"And you brought the Guard with you?" Demetrius asked, and Menleco could see he already knew the answer.
"Two thousand of them fought with you in Lacecia, and have now returned to Myssene with the rest of your army. I will command these men."
A deep voice rumbled from the back of the hall. "The man is duplicitous." Menleco turned to see a shadow detach itself from the wall. General Nachtus stepped into the light. His footsteps echoed through the hall like drumbeats of doom, causing the floor to tremble. The bearded giant stood nine feet tall. The sword he wore at his belt nearly touched the floor. He crossed his arms and gazed down at Menleco as though he would like to squash him like a bug. "Trust this man at your peril, Your Worship."
The man was like thunder in his every movement and speech. Menleco could feel it inside of him.
"Oh, I don't trust him, never you fear, General," Demetrius said. "The man bargains for his life, I suspect."
Pylia clasped her hands together. She stopped just short of rubbing them. "I will find the truth in his words, my love," she said to the king. "Not even the most accomplished liar can hide the truth from Sarlon."
Sarlon. Standing against the back wall behind the throne was the snake-headed man, a recent Gyriecian-ized transplant from Tygetia. To most deities, Menleco was indifferent. He had spent a lifetime offending gods and he was well beyond the point of caring what any of them thought of him. His most devout prayer was that they would leave him in peace. This one, however, made him uneasy.
"Believe me, my lady," he said, hoping he did not sound to be begging. "I will volunteer the truth to you. You have no need to prise it from my brain. I give it willingly - eagerly! Happily! I conceal nothing."
"Then what of the rest of this Guard of yours, Menleco?" Demetrius asked.
"They have come under the spell of a traitor. Temporarily. But when we march on Prathia, with your Bearded Men at my side and my Prathian troops at my back, they will come over to me."
"What do you make of this, General Nachtus?"
"I say if the little man wants to lead his Prathians, he should do so from the front." Nachtus stepped to the wall and unfastened a spear from the block. He turned and tossed it to Menleco, who snatched it out of the air. "You know how to use one of these?"
Menleco tried to make his face stern as he inspected the razor sharp spear point. "I have been fighting since you were…" He stopped. He had been about to say 'since you were a boy,' but the image of a boy Nachtus was horrifying to him somehow. 'Since you were small'? This surpassed horrifying to absurd. He let it pass and started over. "Of course I've used a spear," he said simply.
Crouching suddenly, Nachtus made an abrupt move for his sword. Startled, Menleco shuddered and almost dropped the spear. Nachtus straightened and laughed. Menleco could feel the deep rumble in his gut. The giant approached him and wrapped a great hand around his throat, his fingertips nearly meeting his thumb at the base of Menleco's skull. He squeezed, gritting his teeth. Menleco did not know what was expected of him. Was it a test of nerves? Of will? Of skill at arms?
"I have fought with Prathians, I have fought against Prathians," Nachtus said. He continued to squeeze, lifting now, until Menleco's toes barely brushed the floor. "They are the greatest soldiers in the world. You do not deserve to fight with them. You do not deserve to lead them." Menleco's feet danced in the air, desperately seeking the floor. He could not breathe. Nachtus grinned, gritting great square teeth the size of walnuts. By gods, the creature intends to kill me! Menleco stabbed at the giant, meaning to drive the spear into his side, but the iron point glanced off his skin as if it were bronze. Menleco might as well have thrust his spear into a stone wall. Laughing, Nachtus threw him to the floor and Menleco slid across the polished marble. His spear clattered away out of his reach. He lay gasping for breath.
"Let him lead his Prathians," Nachtus told his king. "But let him lead with a spear in his hand. One of his own will no doubt do us all a favor and thrust one in his back."
Demetrius considered, ignoring the fact that Menleco lay on the floor coughing in spasms. He spoke as if Menleco was not there at all. "The Guard has already betrayed him. They are now commanded by this traitor, he says. What chance that the Guard will desert to him, as he claims?"
"No chance," Nachtus replied. "But if they do not, Menleco dies."
"There is another traitor we still seek," Pylia said, her voice like a whisper after the giant's rumble. "Clautius would have named him. Do not forget how this man has failed us."
