Ficlets

General Iphicrates signaled his mercenaries and a line of heavy stones were hoisted to the catapults. Windlasses stretched skein rope at the main arms of the weapons as soldiers readied the Greek Fire. Iphicrates gave the order and the stone throwing engines were discharged, hurling their insidious payload toward the Spartans.

The heavily armored Spartans formed a long rectangle below Mount Parintha, close and deep with shields joined and long spears overlapping. The phalanx formations marched into a sky of orange haze – a fearless assault of hoplite spears and aspis shields that grew in size with each passing moment.

The sound of steel on stone could be heard in the distance as a group of soldiers fell to the ground in a bright flash of light. Barrius’ muscles tensed as he rose from the ground and drew his sword from its sheath. His blood-stained forearms glistened in the sun as he knelt beside the crippled body of Aristedes.

“On your feet,” Barrius said, “we will either return victorious or dead.”