Sword of Apollo (15 page)

Mula dropped his head onto Kolax's shoulder and fell into a fitful sleep. Kolax wrapped his arm around him to get into a more comfortable position. It felt nice to clasp like this with his friend. He put his cheek against Mula's soft and curly hair. Kolax's dead mama had had soft and curly hair like that too. And he used to sit clasped with his mama just like this in their round tent. He wondered if, after he died, his mama's shade would meet him on the Great Field and hold him in her arms again. Or would she say, “You're too big to hug now, my son! You're a man now!”

He hoped not. That would be a gut blow.

He adjusted the pouch he wore around his neck so that it was no longer digging into his side. It was filled to the top with the flammable white powder—he had not been able to spread any of it on the summit before the Dog Raiders had come. It was useless now. He reached for his quiver where it was strapped to his belt and opened the lid. There was only one arrow left. He had used all of the others shooting Dog Raiders as he and Mula scrambled down the summit. He must have killed at least ten of them before the rest turned back, fleeing from his wrath and the raging fire. One of them, however, managed to follow them all the way to the cave. Kolax used his long knife on that one. It was a good fight, one that Kolax nearly lost. But that made it all the sweeter when he sent the man's shade to the underworld. He stared at the warrior's head with its face frozen in an expression of surprised agony.

“Not so fierce now,” he said in a mocking voice.

He tossed the head onto the cave floor, where it landed with a dull thud. Then he snuggled up close to Mula and fell asleep with a smile on his face.

He awoke several hours later, startled by a noise that sounded like a muffled cry. He looked about in a daze. Had he been dreaming? His tongue was so dry, it felt as if it had been glued to the roof of his mouth. He realized, with alarm, that Mula was no longer next to him. Where had he gone? Most likely to see what the fire had done to the forest.

He squeezed himself out of the crevice and made his way stealthily to the mouth of the cave, thirty feet away.

“There you are!” he said with relief when he saw Mula standing at the opening. The boy, leaning at an odd angle, faced away from him. White smoke still wafted in the air outside the cavern, but it was less thick now. Kolax could discern the shapes of blackened trees through the vapor. How many hours had they been asleep? “Don't stand in the open like that,” he said. “Come back here. It's not safe yet and—”

He stopped abruptly as a gust of wind caused the smoke to clear, for he saw that Mula's hands were tied behind his back and there was a noose around his neck. The rope stretched tautly upward like the straight line of a spider's web and disappeared from view above the mouth of the cave. Something pulled on the rope and Mula rose up a few inches so that he stood on his tiptoes. He pivoted around, ever so slowly, until Kolax saw his terrified face. There was a gag in his mouth. His nose was bleeding. And his eyes were open wide in terror.

“Come out, Skythian!” said a harsh voice with the accent of a Dog Raider. “Can you hear me in there, you red-haired barbarian mongrel?”

Kolax shrank back and crouched down against the wall of the cave, peering into the vapor, trying to see the enemy. And then he remembered, with a pang of shame, that in their haste to escape the fire he had left the headless body of the Dog Raider at the cave entrance instead of pulling it inside. The Dog Raiders must have come back after the fire had died down and found the corpse of their brother.

“How could I have made such a blunder?” he asked himself.

“Come out of your hole,” called the Dog Raider, “or my man on the cliff above pulls the rope and your little friend hangs!”

“How many are out there?” Kolax asked Mula in a whisper.

Mula made a gurgling sound.

“Blink once for less than ten, twice for more,” said Kolax.

Mula blinked rapidly.

“That many?” asked Kolax. “Stuff my arse. Why did you leave the cave, you idiot?”

Tears poured from Mula's eyes.

“There's no escape!” shouted the Dog Raider. “Come out now!”

The rope went up a little more so that Mula was balanced on one toe. Piss dribbled down his leg.

Kolax thought fast. If they were both captured by Dog Raiders, they would be arse raped until they were practically dead and then skinned alive. Or worse. There was only one option: kill Mula and himself with the poisoned arrow. They could die together and go visit his mama. He could bring her the pretty firestone as a gift. But then a terrible thought struck him: Could Mula's shade go with him to the Great Field of the Skythians? Or would he, the son of a Persian, have to go to some different region of the afterlife? He had never thought of this before.…

“Come out!” barked the Dog Raider.

