“The Hold will need deeds which match your words in the coming days, Guardsman Nikomedes,” the Hold Mistress replied with a curt nod. “I am certain that yours is a tale that will bear telling for years to come, but that telling must be postponed in light of recent events.”
Hypatios Nykator made a conciliatory expression that was patently false to any who had stood in the Great Hall before. “What is in the past is in the past,” he said without a trace of sympathy in his voice, “we must honor our little thorn’s memory by pressing forward and ensuring that all which was to be hers is seen after in accordance with our traditions.”
Nikomedes felt his jaw clench tightly shut at hearing Nykator invoke tradition, since he only did so when it suited his purpose. Nykator’s eldest daughter with Hold Mistress Zosime, Hesper, stood to essentially move into position to receive those lands and titles which Akantha had been destined to administer since her older half-sister had been killed by the Sky Demons.
“I ask for neither song nor ceremony,” Nikomedes said after making brief eye contact with the Hold Mistress, “what I have done was with Lady Adonia’s best interests in mind, Hold Mistress.” The Hold Mistress looked ready to respond, but her Protector preempted her.
“A touching sentiment,” Nykator interrupted gruffly as a sneer spread across his lips, “but those who cling to the dust and echoes of the past will soon become dust and echoes themselves.”
Nikomedes needed to hold his tongue for at least a little while longer, so he bit back the retorts that he wanted to hurl at the warlord. There will be a time and place for that, Nikomedes thought as he remained in a kneeling position on the first step.
“You do our Hold great honor by your deeds, Nikomedes,” Hold Mistress Zosime said, her voice trembling just enough that one who had been in a score of council meetings with her—as Nikomedes had while at Nykator’s side—could hear the anguish she held back far better than Nikomedes ever thought he could do, “but for now, we ask that you arise and accept our gratitude for your accomplishment so that we might attend to the other matters of the day.”
Nikomedes stood, made his respects to the Hold Mistress, and took his customary place just outside of Nykator’s cadre. Within minutes, the Great Hall was buzzing with a dozen separate conversations—most of which were about his Quest of Acclaim to retrieve the Minos Sword—and not long after that he found himself engaged by the various nobles and gentry which formed the upper crust of Argosian society.
“Let me see that thing,” Kephus gestured to the Minos Sword after Nikomedes had returned to the barracks following the overly long day within the Great Hall.
Nikomedes unslung it from its hook-and-scabbard on his back and held it out with one hand on the hilt and the blade parallel to the floor. Kephus accepted it, immediately making a surprised expression at the weapon’s weight.
But after a few gentle pivots of the weapon in his wrist, Kephus nodded approvingly, “It’s quick for its length; heavy…but well-balanced.”
He immediately pivoted and brought the blade down through the chair which Nikomedes had occupied for the many meetings he had previously held since allying himself with Kephus.
The Minos Sword went clean through the wood, creating nearly mirrored halves of the thick, wooden seat before the blade itself buried a foot into the heavy wooden floor planks.
“By Men!” Kephus breathed after tugging it free—an act which required no small amount of effort to accomplish. “Have you tested it against metal?”
Nikomedes shook his head, “Not extensively. I only had a ruined vambrace forged of quality alloy, and it was too thin and small to perform proper tests with.”
Kephus nodded, his eyes alight with excitement as he said, “I’ve set up some old scraps in the training room. I say we put this thing through its paces.”
Nikomedes nodded and the two made their way to the training room, which had once again been cleared in the middle and now five separate training dummies stood in the center with various pieces of armor strapped to them.
“Let’s see about ring mail over leather,” Kephus said, stepping to the first dummy. He held the sword out before himself, his balance and posture surprisingly good for having only picked up the weapon, but Nikomedes supposed a man with as much experience as Kastor Kephus would have handled weapons similar to this one’s dimensions in the past.
With a sharp, clean, three quarter stroke Kephus brought the Minos Sword down through the ring mail’s shoulder where it lodged in the middle of the vertical log which gave the dummy its backbone.
