Sword of Apollo (14 page)

He kept walking, and then the shape of a prostrate dog tied to a tree materialized before him out of the smoke. The dog was the saddest creature that Nikias had ever seen. It was a dirty white Molossian hunting hound that had been starved nearly to death, for all its ribs showed and its face was gaunt like an old man's. It looked up at Nikias with sad eyes and beat its skinny tail against the ground.

“Hello, boy,” said Nikias in a soft high voice, and the dog's tail pounded the ground even harder.

The figure of a warrior stepped from the smoke and the man started when he saw Nikias. He drew his sword and made to shout, but his mouth was so stuffed with food that all that he could utter was a muffled cry.

“Don't shit yourself,” said Nikias, affecting a Megarian accent and laughing in a friendly way. “I was just scouting in the hills for the general and got lost. Where did you get that bread? I'm starving.”

The Megarian warrior smiled with relief and put his sword back in its sheath. He chewed his food, then swallowed in a great gulp. “What did you see? Any sign of Plataeans?”

“No,” said Nikias. “Nothing but this accursed smoke.”

“They say we'll move on the fort despite the smoke,” said the Megarian, sitting next to the dog with a grunt. He was a heavily built man in his thirties with small, wide-set eyes and a bushy brown beard. The dog craned its neck forward, sniffing at the bread in the man's hand. The Megarian gave the dog an evil look and slapped it on the side of the head—a severe cuff that made the dog yelp pitifully.

“The worst watchdog in the camp,” said the Megarian. “I suppose he didn't make a sound when you approached the outskirts.”

Nikias grinned and shook his head. “You should sell him to the Dog Raiders so they can make a hat from his hide.”

“I might,” said the Megarian, then paused and bit another hunk of bread, chewing with his mouth open. “But I can't abide those filthy marauders. If we hadn't formed a truce with them for this attack on the Three Heads, I'd be happy to gut every Dog Raider in these hills.” He glanced at the dog, which was still staring hopefully at the bread in his hand. “You're not going to get a piece of this,” he said with a cruel smile, then looked at Nikias and grinned. “Nestor says he's going to slit this dog's belly and watch him eat his own guts tonight after we've seized the fort. We're going to take bets—see how long it takes before he chews himself to death.”

“Sounds like fun,” said Nikias. Then he got on his haunches and asked in a conspiratorial tone, “Aren't you afraid of the Skythian archers who guard the Three Heads?”

“Afraid?” asked the Megarian. “Of course I'm afraid of those barbarians with their poisoned arrows. But there will be three thousand of us Megarians taking part in this attack. And there are only a score or so of Skythians manning the walls. Nestor just told me that the Spartans are sending along five hundred of their men and another two thousand Helot slaves with scaling ladders. The Thebans are going to block the pass in the Oxlands on the other side to prevent the Skythians from riding back to Plataea. The Skythians won't be expecting us to hit them so hard. Especially not in this smoke. The fort must be taken before the Spartan siege of Plataea begins.”

“Yes,” agreed Nikias. “If Plataea is to be cut off once and for all from any relief from Attika, then the Three Heads must fall.”

“Well,” said the man, “we'll know in a couple of hours. We're moving out soon.”

“I'll be glad to start fighting,” said Nikias. “Instead of just sneaking around.”

The Megarian nodded and handed Nikias a piece of his bread. “I don't think I know you. What's your name.”

“Nikias.”

“Where are you from, Nikias?” asked the Megarian, a hint of suspicion clouding his face.

Nikias, who had been so smooth with his answers up until this point, went utterly blank. It was as though he had been running nimbly down a flight of steps, only to miss the last one and fall flat on his face. He couldn't think of the name of a village in Megaria, and so he simply stared back with a stupid smiled fixed on his lips.

The Megarian shifted uncomfortably. His arm twitched and his hand started moving ever so slowly for his sword handle.

“Look, it's Nestor,” said Nikias, flicking his eyes to a spot over the warrior's head.

