Gears of Troy 3

by Daniel Pierce

  “How interesting . . .”

  “I think so, as do many others. Many traders pay top dollar for their fleece. Can you imagine what it is most commonly used for?”

  “Camouflage?” I said the first thing that came to mind.

  “Precisely!” Teucer’s face glowed. “There is no better material in all the land for hiding in plain sight—at least none that I have discovered. And if I did find such a material, I would either sell that instead or destroy all means to produce it.”

  “This is unreal . . . amazing. I’m—I’m speechless, Teucer, really.”

  He clapped a firm hand on my back. “You and many others, my friend. Now let us get you inside and have some food before bed.”

  I met his wife and two of his younger children once we were inside the manor. I was told he had fourteen children in all, but all of those who were either not sitting with us or keeping guard had already gone to bed.

  The inside of his grand home looked like many aristocratic dwellings I had seen with its polished wooden furniture and marble floors. Though there was much to take in, most of it fell to the wayside since all I could think about was the magical fleece. I elicited a few laughs from Teucer and his wife every time I worked the sheep back into the conversation.

  I felt like I needed that fleece more than anything in the moment. What was more, the man agreed to sell his current stock to me as soon as it was sheared. I offered to pay extra if he would sell it exclusively to me from then on, and he seemed open to further discussion but on one of the following days after the two of us had had some rest.

  After dinner, the shepherd showed me to one of his half-dozen spare bedrooms and then turned in for the night himself, leaving me to my pleasant dreams of the future of Port Superior and how his wool would make my warriors even more of a force to be reckoned with. The future was looking brighter all the time. I only hoped that I could find the rest of the man’s flock for him, especially since I now had a vested interest in it.

  4

  To my surprise, Helen was at the docks of Dardanelles to greet us the next morning. I led Teucer below deck and we gently placed the boxes of prints on the couch. He marveled at the ship as I showed him around, pointing out the food pantry, explaining how the faucet worked, and going over the toilet.

  “It seems you have some secrets of your own, friend,” Teucer remarked.

  “Don’t we all?” I said.

  We left our horses at the town stables, and I paid for the men there to watch them until Teucer’s sons came to collect them later in the evening. The plan was for them to ride those horses back to Troy, drop the one off that I had borrowed, and return home on their father’s steed.

  I filled Helen in on the way back, and she insisted that she accompany us to see Caria as we investigated the sheep issue further. She told me that Zinni agreed to help Master Erion, but in several days’ time after she was satisfied with her study of the gryphon cub and a few other projects she had been engaged with. Helen herself decided to delay her trip back to Illium in light of this new discovery. The cannons, she said, were definitely a backburner issue for the time being and she would send a messenger to Erion explaining the reasons for her delay.

  It was a little after lunchtime when the four of us—Helen, Caria, Teucer, and I—were in my office, which I jokingly referred to as my throne room. Parchment and bottles of ink with their respective quills were strewn across my desk and the table hugging the side wall. Those who knew I could not read the language of the land were always perplexed by the sight of my office and the arcane scribbles on the paper scattered around the room, but I would assure them that the notes I took in there were for me and no one else. It was kind of comforting knowing that my written words, using the alphabet I had grown up learning, were protected from prying eyes when I was away.

  I stacked the paper on my desk into some semblance of a pile, laid all three boxes on its smooth, non-porous surface, and began explaining the situation to Caria with intermittent interruptions from the shepherd for clarity.

  My second queen studied the tracks closely and came away just as confused as the rest of us. She had seen all known breeds of horse native to the Mediterranean, and none of them left these bizarre ink-prints.

  I huffed and peered out the wide window overlooking the harbor as I often did when alone in that room lost in thought. “I figured as much . . .”

  The door burst open and in walked Zinni with (surprise, surprise) a book in her hand. She strode over to the table and sat the book down beside one of the boxes. Until then, I had forgotten that we’d summoned her for the occasion.

  “My, this town is filled to the brim with beautiful young women,” Teucer exclaimed.

  Zinni shot him a look that dared the man to say another superficial word. He threw his hands up in apology.

  She glanced at the prints just long enough to confirm whatever hunch she had and turned to me, saying, “Prints such as this could come from a spirit. I am well-versed in ghosts and similar entities. Astral beings have no weight to them as they are insubstantial, but their magic can leave a physical mark on the mortal world regardless.” Ectoplasm, I thought back to Ghostbusters. “If this were not a hoofprint, I would conclude that this was likely left by the spirit such a print represented, but this is a hoofprint.”

  “What’s so special about that, then?” I asked.

  “Horses, when they pass, move onto an alternate plane. At least, that is what all my studies have led me to believe—this book being one of many sources I have on the topic.” She pointed to the tome on my desk. “There has never been a recorded case—in all of my extensive studies of spirits and their ilk—of a horse spirit staying behind to haunt the mortal world. There are several reasons for this, the two most important being a case of sentience and astral energy. In the case of sentience, a horse does not have the will to stay behind—there is never any unfinished business for an equine spirit to tend to before it passes on. That simply does not happen. As far as astral energy is concerned, a horse’s soul does not have the power to keep it in our world even if the horse wanted to. There are energy requirements that a horse simply cannot meet.”