The rope yanked upward and Mula's body jerked off the ground, his feet kicking the air in desperation.

Kolax clutched the fire stone in his hand, snarling in his throat in frustration. Then an idea came to him like an explosion in his brain.

He put the shaft of his arrow between his teeth, slung his bow over one shoulder, leapt up, and yanked on the rope holding Mula—yanked downward with all his might. A surprised cry came from the cliff above, and Mula dropped to the ground, followed by the Dog Raider who had been holding the rope. The warrior landed on his back next to the boys, cracking his head on the stones.

“There he is!”

Kolax turned in the direction of the blackened trees. He saw a gang of black-clad warriors charging from the smoke.

The Skythian did not hesitate. He grabbed his pouch, opened the flap, and thrust it forward, hurling the white powder into the air. It hung in the air like a cloud of milled flour. In a blindingly fast motion he tossed up the firestone into the midst of this cloud, fit his arrow to bow, and let fly the arrow—a perfectly aimed shot that struck the firestone, causing a spark.

The powder ignited instantaneously, bursting to life with an explosion of light and searing heat, and the throng of attacking Dog Raiders who were beneath it caught fire like torches, screaming in agony as their hair and faces melted.

Kolax grabbed the rope around Mula's neck and pulled him to his feet. “Run!” he yelled. He pulled Mula forward, darting through the burning and screaming men. And then—

A mad scramble. Leaping over smoldering logs. Arrows whistling past their heads. Mula fell several times, but every time Kolax pulled him to his feet by the rope, urging him on, running blindly through the gray smoke, but always going down, pulled by the force of Gaia—Mother Earth—toward the valley below the mountain.

But still they heard footsteps behind—a relentless trampling that followed them through the choking vapor. Kolax reached for the small knife he kept strapped to his thigh. As they ran he sliced through the rope binding Mula's hands, then cut the noose to unburden him.

“Keep going!” he ordered. “Don't stop! I'll be right behind you!”

Mula did not argue. He bolted down the hill, jumped over a smoldering log, and disappeared from sight. Kolax stopped and crouched low. The footsteps were closer. He clutched the dagger in one hand, blade downward, baring his teeth like a dog. A shape burst through the smoke—a huge buck with a singed and blackened hide. It stared at him, wild-eyed. Kolax tried to step aside but it ran straight at him, lowered its antlers, and flipped him up in the air, then let forth a mad bray and kept on running.

He lay on his back, staring at the white smoke and the charred shapes of the ruined trees above. He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. The antler felt like it had punctured his lung. What bad luck! After a while he heard footsteps, then an evil face with a forked beard came into view, staring down at him, smirking. Kolax had seen him before—on the road to Athens when he saved Nikias from a band of Dog Raiders, slaying them all with his poisoned arrows. This marauder was the one who'd gotten away.

“Finally,” gloated Fork-Beard. “After thirty months of hunting for you. You can't imagine what we're going to do to you, Skythian boy.” He raised a club and swung it down, and all went black before Kolax's eyes.

 

EIGHTEEN

Nikias's throat burned as he ran across the rocky ground. The smoke was so thick that he couldn't see more than ten paces ahead. Nestor ran by his side, the dog's long tongue lolling from his mouth and a happy gleam in his intelligent eyes.

Nikias's ankle hurt with every step—he'd twisted it in a hare's hole near the start of this mad dash. Despite the pain he continued to move his legs as fast as they would go, staring at the ground in front of him, constantly on the lookout for more pitfalls. He couldn't afford to break his ankle as Baklydes had done.

He and Leo had parted ways half a mile back. Leo had gone up the hillside, following a little gully in the direction of the Three Heads with the purpose of warning the Skythian archers of the coming attack. But Nikias was on his way to the valley at the bottom of the pass. He had to find his wife and children and warn the others that an army was on its way.

He reckoned he had gone another mile when he heard horses and the creaking of wooden wheels up ahead. He slowed down and cupped a hand to his mouth.

