Gears of Troy 3

by Daniel Pierce

  The nest was the size of a small house and reeked as badly as those who inhabited it. I was surprised at all the objects littering the floor. There was no room to walk around without your foot hitting something. There were piles of clothes; tools, such as shovels and scissors; weapons—daggers, small knives, swords, and spears; shields; shiny stones; and coins of various denominations—some were drachmas, which I was familiar with, but there were many others that were foreign to me. We scooped up as many as we could. I used one of the tunics lying around as a makeshift sack to hold it all.

  “Holy shit,” I said. “You weren’t kidding.”

  Whistler returned my amazement with a self-satisfied smile. At my foot, I found two of the fowl beasts’ feathers—one colored in that obscene crimson and the other in that eye-hurting blue. I picked them up, gave them a quick sniff to make sure the odor was not too much to bear, and pocketed them for later.

  The horse was safe, resting under the tree where we left it. I took it to one of the nearby ponds and let it drink before Whistler guided me to her settlement, which was less than an hour away.

  I didn’t understand why she refused to call the place a village. It was full of structures and brimming with life. All of the buildings were made of stone and appeared well-kempt. Several of the homes had sizeable crops growing off to the side, many of which were large enough to feed at least ten people for a month.

  Whistler’s people really seemed to love her. There was not a person we walked by who did not greet her, even if they all looked at me with a wary eye. It seemed that outsiders were not a common occurrence in this place, which made sense with all the woman’s talk of their secretive mining operation.

  She brought me to a young man with short, curly, red hair. He was younger than me, and greeted us with a grin.

  “Whistler! I do not think any of us expected your return so soon. Who is your friend here?” He extended a hand to shake, and I took it firmly.

  His grip was impressive, no doubt the hands of a man who mined and worked with ore.

  “This is Troy of Port Superior,” Whistler explained. “He is the governor there. Or . . . its king, I suppose?” She turned to me with an inquisitive look.

  “Eh, one of the two. It’s not quite big enough to be considered a kingdom, so I suppose governor works well enough. Though my wives are queens, and they better not hear you say otherwise.” I laughed.

  The other man laughed as well and said, “Well, it is a pleasure to meet you Governor Troy of Port Superior. I am Wren. I am the highest-ranking metalsmith we have, and the trade of such metals and metalwork are also my responsibility.” He turned to Whistler. “And I assume that is why you have brought Troy here, Whistler? Does he wish for more copper, like the last shipment you sent for?”

  Whistler explained the situation and how this time our lead engineer wanted some of the other precious metals they had sold to us in sample quantities. I decided to take some more copper along, as well with the extra money I found in the harpies’ nest (Whistler and I had agreed to split what we found roughly 50-50, using weight as our main measurement since many of the coins were foreign to us and their values were unknown). Wren had a crew of 60 men load the ore up in the satchels of 60 horses within the hour.

  While the loaders worked, Whistler went on to explain the latest developments with Thrax, and how the people of Illium and Port Superior would go to war with them soon. She told Wren that he needed to spread the word for the Slingers to prepare to meet us in battle when we called. The Trio were spotted raiding all along the peninsula and north of it, as Wren and all the other Slingers already knew, barely overlooking their homes on multiple occasions. Whistler hoped that this would continue to be the case, and that they could get a jump on the enemy army like they had in the canyons several nights prior. She then arranged for a line of Slinger messengers to go back and forth between the homes in the highlands and Port Superior to keep a constant line of communication going.

  Wren suggested that the loaders, all capable warriors, stay with us for the time being and aid our forces in case the Trio’s men caught us off guard again.

  “But what if they do find our homes here?” Whistler asked.

  Wren shook his head. “I doubt that will happen, but you know more than anyone all of the clever hiding places we have around here. We will be fine.”

  I had to wonder why she was asking this self-described metalsmith-trader all of these important tactical questions. It seemed that the man had more authority over the settlement than he let on. I was unsure if he withheld such information simply out of caution or humbleness.

  We headed out after lunch, this time with a little over two tons of ore in tow.

  11

  We only stopped twice to stretch our legs and allow our horses to drink from the ponds we passed. We traveled all through the night with no rest and made it to town the next day an hour or two before noon.

  Whistler’s Slingers—the ones we had left behind at Port Superior—ran to greet us, happy to see the sixty loaders trailing behind. I saw that the Thirians had set them up with temporary accommodations—tents on the edge of town. I was sure that there would be more available for the newcomers.

  My tribal brothers offered to handle the ore from there and set to work loading up two of our larger ships to transport the cargo to the port of Troy. I intended to accompany them back so that I could personally check in with Helen and Zinni and see how the cannons were coming along, but a sudden unexpected occurrence gave me pause just as I went to climb aboard the ship.

  There was a bone-chilling cawing from high overhead. In my mind’s eye flashed images of the filth-ridden harpies that I had encountered only a day earlier. My gut told me that Whistler and I had either not finished the job or perhaps they had sisters who were coming to take revenge. Both guesses were wrong.

