“Now!” she said, dropping her arm, and another wave of arrows broke and arced up and over, striking the Myrmidons as they rushed to put out the fires on their decks, their shields only half-remembered, and their heads still bare.
She thought she could identify Peleus now, his sword drawn as he leaned out from the mast, using the blade to direct his men as they stamped out the fires. He wore a helm of bronze and gold, plumed with a long tail of horse hair, likely stolen from one of the raided horses of the Lapiths. Hippodamia wished she could reach out and tear it from his head. Instead, she lifted her own bow, pulled an arrow from her quiver, and took aim.
“Leave these lands or you will only suffer worse,” Hippodamia called over the sounds his men made, some shallowly wounded and others merely angry.
Peleus sheathed his sword, and even from this distance, she felt his eyes upon her. Knew he had found her as she had found him. “If Pirithous is so desperate as to send his wife to meet us, the only people who will suffer are yours!”
She let her arrow fly, grinning wildly at Peleus’s shout as it speared the plume of his helm against the mast. Beside her, Melanthos laughed aloud, and a few of the other men chuckled with him. Her men, sitting upon their horses like kings. The Myrmidons might as well have been the ants they were named for.
“He cannot turn back, or he will be shamed by his men, now,” Theseus said, though even he smiled. “You should not linger, Lady. Peleus has marked you, and he will want your head for that trick. We will pick off his men as they come ashore, if we can, but most will make it through, and you will be in grave danger then.”
“If I retreat now, it will only encourage his men.”
“Let them have their courage, leaping from their ships. They’ll be that much easier to kill,” Melanthos said. “And we have our horses. Once they’re off their ships, we’ll run them down one by one if need be, but after the line breaks, it will be that much harder to guard you.”
“Then I will be more difficult to guard,” Hippodamia said, resolved. Let Peleus mark her. Let him wish to do her harm. “If Peleus will come for me, we will know how to find him. And besides, as long as I ride Podarkes, he will never catch me. Not even upon another horse. I will stay and watch, to give our men heart.”
Melanthos touched his fist to his forehead in respect, and she leaned forward upon her horse, watching Peleus order his ships to beach. The first men who leapt over the side of his ship fell to well-aimed Lapith arrows, but the next did not forget their shields, covering themselves more carefully, and once the ship was grounded, they spilled over the deck too quickly and too numerous to be struck down at all.
The horses began to dance beneath their riders, and even Hippodamia had to tighten her hold upon the reins as Podarkes caught the excitement of the others. Theseus raised his arm, taking command of the men now that she had done her part. The Myrmidons had begun taking aim at them now, and Hippodamia threw her bow across her back, taking up the light shield instead. Leather wrapped over wood with a thin sheet of gold atop it, which offered no protection at all, no matter how fine it looked with Medusa’s snake-haired head glaring at her enemies.
She worried more for Podarkes than herself, for he presented the larger target by far. He sidled back a step, and she let him, holding the shield up high over both of them and doing her best not to flinch at the arrows raining down around them.
“Hippodamia!” Peleus roared, drawing her attention back to the bank. He held a spear, his arm cocked back, and at her glance, he let it fly.
She ignored the wrench of fear as it arced up, aimed so finely she had no doubt he meant it for her breast, and dug a heel into Podarkes’s ribs, shifting him just enough that the spear missed its mark, the tip sinking deep into the earth beside her. She swallowed hard, forcing herself not to give it more than a dismissive glance, and holding her head up high.
If he had hoped for her to break and run, she would not give him the satisfaction of even a glimmer of unease.
Theseus cursed, circling with his horse to tear the spear from the ground. “If you do not retreat now, I cannot guarantee you will be able to at all. Do not make me tell Pirithous he lost his new wife to Peleus’s men. He wanted you in the storeroom, safe.”
“He wanted me off the walls,” Hippodamia said, keeping her voice even with an effort. “And I have done as he asked. Antiope will see to the women and children should the worst come to pass.”
