𝐅𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐒 - jason grace

04. PERCY... SHUT UP

𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓, 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐘𝐇𝐄𝐌. Frank, Percy, Maia and Hazel waded through the enemy, ploughing down anyone who stood in their way. The First and Second Cohorts – pride of Camp Jupiter, a well-oiled, highly disciplined war machine – fell apart under the assault and the sheer novelty of being on the losing side. Maia felt great.

Part of their problem was Percy. He fought like a demon, whirling through the defenders' ranks in a completely unorthodox style, rolling under their feet, slashing with his sword instead of stabbing like a Roman would, whacking campers with the flat of his blade and generally causing mass panic. Octavian screamed in a shrill voice – maybe ordering the First Cohort to stand their ground, maybe trying to sing soprano – but Percy put a stop to it. He somersaulted over a line of shields and slammed the butt of his sword into Octavian's helmet. Maia watched, a smile on her face, as the centurion collapsed like a sock puppet.

Frank shot arrows until his quiver was empty. He broke his pilum over a defender's head, then reluctantly drew his gladius. Meanwhile, Hazel climbed onto Hannibal's back. She charged towards the centre of the fort, grinning down at her friends. "Let's go, slowpokes!" Maia grinned.

They ran to the centre of the base. The inner keep was irtually unguarded. Obviously the defenders never dreamed an assault would get this far. Hannibal busted down the huge doors. The cohort's emblems were propped carelessly against one wall. Hazel and Hannibal rode straight into the room, and the standard-bearers fell backwards out of their chairs. Hannibal stepped on the table, and game pieces scattered.

By the time the rest of the cohort caught up with them, Percy, Frank, and Maia had disarmed the enemies, grabbed the banners and climbed onto Hannibal's back with Hazel.

The four marched out of the keep triumphantly with the enemy colours. The Fifth Cohort formed ranks around them. Together they paraded out of the fort, past stunned enemies and lines of equally mystified allies.

Reyna circled low overhead on her pegasus. "The game is won!" She sounded as if she were trying not to laugh. "Assemble for honors!"

Slowly the campers regrouped on the Field of Mars. The four demigods slid off the back of the elephant. Maia noticed as the campers swarmed Frank, pounding him on the back and complimenting him. Some even shot her impressed looks. This was definitely going to be one of the best nights of her life – until she saw Gwen.

"Help!" somebody yelled. A couple of campers rushed out of the fortress, carrying a girl on a stretcher. They set her down, and other kids started running over. Even from a distance, Maia could tell it was Gwen. She was in bad shape. There was too much blood. Maia wished she could do something, but she kept her distance in fear of worsening the situation.

The medics barked at everyone to stand back and give her air. The whole legion fell silent as the healers worked – trying to get gauze and powdered unicorn horn under Gwen's armor to stop the bleeding, trying to force some nectar into her mouth. Gwen didn't move. Her face was ashen grey.

Finally one of the medics looked up at Reyna and shook his head. For a moment, there was no sound except water from the ruined cannons trickling down the walls of the fort. Hannibal nuzzled Gwen's hair with his trunk.

Reyna surveyed the campers from her pegasus. Her expression was as hard and dark as iron. "There will be an investigation. Whoever did this, you cost the legion a good officer. Honourable death is one thing, but this ..."

Maia noticed the marks engraved in the wooden shaft of the pilum: CHT I LEGIO XII F. The weapon belonged to the First Cohort, and the point was sticking out the front of her armour. Gwen had been speared from behind – possibly after the game had ended.