The Way to Fight

How does one fight a prophecy? Antonius was consumed with this question as he stood on the walls of Eudaimople. The weight of the duty that was laid on his shoulders was heavier than the sun that beat down and sweat-drenched the clothes underneath his armor. He was the captain of the guard, and the responsibility for the safety of The Great City stopped with him; a city under siege by a fanatical enemy. He looked away from Eudaimople’s temple behind him, with its immaculately carved pillars, and moved his gaze off to the distance where he could see siege engines interspersed among tents from one end of the horizon to the other. Together they looked like teeth jutting up from the rolling hills.

At some point, those tents would disgorge uncountable soldiers intent on fulfilling an ancient prophecy which foretold the fall of The Great City and all its riches taken in plunder. Antonius's enemies were drunk on the elixir of their prophecy. They did not have better weaponry, tactics, or discipline. No. Not even their exceeding numbers made them dangerous. It was their blind devotion to what they believed.

Antonius knew it was the prophecy which gave them strength. Strike that down, and he could strike them down. But how could he do that? As far as he could tell there were few options. First, show the prophet to be a liar. Unfortunately the followers of this long-dead prophet were at all out war with Antonius and his people. There could be no diplomatic debate.

The innumerable tents in the distance had been there for a month now. Their prophecy decreed that Eudaimople would fall on a specific day, but none within its walls knew which day. He needed to know in order to have his defenses set up properly. Within the grand temple behind him a captured, high-ranking enemy was being interrogated for the information. If Antonius knew the day, perhaps he could defend the Eudaimople successfully.

He felt the burden of duty afresh, and resisted the urge let his shoulders sag. Standing so publicly as he was right now, he could not afford to let any other see an ounce of fear, even in his stance. The Great City was the gateway to the peaceful kingdoms which lay to the north and west. If he failed his duty, those lands would be ripe for pillage. That would be a historical failure. But immeasurably closer to his heart were his wife and children within the city walls. His oldest daughter was in the grand temple now, doing important work. Its luxurious portico and scent of opulence would draw the invaders to the wealth inside like wolves driven by the hunger for dominance. It would be the first building to be ravaged.

He continued his line of thinking about prophecies. Second, alter the conditions of the prophecy by pushing alternative interpretations. But his enemy had already murdered all those with dissenting interpretations.

Antonius believed in his own culture's visions of civilizational renewal and promised golden ages. These promises stretched back generations. Rallying his men behind that to a greater ferver could be a third option, but Antonius had to be honest that most within Eudaimople's walls only loosely held to the traditional beliefs. And though he wouldn't say it out loud, he often felt himself that the prescribed beliefs had been warped from the original.

Suddenly Antonius faintly heard someone lightly calling from behind him. He turned and looked back to the temple. His daughter was fairly flying down the courtyard steps calling out something, but he couldn't distinguish what she was saying. He hoped that she had finally learned which day the prophecy foretold. Then ever so faintly the wind carried her small voice up the walls where he stood.

"Tonight!" And she called out the crucial information over and over as she ran.

So that was it. Tonight would offer him the only remaining option to defeat a prophetic decree. All the other options were only possible in a pre-war state. The only thing for it now was to offer a manly defense and show through force that his enemy’s blind devotion was built on a lie. He rested his hand on the hilt of his sword and steeled his soul for the battle to come.