“Amazing,” Kephus breathed after pulling the blade free and looking at it with open amazement. Nikomedes was just as interested as Kephus was to see just how the weapon performed against genuine armor, so they moved to the second dummy which was draped with primitive, heavy, but thoroughly effective scale mail.
Kephus held the Minos Sword at his hip and took a powerful, fast step forward as he brought the sword in a lateral arc with a tiny vertical angle and drove the edge into the hip of the dummy.
The scale plates which had been covering that part of the dummy were split in two, with a handful of metal fragments clattering to the floor beside the chunk of ruined armor. This time, Kephus’ blow cut clean through the dummy’s vertical post and the dummy itself went toppling to the floor with only a meter tall chunk of the log remaining upright and attached to the base.
“No sense in ruining any more of the armor,” he said with a laugh as he handed the Minos Sword back to Nikomedes. “There is nothing as thick as that scale…though if you want to give it a try, you’re welcome to do so,” he gestured to the last three remaining dummies.
Nikomedes nodded as he accepted his sword back into his hand, and he eyed the three remaining dummies. The first wore battered field plate which was roughly similar to that which Nykator had gifted him under the auspices of presenting a gift from the Hold Mistress. The second was a breastplate over a long chainmail gown that stretched from the shoulders to the knees, and beneath that chain was padded leather armor.
The third, however, was a suit of full plate mail that was probably even thicker than that which he now wore. The full plate had several massive rents from fatal spear wounds in its lower breastplate, but the pauldrons and upper breastplate were fully intact, so he raised the sword over his right shoulder and then lowered the tip of the weapon to the wooden floor behind him while his hands rested at his side with the hilt firmly gripped in them. Drawing a deep breath, he stepped forward with his left leg—having decided against showing even Kephus that he was a native left-handed fighter—and drove with every last bit of power and speed he could muster for the blow, bringing the Minos Sword over his shoulder in a rainbow-shaped arc and hammering it into the thickest part of the armor’s pauldron.
The Minos Sword split through the shoulder guard and breastplate completely; if it had been on a man when he had delivered the blow then that man would have found everything to the left side of his sternum removed from his body as his heart had been bisected before the sword exited through his groin. Since the armor was on the wooden dummy, the Minos Sword actually missed the vertical log which formed its base frame and buried itself into the heavy wooden base, where Nikomedes removed it with a single tug after having gained significant practice doing so en route to Argos after reclaiming the weapon.
“A fine blade,” Kephus said after a lengthy silence, and Nikomedes grunted as he placed it back into its hook-and-scabbard on his back. “What have you chosen for its name?”
Nikomedes smiled as he met the other man’s eyes. “The Minos Sword,” he replied proudly, “and I, its bearer, am Nikomedes Minos.”
“The ‘Sword of Kings’,” Kephus nodded slowly as he understood at least some of the name’s significant. “It’s likely to be an unpopular name…but equally likely to serve you well.”
“When do you plan to move against Nykator?” Nikomedes asked, deciding to get straight to the heart of the matter now that the pleasan
tries were out of the way.
“Not until this mourning period is over,” the guard commander replied. “But when that happens twenty days from now, I expect each of us will find himself surrounded by enemies in need of a proper cleaving.” He grinned while gesturing at the Minos Sword strapped to Nikomedes’ back, “It’s a good thing we’ve got the perfect tool for the job.”
Chapter XXIV: Destiny
Day after day was spent in the Great Hall, where the upper class of Argos—and even a few surrounding Holds which were presently on friendly terms with Hold Mistress Zosime—were represented by men and women wearing the finest threads, furs, and armor that Nikomedes had ever seen assembled in one place.
The musicians played the traditional songs of mourning, and even Hold Mistress Zosime seemed to have accepted her daughter’s fate after a few days. A mother could afford to wallow in sorrow at the loss of a favored child, but a Hold Mistress who did so would find her enemies descended upon her in force while her mind was addled by the throes of grief.
