It was not until pitch dark that Arbicos cast gaze upon the streets of Taloma. It was a small town, un-barricaded upon the land for it had never once in all the history of its foundation come under attack from raiders. Its borders and streets were always lit up by firelight due to it being a well used harbour, all be it minute in comparison to some of the other major coastal towns of the Hellenes.
The simple houses stood no more than ten feet tall, each crafted into simple cube structures of clay. The single entrances to each building were enclosed by reed woven doors. The housing shaped out uncomplicated mud streets which laid no more than twelve feet apart in any area, some as close as six, however the generally hot weather of the Hellene’s made them firm and easy to travel upon. All knowledge in building design had been passed to the Hellenes from the Egyptians who prided themselves in cultural development.
Beyond the streets that mapped the small town, between simple wooden gates leading down to the docks of Taloma, a young male rested upon a giant palomino. Arbicos immediately recognised the figure, it was Haedra’s nephew, and he rushed to greet him with a gripping arm clasp.
“Listos, what brings you to Taloma?” Listos was a small boy with curling brown hair, his father was a smith in Cele, and though he detested it, he learned the trade under him.
“Come, Arbicos, a ship awaits you, Haedra has fallen into the nursing house. Emartes says she’s due in the coming days, if we ride hard we’ll make good time.” The warlord’s face was wiped of distress. He stared at Listos with a glowing excitement. He turned to look back at his men but his view was blocked out by his towering captain.
“Go, warlord, we’ll set sail at first light.” Chroniclus grinned at Arbicos and the two men grasped arms before their renowned leader turned to follow his kin to the small trade boat that had escorted him here.
As the warlord walked a sensation surged through him like nothing he knew, as though a great internal struggle was being lifted from his shoulders. In his first born a new life would grow and his own misery could be poured away as he brought good to his own child.
The battle in Europa had been settled with little trouble, there were no more usurpers, perhaps, he dared to think, perhaps he would begin to know peace after all the misery that had scourged his existence since his very first memory.
The Echoes of Solon Page 4