger out, Damon beside, tight. She thought, Always. Gaius limped up, whip ready, grinning, blood dripping. "Runt's dead!" he shouted, lashing out. The whip hit her shoulder, blood sprayed, she ducked, slashing his arm, red flowed.

Helots rushed, torches high, screaming, she spun, dagger in one's gut, fast, dead, blood sprayed. She thought, Keep going. Damon yelled, "Lys, right!" She turned, spear at her, dodged, slashed throat, red gushed. She thought, Down.

Gaius swung, whip missed, Damon tackled, sword slashed, Gaius's leg, deep, blood poured, he cursed, bolted. She thought, Gone again. A horn, Spartan, blared, helots scattered, fire fading. She thought, Out.

Damon grabbed her, panting, arm around, too tight. "You hurt?" he asked, soft, eyes on her cloak. She thought, Safe, he's looking.

She lied, "No," shoving off, voice rough, leg bled, back wept. She thought, Secret holds. She said, "Gaius, he's still out there." Damon nodded, eyes burning. She thought, Too much. The captain yelled, "Camp, now!" Soldiers moved, herd limped, five. She thought, Less.

Gaius's laugh, far, sharp, "Next time, runt!" Damon's hand brushed hers, quick, warm. She thought, He's mine, as helots vanished, her secret ticking, louder, closer. She thought, Not now.