Themistocles looked out across the plaza. The city of Salamis stood all around him, yet he could not see it. He was more concerned about what had happened here so recently. Many of the greatest generals and war leaders from across Pelopenesia - what others called Greece - had come here in the past days, to discuss how to organize their fight against the Persians. But a day ago, another group had arrived - a small one.

One had been a slender man, almost frail in his build, wearing a wolfskin cloak. The thick dark brown hair running down to his cloak was accented by his golden eyes, as though Hephestus had forged them himself.

The second was also a man, stouter in form, just short of portly. This one wore the skin of an Atlas Lion for his cloak. Themistocles had no doubt that this man was pure muscle, a born fighter. His skin and hair were both dull bronze, some mix of red, brown, and blonde no doubt.

The third had been something that, before today, Themistocles would have dismissed as a story, a fable. But the Sileni had indeed been present, from the equine ears down to the finely polished hooves. Although the triangular stripes had been a novelty he was unaware of. They were of the same colour as the night-black tail and mane - or was it merely long hair?

Namir, the second, had spoken to the Pelopenesians. They were offering the help of their people, as well as all the others that had previously been considered naught but myths. All they asked in return was a few safe places for their own polis, their own townships without fear of being ransacked.

The Greeks had laughed at them, some aloud, others in their verbal reparte. "We do not need your help," one general had said, "we have the great Themistocles!" But when Themistocles himself had tried to turn the others to accepting the offer of the mythicals, they refused. That they did so by praising his modesty did little to help him.

When the meeting wound down, the generals left in small groups, untill only Themistocles was left with the three visitors. “I am sorry,” he said. If nothing else, he knew that the mythicals would have helped to pin the Persians down, hold them in place while the Pelopenesians delivered the death blows.

A nod from each of the three. “I know,” said Silenus of the Sileni, “And your effort will not go unremembered and unremarked. Your name shall not hold shame with us.”

“Nor under the mind of the Neuri,” said the first, “or any other Scythian tribe.” That name got Themistocles’s attention: the Scythians were neighbors with Persia, though if push came to shove, they were most likely to ally with the Great King of Persia than any king or general of

Pelopenesia. That a Scythian of any stripe would say that meant a great deal.

“What will you do now?’ Themistocles asked, fearing one possible answer. He truly hoped that the mythicals, disgusted with humanity, would vanish once more, becoming again naught more than fables.

Second spoke. “Through the efforts of the Neuri, the Great King has granted us an audience with him in his court.” The price of that audience was left unsaid. The implications of it did not need to be said.

Battle Of Salamis, 480 BC:

From the heights.....

Nut watched from the cliffs, her and her fellow Gryphons, stretching and preparing. The beasts that the Greeks called ‘The Hounds Of Zeus’ would soon inflict great sorrow upon the Greeks.

They took to the air, diving towards the men.

The Greek warships lay below them, only beginning to engage their Persian enemy. Human against human, as it always had been. But this time, one side would gain a decided advantage.

* * *

Upon the hills.....

Hippolytus watched from his vantage point, paint camoflauging him in the shadows of the woods, as the Greek Hoplites moves from his left to the right. In the field they were entering, a herd of dwarf horses were grazing - or so it seemed. Hippolytus knew that the Pegasi were really grubbing for voles and large insects.

The Pegasi were far too small to be ridden by Men, and the Hoplites appeared to recognize this, as one of them picked up a stone and threw it at the horses with folded wings. The stone fell just inches shy of a russet mare, who jerked her head up and stared at the Hoplites. Pegasi were not the brightest of creatures, but they knew enough to know when they were threatened.

The bulk of the herd looked to the Hoplites, and bared their teeth, revealing needles in the females, and sharp spades in the males -- hardly proper horse gnawers. Greeks paused, soaking in this new information, and then charged, true to training. They did, after all, outnumber the Pegasi.

But the winged dwarves were not fighters, only good for bluffing. Nearly as one, they took flight, retreating to the air. One nag was killed before her wings gave her enough lift. Two more perished by hurled spears, collapsing to the earth limply.

After that, however, the Hoplites were doomed. Hippolytus, Sileni, Pan, and all their combined troops attacked then - throwing their spears into the human crowd. Easily half died there.

* * *

On the water....

The Nerids knew the make and layout of Pelopenesian triremes. With this knowledge, they applied their tridents, their spears, and their axes to maximum effectiveness. Within minutes, the Greek ships had begun to leak. And it was not yet over.

From the air came waves of Perytons and Harpies, seemingly gone mad in their battlefury.

Two Days Later:

Within the Persian Empire.....

Greek casualties were staggeringly high, while the Persians had hardly lost half a ship’s worth of crew.

It was ironic, Silenus knew. The mythicals were a confederation, loosely banded in a defensive array. A confederation of peoples had just helped an Empire bring about the defeat of the Greek confederation.

It was sad, in its own way. And perhaps there was a way past that. “Noblest of nobles, King Xerses,” Silenus stated, “may all Men evermore have fealty to you.”

The Great King blinked, then narrowed his eyes, leaning forwards slightly. “Repeat that and clarify it,” he said. His word was law, so that was an order, however it was spoken. The guards that stood to the sides of the mythicals raised their spears on Silenus.

The Sileni leader knew he must choose his words carefully. “We fought for one reason, a reason that could have had us fighting with the Greeks to your defeat. But we chose you,” so to speak, “and helped you win a great victory. All we ask is a tiny, out-of-the-way corner of the Empire, where we can build our city. In the rest of the Empire, we will fight for you, pray alongside you, do as you command.

“We of the Mythix are not Men, oh Great King, even a servant can comprehend that. And it was your father, the Great King Darius, who said that all men would one day be Persian. We of the Mythix, we could reach out and speak with others of our demi-kind in other lands, convincing them to turn their Men to accept the benevolent rule of Persia.”

Xerses considered this. It would certainly spare his army unnecessary engagements, and would not threaten to bankrupt his nation. “Your only price is a few valleys or mountains?” A nod from Silenus. “Since you are not men, I will give your request consideration.” A pause when the Mythix did not move. “Is there something more?” in a tone that he used when a lesser general asked for something beyond his station.

“Great King,” Namir asked, bowing, “May we choose the punishment for this general?”

A reasonable question; much more reasonable than something like, say, an extension to their land grant.

Xerses, ruler of the Persian Empire, which now included Greece, waved his hand: permission granted. After all, his own generals had reported to him how they were beginning to lose the battle before the Mythix joined them.

Hippolytus bowed to Xerses and said, “Ahura Mazda,” which meant ‘wise lord’ in the Persian tongue.

Two years later:

Namir of the Neuri sat on a pedistol, watching the retired man across the way, keeping an eye on the leader of the War Of Irony - the name the mythicals had given to the battle in the straits around Salamis.

Namir was watching Themistocles as he looked out across the plaza. The city of Salamis stood all around him, yet he could not see it.

Could not because Themistocles was blind.

END.

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