Echoes of Olympus (The Atheniad Book 1)

by Darrin Drader

  Heliodas noted that they were in an area where there wasn’t a great deal of cover. The sides of the buildings on this terrace were joined, which left only a narrow open space between building complexes in front of them. They would be much easier to hit from above in their current position. “This is a bad spot. Let’s go up to the next one.”

  He led them to the next flight of stairs and realized that there was only one more terrace after this one, which was where the entrance to the Temple of Apollo was located. If he was right about there being at least five soldiers there, he knew they risked being attacked en masse by however many soldiers remained. Those soldiers probably wouldn’t leave their posts, but if they neared too close to the temple, the soldiers would engage them. He turned around and ran for the stairway leading down.

  “Where are you going?” Pelephon asked as a hail of arrows whistled by.

  “We don’t want to get close to the temple yet!” Heliodas yelled.

  “Oh, right,” Pelephon said.

  Several more arrows clattered on the stones of the street around them. “Is everyone alright?” Heliodas asked.

  “I was hit,” Thermiandra said between clenched teeth. She pushed the sleeve of her peplos back to reveal a clean line through her right bicep.

  “Can you still draw your bow?” Heliodas asked.

  Thermiandra drew it back, but she winced. “Yes, but I can’t promise you accuracy right now.”

  “Damn!” said Heliodas. He quickly cut a strip of cloth from the bottom of Thermiandra’s peplos, wound it around her wounded arm, then tied it off. “It doesn’t look that bad,” he said.

  “It hurts!” Thermiandra swore.

  “I offered to let you stay out of this fight,” Heliodas reminded her.

  They held their position for a moment, and they noted that they heard no more steps approaching their position. “What are they waiting for?” Archetus asked.

  “They might be convincing the soldiers at the temple to reinforce them, or they might have lost us,” Heliodas said. “So does anyone want to guess why Spartans marched here from Athens?”

  “I can think of only one reason,” Pelephon said. “There’s a traitor in the city. I’d guess that it’s probably one of the ones allied against your uncle.”

  Heliodas nodded. “That’s the same conclusion I came to. That means that Athens is in serious trouble. Maybe we should abandon this quest for the Sword and expose the traitor instead.”

  “As stupid as this sounds,” said Thermiandra, “I think we’re safer here than we would be in Athens right now.”

  “I agree. We need to figure this one out later, when we have some time to think,” Heliodas said.

  “You should listen to your gods,” Archetus said. “Athena sent you away from the polis for a reason.”

  Heliodas nodded and looked down the alleyway, toward the ledge above the terrace below. Four soldiers emerged from either side of the buildings ahead. “There they are!” he called out.

  Thermiandra fired an arrow at one of the soldiers, then followed it up with a second, and then a third when it missed. As the Spartan moved out of the way, Archetus zapped him with a lightning bolt. The soldier stopped moving for a moment and Thermiandra sent an arrow through his chest. As he staggered backward, Heliodas and Pelephon closed in and engaged the other three soldiers.

  As they traded blows, Heliodas saw an arrow fired from Thermiandra’s bow barely miss his arm and hit the soldier he was fighting in the chest. The arrow glanced off of the soldier’s leather cuirass, but he was stunned that Thermiandra had the audacity to fire through her allies who were engaged in melee combat. Regardless, this left an opening for him to strike. He didn’t waste the opportunity, and he plunged his spatha into his opponent’s chest. He ripped the blade from the rib cage of the soldier and whipped it around to parry an attack by one of the other soldiers.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Heliodas saw Pelephon trade blows with the soldier he faced. Neither side seemed to be gaining an advantage. Pelephon batted aside several attacks that were aimed at his chest. The Spartan swung his blade a little too hard, unbalancing himself in the process, which was the only opening the Macedonian needed to lunge forward and plant a foot in the man’s midsection. As the soldier fell to the street, his helmet clattered to the ground. Pelephon swung his spatha down at the soldier’s head like an axe and splattered the man’s brains all over the cobblestones.

