The Pillars of Hercules (2 page)

“Why should we?” he asked.

“Because otherwise you’ll die,” said the woman.

“Ah,” said Matthias. “We’re going to do that anyway.”

“True. Such is the fate of all mortals, no? But not necessarily this night, at the hands of Macedonian soldiers.”

Lugorix was too far gone to even process this. Matthias mulled it over, then pulled on his linothorax cuirass and donned his helmet. Lugorix disdained both, but the two had long since agreed to disagree on the matter. The crone led them to the door, opened it on a sight that was anything but pretty.

The buildings of Alcibiadia towered all around them—a vast city on its way to becoming mausoleum. Flames licked from some of the upper windows. Screams were coming from all directions. But over all those screams, they could hear something far more chilling—a myriad voices of anger and rage, all fused into one, all of it far too close.

“The mob,” said Lugorix.

The crone nodded. She led them through alleys and back roads, keeping to the south of Canopus Way, where it sounded like a full-on riot was in progress. Most of the street-lamps had been broken, but that was all to the good. Especially since the moon and flames were making things a little too bright for comfort. Lugorix carried Skullseeker, and Matthias had nocked an arrow, but the crone was clearly intent on avoiding trouble. They heard the breaking of pottery a few streets away as looters found some intact shopfronts.

“And the Macedonians haven’t even arrived yet,” said Matthias.

“They will soon,” said the crone.

Stairs, ramps, sloped gardens—Lugorix could see they were climbing into the city-heights now. The aristocratic district, though there didn’t seem to be that many aristocrats left. Everyone had fled or else they were hiding. Lugorix looked at the houses and mansions as they passed—wondered at how many secrets they’d held, how many lives they’d concealed behind their walls—how many they still concealed. In the months since the Athenian recruiters at Massilia had offered him gold in exchange for his axe, he’d seen more of the world then he’d ever dreamt existed. But ultimately he was sworn to return to his village. Honor demanded it. He couldn’t end his journey here. He hoped against hope this crone really
did
have a way out of this mess. They were leaving the houses of the wealthy behind now, entering one of the many hilled parks that dotted this section of the city. For the next few minutes they followed the crone through tree-decked trails, climbing ever further. Until—

“Taranis save us,” said Lugorix.

Straight between two trees, they could look out across the entirety of the portside city. All of Alcibiadia had been plunged into total chaos—the mob was pouring across the ramps and through the plazas. But that was nothing compared to what was happening out to sea.

“The fleet,” breathed Matthias.

“You knew this was happening,” said the crone. “Why act so surprised now you see it?”

“We only
heard
about it,” said Lugorix.

“Hadn’t intended to lay eyes on it,” said Matthias.

But neither of them could turn away. At least two hundred Athenian warships were burning out there, dots of fire sprinkled through the night, all the way out to the Mediterranean’s horizon. And the flame atop the colossus that was Pharos Lighthouse was sufficiently bright as to potentially obscure other stricken boats, still closer.

“How the hell did he do it?” said Lugorix.

“That’s how,” replied Matthias—gesturing at one of the nearer ships. As they watched, jets of flame gouted across it, broadening from out of a narrow stream, flung by a source almost immediately adjacent to the boat.

“Sneak attack,” said a voice.

They whirled.

A woman had stepped out of the shadows. She was tall and willowy—taller than Matthias, though Lugorix still loomed over her. Dark as her skin was, the skin immediately under her pale green eyes was even darker from exhaustion. The nose beneath that was delicate, poised above a strange half-smile. With a start, Lugorix realized how young she was—that she couldn’t be past her late teens. But her expression held a wisdom beyond her years.

“Incendiary weapon,” she said in perfect Greek. “Devised by Alexander’s sorcerers. His mechanists found a way to contain it, project it through bronze tubes. Not that far, but they made good use of it all the same. Some of the Macedonians crept up on the fleet using fishing skiffs, but I’ll wager his forces hit most of those ships from points along the shore. To which the admiral had hewn a little too closely.”

“He was paid off,” said Matthias.

“Of course,” said the girl. “Same way the Macedonians were able to infiltrate the docks in the first place. Everyone’s been bought. And now Alexander’s bearing down on the city founded by the man who gave Athens her empire a century ago.”

