Chapter 9.
Arbephest paced at such speeds that he and his men could have been running towards Rhoma. The warlord breathed heavily, the madness in his eye still throbbing. Not a word was uttered as they marched, bloody and scarred, back to the blockades of Rhoma. The red sky was now cloudless and the sun at its peak, causing the men to sweat drastically, smearing blood and dirt all across their perspiring skin.
Upon approach of the ancient town’s derelict gates guards ran out to greet Arbephest. They looked desperate for sight of their leader and his men, near all of them bruised and savaged from battle.
“Warlord?” Four guards stood to attention, saluting respectfully.
“Eros, Nichos, make haste to the armoury, have the troop captains assemble the entirety of Rhoma’s army, veterans and any men and women who are willing to bear arms alike. GO!” The warlord had no time to explain to the men what had occurred, there was a matter much dearer to him he wished to be gone from his system, something that burned within him with such ferocity that it could no longer wait.
He commanded the survivors of battle to rest and made haste himself to the stable of Rhoma. Arbicos followed without comment nor did Arbephest object. Each street they paced down labourers gawped in amazement and shock at the sight of their warlord. Not an inch of him was not covered by wounds or dirt or smeared blood. He was yet to feel the pain of his actions for the adrenaline of combat still pumped through his veins.
Still bleeding, Arbephest leapt upon Annabelle and without hesitance urged her onwards into powerful gallop towards the exit of his home. Riding, he heard Rhoma’s town bells ring aloud, it had been too long since he had heard that sound, the sound that signalled war had been brought to his lands.
Arbephest forced great strain upon Annabelle, hurrying her ever faster across the green planes of Greece. He did not let up on her for a moment despite her intense breathing between every powerful stride she took. Arbicos knew not of Arbephest’s intentions. Amidst the turmoil of his depression he feared for the worst. Far behind him the young male struggled to keep his mount up with Annabelle’s explosive pace.
Approaching the entrance of Athenia, quicker than any journey either of the men had ever experienced, the town’s guards charged out to greet them. As they approached their expressions quickly turn to horror.
“Warlord Arbephest? What has become of you?” The aging male bound past the men without acknowledgment. He urged Annabelle on through the finely kept gates of his capital and into the streets amidst its walls.
Once more labourers stood and stared, puzzled and amazed, some covered their mouths at the sight of the warlord of Rhoma, still the warrior paid little heed to them, he cantered his mount to the boundaries of Peremes’ personal domain.
Leaping down from Annabelle, Arbephest stormed between the guards who could only stare in awe, and through the entrance of his king’s fort. There on his thrown Peremes sat, his cheek resting upon a fist. At sight of Arbephest the small male jumped, sitting up in his seat.
“Arbephest?” He muttered, there was a tremble in his tone. The warlord did not reply however, he charged at his king grabbing his throat with a most powerful grasp. He forced the male up and pinned him to the back of his throne.
Arbicos rushed into the hall as his leader squirmed desperately in pain, pinned in a death grip by the muscle bound veteran. He too had no respect for the male, he was ashamed that all of the Hellenes should be ruled by such a pathetic character, and though he was stunned by his peer’s actions, he would certainly not intervene.
“Arbicos! Guards -” Peremes tensed his scrawny neck as Arbephest squeezed it ever tighter. Within moments the king’s guard captain, Heleon, and several others stood at the entrance of Peremes’ abode entered the hall, they stopped in their tracks at the sight of Arbephest grappling their king by his neck.
“Warlord!”
“Get th…” Peremes wheezed. Arbephest crushed the life out of him, he brought his ruined face level with his ruler and bellowed with fury.
“FIVE HUNDRED DEAD ATHENIAN MEN LAY OUTSIDE THE WALLS OF YOUR TERRITORY, KILLED BY THE INVADERS FROM BEYOND THE PILLARS. THE INVADERS THAT YOU DISMISSED.” With his greatest efforts he scrunched his fist raising his king from the throne. His skin turned dark red. Before he fell unconscious the warlord thrust forward his arm with might causing the male to crumble back into his seat lifeless.
Arbephest huffed deeply. Each man in the room stood in silence. Tears began to stream down Peremes’ face, he clutched at his red raw neck however Arbephest was far beyond any remorse.
“Take them, take the armies.” It was not enough, Arbephest glared at the man through those psychotic eyes, kill him, the burning haze called to him and for a moment he trembled. Blinded by rage he swung a giant fist out letting it crash into the woodwork of his king’s throne causing the small male to violently flinch and raise his arms screaming in fear.
The rugged veteran turned about, he looked briefly at Arbicos before turning to make leave. “Know that it is on your head, Peremes, YOU are the reason why five hundred Athenian men lay dead outside our towns.” He paced towards the hall’s exit. Heleon and his guards stepped aside glaring down at the floor.
Arbicos followed Arbephest out of the fort and back into the streets of Athenia. They remounted and urged their steeds to make a hasty leave from the fortified town as yet more labourers stopped their work to stare in disbelief at the state of Arbephest. Passing the town gates, Arbephest immediately urged Annabelle into gallop but hastily halted her charge for the sound of his kinsman filled the quiet air. He allowed the young male to catch up though truly had little interest in what he might have to say.
“How are your wounds, Arbephest?”
“Little more than scratches.” He exhaled through his nose causing fresh blood to line his upper lip, “what is it, Arbicos?”
“Let us travel under this moon to look upon our enemy, there were many men rowing to shore, they must settle at the Northern Pinnacle. Let’s see up close what we’re against before we march to war tomorrow. We need not be long.” After some moments stricken in thought Arbephest began to nod repeatedly.
“When and where shall we meet?”
“I’ll wait for you at the stable of Rhoma in the deepest of the night, be sure to get some rest, brother.” Arbephest nodded at his kinsman. As they turned to gallop their separate ways the horrors of his previous nights riding shook Arbephest’s thoughts.
“Arbicos,” the young male turned to look upon him, “keep close eye upon the tree lines, under the last moon I was chased by some wild beasts, I think they ate your guard captain alive.” The young warlord nodded distantly, appearing to pay little heed to Arbephest’s words. The veteran shook his head, “be wary, Arbicos.” He turned Annabelle away to face north, and with nothing more to say the warriors went their separate ways, each gripped with an un-residing anxiety for the invaders they knew rested unchallenged upon the northern shores of their home.
Arbephest throbbed with such pain that each stride Annabelle took shook a violent pang from head to toe through his nervous system, he knew he would have little chance to rest. Daylight was beginning to fade, the sky was clear of clouds now yet the blue of the world the warlord once knew was scarcely distinguishable for an ever deepening red tint that enveloped it. He sought some rest and tendency to his wounds before the events of the night ahead ensued.
The Echoes of Solon Page 16