Two more charges followed, the first behind a renewed onslaught of Bearded Men - the line shuddered but held - the second following a flight of arrows that blackened the sky. The Prathians lifted their shields. A sound like hailstones filled the air as they rode out the murderous rain under an umbrella of bronze and wood. By the time the charging horsemen arrived, they found not only a wall of steady spear points but one of shields bristling with spent arrows as well.
Xanthippus could see the men were beginning to grow weary when he heard a great cry arise in the distance. He looked through the forest of spears and caught a fleeting glimpse of Hurrus leading his cavalry in a wild charge. He saw the man's long golden hair flapping beneath his eagle wings, and then he was gone.
The Prathians had done it! They had held while the Silver Shields had broken the enemy. Hurrus' heavy horse was now pouring into the gap. He could hear the shouts of the Irrylians in flight. Exultant, Xanthippus ordered a charge. With renewed energy, the Prathians stepped over the wreckage of the Irrylian attacks and slammed into the Bearded Men. The effects of Nachtus' death had spread over the entire battlefield now and the bronze men staggered under the Prathian charge. Many turned and ran for their lives before sputtering out all over the hillside where they would later be found scattered in smoking ruins.
Xanthippus turned his men in the direction he had seen Hurrus charging. All around them, Irrylian men dashed for safety, throwing down their weapons and leaping over heaps of the dead, faster than any Prathian could pursue them. Xanthippus directed his men towards the last formed enemy body on the field. They were engaged to their front and the men in the rear turned just in time to see the Prathians slam into them. A cry of anguish went up from the trapped men, caught now in a vise between hostile bodies. The men who did not die outright, scrambled to escape out the sides of the formation. Like drowning men, they clawed at their companions and trampled the fallen in their terror. In a matter of seconds, the orderly block of soldiers had been reduced to a panicked mob. The Prathians hewed into them.
Through the glut of bodies, Xanthippus spied a glint of silver and by the time the Irrylian force had vanished through death or escape, the Prathians found themselves facing Hurrus' Silver Shields. They had been attacking the Irrylians' front while the Prathians struck their rear and now they met in the center. Calling a halt, Xanthippus sighed in exhaustion when he saw them. The Prathians relaxed. They began hailing their allies in joy at their victory.
But the Shields did not relax. Xanthippus had removed his helmet and stepped out in front of his men, prepared to greet his fellow commander when it dawned on him that the Silver Shields had no intention of standing down. The unit remained crouched in their fighting stance, shields up, spears out. When they took a step towards him, and then another, Xanthippus quickly replaced his helmet and raced back to his men.
"Prathians!" he began, but the men needed no orders. The threat was clear enough. Raising their shields, they leveled their spears at once. If the Tygetians meant to have a fight with the Prathians, they would have it. They stared at one another across the field of the dead. The Prathians were waiting for them, but the Shields made no further move.
Suddenly, Xanthippus saw them begin to stir, the men parting for Hurrus himself as he came striding through the center of the formation. They closed up as he passed and remained ready for combat as the Eagle King stood before them.
Xanthippus came out from his men and, stepping over dead Irrylians, approached Hurrus. His long purple cloak was gone. His silver breastplate was smeared with blood.
"You have held my flank, Xanthippus," the king said. "For that, I thank you. But now that Demetrius' army has been vanquished, my question is: which way do I go? North to Epiria, or south to Prathia?"
"This is how you thank me?" Xanthippus asked. "You threaten my men with your Silver Shields?"
"Perhaps we will show you what it is like to fight men with true Gyriecian hearts. Do you still wish you had killed me?"
"The day is young," Xanthippus said.
The man Xanthippus recognized as Xandros came out of the formation and stood beside Hurrus.
"My lord, we have only to enter Epiria now and claim your throne." He spoke in a soft, consoling voice. "We stand to gain nothing by this…this folly."
Hurrus swept his forearm across Xandros' chest, forcing the man away from him. "I think Asander had it wrong," Hurrus said, not taking his eyes off Xanthippus. "I think it is I who will wish I had killed you."
"You may wish," Xanthippus said.