The only people who would genuinely have been happy to see such a strong, intelligent, driven woman as Adonia Akantha Zosime cut down before she could assume her place among the Hold Mistresses were the Lyconese, whose envoy stood unaccompanied and alone in a far corner of the Great Hall.
On and on it went, with new arrivals making their obeisance to the Hold Mistress or offering their condolences, depending on their station and affiliation with Argos. Those people then mingled with the rest of the slowly growing crowd, which on this particular day was composed of nearly twice as many individuals as had been present for Nikomedes’ return.
He had been approached dozens—perhaps hundreds—of times to recount his tale of recovering the Minos Sword, but he had steadfastly refused to do so since the Hold Mistress had made clear that now was not the time to revel in glorious deeds. Whether he would rekindle the line of kings or not, Nikomedes would honor the Hold Mistress while standing as a guest in her Great Hall, since doing otherwise would be insulting, dishonorable, and outright unwise.
Meanwhile, Nykator’s cronies had already begun to angle for position as they awaited the official declaration of Hesper’s ascent to the station of First Daughter to the Hold. Nikomedes had given the matter extensive thought in recent days and had eventually decided that, even though he would need to wait a few years before he could become a Protector to her, Hesper represented his quickest path to the accomplishment of his ambitions.
The Lyconese envoy, in fact, approached him on this particular day and gave a respectful bow as he did so. “You are Nikomedes,” the woman said with an approving look at his armored physique before her eyes caught on the hilt of the Minos Sword, “and this is the sword of King Lykurgos?”
“It is the Minos Sword,” Nikomedes corrected evenly, “and, yes, I am Nikomedes Minos.”
Her lips pressed together in a short-lived pout, and he felt as though his skin was crawling as she spoke in a silky smooth voice that was clearly the product of many years’ practice in halls like this one, “That is an…unfortunate name. It speaks to a rebellious spirit and draws the mind to an age which would better remain buried in the past.”
“What do you know of my spirit?” he asked in a challenging tone.
“I know that no ordinary man—or warlord, for that matter,” she replied easily, flipping her hair with effortless grace without breaking her cadence, “could travel to the gorge and retrieve that weapon from King Lykurgos’ tomb. Many have attempted to do so,” she said, her eyes piercing his own, “and none have succeeded—in fact, of those who survived the descent, none have returned in over a hundred years. Such an act denotes uncommon valor,” she said, turning to face the Hold Mistress’ dais and Nikomedes could not help but glimpse the Lyconesian’s ample bosom from his now perfect viewing angle. It was difficult to ignore her loosely-buttoned shirt, which fit her figure perfectly and blended nicely with the trousers beneath. “And such valor is better rewarded in some places than in others,” she added after a brief, but pointed, pause.
He knew she was making some sort of a recruiting pitch, and was clearly not above using her own body as bait, but he shook his head and took his eyes from her admittedly impressive feminine wiles. “You know nothing of me,” he said dismissively.
“Perhaps not,” she said with a playful hint in her voice as she cast a mischievous look in his direction before returning her apparent attention to the dais, “but perhaps I would be interested to learn on behalf of my Hold Mistress.”
“You are direct,” Nikomedes said with equal parts amusement and approval.
“As are you, from what little I have learned,” she said with a wistful sigh.
“You cannot mean for me to accept,” he mused aloud, “but rather you intend to sow dissent by approaching me in this public setting?”
She laughed lightly, tossing her dark auburn hair again and causing her jeweled necklace to jingle and glitter in the light streaming through the nearby window. “It seems some of you are not as dense as the rest,” she said, making a moue of approval with her lips. “Good for you, Nikomedes. But should you find your fortunes have taken a turn for the worse in this hall,” she said, turning to fix him with a piercing look, “you need only travel east and say that I sent you when arriving at a hall where men of your ilk can find important positions beside the most important people.”