Inspiration flashed in Menleco's mind. "I sent…I sent you the Huntress," he gasped. The giant had crushed his throat and he could barely speak. Perhaps someone would plunge a spear into his back, given half a chance.
Demetrius regarded him sharply. "What is that you say?"
Menleco rubbed his throat. "The Huntress. I captured her with my own…with my own hands. I sent her to you under guard. Her mind…She would know of your traitor…" He fell into a fit of coughing.
"The Huntress!" Pylia hissed. Menleco glanced up just in time to see the forked tongue dart between moist red lips. Then he saw the hag smiling and it was more horrifying than any snake.
Demetrius sat forward. "The Epirian Huntress? Again, Menleco, you have captured my interest. But I have seen no more of your Huntress than I have your Prathian Guard."
Damn you, Raulon!
"If she is not here now, she will be soon. I sent her under guard of fifty men." Menleco's voice was coming back. His wits might be a while. He climbed stiffly to his feet.
"Is it possible, love, that we have underestimated our Prathian general?" Demetrius asked his witch.
"You don't truly believe his lies, do you, Worship?" Nachtus asked.
"I do not believe men, General Nachtus. But the gods do not lie. And it is the gods who have sent Menleco to us. Is that not true, Pylia? Have you Seen anything of Menleco in our plans."
No, Menleco thought. No, no, no, say no, please say no…
"Oh, I have Seen the general," Pylia said. Menleco felt the air go out of him. Her feet hidden under her gown, Pylia seemed to glide towards him. Menleco was frozen in place. What she had planned for him, he did not want to know. She laid her hand on his shoulder and her fingers snaked upward towards his neck. "But the vision is vague. I See torrents of pain, but little else. I have no doubt he was sent to us by the gods, my love."
Demetrius shook his head in wonder. "Well, it is beyond reason. You see, Menleco, we have just withdrawn all of our troops from Sethaly in preparation for a campaign on Prathia. It is Prathia that harbors the Epirian conspirators. Tell him what you have Seen, my dear."
She was behind him again with her arms wrapped around his shoulders. He felt her breath on his cheek. "The snake comes to Sethaly," she hissed - as if her words had any meaning to him at all, "while Prathia shall harbor the eagle."
Menleco closed his eyes, hoping it would all go away.
"So you see," Menleco heard Demetrius happily chirping from the end of some long tunnel, "Sethaly will fall without bloodshed. This is the meaning. While Prathia must be destroyed utterly. We had already decided this. And then you show up offering us the Guard. Oh, it is too much!" Menleco heard him clap his hands together, laughing. Even Nachtus began to rumble.
Pylia had wrapped her slender arms around him and her hands caressed his chest. Her breath was rancid in his nostrils. "If anything you have said to us proves false…"
"I have told you truly," he intended to reply, but whether or not the words reached his lips he could not say.
He opened his eyes. Where he had expected to see Pylia's arms wrapped around him he found a tangle of coiled serpents. They slithered across his chest. One of them was climbing towards his face, tongue flicking. He could feel a mass of wriggling hatchlings tickling his neck…
"Ahhh!" He wrenched himself free of the witch's grasp. He fell to the floor and began scrambling backwards in terror, his arms and legs pumping. The crone stared at him. Nachtus was stil
l rumbling his laughter while Demetrius' face registered surprise, turning to anger.
"What on earth are you doing? On your feet, man!"
"What would you have me do?" Menleco snapped. Had they not seen the snakes? His skin crawled. He could still feel them. By gods, it is madness!
Demetrius stood. "I would have you thank me for granting your request, General. I will allow you to command your Prathians in our campaign. Any failure will cost you your life. Now, be gone!"
Menleco did not have to be told twice. He turned and strode rapidly back the way he had come. Halfway to the door, he found himself running. The columns passed on either side of him in a blur. Nachtus' laughter mocked him the entire way.
Taler was in the corridor. He caught Menleco as he bolted through the door. "Don't be in such a hurry. Look who has arrived. Old friends!"