Hurrus swept past Xandros who rushed forward and tried to restrain him. But Hurrus pushed him aside and each step he took toward Xanthippus, he seemed to grow a foot in height and half another in breadth. He drew his sword and swung at the Prathian. Xanthippus raised his shield. The blow almost knocked him from his feet. He could feel the wood crack and the bronze crease. He felt a near bone-cracking shudder all the way up his arm.
Xanthippus could scarcely believe what was happening. Though he could make no sense of it, he knew that he could not survive another shot like that. To stand and trade blows with the giant was madness. He rushed forward behind his shield and rammed him as hard as he could. He caught him still off-balance from his blocked attack and Hurrus stumbled back. His foot landed in a patch of fresh Irrylian blood and shot out from under him on the slick grass. He fell on his back with a great thud. Xanthippus at once drew his sword and held it at Hurrus' throat. Xandros dove at him and the next thing Xanthippus knew, he had dropped his sword and he was rolling on the ground in the grasp of the big man. He was appalled at Xandros' strength. Once they had rolled clear of Hurrus, Xandros released him and stood, drawing his sword.
"Kill him!" Hurrus cried.
Xanthippus looked into Xandros' eyes and saw a man torn. He held up his hand and the Prathians who were about to rush to his aid, stood back.
"Kill him!" Hurrus repeated. He was his normal size again. He rose to his feet. "I command you, Xandros. Kill the Prathian."
Xanthippus saw Xandros clench his teeth in anger. He lowered his sword and sheathed it, turning to Hurrus.
"I will not make war on the sons of Prathia," he declared.
"You dare defy me?" Hurrus snapped. He picked up his sword from the ground and took no more than a step toward Xandros when the big man fell to his knees.
"You may have my head, Hurrus," he said, bowing and exposing his neck to the executioner's blade. "I have come to reclaim your throne and no more. I will not make war on Prathia."
Hurrus scowled, and then his expression suddenly softened. He sheathed his blade and smiled.
"Stand, Xandros. You are my brother, as you know. I will not have you on your knees before me. And you, Xanthippus, you also are my brother. We are all brothers!" He turned to address the entire field. The men relaxed again, but only slightly. "Epiria and Prathia together! It was a madness that seized me. It was the battle madness." He helped Xandros gently to his feet and reached out a hand to Xanthippus. "It has passed now. Forgive me."
Xanthippus warily reached out his hand and the two men clasped one another by the wrist. In the distance, the Epirians began cheering. Gradually, they had been drawn to Hurrus' position on the battlefield and when they saw Hurrus and Xanthippus clasp hands it meant to them that the Irrylians had been defeated and they shouted in unrestrained joy.
Deon stepped out from the Shields, a broad smile on his face.
"Listen to them," he said. "The men would enjoy their victory, King."
"Ah, but there is no time for enjoyment, Deon. Xandros, prepare the men for pursuit. We march for Epiria at once! My crown awaits me!"
Epilogue
Chapter 38
"The man stands naked before me!" the crone cried, looking up from the black pool.
Menleco did, in fact, stand naked before her, but that was not what Pylia was talking about. Not that Menleco had heard what she said. He could hear nothing over the sound of his own screaming.
Demet
rius nodded in satisfaction. He had never seen Pylia more beautiful. Even as she crouched over her black pool and groped its rim as she raced round and round, her feet clawing at the stones of the floor, he was certain he had never seen a more beautiful creature. Watching her as she performed her work in the nude, he felt himself begin to stir. He scarcely even noticed Menleco. So enraptured was he by Pylia's comely appearance that it surprised him whenever he heard Menleco pulling his chains taut as he struggled against the wall.
"You know everything?" Demetrius asked eagerly.
"The man is laid bare!" The notes of Pylia's laughter were like chimes to Demetrius' ears. He loved her joy.
"What of this treasure?" Demetrius asked. At one point, he had heard not the clanking of chains but the clear sound of Menleco's voice - a word rising out of his sea of pain. Something about a vast treasure.