  I looked up and almost fell over at the sight of something falling down to me, but its descent was gentle, indicating that it was light enough for air resistance to have a significant effect on its fall. If it did end up landing on my face, it would be of no real concern.

  “What is that?” Whistler called, her hand appearing in my periphery to point to the object.

  “I can’t tell,” I said. “Maybe a scroll?”

  “No, not that—that, over there!”

  I scanned the sky and almost fell over again. “Holy shit! What the fuck is that?”

  The sight of a pterodactyl-sized creature roaming about the air above almost sent me to the ground a second time. Its bronzed exterior shined in the light of the midday sun. I squinted to pick out finer details and realized that it was not some Jurassic sky-lizard, but actually a massive eagle. Its inorganic sheen led me to believe that it was mechanical in nature, like so many of the larger-than-life creatures I’d faced in this land. I thought back to my fight with the massive leviathan not too long ago and how its scaly hide gave me much the same impression as this beast’s plumage. I had suspected that creature was constructed by Egyptian engineers, but Zinni and Helen were never able to confirm my suspicions.

  Upon seeing the bird, all thoughts of the scroll fled my mind until it bonked me on the nose. It was a magnificent beast, and my eyes could not leave it until it turned in an elegant arc, sweeping away on an unseen thermal. Whistler hurried over to scoop up the scroll and unroll it.

  “What’s it say?” I asked.

  “It says that you must surrender Helen and your warships so that Port Superior may continue to live under your flag. That is all.” She lowered the note and looked to me, confused.

  “What? Surrender Helen? What’s she got to do with . . .”

  I looked back to the eagle. It had flown over to a hill on the horizon. There was a man beside the monstrous bird watching us.

  “Nisos!” Whistler spat.

  There were at least three Thirians keeping watch near that hill. I could only imagine what the wretch did to them to claim that spot. He bowed to us and disappeared over the other side.


  “Let me send my Slingers to track him. It would be a simple task for my men.”

  I held up a hand. “It’s likely some kind of trap, and I’ll need you under my flag for future actions.”

  “We always step with caution. My men would smell the danger before that scum could lay a finger on them.”

  “If you’re certain of that, then send some men out. But I need you here.”

  “Of course, Troy.”

  She went to gather her men, leaving me at the dock to decide how to handle this new information. It seemed like no matter what I did, some dude wanted to get his hands on my queen.

  It was another hour before I decided to go with my original plan and accompany the shipment to Illium. Whistler and Linos joined me, along with a handful of Thirians and Slingers to help carry the supplies to shore.

  12

  The engineer apprentice, whose name I had forgotten yet again despite my clever mnemonic, rushed to greet us as usual.

  “Sir, Troy! Welcome back! Master Erion was going to send for you before long. The cannons are ready for another demonstration, Sir!”

  “This is great news.” I wanted to call him Nathan, but that did not seem right.

  “It truly is, Sir. It has been a long time coming. Follow me to the Master. This way.”

  Erion and the girls were making some last-minute touch-ups to the cannon as not-Nathan led us over. Helen and Zinni were bickering over some adjustments to the console. I could not remember ever seeing the girls get frustrated with each other, but I imagined the project had been trying for everyone involved.

  “No, not there,” Helen said. She swatted Zinni’s hand away from the machine.

  “I was only going to tighten the knob, Helen. You saw how it was wobbling earlier.”

  “There will be time for that later. It is only a secondary concern.”

  “Master,” called the apprentice. “Look who has come.”

  “Ah.” The old man turned around and his face lit up at the sight of me, as it always did. “Troy. And . . . Whistler, was it? You two have brought quite the audience. Thank you, Armand. That will be all.”

  Our man! That was the memory device. I committed to not forgetting it again, but I had a feeling I was only lying to myself.

  “Armand said its ready for the next round of testing?” I asked.

  “Oh, I would think so,” said the engineer. “We have been working day and night to bring it this far.” He looked around me at the rest of our crew. “So, did you manage to retrieve those other ores?”

  “Yeah.” I turned and pointed down to the edge of his camp. “We dropped everything off over there. I even managed to snag some more copper.”

  “This is wonderful news, Sir Troy.” The man was almost jumping with glee. “We will certainly put it all to use.”

  Helen and Zinni had only just come over. They noticed us at the same time as the Master, but their touch-ups held them occupied for several minutes longer.

  “Hello, dear,” Helen said, her lips curling in a smile.

  I filled her in on all the latest news. She was as shocked as me to hear that these foreign enemies wanted to claim her for some reason.

  “I will always stay by your side, Troy.” She embraced me, burying her head in my chest.

  “Well, I imagine at this point you’re kind of stuck with me,” I joked, rubbing my hand along her back. In an attempt to lighten the mood, I said, “So, let’s see this cannon.”

  We all gathered around—at a safe distance, of course—and Master Erion went to work fiddling with the firing parameters.

  “All right, I have set the delay timer!” he shouted, walking over to join us onlookers with pep in his step. “Let us see how it goes this time.”