Theseus grimaced, glancing down the line of men. “She would if she had remained behind the walls.”
Hippodamia followed his gaze, fixed upon a too-slender rider at the end of the line, bow in hand and lips peeled back in a feral grin as she loosed her arrows with an easy grace. There was no question in her mind that it was Antiope, just as Theseus said. And that left the palace walls without leadership of any kind, beyond the handful of Pirithous’s host who had promised to guard the gates. She would simply have to trust the men Melanthos and Theseus had left behind.
“Antiope to me!” Hippodamia called out, and then she lowered her voice, meeting Theseus’s eyes. “Set fire to the bank if they are fool enough to leave their ships grounded upon it. I only wish I had thought of torching the whole of it before now, that they might have leapt from their ships into flame from the start.”
“You are certain you will not turn back?” Theseus asked, lines of worry fanning from his eyes, as he watched his wife gallop toward them. “Take Antiope with you and return to the walls?”
She shook her head. “I will not deny her, as I beg you not to deny me now. But I will keep her as my guard, along with Melanthos. For your sake and mine. Just try not to ruin Pirithous’s horses, or he will never forgive me.”
Theseus barked a rough laugh. “I will do my best to keep the men and horses in one piece, if you will promise to do the same for yourself.”
“You needn’t fear for her, Theseus,” Antiope said, having joined them. “I’ll be at her side.”
He pressed his lips together, as if his wife’s words offered no reassurance at all, but he put his heels to his horse, turning it neatly in place as he called to the men to follow, and Hippodamia let herself believe they would win.
They had to win.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Pirithous
It was the shouting that woke him, the far-off cries slipping through his dreams and reminding him there was more yet to do, another battle to win before he could lie in his bed. Peleus. Peleus and those thrice-cursed Myrmidons, come to steal his horses.
“Mia?” he called, his voice far too thin.
Pirithous sat up slowly, stabbing pain in his chest with every movement and the rattling sound of his breathing too loud in his ears. She was not at his bedside, where he dimly remembered she had been, offering him words of comfort and soft touches. She was not in his room at all.
“Hippodamia?” he called again, still wheezing but louder. Stronger, in spite of the pain. He used one of the bed posts to climb to his feet, wincing only once at the shattering flame that coursed through his leg when he put his weight upon it. He did not have time for fractured bones, nor cracked and broken ribs, and he had rested enough now that the ichor in his blood would have done some of the work of knitting them.
Even so, he felt light-headed, and had to close his eyes, leaning heavily upon the doorframe to gather his strength. He could not breathe deeply yet. Could barely breathe at all. But he had to rise. Had to fight.
Father, grant me a measure of your strength. I have need of it now.
If Zeus heard his plea, there was no answer, and every breath was as belabored as the last. Every beat of his heart just as loud, just as throbbing. He had the strength. He had always had the strength to rise. But to fight?
“Mia,” he murmured again, opening his eyes. He must find Mia, and learn what had happened. And he was a fool to think she would be waiting at his bedside with the clash of swords ringing in the distance. She would be upon the walls, with Antiope, or in the megaron with
the women and children. She would be where she was needed most.
Pirithous managed to dress, even tying his sword belt around his waist—though lifting it up cost him his breath for a time—then he went in search of his wife.
Lord Zeus, my father, grant me your strength, I beg of you.
The farther he walked, the less he ached, and the more he burned instead. Fire in his blood, lightning lacing his bones. The ichor in his blood answering his prayers, as it often did when he called upon his father for aid. He would have the strength to stand, even perhaps to fight, but tomorrow he would be more than worthless for anything at all.
In the megaron, the women busied the children with small games, but he saw no sign of Hippodamia or Antiope among them.
“She went with the men,” Karpathia said, when he found the servant Antiope had gifted his wife.
“Not Antiope,” he said. “Hippodamia, your queen.”
