Even in the darkness of his cabin, far more than half way through the day, the heat was getting to Marghaz. The legion had set off six days ago from Ghaen: Sixty six ships carrying the legionnaires, their weapons and supplies. They had been going well at first, for they had the wind, but then, on the fourth day, a storm had scattered the fleet and they had spent the next day regrouping. Thankfully none of the ships had been sunk, though many of them were now lagging behind due to damage. They had also lost the wind, which was why, even now, Marghaz could hear the oarmasters whipping the slaves into rowing faster, harder and longer.

But the heat was a good sign, they must be close. Sothoryos had it's own kind of heat. Slaver's Bay and New Ghis were hot in their own right, but Sothoryos had a different heat, a heavy heat that weighed down on the body. The mugginess was worse. It was hot and the air was damp which of course meant flies, and Sothoryos flies were the worst of all. The air on the continent itself was worse, for, unlike at sea, it was still. There was rarely any cool breeze or wind to relieve you except right on the coast.

There was a hammering on his cabin door and he cracked open one eye. "What?" He demanded. The door opened and one of the ship's crew entered.

"Legate, we are in sight of the colony of Ghaereen, and should be landing shortly."

Marghaz nodded and waved his hand, indicating for the man to leave. He swung himself out of his hammock and stretched, relishing the feeling of relief as his shoulders and spine cracked, loosening his body up. He tied his sword on his belt and left the cabin, shielding his eyes from the light as he headed out to the deck. He headed up to the forecastle and smiled. The sight was welcome.

Unlike the mud towns of the traders, the Sothoryos colonies were fortified brick and mortar settlements. The wall was easily spotted, thirty feet of heavy stone, with hard, strong towers placed at regular intervals along them. There were townhouses and manses, markets and forges, even at this distance, he could see them clearly. Roads and paths were clearly set out in the city, lined with lamps and fountains. More obvious to Marghaz though, was that the docks were packed with people. They were huddled in groups around fires and possessions, seemingly eager to escape the city at first opportunity. They were clearly scared, but hopefully the sight of a legion arriving to relieve them, they would find their courage again. At the sight of the terrified crowd, Marghaz's mind flashed to the horrors that lay beyond the walls of the colony towns. Apes larger than giants, brindled men who would gorge themselves on the flesh of the slain, huge vampire bats that could drain the blood of their victims in minutes and more. He shuddered at the memories. This was where he would make his name, or he would die.

He turned to the captain of the ship. "Take us to the jetties, fast," he said and, without waiting for a response, he moved past to find his legionnaires. "Arm yourselves," he commands them all, "it seems we will be fighting soon after landing." His men gathered up their weapons and armour, putting them on quickly and efficiently. Marghaz had his servants place his armour on him, fastening his sword belt around his waist. He strapped his shield to his back, he would put it on his arm later.

His legionnaires soon gathered on the deck, ready to disembark and Marghaz, befitting his rank, would lead them out. There were several jetties, but it would still take the better part of an hour to disembark the whole legion, almost half that time again to get them in position on the walls. As he led his legionnaires down the ramp and onto the docks, the people parting and whispering excitedly, a delegation arrived. The master of the city, and thus supreme governor of the Sothoryos colonies, appeared to be at the head of them, for whoever was leading them wore one of the ridiculous tokars and had his hair shaped into what appeared to be butterfly wings. "Thank the harpy for your arrival," he praised, smiling widely at Marghaz as he approached. "These… barbarians have been threatening to tear down the walls."

"I will not allow it," Marghaz replied simply. "Have no fear, my legion shall repel them."

"Consul Haredan is conducting the defence of the city," the master told him. "You should inform him that you have arrived."

Marghaz nodded, this master clearly knew little of the affairs going on here, the consul, commander of all forces in the region, would, and would be able to deploy him effectively. Djoran had hardly been referred to as Consul, ever, though that probably had something to do with the way his name alone commanded respect, he rarely needed to be given the title, other consuls would willingly hand over their positions to him. Marghaz would never have such luck. He turned to his men, who were holding still in a column five men wide and twenty deep. "To the main square, march," he ordered and they set off, their centurion, two spikes on his helm, barking out the orders. Only Marghaz's own bodyguards remained behind, waiting for the horses to be unloaded that they could follow the infantry. The other infantry followed the first century when they unloaded and then the first wave of ships pushed off to allow the next set to join them.