"Only I…Arrhhh!…know…Gyahhh!…where it is…Please! Arrhhh!" Demetrius had noticed with annoyance that Menleco spit when he talked, a disgusting habit. Equally irritating was that he had bitten off the tip of his tongue, making his words hard to understand.
Pylia had gone halfway around the pool, the torchlight glistening off her smooth, round buttocks. She had cocked her head in that characteristic way whenever she Saw something in the pool.
"There is no treasure," she had announced, before continuing around the black water.
Menleco had been so disappointed, Demetrius thought he was going to cry.
"Pure fantasy," Pylia declared anew now.
Demetrius shook his head sadly. "A liar," he said. "In all the time I have known him, I don't believe the man has ever told me a single true thing. Now, look at him. A pity. He came into this world with everything, but he will leave with nothing."
"Kill me…"
Demetrius spoke of pity, but he did not really feel it. Mostly, he felt annoyed whenever some pathetic sputtering or overloud clanking diverted his attention from his lovely Pylia. Even when she finally tired and began speaking the words of her unknown tongue and the waters of the pool began to bubble and hiss, and even when Menleco really did begin to cry, Demetrius felt no pity. In fact, he was amazed at how quickly all thoughts of Menleco flew from his head. It was Pylia who commanded his attention. He felt weak…and perhaps a little afraid.
Imagine that! A king, afraid of the intensity of an emotion…
It was astounding what love could do to a man.
*
Calamity stared Xanthippus in the face.
He had followed the grimacing bastard through every twist and turn of the great Royal Labyrinth and was relieved when the priest finally turned and Good Fortune smiled on him at last. It was about time. He felt queasy enough without the threat of teetering disaster hanging over his head. It was funny what the constant stare of the red-faced old satyr could do to you.
Though the priest in his double-mask beamed at them, he would not turn the great stone head of Ardonis - 'Old Two-Face' as he was called by the profane - until after Xanthippus and Lyssa had stated their vows. Lyssa laid a little toy coin purse of beads and woolen yarn in Ardonis' flaming offering dish. The thing went up in a puff, the wooden beads blackening before catching fire. Xanthippus saw a tear well in her eye. It grew heavy and ran down her flawless cheek.
He knew this was to be the hard part - for both of them.
He had no relic of his childhood, so he offered only a scrap of parchment bearing the names of his little brother Angyos and his sisters. "So the gods will know their names when they see them," Xanthippus had explained to the priest prior to the ceremony. The scrap went up even quicker than had Lyssa's toy purse and a twisting streamer of smoke bore their names to the gods.
They turned and pledged their vows to one another before the assembly and the priest turned the great head. Xanthippus could hear its neck grinding on its joint and he knew when the turning was complete by the cheers that filled the vast chamber at the center of the Labyrinth.
His heart suddenly filled and he took Lyssa in his arms and kissed her deeply. Just before losing himself, Xanthippus noticed the priest frown inside his mask. He realized that he had forgotten the script for the ceremony. Was he supposed to kiss her now? Or was the priest to speak some words first? Perhaps he was not supposed to kiss her at all. He didn't care. He lifted her off her feet and gave her half a twirl. The chamber erupted in hoots and howls. Who could remember every damned little thing, anyway?
When he set her down, he emerged from her lips to see his fellows passing a skin. Apparently, Nydeon had smuggled it into the procession and it looked like this was not the first time they had passed it around. Thalen was taking a deep draught when Xanthippus saw him, while Nydeon had begun singing a bawdy tune, urging others to join him. They needed little encouragement. Myrtilus, in particular, who had already gone through three or four wives of his own, began singing at the top of his lungs. Soon, the entire chamber rang with their caterwauling. Even the nobles and ladies of Lyssa's entourage joined in. The priest's frown deepened. Perhaps he was thinking to turn Ardonis' head right back the way he had found it. But when King Areus joined in, even the priest shrugged and added his voice to the chorus.
"I love you, Lyssa," Xanthippus said, unsure if she could even hear him though his lips brushed her ear.
"I have never been so happy," she cried, not caring who heard her.
