Gears of Troy 2

by Daniel Pierce

I looked to my tent where Caria was sleeping, less than three yards away.

  “Let’s take this to the woods,” I told my horsemen. “Not everyone needs to hear this.”

  We went as deep as the woods allowed, stepping over 50 to 100 carcasses on the way. Six of my soldiers accompanied me, as well as Linos. I really hoped I would not have to hurt these guys, but if they really did not know anything, there was not a good way to verify it, so it left me in a weird position if they denied any knowledge. At the outset, I honestly did plan to let them go if they gave me what I wanted. It was not likely that they could return home and do us any harm from there. My only concern was that they would flee to Cannakale and warn them of our approach, but we could keep an eye on them easily enough to ensure that did not happen.

  There we were again, this time in the woods, with the men looking up to me awaiting judgement.

  “Do you see these bodies around you?” I held my voice stern, like an angry high school teacher about to sign his entire class up for detention.

  The men nodded their heads, some of them looking around at the corpses I was gesturing to. That was a start, but I wanted a more vocal response. None of us had time for sheepishness.

  “Answer me!” I took a half-step toward one of them.

  Every man squirmed like a child. “Yes!” they cried.

  “That’s better. I like it when you . . . vocalize.” I paused for a moment and looked each one of them dead in the eyes. “Look, I’m not a fan of interrogation. I’m not a fan of torturing people. I’ve killed a lot of men, but I always try to make it as painless as possible. As far as I’m concerned, you guys did the right thing. You made it easier on me and my men by deciding not to get involved in the fight. I actually appreciate you for that, if you can believe it.”

  I stopped for another extended pause. Three of them showed little emotion aside from slight signs of the expected anxiety which tugged at their lips and the edges of their eyes. The fourth man looked as if he were about to cry. He was the only one not meeting my gaze then, opting to stare at the ground to hide his shame. I decided to let it slide for the moment.

  “Like I said: I’m no fan of torture. I mean that whole-heartedly. But this is war. I need to protect my people—and I will do anything to make sure my people are safe, as I’m sure you men would.” I ignored the obvious irony of that statement directed at a group of deserters. The key was to appeal to their good natures, or at least the good nature each man perceived himself to have. “You guys want to make sure your families and friends live as long and happy lives as they can, right?”

  “Yes,” they said. The man on the verge of tears whimpered his response. This was good. It was better that he cried his answer than me having to extract it through blood.

  “Good. We’re on the same page, then, because that is what I want for my people as well. So, I’m going to make this very clear: it’s completely up to you if you return to your loved ones from here. Tell me what I want to know, and you’ll go free. Otherwise . . .” I trailed off and waved an arm around to indicate all of the dead soldiers around us. “Understand?”

  “Yes.” One of them even added “sir” to the end of his response.

  I thought it would be best to open interrogations asking questions I already knew the answers to, just to make sure they were open to providing accurate information.

  “Okay, good. You’re doing good. So, first question: tell me where you were going when you came across our army.”

  They all looked at each other, each man likely hoping one of his allies would crack before he did.

  “If you don’t answer quickly, I’m going to have to start getting rough,” I warned.

  “Cannakale,” one said.

  I nodded my head. “Correct answer. And what were you going to do once you arrived?”

  “Make for Troy,” said another. “We were going to attack Troy.”

  “Why?”

  The second one spoke again. “The King wants to control it, and, s-since Troy is so weak from the Greek invasion, we all assumed he decided to attack now for that reason.”

  I nodded and crossed my arms. “That all adds up. So, how many troops are already stationed at Cannakale?”

  They all exchanged glances. A third man spoke up—it was the one who was on the verge of tears. “N-not many,” he whimpered. “Only the King’s guard are present at the city . . . as far as we know.”

  I was amazed how smoothly this interrogation was going.

  “Wait,” I said, “so you mean to tell me that he planned to charge for Troy with this little army? Do you really expect me to believe that?”

  The crying one looked terrified at the sudden aggression directed specifically at him. This time, though, he remained quiet, so I pressed him further.

  “Your throat’s getting dangerously close to my blade with these lacking responses.”

  “He has a weapon!” the man shouted.

  “What kind of weapon?” I barked.

  He shook his head, unable to hold back the tears now. “I do not know! We were not told as much!”

  I looked to the others. “Which one of you does know?”

  The all shook their heads. We were getting to the iffy part of the encounter that I had been afraid of. It was looking like I would need to make an example of one of them to show that I was not bluffing.

  “Am I supposed to believe that none of you can tell me anything about this mysterious weapon?”

  They continued shaking their heads. I could see the sweat running down some of their faces. Another man’s eyes began to water.

  “Look, I was going to start letting you go one at a time when you started giving me some good answers. That’s looking less and less possible each time you shake your heads like that. This is your last chance. If you can’t tell me anything about this weapon, you better let me know something equally as important.”

  I tapped my foot. By then, only one of them had maintained some semblance of a calm composure. He still looked nervous, sure, but no more than one might in an office lobby while awaiting a job interview. I decided to turn the thumbscrews on him next.