  Heliodas engaged the final Spartan that remained. As Heliodas kept the man busy, Pelephon stepped back a few paces, circled around, came up behind him, and plunged his spatha into the man’s back. As the soldier crumpled to the street, he struck him again, this time carving through the man’s throat.

  “There can’t be many left,” Heliodas said. “We should go for the temple.”

  “Agreed,” said Pelephon.

  Heliodas ran up the two flights of marble stairs, noting that he saw no movement in the streets. As they neared the main temple entrance, he saw an irregularly shaped pile by the stairway, but he couldn’t make out what it might be. He ran to it, put his hand down, and touched what could only be a corpse. “What?” he asked as he flipped the body over.

  The victim had been a woman wearing a leather cuirass that was not of Spartan design. It was also not Athenian. The leather was thinner, and it fit more like a garment than the muscular male chest form of the Athenian and Spartan cuirass. “The temple guards,” he muttered.

  “I hope they didn’t kill the Oracle too,” Pelephon said.

  “Even the Spartans wouldn’t risk the wrath of the gods like that,” Heliodas said. He lacked certainty in that statement, however.

  Heliodas led the other three ahead, up the stairway and into the circular temple of Apollo. Within, he saw the bodies of four Spartan warriors on the floor, all of them showing signs of a violent end. The remaining Spartan looked to Heliodas with wild eyes. His helmet had been discarded and his short brown hair stuck out in random directions.

  There was a massive crack, about two feet wide in the center, spanning the length of the temple floor. Hanging from a chain directly over the crack was a bronze platform that was suspended about three feet over the floor. Upon it sat a woman who looked to be in her mid-thirties, with curly brown hair that was shot through with white streaks. When he looked into her eyes, Heliodas only saw the whites. He also couldn’t help but notice a powerful odor in here that he couldn’t place, but it was simultaneously heady and intoxicating. “What has happened?” he asked.

  “The infidels sought to drink directly from the well of knowledge,” said the woman. “Those,” she said pointing to the ones on the floor, “fell to the blade of this one. He keeps me imprisoned here within my own temple, but his mind is gone.”

  Heliodas looked to the man standing before him, his spatha drawn. “Did you lead these men?” he asked.

  “I was their leader. Now I have absorbed their power, as well as the power granted to me by the will of the gods. I am now a god myself. Kneel before me, follow me, and I’ll spare your life.”

  Heliodas looked at the crazed man and smiled. “Oh, I don’t think so.”

  Chapter 25

  Darkness

  “Do you have a name?” Heliodas asked.

  “Mortal, you may call me Demenic.”

  Heliodas smiled and walked calmly into the temple. This was the second time in the last few days that he’d been called ‘mortal.’ This time, the speaker clearly had a ridiculously inflated view of his position in the world. “Demenic, I’m not sure if you remember this or not, but you led at least twenty Spartan soldiers here a couple days ago. They’re all dead now. My friends and I had to kill them. I don’t care if you’ve managed to convince yourself that you’re a god or not, but unless you wish to see the underworld tonight, I’d recommend standing down. Now!” Heliodas said.

  “You cannot reason with him,” said the Oracle. “Apollo frowns upon what he has done here and he’s already stolen his soul away. What you see b
efore you is an empty shell acting out its mind’s few remaining fantasies.”

  “Who ordered you to come here?” Heliodas asked.

  “Nobody,” Demenic replied. “Gods do not take orders.”

  “What was your mission?” Heliodas asked. He knew that regardless of how far gone this man was, sooner or later something he said was bound to jar some memory out of him. He was sure that there was only one way this confrontation would end, but he had to make the effort.

  Heliodas looked behind him and saw that Thermiandra had an arrow trained on the man’s forehead.

  “I’m here to kill the one known as Light’s Son,” he said.

  “Were you sent from Athens?” Heliodas asked.

  “Athens… yes. Sickening polis. I can’t wait to unleash my fury upon it.”

  “Who else wants to destroy Athens?”