  “All right,” I said. “That makes sense as far as I can understand. So, where does that leave us? Where do you think these prints came from?”

  Zinni looked back to the three open boxes and was silent for a moment before concluding with, “I am fairly certain that these prints are of a magical nature—perhaps from a horse that has been enchanted in some way.”

  She walked over to the map of Mediterranean pinned to my wall and turned to Teucer, saying, “You are the shepherd, correct?”

  The man nodded.

  “Show me where your farm is here,” Zinni said.

  He joined her and pointed out his estate. “Just there, a little north of Dardanelles.”

  “Interesting,” she said, moving closer to the map. “Anywhere but north of your land is deep within Trojan territory . . . And you say there was no other sign of foreign bodies on you land? No solid prints, no struggle with the flock, or anything out of place?”

  “That is correct.”

  She rubbed her chin and stared at the map for a long minute. “I wonder if these steeds have been enchanted with some sort of featherweight spell.”

  “You mean like they can fly?” I interjected.

  “Perhaps . . . or perhaps they are so devoid of mass that they can leap great distances and land without displacing the ground they walk upon.” She looked back to me and said, “We should send out a search party to this man’s land and investigate. I wish to come and suggest that we bring several warriors along with us.”

  “Sounds like a plan to me,” I said.

  “I will need an hour to gather my things, Troy,” she said. “If it pleases you, I will meet you on your vessel when I am ready.”

  I told her that it pleased me, and we all set to work arranging plans moving forward. Helen and I agreed that it would be most benefici
al after all for her to go ahead and assist Master Erion with the cannon development, and for her to get some men to take her in one of the other ships.

  I sent a messenger to fetch several Thirians—their Chief, Linos, and one of the tribesmen I had recently grown fond of, Scander, I specified to be among them. They came to me within the next half hour with three other lean, able-bodied men at their side. The six of us, along with Teucer, Caria, and Zinni, would return to the farm and see if there was anything else to be made from these mysterious prints. Zinni suspected that she had an instrument or two which could shine a bit more light on the details at the scene of the crime. At Zinni’s suggestion of caution, I made sure that the shepherd was appropriately armed and armored before we set out, donning him in the muscly plate mail and vertically slit-eyed helmets customary of Trojan warriors, minus the decorative plumes. He looked fairly menacing for a man in his 50’s when all was said and done. I did not think it likely that any vagabonds would return to the scene, but it was better to be safe than sorry, as they say.

  Zinni met us at the Moonshadow just as we were ready to leave. We climbed aboard and set sail for Teucer’s estate.

  It was well into the night by the time we reached his fences. We parked the ship downhill from his manor this time, instead of opting for the distant safety of the port of Dardanelles. I could see his guard boys stiffen as the nine of us approached. I pitied them for the misplaced fear they must have been feeling at seeing these fearsome armed warriors suddenly descend upon them from the darkness. One of them turned to open the gate and looked as if he was about to make a run for the manor when he was stopped by Teucer’s call.

  “It is all right, lad! It is only I and some more of the King and Queen’s men come to investigate the disappearance of the sheep!”

  This gave the child pause, and he waited for us to approach, still shaking in the knees. The other was as stiff as a board during the whole ordeal. These two were younger than the ones we had encountered the night before, and I had to question the wisdom behind stationing them here after disaster had so recently befallen the farm.

  Zinni walked to the front of our line to join the shepherd and me. Strapped around her waist she wore a belt with a brass rod protruding from her side. Hanging from its other end was a brass sphere a little larger than my curled first. I asked her what it was for when she stepped off the ship wearing it, but she refused to answer. Now, she flicked it with a finger and it began spinning on its brass axis.

  “Take me to the rest of these hoofprints, and perhaps we can figure out where the riders—if riders they were—came from or perhaps even where they were going.”

  Teucer led our entourage over to the tree where I had discovered the prints. Zinni went over and stooped closer to the marks, flicking her orb as she went. The thing spun faster and faster, eventually taking on a dim blue glow, bringing light to runes covering its surface that I had not noticed previously. She detached it from her belt and held it aloft like a wand to illuminate the prints. They were awash with the cool luminescence, its color overpowering the black of each print, making the spectral marks themselves appear blue. I saw Zinni’s orb pick up speed without further prompting, its etchings now a searing white.

  On several occasions, only for a split second each time, the hooves warped into the shape of human footprints, all the while sliding toward and around the tree and back, disappearing when out of range of the orb’s glow and reappearing once coming back into the light. Several of the men gasped, and I may have even been one of them. The prints became a bloody scarlet for a moment before the light of the brass instrument died away entirely and the prints returned to their original positions. We were all left in the quiet of darkness with only the distant chirping of crickets providing a sort of auditory relief to the tension.