“So where do we fit in?” said Matthias.

“You don’t,” said the crone.

“None of us do,” added the girl. “That’s why we need to leave this place.”

“I hope you’re not looking for us to provide you with the means of exit.”

The girl shook her head. “All that’s required are your swords.”

“I’m sorry?” said Matthias.

“You’re the ones I’ve seen in visions,” cackled the crone. “True of spirit. Blessed of the whore Fortune. Uncorrupted by the stink of Alexander’s gold.”

“The man didn’t
offer
us any gold,” said Lugorix.

“Because we weren’t worth it,” said Matthias dryly. Then, to the women—“So what are
you
offering us?”

“A way out of this city,” the girl replied. She glanced at the crone: “They’re not too swift, are they?”

“What do you expect,” replied the crone. “They’re men.”

“You really can get us out of here?” said Matthias.

“Told you we had a path that’d preserve your lives,” said the crone, and she sounded as gone as Lugorix was starting to feel. “You run escort duty for my lady. You follow our lead as we steer clear of this deathtrap. All you need to do is kill anyone who gets in our way.”

“Who’s going to do that?” said Lugorix.

“Who isn’t,” said the girl.

“And who exactly are
you?”
asked Matthias.

“My name’s Barsine,” said the girl. She gestured toward the crone: “This is my servant, Damitra.”

“Barsine,” said Lugorix. “That’s Persian, no?”

“One more reason we’re on the same side,” said Barsine. “It’s time to move.”

The other side of the park bordered one of the aqueducts, the hill sloping down to where a bit of judicious scrambling allowed them to climb into the channel in that structure’s upper-tier. Water sloshed up to their knees, pumped up from the Nile to keep the gardens of the rich in bloom—Lugorix could only imagine at what expense. Barsine began to lead the way.

“Wait a second,” said Matthias.

She turned. “Yes?”

“You’re going downriver. Deeper into the city.”

“So?

“So I thought you were trying to get us out of here.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

“Doesn’t look it.”

Her face reddened. “Don’t question my orders.”

“You’re giving us orders?”

Lugorix realized this was going nowhere. He looked at Barsine. “You want us to run escort, this is the wrong way to do it.”

“Meaning what?” asked Barsine.

“This isn’t a proper formation. I’ll take the lead, Matthias brings up the rear. The two of you in the middle.”

“The Gaul speaks wisdom,” said the crone. “His friend, not so much.”

Matthias blanched. “I’m just trying to understand—”

“You heard the lady,” said Lugorix. Matthias threw up his hands, admitting defeat. He mock-bowed to Barsine. She didn’t smile.

“We need to make haste,” she said.

They did just that, moving out across the city. Below them the shouting was getting louder, the screams more frequent. Smoke drifted past as more fires kept breaking out. Occasionally the aqueduct they were on intersected with others; each time, Barsine gave directions unhesitatingly, always taking them further downhill. Lugorix realized that his suggestion for their deployment had a big disadvantage—he couldn’t ask Matthias what the hell they’d gotten themselves into. The cool night air outside the tavern had made him feel more sober; but now that he was moving across the city’s roof, it seemed that all the alcohol had rushed back into his brain. He figured that was as much a function of the weirdness of the situation as anything. And the way Matthias had looked at Barsine made him uneasy. He knew his friend well enough to know that the man’s arguments were really just a means of flirting. But these women had enough of a hold on them without Matthias playing into their hands. A Persian noble, accompanied by her very own witch… Lugorix knew when he was out of his element, and sneaking over an aqueduct in a stricken city with that kind of company certainly qualified.

As they neared the place where aqueduct became tunnel, the noise around them rose up a notch in intensity. The screams increased in number; the shouting got louder, was interspersed with the galloping of hooves—and the clash of steel on steel, as well as commands bellowed in a Greek dialect so harsh it was barely Greek…

“They’re here,” whispered the crone.