He wanted to ride off to the centre square, but knew it was his responsibility to oversee the deployment of his men from the ships. It was a tedious chore, but a necessary one. First the heavy infantry came out in their hundreds, there were a total of four thousand, that Marghaz knew, one thousand men with pikes and another three thousand with the tall shields and three spears of the old legions, two javelins and one sturdier one to thrust with, though all of them had shortswords as well, for spears could be neutralised by removing the steel tips of them. Speaking of swords, after them came the one thousand swordsmen of the legion, who had round shields, unlike the spearmen, and falcatas, far more deadly cutting weapons than the shortswords of the spearmen and pike men. These swordsmen were capable of being used as light or heavy infantry, as required. As befitting his position of the finest swordsman in the legion, Yezzan was their Tribune. Finally came the archers; lightly armoured with only a dagger to defend themselves in melee combat, they made up the final thousand of the legion. Djoran had pushed for a formation of cavalry to become a permanent fixture in the legions, but, after his death, he had been overruled, and the five hundred horsemen were replaced with another five hundred archers.

When the last of the archers were unloaded and the damaged ships were coming in for repairs, Marghaz turned his horse to the road and, past the hopeful faces of the citizens, made his way to the main square. By this time, the sky was a dark orange and nearly black.

His legion was not in ordered formation, but they snapped into order when Marghaz arrived, lining up and ready to receive their orders.

Marghaz dismounted at the head of them and was accosted by a large man, who strained his armour to breaking point, but by the three spikes on his helmet, Marghaz could tell that this man was another legate, presumably the consul, for you could not be the latter without being the former. "Finally," he said in a loud, booming voice. "We have been expecting you for days."

"The seas were rough," Marghaz replied dismissively, not wanting to show weakness. "We have come now to assist." He pulled off his helmet and the other legate did the same. He had a large face with jutting features, more like a pit fighter than a legionnaire, but Marghaz assumed that he had earned his place, or he had a high birth, as was also possible. Flying high above him, held by two men in his retinue, were two banners, the harpy of New Ghis, clutching a thunderbolt in it' talons, and the personal flag of the consul. Each Consul could pick a personal banner of their own. This one had elected to have a harpy with a halo around it's head as his banner.

He looked sternly at Marghaz, but then broke into a wide smile. "And we are glad to have you," he said simply. He held out his hand, and Marghaz seized his wrist. "The attacks have been daily for the past month and a half, and we are down to half the number of men we began with."

"That bad?" Marghaz asked. "I heard there were two legions here."

"As I said," he said. "I have had to all but reforge them into a single legion, half the men are wounded or dead. Your own will be a great boost to them."

Marghaz gave a slight smile. "I can only hope so."

The large man shook away the uncertain comment. "They will be, they have been looking for reinforcements for days." He tapped his own chest. "Consul Haredan zo Herrideq."

"Legate Marghaz mo Teldak," Marghaz replied.

"Marghaz mo Teldak?" He asked, surprised at the name that Marghaz had given. "Djoran zo Marok's protégé?" Marghaz only nodded, he did not like speaking about Djoran with strangers. But Haredan smiled widely. "If you are half as good as Djoran said, then we are all fortunate."

"I only hope I will live up to his expectations."

"You can start now," Haredan said, beckoning him forwards. "The brindled host has fallen back for now," he said simply. "You know them, they don't attack in full force in darkness."

"Not against cities," Marghaz corrected him, "out in the jungle, in their territory, they have no rules or restrictions." Marghaz didn't follow the man yet. "Do you want my help to plan tomorrow's defence?"

Haredan smiled and nodded. "You and your officers, your legion should start resting whilst they can. We will be busy tomorrow, and you," he continued, "should get a look at the size of this horde while you can."

Marghaz nodded and turned to his legion. "Yezzan!" He called and his subordinate approached. "Get the men rested, I am going to see what we face."

Yezzan nodded. "They'll be done and ready to sleep by the time you return."

"Good," Marghaz said, and turned to leave with Haredan.

They made their way through the city streets which were filled with wounded and exhausted legionnaires, some being tended to by the temple graces, others recovering with other soldiers. A few citizen volunteers were helping where they could, but most of the men here belonged to the legions. Marghaz followed him up to the top of the walls and looked out over the plains outside the city.

His jaw dropped open. There were thousands of barbarians baying for blood, wielding weapons of wood, stone and iron. Their numbers were withdrawing into the forest, but already, Marghaz could see that there were more men than there had been as Meereen, on both sides, looking to storm the city and gorge on the flesh of those hidden behind the stone. "How many?" He asked weakly.

"Too many," Haredan said, subdued and sullen. "There is no end to them. We tried hurling their own dead back at them, but they simply ate the slain, all of them." Marghaz shuddered in revulsion. "Arrows loosed into that horde have no effect, we have no catapults left and every day they threaten to overrun the walls, truth be told boy, even with your legion, I don't know that we can win."

