He groaned with pain as he blinked himself awake. Marghaz couldn't remember the last time feeling like this: His shoulders were stiff, his arms ached, his hand could hardly move, his legs felt like pieces of cast iron stuck to a boneless torso and his head was pounding. The last thing he remembered was the crash of stone and rubble around him and the slam of his body as it hit the hard, dusty earth. Now, all he felt was heat and pain. With a parched, dry throat, Marghaz croaked out for attention and he heard voiced, although he was all but unable to determine who they were or what they were saying. The he felt someone grip his arm tightly and, off in the distance, someone was calling his name. "…n't try and move, legate, you aren't ready yet."

Everything was getting more in focus, vague shapes were becoming noses and eyes, and candles and jugs. He was in some dark room, on a rough bed, surrounded by the stench of sweat and blood. "Legate, don't!" Marghaz ignored whoever it was and, with what little strength was left in his arm, he forced himself into a sitting position.

"Drink," he croaked out finally and, someone who remembered what it meant that he was a legate, passed a cold glass into his hand. He drank heavily, the liquid, whatever it was, becoming the most exquisite thing he had ever tasted. When there was nothing left he dropped the glass, letting it fall onto the bed softly. "What happened?" He demanded.

"You won the battle," finally a recognisable voice, Yezzan. "The brindleds have fled back into their forests, but the apes…" Yezzan paused. Marghaz cleared his throat with impatience. "The apes have torn a hole in the wall, it is exposed to any future attack."

Marghaz swung one leg out over the edge of the bed. "Show me," he said. But when he pushed himself off the bed, he lost the strength in his leg and he fell forward, only the quick reflexes of one of his bodyguards prevented him from slamming his face into the carpeted floor. His hair shirt was sticking to his back, disgustingly drenched in sweat. "No," he grunted, pushing away from the bodyguard and, gently, using his hands to steady himself, he took several careful steps, walking around the room to recover some of the strength of his legs. He stopped by a large table and saw that his armour was lain out on it, his helmet had a significant dent in it, and one of the spikes on top had been sheared off completely. His cuirass was in mostly the same shape as before, though one of the shoulder straps had been ripped off and the right greave was bent out of shape. Next to his armour was his steel fist, crumpled like a used piece of paper, out of shape, only the fastening that attached it to his arm made it recognisable. Marghaz counted himself lucky that whatever had crushed it had picked the wrong hand, and flexed his right one absently. "How long?" He asked, turning to his bodyguards and Yezzan. They looked at him, not understanding exactly what he was asking. "How long since the battle, and how long will it take to repair the armour?"

"The armour is being replaced as we speak," Yezzan informed him. "The finest smiths in the city are working on it as we speak, as for the battle, it was three days ago."

Marghaz nodded and paced around the room once more, eager to get more feeling back into his legs. "Take me to the consul," he said, when he was sure enough in his footing. "I would speak with him."

His bodyguards did not look certain, but they followed their orders, and opened the door into the street. Unlike when he first came down these streets, they were now a hive of activity, wagons and crates being loaded as fast as possible. Children obeying their mothers and rushing about with all manner of household items. He stopped dead in his tracks. "What is going on?" He demanded.

One of his bodyguards answered. "The governor is rumoured to be getting ready to evacuate the city," he said. "He says the breach in the wall cannot be repaired before the brindleds march against it again and, with a hole in the wall, we will not be able to stop them."

"I would see it for myself," Marghaz said simply. He had to see the wall, and try to prevent this evacuation, if the city was evacuated after his attempt to break the siege, the masters would murder him as they had his mentor. So his guards escorted him through the streets, past the rushing peoples, to the wall, and the large hole in it.

Legionnaires surrounded the breach, conversing in hushed whispers about how they would survive the next attack with the wall broken. But as he approached with his bodyguards, and they noticed him, they parted and let him march between them, approaching the consul and the governor, who turned to him.

"Legate Marghaz!" The governor explained, greeting him cordially. "We did not expect you to be awake for days."

"Many have expectations of me," Marghaz replied coldly. "I take sincere pleasure in denying them."

"Including the brindleds it would seem," the consul added, stepping forward. "Thanks to you they were driven away long enough for us to evacuate this colony."

Marghaz shook his head. "Ghaereen is the cornerstone of the Ghiscari Sothoryos territories," he pointed out. "If we abandon it, we will be driven out of the others within the year."

"This colony is lost," the consul pointed out, indicating the large whole in the wall. "When this wall fell, so did our chance of defending this place." He stepped forwards and rested a hand on Marghaz's shoulder. "Do not fret," he said consolingly, "thanks to you, thousands will be saved."

Marghaz shrugged off the hand. "We need to rebuild the wall," he said simply. "Do that, and there is no need to retreat."

"It is not possible," the Master said, sweating like a pig. "There are not enough supplies, or men."

"Men is one thing you do not lack," Marghaz pointed out. "As for supplies, you have plenty of stone houses in this city."

Consul Haredan shook his head. "Those stones are not strong enough."

"They will last long enough to bring in the heavier ones to rebuild the wall to it's former strength," Marghaz insisted. They have to agree with my plan, Marghaz knew. If they do not, then I am a dead man, and I may as well wait for the barbarians to return so they could kill me. "Besides," he said, waving his hand, in a manner exuding confidence. "Walls are not too difficult to build, and, as I have said, you have the men and materials."