The Megarian turned his head slightly to look, and that was all that Nikias needed. He lunged forward, smashing the man in the nose with his right fist—a punch landed with such ferocity that the Megarian's face burst in a spray of blood and he toppled backward, stunned but not unconscious. Nikias leapt on him like a lion, punching him in the throat, then shoving a lead shot into the man's gasping maw. He wrapped the leather thong around his neck, choking the life out of him. The Megarian struggled for several minutes, kicking his feet, gurgling deep in his throat. But Nikias was too strong and would not let go, and soon the man's legs stopped moving.

Nikias looked at the dog. It stared back with an excited and approving look.

Nikias got to his feet, breathing hard through his nose. He stepped toward the dog, holding his hand toward its nose, but the animal started to growl. At first Nikias thought the dog was afraid of him and was going to bite, but then he heard heavy footsteps coming from behind. A man approached. Someone whom the dog hated. Nikias took out a shot from his pouch and slipped it in his sling, then turned and saw another Megarian emerging from the smoke. This one was a tall warrior—much taller than the man that Nikias had just slain. He wore a breastplate and greaves, and held his helm under one arm. He stopped dead ten paces away and glanced at the corpse on the ground, then back at Nikias with a baffled expression.

“You must be Nestor,” said Nikias pleasantly, snapping his arm and hurling the shot from the sling. The Megarian's left eye exploded, sending blood and brains out the back of his head. The warrior stood for a second as rigid as a plank, then his knees buckled and he fell face forward upon the ground.

Nikias pulled out his dagger and went to the dog, quickly slicing through the rope that held it to the tree; then he took the rope in hand and started walking back in the direction of the stream. The dog got to his feet with an effort and followed him dutifully on shaky legs, his tail wagging happily.

*   *   *

“What in Hades is that?” asked Baklydes as Nikias clambered up to the spot where they waited by the stream.

“Looks like the god of death's own hound,” said Leo, raising his eyebrows.

The panting dog smiled at Leo and Baklydes, then raised one leg and dribbled into the stream.

“Don't let that old man see you,” Baklydes said to the dog. “He'll give you a piece of his mind.”

“I took the dog from the Megarians,” said Nikias. “At their camp. He hates them as much as we do.”

“How many are there?”

“Near to six thousand,” said Nikias. “Megarians, Spartans, Helots, and Dog Raiders. And they're going to attack the Three Heads.” He briefly told them the tale of his encounter with the Megarian and what he had learned from him.

“Stuff my arse,” said Leo when Nikias was finished. “How did they know about everyone leaving Plataea and marching across the pass?”

“I don't think they do know,” said Nikias. “It's merely a coincidence. The Spartan king must have ordered this combined attack on the fort just in case we tried to get our people out without giving up the citadel.”

“But he's too late,” said Baklydes, smiling broadly. “Everyone will be at the Three Heads by now and on their way south.”

“They're not too late for anything,” snapped Nikias. “Don't you see? This army will catch our women and children on the road and slaughter them.”

“They can go inside the fort,” said Baklydes.

“The fort can only hold a few thousand people,” said Leo. “And they'd be crammed in there like olives in a jar.”

Nikias handed Baklydes the sling and shots. “I'm sorry, old friend. We have to leave you here. We'll come back for you if we can.”

Baklydes nodded his head, trying to look plucky. “I know,” he said. “Run fast.”

“We'll leave you the dog,” said Nikias, tossing him the rope.

“Thank the gods!” said Baklydes with an acerbic laugh. He picked up the rope and the dog looked at him over his shoulder with a doubtful expression. “What's his name?”

“Nestor.”

“That's a stupid name for a dog,” said Baklydes.

Nikias and Leo took off at a run. Leo went out front—he was a faster long distance runner than Nikias. They could barely see the disk of the sun behind the clouds, but they could judge which direction to go. When they were half a mile away from the stream, Nikias heard a sound of something approaching from behind. He grabbed the handle of his knife and shot a glance over his shoulder. Nestor the dog appeared from the smoke, tongue hanging from his mouth, legs pumping with joyful abandon as he raced toward his new master.

 

SEVENTEEN

Mula and Kolax had squeezed themselves so far into a crevice in the Cave of Nymphs that they were like two maggots up a sheep's arse. At least, that's what Kolax kept saying over and over again in a choking voice. They had been holed up in the place for what seemed like an eternity—crammed tightly into the rocky niche at the back of the cave—and yet smoke continued to billow into the mouth of the cavern from the raging inferno blazing across the mountainside, illuminating even the back of the chamber in a red glow.