“It's Nikias!” he cried. “Someone answer me!”

“Nikias!” cried a Plataean voice. “Over here.”

Nikias loped in the direction of the voice and an ox-pulled wagon and the figures of men and women materialized before him. He saw the smiling face of Myron the sandal maker standing next to his wife and several other members of his extended family. Nikias came to a stop in front of him, leaning over with his palms on his thighs, gasping for breath.

“Here's some water, lad,” said Myron, holding a skin to his mouth. “Where have you been? You didn't come down from the mountain with the others.”

Nikias greedily sucked down some water. “Where's everybody else?” he asked, ignoring Myron's question. He could see wheel ruts beneath his feet. They were on the road. But where were the others? He made a cup with his hand and put some water in it and Nestor lapped it up, gazing at him with humanlike gratitude.

“We're at the end of the line,” said Myron. “I had a problem with my wheel and—”

Nikias gripped his shoulder. “You're going to have to move faster, Myron,” he cut in. “The enemy is coming.”

Myron turned his red eyes in the direction Nikias had come and touched the handle of the sword on his belt. He glanced at his grandchildren sitting in the wagon and asked, “Who?”

“Megarians,” said Nikias. “And Dog Raiders. Hurry up, now!” He took off running again, guided by the ancient ruts that had been carved by centuries of cart wheels wearing away the limestone road. Soon he came upon more stragglers and called out, “Hurry! You must join the others!” as he ran past. After another mile the road became thick with people and animals and Nestor started barking excitedly.

“Where's Zoticus?” Nikias called out. “Where's General Zoticus? I must find him!”

Nikias pushed his way through the crowd to the center of the slowly moving throng, smiling with relief when he caught sight of Saeed astride his black gelding up ahead. Nikias's white mare Photine and Kolax's horse Pegasos walked by his side with Saeed holding their reins. The farm cart was directly behind the horses, pulled by two oxen. In the back of the cart, sitting amongst the heaps of baggage and supplies, was the huddled shape of a woman with a shawl over her head. She cradled two sleeping girls in her arms.

“Thank Zeus,” said Nikias under his breath, and forced himself not to call out to Kallisto and the girls.

The oxen were led by thirteen-year-old brothers named Ajax and Teleos. Their father had been killed by Thebans at the Battle at the Gates, and their despondent mother committed suicide some months after. Chusor took them on as apprentices for a time, but after he departed the citadel the boys came under the guardianship of Menesarkus's family. They were troublesome boys. Chusor had called them “ape-like,” but Nikias had never seen one of those animals to know whether or not the comparison was apt. He was glad that Saeed had put the boys to good use.

“Saeed!” Nikias called out as he ran up to the group with the dog by his side.

Saeed slid off his mount and embraced him.

“Where's Mula?” Saeed asked anxiously. “Did he sneak away to the mountain with you?”

“Yes,” said Nikias.

“I knew it!” said Teleos to his brother. “The lucky fool.”

“I'm the one who guessed first!” replied Ajax petulantly. “I said Mula had gone to the mountain, but nobody believed me.”

“Shut up, you bloody sheep-stuffer!”

“Piss hole!”

The brothers started to tussle and the oxen came to an abrupt stop. Nestor jumped on them playfully, snapping his jaws and pawing at them.

“Keep the cart moving,” yelled Nikias, “or I'll whip you both!”

The boys stopped fighting, cowed by his ferocity, and stared straight ahead, pulling on the oxen to make them start moving again. The dog looked ashamed and put his tail between his legs.

Nikias turned to Saeed and said, “Mula was alive the last time I saw him. I don't know any more, old friend. And I haven't time to explain what happened. I must find Zoticus. There's no time to lose.” He put his mouth close to Saeed's ear. “The enemy is coming—an army of six thousand men.”

Saeed cursed in Persian. “Zoticus is not here,” he said. “He and the cavalry have gone on ahead to scout out the road to Athens.”

Nikias flushed with indignation. “He left everyone behind? He's supposed to be protecting the women and children.”

“He did not expect the enemy to come from the west. We made it over the pass without any problems. He was most concerned about the road south toward Eleusis.”