Karpathia smiled. “Yes, my lord. The queen went with the men in your place. She led them out on horseback, as many as she could mount, with bows and spears and swords. My lady Antiope was meant to stay upon the wall to guard us, but I doubt she has remained behind. She would not let my lord Theseus go into battle alone.”
“But surely if Theseus led the men, there was no need for Hippodamia to join them?”
“She is queen, my lord,” Karpathia said simply. “Who has the right to stop her?”
He shook his head, staring blankly at the hearth. She must have been still upon the wall. He could not imagine she would enter battle when she knew nothing of defense. Nothing of war, truly, at all. To risk herself so foolishly…
His brave fool of a mouse.
“Perhaps Erithia will know more, upon the wall,” Karpathia suggested.
He gave Karpathia a smile and nodded to the rest of the women as he left, before he made more of a spectacle of himself. A king should not have to go in search of his wife, and learn from the servants that she had gone to battle in his stead. Hippodamia should have told him what she intended. She should have woken him, at the least.
His blood burned all the hotter by the time he reached the wall and climbed it. He was not quite wheezing when he reached the top, and he closed his hands into fists to keep from pressing a palm against his ribs. he dared not show weakness, and it would not ease the pain besides.
Glaukos, one of his raiders, spotted him before he got far, and grinned widely to see him. “My lord! I knew you would not stay in bed for long with a battle to be fought, no matter how grievous your wounds.”
“Yes,” Pirithous said absently, for he could see them now. The Lapiths on their horses, wheeling about, raising dust and ash beneath their hooves as they charged the Myrmidons, all flashing sunlight from the bronze and gold and silver of their armor. He searched for Hippodamia among them, or even Antiope, but it was impossible to tell one figure from another at such a distance. “Hippodamia fights?”
“She would not hear any objection, and even King Theseus was worn thin. I think he hoped she would ride back to the safety of the walls when the fighting broke out, but we’ve seen no sign of her. Melanthos acts as her guard, you need not fear.”
Pirithous snorted, unable to tear his eyes from the battle upon the plane. He was too far away. Too far to know for certain how much fear should tighten around his heart. As it was, he could not breathe, thinking of Hippodamia among the horsemen, risking herself for him.
“I require a horse, Glaukos. Or perhaps a chariot would be better.”
“I fear there are no suitable horses, my lord. Just Fire left behind, too old to be trusted in battle.”
“Then I will ride Fire,” Pirithous said, turning from the wall and setting off down the stairs again. It jarred his ribs, but the lightning burned away the pain before he was forced to stop, and he did not care besides. Fire was his horse, after all. She had been his first horse, and it seemed only fair to give her the honor of being his last, should the Fates demand it.
“My lord, be reasonable,” Glaukos said, following after him toward the stables. “You are injured, and while Fire might run herself to death for you, I cannot imagine that is what you want for her end. Stay upon the wall with us, and leave the fighting to Theseus and Antiope.”
“I will not leave my queen to face Peleus alone,” Pirithous said. “If I must sacrifice Fire to the gods for her safety, to stand at her side or die with her, so be it.”
“You must at least wear your armor, my lord,” Glaukos said, catching hold of his arm at the stable door. “Please at least do that, or the Myrmidons will spear you through the heart before the queen has even caught sight of you.”
Pirithous bared his teeth, closing his hands into fists and letting the lightning in his veins spark and crackle over his skin. Glaukos leapt back, a prayer to Zeus upon his lips.
“Tell the men to be ready to open the gate,” Pirithous said. “And find me a spear and a shield. I’ll need nothing more beyond that.”
He charged through the gate with Fire, the cheers of his men upon the walls filling his ears and his gaze fixed on the river bank, upon the horses and the glinting of arms and armor. What had possessed her to mount his men, he did not know, could not understand, but he promised himself he would find out soon enough. That he would find her, alive.
Glaukos had given him a shield of bronze, still begging him to armor himself. But lightning crackled through his blood, over his skin, and that would serve him well enough. Let Peleus see what he had woken, let him understand fully what he had done. For years, the Lapiths had ignored his small raids upon their horses, but no longer. Peleus would not escape this day unscathed.