  Zinni placed the object back in its clip and looked to me. “What you saw were spectral echoes.” The chills in my spine told me as much. “They tell me that it was likely these beings came from the north, as I suspected. The color red is not good. Magic often works on the power of symbolism and association, and red is usually not a good sign, representing blood, suffering, and war, among other things. It can also mean love and passion, but I do not think those interpretations apply here.”

  “So, what do you think all of this means, Zinni—beyond that?” I asked.

  “I think we can assume that these creatures were not enchanted simply to steal sheep, however precious the flock may be. I fear that it is only the beginning of something much more sinister. I do not know if it involves these poor people here any further, but I suggest we keep them safe until we can know for sure what to make of this.”

  5

  Teucer agreed to take his family and the rest of his flock back to Port Superior until we could figure out where these hoofprints were coming from and what they meant. It would be a challenge to ferry everyone back to town in one ride, but I was sure it could be done. There were the nine of us plus Teucer’s fourteen children, his wife, and eight sheep. I was just thankful that we decided not to bring the horses this time.

  The shepherd suggested we sleep in his residence for the night so that we could start out early and refreshed in the morning. I was not one to argue against a bit of sleep and, after soliciting the opinions of the rest of my crew, we all headed for the big house.

  I heard their murmurs of awe behind me as we approached the mansion. Surely, none of them had expected to meet such a sight so far out there in the country. There was a group of a dozen or more figures standing at the steps to meet us. They were cloaked in the shadow of the towering structure, and I mistakenly assumed them to be Teucer’s children waiting to greet their father. When a full-grown man stepped into the light of the moon, I discovered how wrong I was. Immediately after, my eyes began to adjust and I could see the figures behind him with more clarity.

  They were not children. They were not even dressed in any styles one would expect of Trojan citizens, high born or not. Their pants were made of some baggy black or dark blue cloth—it was difficult to tell in the dim lighting. Topping the lower section of their outfits off, each man wore sort of silky waistband that reached from just above his hips to his navel. These were of all different colors and patterns—some solid greens and red, and other comprised of two or more colors of intersecting zigzagging lines. Their tops seemed to be made of similar stuff to their pants and varied in color as much as the sashes they wore around their waists, a handful sporting decorative hems with flowery shapes or diamond patterns stitched into them. Some of these shirts were long-sleeved, reaching down to cover a man’s knuckles, and some sleeves ended just after the shoulders. Half of the men wore another layer over this one—vests of red, black, dark blue, or green, also sometimes with decorative hem designs. Most of them wore bandannas atop their heads as well. I could not tell if I was looking at a group of cutthroat pirates or a bunch of Bulgarians ready to throw a party. Either way, this was neither the time nor place for them.

  “What is this?” Teucer stepped forward, his words riddled with tension. “Who are you people?”

  My men clutched their weapons, and Zinni, unarmed, crept to the back of our group. They had only just realized that these men were unexpected.

  The stubbled man before us spread his arms out and looked our motley crew over, saying, “This is a surprise.” His accent was thick, and I could not place it. It was all I could do to understand what he was saying. “We did not expect anyone to be outside at this hour . . . aside from those stable boys . . .” He looked over his shoulder to the barn awash in darkness.

  My eyes followed his. I expected to see the crumpled forms of the young men charged to guard the flock, but I could make out little in the shadows.

  “What have you done with my sons?” Teucer shouted. He made to step forward, but I held out an arm to stop him. That Trojan armor had the habit of making a man feel invincible, but I knew from secondhand experience that this was a common misconception. I had seen too many cor
pses littering too many blood-drenched fields in such attire.

  The man held up his hand, shaking his head. “Do no worry, sir. Your boys are quite all right, merely . . . incapacitated. Though I must admit that it is unfortunate you have found us here. This requires a change of plans.”

  His hand moved to the hilt of his sword, and mine followed suit. In the next moment, every one of us were brandishing our weapons—all except for Zinni who had quietly inched even further away at the point.

  All of them charged us, blades held high, rushing past their supposed leader. One came straight for me, and I held my sword at an angle to his as it sailed down. Some dozen clangs of metal rang out in the night. Several candle lights flicked into existence in the higher windows of the household.

  I kicked the man back just in time to meet another approaching me from my right. My blade came down and swiped his to the side, sending it down into the pebbles at my feet, missing a nearby Thirian foot by inches. That tribesman—I had no time to look and see who he was—was engaged in the throes of battle himself, using his spear to deflect a volley of attacks aimed straight for him.

  I lifted my leg and brought it down onto the sword now piercing the ground near my ankle. The man dropped it, and I hacked his neck before he could regain his balance. He cried out as blood spurted from the fresh wound and he tumbled to the little rocks to join his weapon. This all happened in the span of two seconds, after which the first man came back around to fill the void left by his brother. I brought my sword to align vertically with my sternum and stepped inward on one side to minimize my enemy’s area to target. His blade met the opposite end of mine and slid past. Mine would have sliced his fingers had there been no guard attached to the hilt of his. When he came close enough, I reached out with my free hand and wrapped my fingers around his throat. I saw the gryphon cub in his eyes as I tightened my hold and put an end to him just as I had the poor confused creature.