  “You, tell me something good.”

  His eyes went wide, and he looked at both sides to his brothers.

  “Don’t look at them; look at me.”

  “Y-yes, sir,” he said. “I know nothing else, sir.”

  “Think. I’m going to count to three, and if you don’t give me something by then, you’re going to die. I will try to make it as easy for you as I can.”

  I was really hoping he would give me anything to stop me from making good on my word.

  “I really don’t . . .”

  “One.”

  I spared him a few seconds. I could see the gears in his head turning but would never be sure if he was trying to come up with a convincing lie or remember something that I might like to know. After several seconds, I had no choice but to keep counting.

  “Two . . .”

  “The King—the King!” he shouted, eyes wide with sudden realization. “The King is at Cannakale. He planned to be present for the siege.”

  I shook my head. “I figured as much when you told me his guard were at the city. You’re going to have to do better than that.”

  I made a show of unsheathing my sword, both to intimidate my prisoners and to stall so that the man could think.

  “We’re getting really close to the number three,” I said.

  “I do not know anything else! I am sorry!” the man wailed.

  “Then I’m sorry, too.”

  I looked to Linos, who was watching with a smirk on his face. I would never have his love of bloodshed. There were things necessary in wartime, I kept having to tell myself that, but it did not mean that those things had to be enjoyed. In the end, this poor sap would have been prepared to crumble my great city, my new home. With it, he and his friends would more than likely have raped and murdered scores of innocent people. I had to keep that in the forefront of my mind
as I carried out despicable deeds such at this.

  I raised my blade high, hoping an outburst from one of his fellows would stay my hand, but no one shouted out to save him. My blade came down in an arc, and the man screamed as his doom rushed in. In the blink of an eye, I had sliced his head clean from the rest of his body. His screaming stopped immediately, and those of his brothers rushed in quickly to fill the void it left behind.

  “I keep my word,” I said to the remaining three. “Can none of you tell me anything else?”

  “Truly, we do not know anything else that would be of use to you!” one of them pleaded.

  I closed my eyes and dropped my head in silent contemplation. I expected as much to be the case. I knew that, from a bunch of deserters, the truth was likely easier to lure out. They had already betrayed their country, so cluing me in on a few details would not be much worse from where they sat. Death likely awaited them regardless, if they were to return home. Still, I had to make sure I knew they were telling me everything they could. Separating this man’s head from his neck made me confident that I’d drained them of all they knew, which was very little. I opened my eyes and addressed them.

  “All right. As an act of good faith, I’m going to believe you’re telling me the truth.” The pleas stopped as they listened intently to my coming decree. If I was a cruel man, this would have been a great way to end the interrogation before bestowing the same fate to them as I had their friend. But I did not like to think of myself as a cruel person. “I’ll let you live, but there will be conditions.” No one interrupted. “Two of my men will stay behind and watch you tonight. Once we are ready to leave, we will cut you loose and send you on your way. My conditions are that you do not head for Cannakale and you do not try to escape before we are ready to release you. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” the three of them said. One of them added, “Thank you, sir.”

  “Your buddy there—I did not want to do that, but it was necessary whether you believe it or not. If you guys can hang tight until we’re ready to go, I guarantee you that you will each make it out of here with your lives.”

  I left Scander behind with one of the Trojans, explicitly telling them not to kill the men unless they absolutely had to. I thought it might also provide a bit of immersion therapy for the Thirian as well, having to fight all night to resist his urges of bloodlust.

  Caria was still sleeping as soundly as when I left. I waited outside for the rest of the night. There was at least one occasion where I dozed in the grass, but it did not last long and provided no relief from the encroaching exhaustion that was beginning to weigh heavily on my sore muscles.

  I received no word from anyone until the early hours of the next morning, just before the sun was beginning to rise. It was the messenger I had sent to fill the Queen and Helen in on the developments. A guide to Cannakale had accompanied him as well, if we decided to travel there.

  Hecuba had said very little, only that she gave us her blessing in whatever course of action we decided to take, but she stressed that if we did find out for sure that Mursili was in Cannakale, we should seek him out at all costs. The messenger also informed us that they would still need time gathering troops from the surrounding towns and villages, and that he would return to Troy to tell them where to go once I had decided our next move.

  Helen had sent an update on her and Zinni’s research. Zinni had begun reading her books on Hittite magic and found little that seemed to help us with our dilemma, but, after hearing that Caria had mentioned the Brethren of Stars, she scoured her collection of tomes for any information on the secretive order. She came across a book that referenced several of the tools that we found in the black box, leading her to believe that the engineers at Cannakale were somehow involved with the Hittites. Whether they had only provided the instruments for Hittite use or had a more direct impact on their schemes, she did not know, but it was beginning to paint a clearer picture for me knowing what I did about Mursili’s plans.

  “So, you know the way to Cannakale?” I asked the guide after sending the messenger back with my response.