  There was an explosive blast, and in the next instant the pyramid of haybales erupted into a pile of airborne debris. Cheers rang out and the other engineers came to watch.

  “Fantastic!” shouted Helen. Her eyes were glistening. “Load some ammunition.”

  Master Erion sent for two of his apprentices to get a cannonball, while a larger crew set to work gathering more bales for us to blast to smithereens.

  “You may want to stand back further for this one,” he warned. “The physical ammunition will have more of an explosive effect upon release.”

  A young, hardy apprentice loaded the ball in, and Master Erion set the new parameters. Once again, he joined us, urging us to step back further than we already were.

  This time the explosion was ten times as loud. The resistant force of the cannonball sent the whole machine wheeling several feet back. Several of the surprised onlookers jumped away as the artillery lurched in their direction.

  The ball itself flew across the field and out of sight. It obliterated the target, setting the dry debris aflame, and sailed ever onward. Master Erion sent a man to find it and estimate how far the shot had traveled.

  “It wobbled a little,” he mumbled.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “It was a wonderful test run, but the ball wobbled in the air a little. Did you not notice?”

  “I did not, but I will take your word for it. Is that much of a problem?” I asked.

  “It is just . . . unpredictable. It clearly hit the target, but I want it to travel in a straight path to reduce any guesswork about where it will make contact.”

  Upon hearing that, I had an idea. “Whistler.”

  “Yes, Troy?”

  “Do you think you could make a gift the size of one of those cannonballs?” I asked with a grin.

  She returned my smile and said, “I think that would be simple enough.”

  We worked well into the night, Whistler guiding me on how to make a cannonball-sized gift of lead and copper. Many of the engineers, Erion included, stopped their other projects to watch us, curious to see what would become of our design.

  Erion’s scout returned about thirty minutes into it and told us that the ball had traveled over a kilometer. That was impressive, to be sure, but if our new cannonball could do for this artillery what Whistler’s gifts did for her slings, we would be able to top that with ease.

  It was past midnight when we were ready to put it to the test. Whistler wanted the honors of loading it herself. She heaved it into the cannon and stepped away. The previous pile of hay had been replaced by one that now stood twice as high, presumably for theatrical reasons. Master Erion strode over and began punching commands into the console while the girls and I waited with our fingers crossed.

  This time the explosive blast was drowned by the screaming of a banshee. It was so overpowering and horrific that I felt as if my ears would bleed. Despite this, a smile crept across my face as I saw the haybales abruptly burst, sending their remnants flying in every direction. Several people around me covered their ears, a delayed response against the mad racket that had already laid siege to their senses.

  “I think we have a cannon,” I said to Master Erion.

  The giddy old man clapped a hand on my shoulder and said, “I think we have an instrument of pain itself, Good Troy.” His ever-present smile was wider than I had ever seen, and I could only imagine how he felt as an inventor seeing the last piece of this puzzle finally click into place.

  13

  We stayed at the camp the rest of the night and summoned an audience with the King and Queen early the next morning—Zinni, Helen, Linos, Whistler, and I.

  “What news do you bring us, Troy?” Hecuba asked. “Do you require more troops to aid you?”

  “I do not think so, Your Grace. At least, not yet,” I said. “We’ve come to provide an update and seek your counsel before we take our next steps against the army of this King Thrax. I trust our messenger filled you in on his whereabouts so far?”

  The King and Queen confirmed that they were recently informed of Thrax and his dark army. I went on to explain the incident at Port Superior with Nisos and the eagle, asking if they knew why the Trio might want to claim her out of the blue.
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  “If I may, Father, Mother.” Zinni stepped forward.

  “Yes, Polxyena,” Hecuba consented. “What thoughts do you have on this matter?”

  “Well, Whistler has explained that the Trio uses the souls of a race known as the Mechanical People. Was it not the case that Helen would be considered such a person not so long ago?”

  There were several gasps let loose all at once, one of which was mine.

  “You think the pricks want to shackle her soul?” I asked.

  “I think it is a possibility, yes,” Zinni said.

  “But Helen is a human now. Regardless of how these fiends know the secret of her origin, they should understand that she is no longer a machine,” I said.

  “Perhaps they do not see it that way?” Helen offered. “I do not understand how such dark magic works, but perhaps it is enough to know that I used to be such a person.”

  “Well,” I said, “whatever their reasoning, I’m not going to let them turn you into a slave.”

  “I would hope not,” Helen said, putting a hand on my arm. “I would rather die than suffer such a fate.”

  “Helen is more woman than any of those filthy vermin,” Priam said. “The Thracians are scum. No better than the Greeks, they are hardly people themselves! You must meet them and put an end to their madness, Troy.”

  “I will end them or die in the attempt.” My voice sounded like iron, even to me.

  The royal couple closed their doors to all others who called on them that day. There would be no petty squabbles to interrupt us while we planned our offensive assault against the Thracian menace.

  Priam called several servants into the main room to scrounge up a table, a map of the area and surrounding nations, several quills, and a bottle of ink. I took a writing implement and started circling and dotting key locations along my peninsula.