“Macedonians,” muttered Barsine. For just a moment, Lugorix realized how scared she was—how much of a façade she was putting up. She was practically running now, slipping and sliding through the water, and everybody was keeping pace. The sack of the city was beginning all around them. Lugorix wondered if anyone was still alive back at the
Dryad’s Tits
. Presumably they were selling their lives dearly. Not like they had a choice. The Macedonian soldiers clearly had orders for slaughter, and they were carrying out their instructions with alacrity. And high above the city—

“Look at the Pharos,”
said Matthias.

He might have saved his breath. It was impossible to miss. The fire atop Pharos Lighthouse had suddenly blossomed toward inferno—perhaps triggered by Alexander’s sorcerers, perhaps the function of his sabotage of the fuel within the lighthouse. But someone had obviously managed to coat the upper portion with incendiary, and now that substance was blazing into full fury with a light that sent ghastly shadows roiling across the top of the aqueduct. The four of them splashed onward, picking up the pace still further. The water was getting deeper, and from the smell of the tunnel just ahead, they were crossing into the city’s sewers. Lugorix led the way inside—and slowed down almost immediately, holding out his arms to stop the rest of them in their headlong flight.

“We need light,” he said.

“Damitra,” replied Barsine.

“M’lady,” said the crone. There was the sound of her pulling aside cloth—fumbling for something—and then a dim bluish glow suffused the rocky walls around them, radiating outward from an amulet the crone was holding. Lugorix was impressed.

But then he felt the ground shift beneath his feet.

At first he thought it was some byproduct of the crone’s magick. But then he realized that what he was standing on was
alive
—and twisting with a suddenness that sent him flying. From the corner of his eyes he saw a gigantic pair of jaws rising from the water, snapping straight at Barsine—who was knocked out of the way by Matthias.

“Crocodile,” he yelled.

“I noticed,” said the crone. She thrust her amulet at the thrashing reptile. There was a flash as the glow went white-hot, followed by a sizzling. Lugorix smelt burnt flesh, but the beast seemed unphased. It leapt at the crone, but she dodged aside with a surprising nimbleness. Lugorix raised Skullseeker, and brought it down in a sweeping arc onto the creature’s neck. If he was hoping for a decapitation, he was disappointed—the axe made it a few inches in and then stuck fast beneath the hardened scales—but Lugorix used the purchase to leap onto the back of the crocodile, holding on and trying to work the axe deeper while the animal bucked and writhed in a frantic effort to throw him off. Matthias had his bow out—

“Close-quarters,” snarled Lugorix.

Matthias nodded, tossing the bow back over his shoulder and drawing his
xiphos
short-sword as he raced in at the crocodile, somehow dodging past its teeth and slotting the blade straight through the roof of its mouth. The beast convulsed, but Lugorix held on, barely avoiding being smashed into the tunnel ceiling while his axe finally started to hit paydirt. Blood gouted up at him as he cut into the animal’s brain—he leapt off as it flopped over and went into further convulsions. Matthias turned to Barsine, who was standing as though petrified.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” she said in a tone of voice that made his question sound like an insult.

“Wait,” said Lugorix as the animal’s death-throes ceased.

“Wait for what?” asked Damitra.

“No noise,” he said, gesturing at the tunnel mouth.

Sure enough, most of the noise in the immediate vicinity outside had died away. They looked at one another.

“Probably because we just made so much of it,” hissed Barsine.

“There,” said Lugorix—pointing back at the tunnel mouth, as a Macedonian soldier scrambled over the side of the aqueduct and into view.

“Get him,” said Barsine.

“On it,” said Matthias—there was a twang as an arrow leapt from his bow, shot through the air, and smacked straight through the soldier’s face. He fell without a sound into the water.

“There’ll be more of them,” said Matthias as he nocked another arrow. Sure enough, even as they waded deeper into the tunnel they could hear a hue and cry being raised behind them. The shouting sounded like it was at least an entire squad, the Macedonians in hot pursuit of the four fugitives racing into what was evidently a whole labyrinth of sewers. At the behest of Barsine, they turned left, then right, then left again. Damitra had dimmed her amulet to the point where it was just barely visible.

“I hope you know where you’re going,” said Matthias.

“Just stay alert for more crocs,” said Barsine.

Lugorix was working on it, but he was somewhat distracted by the Macedonians behind them. Their yells and shouts echoed through the catacombs, and it was impossible to tell whether or not they were gaining.