The cave had hidden them from the enemy horsemen who had chased them down from the summit, but the smoke from the forest fire had nearly killed them. Holding their tunics over their mouths had filtered out some of the poisonous vapor, but Kolax felt as though his lungs and sinuses were stuffed with charcoal.

“I'll never eat smoked meat ever again,” he croaked, and lifted the decapitated head of the pursuing Dog Raider he had slain outside the cave entrance. He put it to his lips, letting the blood from the dead man's neck trickle onto his tongue. The liquid oozed down his parched throat and brought a little relief to the burning in his esophagus. “Want some?” he asked.

Mula shoved aside the proffered head and rasped, “For the last time, no! I don't want to drink a man's blood.”

“In Skythia we always drink the blood of our enemies,” said Kolax.

“We are not in Skythia,” replied Mula in a tone that the Skythian boy found irritatingly prim.

“I know,” replied Kolax in a singsong voice that he knew Mula hated. “We're up a sheep's arse. We're up a sheep's arse. We're up—”

“Leave, then!”

“I'll wait until the fire has died down.”

“Then shut up,” snapped Mula, and punched Kolax in the arm.

“Ow!” said Kolax, and punched him back.

“Quit it!”

“You started it!”

After a long silence in which Kolax slurped some more blood, Mula said, “My father is going to kill me. I lost the young master.” He reached into his pouch and pulled out one of the firestones, staring at it morosely.

“You didn't lose Nikias,” said Kolax, snatching the sparkling stone from his hand. “He ran the wrong way. Lucky for you I yanked you in the right direction.”

“I didn't want to go with you,” said Mula. “I wanted to follow the young master. What if he's dead?”

“Then you would be dead too,” said Kolax. “But your young master is harder to kill than a tick,” he added with admiration.

“A tick?”

“Yes. You squeeze and squeeze a little tick between your Titan-sized fingers with all your might and what happens? Nothing. You stop your squeezing and that bastard of a tick just crawls away, saying, ‘Eat shit.' That's Nikias.” He tossed the firestone into the air and caught it. “We don't use these things in Skythia,” he said. “But I can start a fire using my bow, a stick, and a flat piece of wood. You just rub the—”

“Nikias is not a tick,” interrupted Mula. “He's like a hero from a story.”

“A hero who's always getting his balls between hammer and tongs,” said Kolax with a derisive laugh. “No disrespect to your young master, of course. The sky god seems to love and bless him. But I can't tell you how many times I've had to save his Plataean arse. Remember when I revived him with my magic griffin's blood and—”

“My poor father will be so worried,” cut in Mula, holding his head in his hands. “He told me that the eclipse meant something bad was going to happen.”

“When the moon covers the sun, it's a good sign,” said Kolax. “It means that something wonderful will occur. At least, that's what my father always told me.”

“You don't know anything,” said Mula petulantly.

“Let's do my lesson,” said Kolax. “To pass the time.” Mula had been teaching him to speak proper Persian over the last year. “How do you say, ‘I've found myself up a sheep's arsehole'?”

Grudgingly Mula taught him how to say this, and several other sayings that Kolax thought might be useful were he ever to travel to the Persian Empire, including, “Where are the chariot races today?” and, “How much for your fine horse's semen?” before they both fell into a grim silence.

Kolax thought of Phile and the Plataeans who were going to Athens. They must have departed the citadel hours ago and would soon be passing close to the fortress that guarded the pass. Would his papa worry when he saw that Kolax wasn't amongst the exiled Plataeans? He thought of his horse Pegasos and wondered if Saeed had remembered to feed him and give him water. Would he have left Pegasos at the farm, or taken him to Athens?

And what about Nikias? Even though he had spoken to Mula in a lighthearted tone about him just now, Kolax was actually worried about his friend. The gods would only save a favored man from death so many times before they grew irritated and cried, “Enough! Let this Nikias's shade join the other unlucky fools in Hades!”