  “Yes, sir,” he said. “I have been there twice by sea. It is hard to miss with its citadel’s towering spires. I would bet that some of its towers reach as high as the walls of our great nation’s capital.”

  “Spires, you say . . .?”

  I was struck with a wave of déjà vu, just as I had been upon first hearing about the city. I closed my eyes and could see this vivid image of a ruined fortress alongside the sea. I could not place where I had seen the building before, but it must have been back in my childhood during one of those droning history classes, either in a textbook or on the teacher’s smartboard. Something told me that this was the place to go.

  “Yes, sir. Very tall spires.”

  “If we headed out now, how long do you think it would take us to reach Cannakale?”

  He put his hand to his chin and thought for a moment. “As I said, I have only been there by sea, but I do not think it should take longer than a day and a half of constant travel. Account for a partial night’s rest, and that would put us at about two days’ travel time.”

  “That’s what I was led to believe.” I stood and said, “We’ll head out within the hour. Everyone! Make ready to leave! Someone, get those prisoners and set them loose!”

  The camp burst to life, and we were packed up and ready to go in no time at all. Most of the men were in poor shape, some of them barely able to walk. Four were wounded so badly that we left them behind to rest. Our final headcount brought us to 28 troops plus me and Caria. With the element of surprise and a little luck, it was seeming like we stood a sliver of a chance. I thought it was still likely that the King’s guard outnumbered our small band, but we had already come too far to back down. As an extra bit of tactical leverage, I thought to relieve a few enemy carcasses of their armor and also bring two of their battle flags along for the trip. There was no telling when a quick impersonation could come in handy, and we would need to rely on everything at our disposal if we were going to win this war.

  With Caria once again riding at my side, we made for our new destination.

  14

  I had not wanted to rest, but the further we traveled, the more I felt the fatigue setting in. All my lack of sleep was beginning to take its toll. There was nothing that would have pleased me more than to return to Port Superior with my two wives and carry on with our fantasy lives, but my King needed me now more than ever.

  Noon came and went. We did not break for a meal, only snacking on our rations here and there when our horses tired of running and slowed to a steady plodding pace. There was little discussion, most of which came from our new guide, whose chipper attitude stood in strong contrast to our beleaguered crew. He talked mostly of the city to which we were heading, and of how he had dreamed of seeing it again one day before he died. He was happy to hear the call for a guide and blah, blah, blah. Normally, I would have paid more attention, but, needless to say, there were more pressing things on my mind.

  As night began to fall, I could not bare my tiredness any longer. I knew the men would not protest another night of sleep, so we moved away from the road and setup camp once more. I remembered Priam’s almost comical fatherly concern for my well-being as I rolled out my cot of fur. I told myself that I would not rest long as I lay down and let the night take me where it willed. Caria cuddled up next to me, and the two of us were gone from the world for a time.

  It was still dark when Linos shook me awake.

  “Ugh . . . what is it?” I swam through a pool of grogginess.

  “Troy, we have found a man.”

  “A man?” His face was just beginning to take shape in the dim light of the stars.

  “Yes, an enemy. A Hittite.”

  I was on my feet, shaking off the tiredness that still remained clinging at the hems of my clothes.

  “Take me to him.”

  Our watchmen had the man bound, one of them holding a knife to
his throat when I approached. He was an old, gray-haired, balding man. His face was passive even as his life was threatening to be ripped away without notice.

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  He glanced at me with no hint of concern and said, “Just a messenger.” His tone gave the impression of a dead man—not a man unable to bare the fact that his life might come to an end, but rather a man who had decided for himself that there was no longer any reason to live.

  “A messenger for who?”

  He rolled his eyes. “You know I am with the Hittite army. I was sent to check on some troops out east.”

  It struck me as odd that he answered with so little hesitation. I asked, “Why are you offering this information so freely?”

  He shrugged, his sudden motion drawing suspicion from several of my men. The man with the dagger pressed his blade closer to our captive’s neck but pulled back realizing that the messenger was only making a common gesture.

  He said, “I just . . . I do not know who is the good guy anymore.”

  “Explain.”

  “Mursili . . . I used to revere the man. He was always a ruler I thought capable of achieving the impossible, but—I suppose in a way I still do see him in that light—but he has gone mad in his old age.”

  “How so?”

  “This attack he plans to lead on Troy . . . It’s not like his other conquests. Those poor people are going to be lab rats for some crazy experiment. Not a lot of people know this, but some of us heard one of his science men talking in the pub in town the other day . . . They are working on some kind of weapon that can create plagues at the snap of a finger. And not just that—but he is using his own people to power it!”

  “What does that mean, ‘his own people are powering it’?”

  “He sacrifices his loyal subjects—people like me—to feed this weapon! I hear that evil bitch Supila is pulling a lot of the strings on this project, too.”

  “Who is Supila?”

  “Do you know nothing, boy?” He looked at me, incredulous. “Supila has been his right hand for decades. She is one of Mursili’s most trusted advisors. It is said that she knows much about both magic and science, but I have only heard stories.”