Xanthippus felt people slapping his back and men he could not remember were shaking his hand. He could not believe where he found himself standing. On Isala, the inner chambers of the labyrinths were small dreadful places, not meant to be found easily. The Royal Labyrinth beneath the Temple of Ardonis in Serusi was ablaze with everflame, burning not behind blood-red panes, but under golden domes. The room was awash in light, and alive with the sounds of music and joy. Xanthippus could only shake his head in wonderment. What strange path had led him here!
King Areus raised his hands and after some cajoling, managed to silence the crowd.
"Today," he said, "I proclaim to the world that the man, Xanthippus of Isala, is from this day forward my trueborn son. Before this body I name him my Master of Arms and commander of the Prathian Guard!"
*
"Eagle King! Eagle King! Eagle King!"
From the balcony of the Epirian palace, Hurrus looked out over the multitudes filling the square. Such faces, such joy, ecstasy! Men pumped their fists in the air as they cried his name, and women raised their hands as if grasping for the sun. The joyous throngs spilled into every street and avenue. They hung from windows and congregated on rooftops. For as far as Hurrus' eye could see, there was no space that was not filled with his subjects pressing to catch a glimpse of their new king. Their cry of "Eagle King!" reverberated off of every wall and edifice with a strength that seemed capable of toppling them.
Temples and public buildings stood as islands in a sea of humanity. Even the new Mausoleum was a mere platform from which people might find a better view of their king. Faces peered out at him from the hanging gardens on its rooftop that surrounded the pyramid of Nadia's Tomb. So magnificent was the rest of the structure that many people did not even notice it up there, a near-exact replica of the one that originally housed Nadia's body in Archentethe. Zarcen unleashing the dawn from his spreading wings was almost lost amid the palms, the wild ferns and flowers of the garden. Kunuum's starry souls pouring from his fist went likewise unnoticed. Hurrus himself had supervised the carving of the Tygetian picture-writing that filled the door-face of the pyramid. He had taken the words from the walls surrounding the Blood Gate. The workmen had no knowledge of what they carved, for only Hurrus knew the incantations that would release Nadia's soul to heaven and he had laughed when the workmen had covered their ears and cowered in fear when he had spoken them.
The Mausoleum itself, a marvel of architecture that was already famous throughout the world, housed the tombs of his mother, Eunice, and father, Arrhus, who was called the Opener of the Way, for he had broken Xarhux's wall. As he gazed on the ma
sses now, Hurrus could only imagine the silence and peace inside the tombs as the surf of jostling humanity lapped at its doors outside. He was happy to see the Mausoleum so gaily bedighted. He had built it so his people would enjoy it and remember their fallen king - and so the king himself might see that his son had not failed to return to reclaim the crown he had left for him.
The Opener of Hurrus' Way stood with him on the balcony, Xandros, in full war regalia, a symbol of Hurrus' military might. Hurrus cast him a glance, but Xandros' face was stone. He was unmoved by the cries of "Eagle King!" probably because he knew Hurrus when he was but an Eagle Man and even earlier when he was not a man at all. Xandros had served him well. Hurrus determined at that moment that he would think of some way to honor his friend.
But that was for later.
For now, he would honor his people.
He put his hand on Antona's shoulder and gave her a smile. In reply, she offered him a half-turn of her lovely face with just the faint trace of a smile on her lips. He could see how the people adored her and how she raised her chin when she gazed down on them and he knew she truly was their queen.
Hurrus raised his free hand, beckoning silence. The people obeyed. That such a stillness could befall so great a mass of humanity was astounding. Hurrus would give them the same reply he had given his soldiers.
"If I am an eagle," he cried, his voice bouncing off the walls of the edifices that surrounded the square, "it is because you are my wings!"
"Eagle King! Eagle King! Eagle King!"
It was the name itself that gave his people wings, that set their imaginations soaring. They loved the idea of the Eagle King and Hurrus was happy to give them the eagle if they wanted it. But he knew there was nothing of the eagle about him, for inside him beat the heart of the bull.
"Eagle King! Eagle King! Eagle King!"
The people might call him Eagle King, but he knew what he was.
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