Breathing hard, Menleco turned to see Coronea standing by the door, her hands bound. She looked away when he caught her eye. Her expression was full of pain and anger. Menleco, however, wanted to embrace her. She had merely tried to put an arrow through his heart. That indeed made her seem like an old friend compared to these Irrylian monsters. At least he understood a shaft through the heart. The rest was madness.
"You're next." Apart from hugging her, or rescuing her, or mercifully cutting her throat, it was all he could think of to say. It was cruelty to bring her here. He had promised her to them, however, and now Pylia would know he had not lied.
And she would know it without having to rip his brain out.
"Raulon!" he cried when he saw his captain standing nearby. He grabbed a handful of the man's cloak and whisked him down the corridor. "I should have you flogged, you bastard. You damn near cost me my life."
Raulon slapped his hands from him. "I brought the girl. What more do you want?"
"The question is 'what more will I have?' We are fighting with the Irrylians. I am to be King of Prathia and Xanthippus will die."
Raulon blinked. "I feel I might have missed something."
"The usurper Xanthippus has stolen my happiness and now we march on Prathia."
"Your happiness!" Raulon scoffed. "You have never had a happy moment in your life."
"That's because I have never been king. Now, come along, we have work to do."
Chapter 30
"Father has granted us ships, Hurrus," Antona said. "Ships! Do you know what this means?"
"Have you even been listening to me?" Hurrus snapped, raising his head. His eyes met hers and he immediately felt ashamed for the hurt he saw there. He felt even greater shame for what he had been forced to admit to her. "What good are empty ships when I have no men? I have nothing left…"
He sat with his elbows on his knees, his face in his hands. He had bathed, his wounds had been cleaned and stitched and he wore fresh bandages. Shirtless, he sat on a stone bench in his garden, his bare feet propped up on a rock. Antona threw herself on her knees and hugged his legs to her cheek, kissing the tops of his feet.
"You cannot say that, Hurrus. It is not true."
"They would have followed me anywhere, Antona." He could feel her long brown hair tickling his toes. He reached down and stroked it. He wanted to embrace her and forget it all - soldiers and ships and crowns, all of it.
"Do you hear that?" he asked instead. He lifted his head and stared at a spot at the base of the stone wall that concealed his garden from the world outside. A little yellow bird hopped from bush to bush across the walkway.
Antona listened. "It is for you," she said, hearing the distant chords of music, the festive voices. "It is not in celebration of a man who has nothing, but of a man who has everything within his grasp. They celebrate a conqueror, Hurrus. At your feet lies the world!"
"At my feet lie broken dreams. From my hands drips the blood of my men."
"Hurrus…"
"I held their lives in my hands, Antona. Under my command was a boy named Aryk. By gods, he would have followed me through the gates of hell. And do you know where I led him?"
Antona shook her head.
"He wanted to return to Irrylia to reclaim the stolen lands of his fathers. I promised him. Yet he died not 100 leagues from where he started. I commanded him never to doubt me. And he did not - right up to the moment a Sarian spear point--"
"Men die, Hurrus," Antona interrupted, pleading. "Did you think you would reclaim Epiria without the loss of a single man?"
"Epiria be damned!" Hurrus cried. He pulled his feet from Antona's hands and strode away across the garden, leaving her kneeling before the empty stone bench. "I lost these men fighting Sarians, I lost them in the desert to heat and sand. What hope have I against Demetrius' legions?"
"Epiria is ours, Hurrus," Antona said, rising. "You are king of Epiria, Arrhus' heir, and I am queen. It shall be."
"Epiria!" Hurrus scoffed. "I had to crawl back into Tygetia. Did you know that?"
Antona shook her head.
"When we reached the parade grounds, we found the Corps of the Crocodile Man waiting for us. I had to confer with Xandros. 'What do we do?' I asked him. I was at the end of my tether. It was over. We could not have fought again, Antona."
"But they did not oppose you…"
"We marched to them. We would have surrendered. We were prepared--"
"But they did not oppose you," Antona repeated in disbelief and growing impatience. "They cheered you. Hurrus, you are a hero to the people. Listen to them!"