  “Just a man…”Demenic replied, his eyelids drooping for a moment. “Just a man.” He then began to laugh.

  “What man? Where can I find him?”

  “An old doddering fool who should have been given a soldier’s mercy long ago!” Demenic’s eyes were once again wide with excitement.

  “A soldier’s mercy?” Heliodas asked.

  “The kindness of a swift blade through the heart rather than allowing himself to grow old and frail of mind and body.”

  “Do they get a choice in the matter?” Heliodas asked. Though Sparta had been one of the most notable enemies of Athens for as long as Heliodas was aware, he knew little about the specifics of their warrior’s culture.

  “The choice is theirs, but most don’t continue to serve after they give up the blade.”

  “What’s his name?” Heliodas asked.

  “Menphon.”

  “And is he in Athens?” Heliodas asked.

  “Yes. Now you must make your decision. Serve me or prepare to face your doom!”

  Heliodas heard Thermiandra release the bow string, and he saw the arrow fly toward Demenic’s head. Heliodas saw that the man’s madness had no effect upon his ability to react to imminent danger as he sprang suddenly to the right, narrowly avoiding the incoming projectile.

  As soon as he recovered his balance, Demenic lunged toward Heliodas and lashed out with his spatha. Heliodas saw the attack coming and he blocked it with his own blade. Heliodas could tell that the man must have become a commander because of his skill with the blade. He decided that it might be best to outmaneuver him rather than try to best him through skill. While keeping his body facing his foe, he pivoted so that his back was facing the opposite side of the temple and then leapt over the crack in the floor, narrowly missing the suspended bronze platform. “Come on!” he called out. Heliodas saw Pelephon readying his attack while the Spartan’s back was to him.

  Demenic spun around, intercepted Pelephon’s blade, then whirled around, bringing his own blade down in an arc that blocked Heliodas’ blade. Pelephon swung again, and again Demenic whirled around in time to intercept. He then reached down and grabbed a sword from a fallen soldier on the floor.

  The chamber became a blur of steel ringing on steel, with the sightless woman sitting calmly on her platform in the center of it.

  Another arrow shot through the melee, barely missing all of the combatants and Heliodas decided that he was definitely going to have to talk to Thermiandra about what a bad idea it was to fire into a melee combat. Not to be outdone, Archetus stretched forth his hand and unleashed electricity, which arced to the Spartan, striking him in the back. Heliodas waited for the soldier to be affected by it, but he seemed not to notice.

  “Stop firing at him before you hit one of us!” Pelephon shouted.

  “I’m just trying to help,” Thermiandra replied.

  “Stop it!” Pelephon and Heliodas simultaneously yelled as they blocked incoming blows from the crazed Spartan.

  “You’re foolish to challenge me,” said Demenic as he brought both blades to bear against Heliodas.

  Heliodas blocked one blade with a downward thrust of his spatha while skittering backwards to avoid the other. He was beginning to agree with the Spartan’s sentiment. The other soldiers they’d fought this evening had fallen in battle like typical soldiers, but Demenic was a force to be reckoned with. Both he and Pelephon were beginning to breathe heavily as sweat poured down their faces.

  Pelephon launched a massive overhand swing at the Spartan while Heliodas brought his blade arcing toward his midsection. The soldier brought both of his blades out at odd angles, deflecting both of the incoming blows simultaneously. He then tucked his blades in, launched himself into the air, somersaulting as he did so, and landed behind Heliodas. Heliodas spun around, lashing out with his spatha, but it was easily deflected. Pelephon joined him, but they were once again on the same side, facing Demenic’s whirling blades.

  As the Spartan launched into a new series of attacks, Heliodas dodged to the side, then spared a moment to make eye contact with Thermiandra. She looked confused, but Heliodas had no time to elaborate because another blade was swinging at his mid-section. He blocked, then shouted out, “Forget what I said. If you get a clear shot, take it.” He blocked another blade, then skittered out of the way of another attack. “Just make sure it’s a good shot!” he called out.