"And we can't evacuate," Marghaz added on helpfully.

Haredan shook his head. "We don't have enough ships to get the people out, but if we take only what we can on the ships, the rest will riot."

"No," Marghaz cut across him. Haredan turned to him surprised. "We cannot evacuate because we cannot lose, if we lose this city, then every colony will pack up and flee, New Ghis will be humiliated by barbarians; that cannot be allowed to happen."

"Oh, so you plan to defeat them do you, to hold on until this barbarian wave shatters?" Haredan did not seem convinced, but Marghaz had all but tuned out the consul as he overlooked the field outside the city with what light was left of the day. Flat terrain, in our favour, but the forest hides their true numbers, their favour; we are tired, their favour; they are fearless, their favour. Marghaz sighed and rubbed his temples. "We will have run out of food for a week before we have beaten this host." Haredan continued as Marghaz turned his attention back to the Consul.

"Not so," Marghaz said, smiling. "I have a plan."

Haredan looked surprised. "Fine then," he said. "We are running out of time, so let's hear it."

Marghaz looked down to the outside of the walls. "Tomorrow, just before dawn, my legion marches out of the gate."

"You what!?" Haredan asked, incredulous. "What would that gain us, only the walls have kept us safe so far?"

Marghaz ignored him, as Djoran had with dissenting officers. "We march out and form a crown," he said.

"A crown?"

Marghaz nodded. "Instead of the straight shield line, we form a line that is jagged, in spikes, if you will, like a crown, but still with interlocked shields. That, along with our javelins, will break the momentum of the enemy charge in several points, then when they hit us it will be with weak attacks and the enemy at the back will merely crush the enemy at the front against us. At the same time, we place every archer we have on the walls to fire into the horde."

"That won't work. You'll be throwing our salvation out into the open for them to destroy."

Marghaz nodded. "That is what they will think, but it will be easier to crush them against us than the wall."

"How does that work?" Haredan asked. "A wall is more solid."

"But they attack the wall with ladders yes?" Marghaz asked and Haredan nodded. "So, they will only be waiting below the wall, they will charge into my men, and the beasts in the rear will crush their own front against our shields, as I said. With our swords and spears stabbing them from several directions, thanks to our crown-like deployment, they will drive their own army to it's death against us."

Marghaz looked back at Haredan. "Only with your approval of course," he added. "You are the Consul here."

"What about the pikemen? That formation doesn't favour the pikes." It was true, so Marghaz thought through another solution. "They will form a traditional square in the middle of the line," he decided, "the spikes will be to either side of them."

Haredan took a few seconds and then his lips curled into a small smile. "If we try it and fail, we all die, if we don't try it and stand behind the city walls, we die." Haredan joined him in leaning on the wall as the sun went down. "Will your men be ready by tomorrow, or do we need to hold for another day?"

"I will have to ask them," Marghaz said, "this plan only works if they are at their physical best, but I suspect that after a good night's sleep, they will be ready to fight."

Haredan nodded. "If they are, then wake them just before dawn and assemble them behind the gate. The brindleds attack when the sun is up, so you will need to move out before then, we can't afford to have your men attacked before they are in position."

Marghaz nodded and left to inform his men of the plan, well his Tribunes at least, as Djoran said, to tell a whole legion of the plan give six thousand voices who could object. Get the Tribunes to agree, and the rest will follow, he knew that. Djoran had had the respect of the legionnaires and the loyalty of the officers, Marghaz sought to emulate him, but he had only been a legate for a month, and he was only a half ghiscari, worse, he didn't look the part, his skin was too fair and his hair too light for the comfort of many of them. But Djoran had commanded this legion since it's birth two years ago, he had instilled in them a respect for the chain of command, they obeyed him.

So, when he returned to his legion, he summoned the Tribunes, serjeants and centurions to him, and explained the plan he had concocted with them. "You think this will work?" Asked one dissenting voice, though the rhetoric seemed to be shared by many of the others present.

Marghaz nodded. "I know it will," he said with surety, for one must sound sure, or his men wouldn't be. "I know it will just as much as I know we will die if we continue to fight this battle the way it has been fought. I know it will work because I know that you, and the men serving under you, will make it work, I know this because we have fought together, the legendary Unsullied could not stop us, neither will these beasts of men."

He looked for any other signs of dissent in his officers. There were none to be found. "The legion will march with you, legate," one of them said, and the others nodded. "Bring us victory."

"I shall," Marghaz said. "I will bring you victory and glory."

With the cheers of his men as sweet music to sing him to sleep, Marghaz awaited the dawn in which he would lead his first battle as a full legate.