"But not the time," Haredan replied. "You smashed the horde into pieces, but those pieces will reform, and other warlords will join them, they will have seen the wall fall, and they will come again."

Marghaz walked up the rubble to look out over the field of battle. Several pyres burned from the corpses of the fallen and the forest, dark and brooding in the heavy sunlight, seemed to be calling him in. "Not if we give them another target," he said, turning to Haredan and the Master.

"What are you talking about?" Haredan asked, confused.

Marghaz raised his stump and pointed with it towards the forest. "I march my legion into that wood, we smash the enemy in small skirmishes, or at least provide a distraction so that you can begin building the walls again."

"Madness," the master said at once. Haredan however, looked more approving. Marghaz knew why, as much as Marghaz would lose his life, Haredan would lose his command for the retreat, and a man like him knew no other life than that of the soldier.

"We wouldn't need the rebuilding to be finished," he said, looking at Marghaz and beginning to nod. "The foundations remain as ever, and the wall only need to be strong enough to repel the basic attack or raid, not like the one we fought just now, those large attacks are rare."

The master would appear to be intimidated by the Consul and nodded. "I am sure you are right Consul," he tittered.

Haredan turned back to Marghaz. "Will your men be ready to march?"

Marghaz nodded. "Yes, but not all of them will be suitable," he said. "The pikemen will be ineffective in the forests."

Haredan pursed his lips. "I do not have the authority to divide a legion up," he said. That was a lie, as consul that was entirely his prerogative, but Djoran's murder had shocked the legates, too few were willing to stray from guidelines and the rulebook. Marghaz's respect for this man dropped faster than the wall.

"As you say," Marghaz replied. "But my pikemen will be leaving their weapons here, they will need the three spears given to them."

"And the shields as well I suppose?" Haredan asked.

Marghaz contemplated and then shook his head. "No," he said finally. "They will fight as light infantry, easier in the forests."

Haredan considered and then gave his assent. "Very well, ready your legion, and prepare to march on the forest."

As Marghaz moved from the wall, and Haredan began readying the re-construction of the wall, one of his bodyguards leaned in close. "Legate, is disarming the pikemen wise?" He asked. "These men have been fighting with their pikes for nearly three years, learning anew will not be easy."

"They will learn or fail, that is their choice," Marghaz replied coldly and marched through the streets. He needed his armour repaired and a new hand. Then he had work to do.

It had taken four days to gather the necessary supplies for the expedition. They needed food, water, medicine, swords, spears, axes and javelins, these would all be essential for survival. Marghaz and his bodyguard would be leaving behind the horses, they would be no use in battle in the dark of the woods, and it saved them the need to bring fodder for the beasts. Instead, the legate would march with the legions, and fight the enemy together.

However, whilst his legionnaires had obeyed him, and begun training for their march, his serjeants and centurions were less than willing, and voice their objections repeatedly. It was too dangerous; the trees held hidden terrors; the barbarians would slaughter them; he heard each of the arguments a hundred times; and overruled them a hundred and one times; his men were legionnaires, heirs to the legacy of the finest soldiers ever produced in the world, they would march, and they would achieve victory under his command, or they would all die. That was the heart of it, but they were legionnaires sworn to the defence of Ghis and it's colonies, and he would kill them himself before they forsook this duty. He would defend Ghis from these barbarians, then he would defend it from those corrupt cravens who supposed to lead it.

Marghaz examined his new fist, it was better than the last one, it weighed more like a proper one, and it was brighter, with a gleam to it, perfect for knocking the teeth from some barbarians, or a subordinate who thought to question him in the field. His armour had been repaired, he had run the streets of the city several times to ensure that it fitted properly. It did.

"Legate," Marghaz looked over, panting, as he finished his lap of the city walls. It was three of his centurions, the two spikes on their helms showing their rank. He took a sip of water as he approached them. "What is it?" He asked, wiping sweat from his brow.

They looked at each other, nervously. "Some of the men are… unsure about your plan." One of them said to him. "They think that we are marching to our deaths."

"Maybe we are, but maybe we aren't," he replied off handedly. "It is not my concern what the men feel, only that they follow me."

"But… the jungle, hundreds of them will die."

Marghaz chuckled. "The only constant in all life is death, it is how everything ends. But," he added, taking another sip from his water. "I ask you, if you believe that I would march into that jungle if I thought we would not emerge from it. I have many plans, many tasks I must yet accomplish, I cannot accomplish them if I die in there." He approached the three men, he could see the nervousness in their eyes. It was understandable. "Look," he said taking each of them by the shoulder. "I know, that the forest unmans many a soldier. It would not be Sothoryos if it didn't. But we are the heirs of Ghis, we brought this world to heel, brought it civilisation and glory. Are we to be defeated by a jungle? No, I think not. So the men will march, and we will buy time for this city to be defended again. Then we shall go home, in victory, and spend time with our families. A well-earned victory for all of you. I march alongside you, and, should the worst happen and we die, then we die together, for I will not abandon my men, all I ask in return, is that you not abandon me. Will you do so?"

Each of them shook their heads, their nerves steeled. "Good," he said. "Now make yourselves ready, tomorrow we march against hell."