“I am not interested,” he said flatly, “though I appreciate and even applaud your efforts, I will never leave Argos.”
“You know what they say,” she sighed before bowing, “one should never say ‘never,’ for one does not know what turns the future might hold.”
With that she turned and left him for her previous position in the far corner of the hall.
Less than an hour after being approached by the Lyconese envoy, Nikomedes heard a commotion from the doors leading into the Great Hall. He turned to see Kephus and his group of hand-picked men listening to a frantic, but hushed report from one of the sentries and without so much as addressing the curious crowd, Kephus and his men left the hall and closed the doors behind themselves.
There had been several disturbances in recent days outside the Great Hall as warriors had come to blows over perceived slights against the Hold’s First Daughter, but they had been little more than brazen attempts by young men to gain some measure of notice from the likes of Kephus, Nykator, and amusingly enough even from Nikomedes.
He turned his back to the doors and eyed Kapaneus, who made no attempt to hide that he did the same. The burly-looking protégé of Argos’ sitting Protector met Nikomedes’ steady gaze for several long moments before pointedly looking at the Minos Sword across Nikomedes’ back and snickering as he turned his back emphatically.
Nikomedes knew it was yet another in an endless series of mind games, and that they would take some toll no matter how much he wished to ignore them, but he also knew that the rest of Argos’ warriors—other than Hypatios Nykator, of course, and possibly Kastor Kephus—now regarded Nikomedes as having attained a higher status than they had done. That realization itself did little for Nikomedes’ ego, but he was pleased that they would actually fight each other off in the coming days. They would do so in order to reach the head of the quickly growing metaphorical line which held every warrior who would take the Minos Blade from him if they had the chance to do so.
That was the aspect which pleased him most: that his enemies would eliminate each other in an effort to take that which he would never relinquish. Men itself, the god of his people, had charged him with what could only be considered a holy cause, and he would not surrender the implements and ornaments which the Voice had provided him in support of that cause.
Several minutes after Kephus and his hand-picked men had left their usual post at the Great Hall’s main doors, those doors opened loudly and without warning, causing every warrior in the room to reach for his weapon while turning to face the potential threat.
What Nikomedes saw was disconcert
ing at first, then it was exhilarating….and then it became all-too-clear as he took the scene in completely.
Striding with her head held high, her chin jutted proudly forward, and her icy blue eyes shining with purpose, Adonia Akantha Zosime entered the Great Hall surrounded by Kephus’ men—and other men who looked like none which Nikomedes had ever seen.
But her companions were the least of Nikomedes’ concerns. Strapped across her back was what could only be a Dark Sword of Power, and while it was clearly the inferior of the Minos Sword in terms of length, breadth, and sheer intimidation, it was also clearly superior to all but two weapons which had been in the Great Hall prior to its arrival: Nikomedes’ Minos Sword, and Nykator’s Light Sword of Power.
The First Daughter of Argos had apparently not been killed by the Sky Demons; her body was clearly not inside the belly of a dragon, and she appeared no worse than she had when last Nikomedes had seen her.
But most importantly of all was the fact that she had accepted a Dark Sword of Power, and by doing so had become a Sword Bearer. Nikomedes, Kapaneus, Kallistos, Zenobios, and dozens of other competing suitors had each attempted to sway her favor toward themselves so that she would take up their sword as she had done for whichever of these newcomers was now her sworn Protector. But they had failed to do so, and in the span of only a few weeks one of these strange, foreign-looking men had convinced her to accept his sword—and that sword was a Dark Sword of Power which was unlike any Nikomedes had ever heard of or read about.
Hypatios Nykator bellowed wordlessly, causing his hand-picked cronies to move several pointed steps toward the dais on which he and Hold Mistress Zosime sat. Nikomedes saw the look on the Hold Mistress’ face turn from one of well-masked anguish to unconcealed grief before that expression also disappeared and was replaced with the joy which only a mother could know at the return of a lost child.
The Forge of Men Page 37