Gears of Troy 2

by Daniel Pierce

  “Okay, old man!” I said.

  He did not have time to rise before I was on top of him, delivering blow after blow. In an attempt to make a final decisive strike, I raised my arms high and brought them rushing down with the intent of smashing his face in, but they were stopped prematurely. He grabbed both of my wrists and squeezed with the strength of a machine. He cackled as I shouted in response to the unexpected pain welling up in my arms. That was the first time I remembered being afraid of losing my prosthetics.

  Lacking the use of my hands, I opted to slam my head into his nose. He only cackled louder as blood poured from his flaky nostrils. My knee met his testicles, but still he howled with laughter, tightening his grip.

  Caria called out my name, but I shouted for her and the others to leave me be.

  I pressed my arms against his, desperately trying to break his grip. It was no use; he wouldn’t budge. I began to scream, knowing that if I did not break free soon the fight was over. But he was like steel. Whatever was in that glass had given him this unnatural power.

  I decided to give up on resisting his grip alone and spread my legs on either side of his waist. He still had the body of a frail old man, and the potion had not added any pounds to him. That was a fact I could leverage.

  With my feet planted firmly on the floor, I lifted him up from where he lay. Still refusing to relinquish his grip, his whole body stayed rigid despite my persuasion. Not a single muscle loosened against the pressure I applied to him, but that was all right because he still rose when I lifted up.

  He seemed to be in a trance then, his only mission to maintain his hold on my arms. I raised him high as if he were my newborn that I was offering to God, diaper and all, and almost laughed at how wild the whole situation was. Drooling, still with that maniacal smirk on his face, he held his arms straight at a 90-degree angle to the rest of his body, which itself was as stiff as a board.

  He could have tried to kick me away, but the idea did no occur to him, I guess. He seemed satisfied with maintaining his grasp. I carried him over to a table displaying a half dozen neon concoctions and looked at his guards to see if there were any signs of protest. They only watched us. None of them were exactly standing at ease, but no one had his hand on the hilt of his sword either.

  In the next instant, I drove their King down onto the glass, stepping back to try and prevent any of it from splashing or spilling on me. The response was almost immediate. His fingers loosened, and he began writhing in response to what I assumed was the pain of a hundred shards of glass cutting into his back. I quickly discovered that I was wrong.

  Mursili’s skin began to bubble and dissolve as it came into contact with one of the liquids, and he shrieked loud enough to wake the gods. I had never heard such a bone-rattling sound before and would never have suspected a human being capable of making the noise.

  I backed away into the comfort of my friends and watched the King melt before my eyes, eaten alive by the dark experiments of his own devise. I looked at my wrists and saw the marks of his hands imprinted on them. It was a good reminder to never underestimate my enemy, no matter how puny he seemed. I remembered back to when I told this to Helen soon after we first met, and then when she reminded me of my own advice at the beginning of this more recent adventure. It was a lesson that needed repeating. My arrogance had almost cost me everything just then.

  Caria embraced me from behind.

  “We’re almost there, Love,” I said, reaching back to run my hand through her hair.

  The King’s guard watched their master shrink into virtual nothingness. Whatever was in that vial made no distinction from flesh, muscle, or bone. It indiscriminately devoured all, finally running out of juice after his torso and most of his face had been consumed.

  I addressed his soldiers when things had settled down, saying, “I think it’s clear who won that fight. Are you going to stand in our way?”

  They turned to me in unison, saying nothing. One of them walked to the curtain separating our room from the next and pulled it aside. This was their answer.

  I stepped forward and was met by the anxious faces of five old robed men who were clearly not used to conflict, a middle-aged woman in a black silk dress, and Matanaza. Everyone was accounted for.

  I extended an open hand and said, “All right. Hand over this cure.”

  The older woman leaned to the Princess and hissed, “Do not listen to him! They will kill us once we meet their demands! The cure is the only leverage we have!”

  Someone was jumping to conclusions. At that point, I was ready to collapse. All I wanted was to go home and get some damn sleep.

  I shook my head and said, “No, no, no. Here’s the deal, Mata-- the tables have obviously turned. I hate to be the one to tell you this, but your father is dead. He came at me all coked out; I didn’t have much choice. That’s all water under the bridge now. Listen, I try to be a good guy. If you offer me up the cure and come quietly, everything will work out for you. I understand you don’t have much to go home to now. You can even come live with me. I just want to fix my king up and kick my feet back. How’s that all sound to you?”

  The Hittite princess watched me for a long silent moment and slowly began to nod her head. She opened her mouth to speak but was cut off by the middle-aged woman, who screamed, “Lies! He is lying!”

  A knife was in her hand, and she charged me like a banshee starved of souls. Unlike with her king, I was able to fend off her attack. My hands were around her wrists.

  “Back off, woman. It’s over,” I warned her.

  “Die!” she replied.

  I did not see any alternative; it was either me or her. I redirected her knife into her own chest, the blade parting her aging tissue without resistance. The ease with which I pulled the feat off made me feel guilty, but I would be lying if I denied feeling a wave of relief when she stopped breathing. It was finally over.

  Epilogue

  The cure for Priam was in that same room. We met back up with Scander at the fortress entrance and delivered the medicine to the King in the next two days. His recovery was miraculous. He was back to his old self by noon the following day, a smile on his face as his body was suffused with radiant good health. Hecuba expressed multiple times how she could never repay her debt to me, but I tried to make light of the whole thing, saying all I wanted was to see those shipments of food and raw materials every week.

  Matanaza agreed to accompany me back to Port Superior, not at my side as my third queen, but more of a concubine of sorts—a respected concubine with certain privileges shared by my wives. It was complicated and we still had a lot to figure out, but there would be plenty of time for that.

  I was impressed to see how much work had gotten done on my own little kingdom in my absence. The wall was well on its way to being finished, the foundation for several important buildings had been laid—the meeting hall and classroom among them—and my men were looking chipper as ever. We had gained five new subjects as well, in addition to Tewan, who had a new lease on life. The five scientists we found in Cannakale were indeed the Brethren of Stars who Caria had heard so much about in her youth. After ensuring that they destroyed all of their evil work under the command of Mursili, I invited them to live with me in Port Superior. They were happy to oblige, as their only other option was execution. They would be a great help in making my city into what I wanted it to be.

  Once again, the future was looking bright. I was sure that many trials awaited me in the years to come, but such was the nature of life. I would meet any challenges head on and do my best to come out on top, but I felt a satisfying wave of optimism given that I would not do it alone.

  My queens stood beside me on a spit of land overlooking the port, salt spray on our tongues as we watched the endless roll of waves.

  “What comes next, lord?” It was Caria, her curiosity too great to silence when we stood before the yawning possibilities of our future.

  My answer was a single word, delivered over
my shoulder into the ocean wind. “Everything.”

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  About the Author

  Daniel Pierce lives in Wyoming with his wife Marissa and their two dogs. After fourteen years as an engineer, Daniel decided it was finally time to write and release his first novel.

  As a lifelong fan of scifi and fantasy, he wants nothing more than to share his passion.

  He invites readers to email him at authordanielpierce@yahoo.com