The Rise Of An Empire In Ancient Europe-Chapter 1 - The Death of Young Darius

This 𝓬ontent is taken from fгeewebnovёl.co𝙢.

The scout's desperate cries pierced the heavy afternoon air like arrows.

"The king's great army is coming! The king's great army is coming!!" The rider tore across the dry plains, dust billowing behind him, his hoarse voice calling out in both Persian and Greek. He barely slowed as he reached the encampment, his lathered horse trembling from the exertion.

Soldiers who had been reclining under the sparse shade of tents scrambled to their feet. The camp, until now alive with idle chatter and the clink of armor, bristled with sudden energy. Every man's hand darted instinctively to a weapon.

"Patikias! Speak quickly! Has Artaxerxes truly come?" Young Darius' voice cut through the commotion, sharp and commanding. He rode forward, his face alight with a dangerous mix of excitement and determination.

Patikias slid from his saddle, breathless and wide-eyed. "Yes, Your Highness! Artaxerxes is here! And Artagases rides with him! Tissaphernes too!" He spat the last name like venom.

Darius' grin spread wide, his teeth gleaming like the edge of a polished blade. "Finally! The time has come to end this!" He swung down from his horse, landing heavily. Without a moment's hesitation, he waved a hand toward his adjutant, Ariaeus. "Rally the army! Prepare for battle!"

Ariaeus snapped a salute and barked orders to a waiting messenger. "Inform the Greeks! Tell them to form up on the right flank at once!"

The camp exploded into motion. Commanders barked orders, soldiers strapped on armor and buckled swords, and war cries began to ripple through the ranks. The hum of preparation filled the air like the ominous prelude to a thunderstorm.

Artapates, ever cautious, stepped forward. "How many, Patikias? How many does the enemy bring?"

Patikias swallowed, the memory of the enemy host flashing in his mind like a nightmare. "Sixty thousand... perhaps eighty thousand." His voice quavered despite himself.

A murmur rippled through the gathered officers, unease flickering in their eyes. But Darius threw back his head and laughed, the sound bold and wild.

"Eighty thousand? A thousand thousand?" he mocked, slapping Patikias on the shoulder with the force of a hammer. "Let them come! Artaxerxes remains the same coward he always was. The man couldn't stand his ground against a hunting dog, let alone an army!"

The tension broke, laughter rippling through the men. Darius mounted his horse again, his voice rising above the din. "Men! Warriors! Remember who we are! Remember what we've done! Athens, the once-proud empire, fell to our might. They who humiliated Persia time and again fell to us!" His gaze burned as he surveyed his troops. "Now, we face Artaxerxes, a pretender hiding behind his legions. But no army will save him. We have the Greeks at our side. We are unstoppable!"

A roar rose from the troops, fierce and unwavering. Swords clanged against shields, the sound building into a deafening crescendo.

"Victory!" Darius raised his fist high, the gesture mirrored by his men. "By the supreme god, I swear this day will be ours! I swear it!"

The chant began slowly, a murmur swelling into a tidal wave.

"Darius the Great! Darius the Great!"

Julieos adjusted his grip on his spear, sweat dripping down the back of his neck as the midday sun bore down mercilessly. Beside him, Matonis shifted uneasily.

"Any sign yet?" Julieos asked, his voice tinged with impatience.

Matonis scowled. "For the last time, no! If the enemy were here, you'd know it. The ground would be shaking." He paused to wipe his neck, then muttered, "If we wait any longer, I'll be cooked alive."

Olivers, a wiry soldier with a mischievous grin, couldn't resist. "Cooked? You're more like old leather. Not even the dogs would touch you."

Laughter rippled through the ranks, but it was cut short by a sharp bark from Hylos, their grizzled sergeant. "Straighten up, you lot! Menon's coming!"

True enough, the scarlet-plumed Menon appeared moments later, his sharp eyes scanning the line. "What is this? A tavern brawl?! Stand ready, or I'll see Hades has you by nightfall!"

Before he could finish, a shout rang out.

"Look ahead!"

The joking ceased. Every soldier turned their eyes to the horizon. The dust cloud rose first, a swirling, choking mass that seemed to blot out the sky. From its depths emerged the black line of the advancing Persian host, endless and implacable. As the line thickened, glints of sunlight caught on their weapons and armor, turning the scene into a dazzling, shifting mosaic.

The earth trembled under the rhythmic march of thousands. The cacophony of hoofbeats, clattering chariots, and shouted commands rolled toward them like an oncoming storm.

Julieos swallowed hard. His grip on his spear tightened, his knuckles white. The ground beneath his feet seemed to sway.

"Prepare for battle!" Hylos bellowed.

"Prepare for battle!" The call echoed through the Greek ranks.

Shields were raised, spears leveled, and helmets donned. The rhythmic beat of spear butts against shields filled the air, the sound a defiant heartbeat against the oncoming tide.

From his vantage point, Young Darius scanned the advancing enemy. The Persian king's army moved with precision, each contingent falling into place like pieces of a vast, deadly puzzle. Chariots bristling with scythe blades led the vanguard, followed by lines of archers, cavalry, and heavy infantry. The sheer size of the force was suffocating, a storm cloud rolling across the land.

But Darius felt no fear. He rode along the Greek lines, his voice steady and commanding as he issued orders. He reached the far right, where Clearchus, his trusted Greek ally, awaited.

"Clearchus," Darius said, his voice low but firm. He gestured toward the Persian center. "When the battle begins, strike there. Cut through to Artaxerxes. Without him, they will crumble."

Clearchus nodded, his gaze steely. "It will be done."

Darius turned back to his army, the Euphrates roaring behind them. His blood surged with anticipation. The clash to come would be legendary, and he intended to seize victory with both hands.