The horns did not blow once. They blew everywhere.
North. East. South.
Three long blasts, echoing off the stone walls, overlapping until the sound was a single, continuous roar.
Hector stood on the northern parapet, his helmet strapped tight. He looked left. He looked right.
"They're not focusing," he said.
Lysander stood three paces behind him, watching the Greek lines pour out of the camp. "They're attacking every wall at once."
"Stretch us thin," Hector said. "Make us choose where to send the reserves."
"Then we don't send reserves," Lysander said. "We hold the gaps. Every section holds its own."
Hector nodded. "Go. Be the floating role. If a gap breaks, you plug it."
Lysander drew his sword. "I'm gone."
The ladders hit the stone.
Not forty this time. A hundred.
The sky darkened with arrows. The Trojan archers fired back, but the Greeks were moving too fast, spreading across the entire perimeter.
