Brutus Quirinius looked out from his command tower at the mass of men and metal in the field in front of his encampment. The screams of dying men and horses echoed through the canyon as he watched, praying that his idea would work. After another legion of his supporters had arrived, a large army led by the loyalist legions had sprung upon them, giving them almost no time to plan. Brutus hoped that what they had planned would be enough, or else his friend's work would be forever lost. Below, his men began to give ground, slowly but surely being pressed backwards by the onslaught. His only consolation was that the fools had underestimated his strength, else they would have already pushed them to the brink. He tapped his fingers against the railing, muttering under his breath as he cast his eyes across the battlefield. Suddenly, out of a small, hidden valley to the side of the battle, a large wedge of cavalry burst into the light and slammed into the side of the enemy, shattering their lines and sending men sprawling. The wedge quickly regrouped as another one slammed into the opening the first had created, cutting down soldiers like wheat. Startled, the orderly March forwards became a shambling retreat as the majority of the men began to back away, the cowards in their ranks turning and sprinting to where they had made their camps. After enough harrying, trump's sounded from the enemy encampment and the rest of the attack force turned as one and rushed back, eager to leave the area of bloodshed. Brutus smiled even as he wiped the sweat from his face. They had survived this wave, and that was enough for him. Hours after the battle, Brutus, Octavius, and Marcus entered the command tent, their faces grim as they took in the map before them. The scouts had returned with what they could safely gather, and it seemed grim. The enemy outnumbered them six legions to four, and all six of the enemy's legions were camped outside the only way out of the pass. The closest legion to being able to help them was the 37th, and they were across a river and still a good three days' march away. Octavius slammed his fist into the table, sending papers flying and scattering the tokens representing legions. "How could they have snuck up on us? Six legions of men appear out of the blue a day's march from us, giving us no time to do anything but a small cavalry flank!" Marcus shook his head. "We put almost no patrols around the area. I'm going to set up a full dozen after this is over. How are the siege engines?" "We still have a full dozen catapults, but only five of our ballistas are active, and we only have two trebuchets built." Octavius looked at Brutus. "You think you can speed up the workers?" Brutus nodded grimly. "We'll do what we can. After that, we just need to hope that the 37th can reach us in time."