  Pelephon rushed in with an aggressive series of swings, and Heliodas matched his intensity, coming in from the opposite direction. Demenic reacted by launching into another whirlwind defense, blocking the blades as he spun around and around while managing to get in a couple of counter attacks. He slowed, then faced both of his opponents with his back to Thermiandra.

  Heliodas saw her pull back the bowstring and let the arrow fly. Just as she did that, Demenic spun around again, this time bringing one of his spathas up in time to knock the arrow out of the air.

  Heliodas and Pelephon both swung their blades, only to have the Spartan intercept their blades in a single fluid motion.

  “He’s good!” Heliodas stated as the sweat oozed from his pores.

  Pelephon just grunted and launched into a new series of attacks while Heliodas jumped back over the crack in the floor and neared the temple entrance again. Following his lead, Pelephon also hurdled the crack in the floor.

  The Spartan followed them toward the entrance and launched into a series of slashes. Heliodas decided that it was time for a change in tactics. He didn’t bother to attack, but instead focused entirely on parrying the incoming blades. Pelephon likewise went into total defense, and they both stood there matching the blows that were directed at them.

  Heliodas was growing tired and sweat was pouring from his matted hair. Regardless of the fatigue, he kept blocking. Perhaps if Demenic faced only one of them, he would have been able to overcome this defense, but against two capable opponents, their battle was at an impasse. “If you were truly a god, would you not be able to strike us down with a thought?” Heliodas asked.

  The Spartan slowed his attacks for a moment while he considered this. Heliodas used that opportunity to kick out with his sandaled foot, striking the Spartan in the chest. Demenic involuntarily stepped back to absorb the blow, but rather than coming down on solid floor, his foot instead fell into the crack bisecting the room.

  Demenic wasn’t able to slow his backward momentum, and his back leg disappeared into the crack. He tried to stop his fall by planting his front foot on the floor, but his body was already moving down. Instead of halting his fall, his foot slipped and he slid into the crack. He dropped the blades in time to catch the edge of the crack with his hands, but by then it was too late. His fingers were already slipping and his head was already sunk below the plane of the floor. His arms were fully extended above his head, and only his hands were stopping him from falling fully into the crevasse.

  Heliodas was not feeling the need to be merciful toward this warrior. He brought the tip of his spatha down on Demenic’s left hand, stabbing cleanly through it. Demenic howled in pain, and as Heliodas pulled his blade free, the Spartan lost his grip and plunged into t
he crevasse. He screamed on the way down, and Heliodas heard a sickening thud as his body became forcefully wedged in the rift.

  “All is now as it should be,” said the Oracle.

  Heliodas took a moment and mopped the sweat from his brow and sheathed his blade. He looked to Pelephon, who was also tired from the exertion.

  “We’ve come to see you,” Heliodas said to the Oracle.

  “I am aware of this, Son of the Light,” she said.

  “Why are they calling you that?” Pelephon asked.

  “It’s the meaning of my name,” Heliodas said. In truth, he had rarely thought very much about the meaning of his name, but he was aware of the meaning of the component parts.

  “You are here because of the task set out by Athena,” said the Oracle. “You require my guidance.”

  “We do,” Heliodas agreed. “I need to know where to find the Sword of Perseus.”

  “It is in a secret, hidden place, away from the sun and away from anything that could be called good,” she said.

  “Is it in Mycenae?” Heliodas asked.

  “The conquerors of Troy treated it as their most treasured artifact,” she replied.

  “Can you tell me where Mycenae is?” Heliodas asked.

  The Oracle closed her eyes in concentration, then said, “I see three points spread out, as if on a map. All three are incorrect. Look for the walled fortress precisely in the center of all three. Within the fortress at the top of a mighty hill will you find the sword.”

  “And where within the fortress is it kept?” Heliodas asked.

  “In a most sacred place,” she said. “Be on your way now, but be wary – a great evil lurks within.”

  “What sort of evil?” Heliodas asked.