“Peleus!” Pirithous roared. “Cowardly swine. Hiding behind centaurs, bronze, and gold! Face me, Peleus! FACE ME!”
He did not even see the men who came at him, simply struck them down as he rode through the fighting. His own men parted before him, making way. Pirithous caught a spear out of the air when it came hurtling toward him, and threw it back at the Myrmidon who had sent it. Arrows bounced off his shield, even his skin, leaving the scent of burning wood and scorched metal in the air. None of it mattered. He had his father’s protection, his father’s power, and none of their weapons would reach him.
“You come late to your own defense, Pirithous!” Peleus called out, and Pirithous found him at last, sitting atop Podarkes. And Mia nowhere to be found. “Your wife was kind enough to bring me the horses I desired directly. Such a generous gift, do you not think?”
“Where is she?” Pirithous demanded.
“Who?” Peleus asked, smiling.
“My wife!” he snarled. “You sit atop her horse and profess to know nothing of her fate?”
“This horse?” Peleus jerked on the reins, making Podarkes spin in a tight circle, but even from this distance, Pirithous could see the wildness of the stallion’s eyes. Podarkes had always required a soft touch, and if Peleus was not careful, he would not sit atop him for long. “I believe I’ll keep him for myself when this is over.”
Pirithous growled, tightening his grip upon his sword and digging his heels into Fire. She reared and launched herself forward, unafraid. Peleus grinned, lifting his sword to meet the swing, but at the last moment Pirithous brought up his shield instead, causing Peleus’s blade to slide instead of catch and his balance to shift. Fire snapped at Podarkes’s flank, making him kick. Peleus fell. As quickly and as easily as that, he was unseated, and Podarkes did not wait to be mounted again, but fled.
“You never were much of a horseman,” Pirithous taunted, swinging a leg over Fire’s neck and sliding off her back. He landed lightly, sword and shield held loosely in his hands. “No matter how many horses you steal, you cannot keep them. You cannot break them. You cannot stay upon their backs. And Podarkes of all horses, to think you had the skill to ride him? Why? Because Hippodamia had tamed him? A mere woman? My wife has more skill in her smallest finger than you have in your whole body.”
He could not kill Peleus until he c
onfessed what had become of Hippodamia, but Pirithous could hurt him. On horseback or off it, he had the advantage, and Peleus was still scrambling to find his feet. His sword had slipped from his hand when he struck the ground, but Pirithous could see in his eyes the realization that he could not risk turning away to look for it.
Peleus bared his teeth. “That wife of yours is just another prize I’ll steal from you. And all the more reason if she is so skilled. She can keep your horses in my stables, instead of yours. And at night, I’ll give her to my men to do with as they please.”
“You cannot steal my wife if you are dead,” Pirithous said, brandishing his sword.
“And how do you know I haven’t taken her already?” Peleus asked. “While you were sleeping off your wounds, I’ve been fighting your men, cutting them down one by one, and sending your precious horses back to my ships. You and Theseus both are fools to think we would not take your women, too, simply because they dressed themselves in armor.”
“Antiope would die before she gave herself up to you,” Pirithous said, advancing. Upon the rise, he could see down the bank to Peleus’s ships and the men who had remained there as guards. The horses they’d rounded up in makeshift pens. Mia could never have lost Podarkes by accident. Would never have been caught so long as she was atop his back. She was too smart, too quick. “And if Hippodamia is taken, it is only because she allowed it for her own ends. Because fool that you are, you think to hold her hostage in a sea of horses. Horses she has tamed to her hand, to her voice, with the Horse-Lord’s own skill.”
Peleus’s face paled, his gaze darting toward his ships, then back to Pirithous again. He licked his lips, standing, straight-backed and proud. “You only wish to rattle me. As if I would ever fear a woman. Even the Amazons are nothing to the might of the Myrmidons.”
Tamer of Horses Page 28