Branches whipped against Leonidas' face as he darted into the trees, his ribs burning from the gash across his side. Behind him, voices shouted, branches cracked — Diodoros' boys pressed the chase, their numbers grinding through the undergrowth like a stampede.
Leonidas vaulted over a fallen log and dropped low into the gully. Roots curled along the walls like skeletal fingers. Perfect.
The first of Diodoros' boys tumbled in after him, eager, clumsy. Leonidas struck hard, the butt of his spear jamming into the boy's stomach with a grunt. The air fled his lungs, and he crumpled to the dirt.
Another tried to push past. Leonidas twisted, jabbing sharp into his shoulder, numbing the arm and sending the spear spinning from his hand.
The gully filled fast, bodies pressing tight, their own numbers choking them. Boys tripped over each other, cursed, shoved. Leonidas moved among them like smoke — quick strikes, never killing, only breaking wrists, bruising ribs, knocking breath from lungs. Cries of pain filled the ravine, echoing against the roots.
"Useless!" Diodoros bellowed from the rear. "Hold him! Break him!"
Leonidas braced, jabbed once more, then slipped sideways into the brush. Confusion rippled. Two boys scrambled after him, only to find nothing but shadows. Another tripped on a root and fell hard, his spear clattering away.
By the time Diodoros forced his way through the choke, Leonidas was gone.
---
The forest swallowed him whole.
His chest heaved. Blood seeped warm down his side. Each step sent a hot lance of pain through his ribs. He pressed a hand to the wound, his grip slick. He staggered once, caught himself on a trunk, breath ragged.
But his mind was clear. I bought them time. They'll make it. That's enough.
The night pressed close, heavy with mist.
Then came the growl.
Low. Rolling. Not human.
Leonidas froze.
Yellow eyes glowed in the dark. Then another pair. And more. A half-circle of wolves emerged, paws whispering silent over leaves, fur bristling in the firelight's dying reach.
At their center stood something larger. The alpha. Taller at the shoulder than any Leonidas had ever seen, its body thick with muscle, its fur ragged and scarred. Pale eyes burned cold as moonlight.
The pack fanned wide, circling.
Leonidas straightened slowly, chest heaving, spear tight in his hands. His arm trembled from blood loss, but his voice was steady.
"Come, then."
The first wolf lunged. A gray blur of teeth and fur. Leonidas drove his spear forward, the point sinking deep into its chest. Blood sprayed hot across his arms as the animal collapsed, twitching.
Another darted low, jaws snapping for his calf. He kicked hard, his heel crunching against bone, then stabbed down with brutal force, pinning it to the dirt.
The alpha surged next. Its weight slammed into him, knocking him back against a tree. Jaws snapped inches from his face, the stench of meat and rot hot in his nose. Leonidas jammed the shaft sideways, straining as teeth scraped wood. His arms screamed. With a roar, he twisted, cracking the butt against its skull. The beast snarled, stumbled, and circled again, pale eyes burning.
Two more leapt at once. One clamped onto his arm, teeth tearing deep. Pain ripped through him, white-hot. He screamed, ripped free, and drove his weapon down, killing it with a savage thrust. The other sank jaws into his thigh, shaking like a rag. Leonidas smashed the shaft into its skull again and again until it fell limp.
He staggered, blood soaking his tunic, his leg throbbing, his arm slick with crimson. His breath came ragged, black creeping at the edges of his vision.
The alpha growled low. The surviving wolves froze, then slunk back into the shadows, their glowing eyes retreating into the dark.
They weren't finished. Not yet.
Leonidas sagged against the tree, chest heaving, spear trembling in his grip. His body was torn, battered, bleeding. But his stance, even as he slid to his knees, remained unbroken.
They'll be back, he thought grimly. And when they come, it'll be to end it.
The night pressed heavy around him, filled with the sound of his own ragged breath and the distant whisper of paws in the dark.
He tightened his grip on the blood-slick shaft. He would not sleep. He would not falter.
Not yet.