"And who will cheer us in Epiria when I alight with my 3000? By gods, Antona, if it had not been for the Mejadym, Kerraunus would have destroyed us." After the battle, Jorem's men had surrounded Kerraunus' house, but there was no sign of the man. Rumors sprang up immediately that he had boarded a ship in Alaun for a port unknown. "Demetrius' Bearded Men will not cheer us, I will guarantee you that."
"The Epirian people will," a gravelly voice said.
Hurrus jerked his head around and saw an old man enter the garden from the house. He wore a floor-length white robe and carried a walking stick which he thunked on the stones of the path as he hobbled forward. The stick was no less gnarled and knotty than the ancient fingers that clutched it.
"And what do you know of the Epirian people, old man?" Hurrus asked. He regarded the intruder curiously and saw that he was quite alone. Too finely dressed and groomed to be some wandering beggar, he seemed to present no threat, but…Was Hurrus' private garden open now to drifters from the street?
"A thousand pardons, my lord." A servant came scuttling out the door after the intruder. "But the old man would not be stopped--"
Hurrus silenced his servant with a wave of his hand. "Answer me, old man. You hold no objection to eavesdropping on my private conversation with my wife. Surely you don't mind explaining yourself."
"You should listen to your pretty young wife, Hurrus," the old man said, advancing boldly along the path. The spindly fronds of a palm brushed his robes as he passed. Hurrus noticed that his old hand twitched spasmodically as he thunked his stick on the stones. He acted as though there was no place on earth more natural for him to have appeared than from out of Hurrus' door into his garden. "Those cheers out there. That is what awaits you in Epiria."
"Wars are not won by cheering," Hurrus said. The old man's bold manner piqued Hurrus' interest, buying the intruder some time. Hurrus narrowed his eyes at him. "Who is it who claims to speak for the Epirians? And why do you speak to me of them?"
"I come to bring them their king. Just as I served your father, Arrhus, I will serve you, King Hurrus."
Hurrus felt a thrill shoot down his spine. "Who are you?"
"I am Clautias," the old man said.
Hurrus' mouth fell open. "The man whose welfare I have prayed for since I was boy now stands before me? It cannot be! Antona, it is the man who saved me, the man who smuggled me safely out of Epiria."
Hurrus rushed to him and threw an arm around his frail shoulders. He helped him to the stone bench and sat him down gently. Hurrus turned and called for wine.
"Ah," Clautias sighed as he sat, his stick twitching. "I was to raise you, Hurrus. Alas, I never had the opportunity. But seeing you now, all my doubts are allayed. You are Arrhus, my boy. By the gods, you are he!" He took the cup offered him by a servant and sipped it. "And I knew you too, Antona, when you were in but swaddling clothes. Myletos' little daughter."
"You honor us with your presence, Clautias," Antona said, bowing her head. "Hurrus has spoken of you often."
"We feared for you, Clautias," said Hurrus. "Nadia said Demetrius has hunted you all these years. Nadia--"
"Nadia?" Clautias asked with a start. He leaned forward, looking around as if he might find her concealed behind a bush or wall.
"She has passed," Hurrus said. He closed his eyes at the thought of it.
"Nadia is dead?"
Hurrus strode forward and knelt at Clautias' feet. "They tried to kill me in my bed," he said. "Nadia died in the attempt."
For an instant, the old man's hand stopped shaking. "All is laid bare," he said in a husky whisper. "All is laid bare…"
"You know of this?"
"The men Demetrius sent to kill you stood before me, dangerous men…"
"You know of my assassins?"
Clautias grasped Hurrus' hand in his gnarled claw. Hurrus saw a look of awe in his eyes. "They have vowed to fight at your side, to bring us an army. Prathians. Men of the Guard. They would have sacrificed themselves so that I might live, all for your return."
"I don't understand…" Hurrus felt as though he were talking to Nadia all over again. What did this old man see through his eyes? Was it Hurrus who stood before him, or was he peering into some other world?
"Don't you see? The gods will not allow you to die. It is their will that you return to Epiria. The witch Pylia has Seen it through her demon and for that she tries to kill you. But even her assassins vow to fight at your side."
Hurrus looked into the old man's eyes and saw that he was overcome with emotion. He felt Antona's soft hands on his shoulders, the brush of her cheek.
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