“They might not, but the future will. They will remember the day that five thousand Aemnite warriors stood strong—” He coughed again. More blood. “…stood strong against the invaders. They gave their lives for their city, and they will be remembered.” Patrus shook his head. “It’s foolish. It was suicide, nothing else. This battle was a waste of human life.” Theo coughed again and raised an eyebrow. “Was it?” The war horn sounded close. It was accompanied by the sound of hooves. Thousands of hooves. Patrus leaped to his feet. The Praetorians rushed back to their formations. “What have you done, Theo?” Theo grinned, red teeth showing behind cracked lips. “It’s a civil war, Patrus. There are opportunities to be had.” Patrus curled his lips into a snarl, drew his shortsword, and buried it in his old friend’s chest, driving the steel through flesh and bone. Theo grunted in pain, but the smile returned as the Loyalist cavalry came into view around the end of the pass. “Aaaah. Sweet remembrance.” Patrus pulled out his blade and drove it back into Theo’s torso. Again and again and again. The war horns blared, the hooves thundered, and Theotane Caristes died with a smile on his cracked lips.
Someone’s getting good cell phone service with this height difference!
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