Gears of Troy: A Scifi Fantasy Harem

by Daniel Pierce

  Seeing the exchange, Helen had come closer to empathize.

  “He says this is the greatest loss of life he has ever seen. He says that war is both beautiful and terrible. He loved these men, and hopes that they died satisfied with the way they fought. He is proud of them and will remember their courage until the day he dies.”

  I returned his embrace, letting his pain flow into me. His face appeared undisturbed; he showed no signs of tears, but I knew those bodies lining the ground were a hard sight to bear.

  We went over to get a closer look at the faces of those brave heroes. In my short time with them, I had gotten familiar with only a few. There were many faces I recognized but had not interacted with. One of these men alone stood out to me above the rest.

  Sees-All was among them. His arms had been straightened at his sides as if he was at attention. He stared up to the clouds overhead, his face the definition of solemnity. We never would get to have that sparring match he wanted. I thought back to the first time I saw him on the island, looking at me like he had something to prove. He had proved it. I wished I could do something for him then, but he did not even have eyelids for me to close, so I just stood over him, remembering the times we sparred back on Santorini.

  My other thoughts returned, only briefly balked by the gruesome distraction. The hidden king. I could not figure it out, and it bothered me thinking I might have to be on my guard for someone waiting to kill me at every turn, someone who I could apparently not kill while standing. What the girl said was so ambiguous, but my whole life I had been led to believe that was the nature of prophecies. I just hoped, if there was any merit to her words, I would figure out their meaning with enough time to make use of the message.

  One of the tribesmen was shouting, running to us from across the field. He stopped at Artession and explained.

  “He says there is a large tent in the woods over yonder.” Helen pointed to the trees where the man had just run to us from. “He swears it was not there during the battle. Someone must have come in the night and pitched it. He would have looked inside, but there was no one to watch his back, so he thought it best to report it before taking action.”

  We called the men together and moved in to investigate. The woods had largely been avoided during the fight, with the Thirians sparingly using it for cover during their retreats between attacks. It had been thoroughly explored then, which was not difficult since it was only a small patch of woods. They would have seen any enemies hiding there, especially in the clearing with a tent as big as the one we discovered.

  It sported the unmistakable proud markings of the Greek military, standing taller than any of their tents I had seen until then. The structure was not unlike a portable cottage, definitely with enough room to stand in. Whoever was inside, if anyone at that point, had to be an important figure. I thought it might be best to handle the situation delicately. At this stage of the conflict, I decided it could be beneficial to take some high-ranking members of the Greek military alive, both for information and leverage.

  I asked Artession to have his men stay back while he and I closed in to see what the deal was. The others, Helen included, moved to the trees and watched.

  “We have you surrounded!” I yelled, pausing for a response.

  No one answered my call, so I motioned for Artession to continue forward with me.

  “Come out and talk. We do not have to shed any more blood. The war is over.”

  Nothing. We stood a finger’s length away from the closed flap. I had my sword out; Artession gripped his spear. He looked to me for a sign, and I nodded.

  The two of us ripped the cover open, ready to kill, but quickly lowered our weapons at the sight of two men sitting at a table in the tent’s center, sharing a drink. They looked us over, a bemused smirk on each man’s face. Both looked as if they were about to erupt in a fit of laughter, neither cowering in a battle stance like I expected to see.

  Each man only carried a sword at his side and was without a shield. Their clothing was no more than a tunic that stopped above the knees, adorned with similar elegant, official-looking markings of the Greek empire that were on the tent. Both appeared roughly middle-aged, with the one on the left showing slightly more signs of aging than his companion.

  The man on the left slammed his cup down and stood, saying, “I am King Patroclus.”

  The one on the right followed suit. “I am King Achilles.”

  My brain was about to explode. I was looking at Achilles, who was supposedly one of the greatest fighters of all time. There he stood, ready to fight me out of the blue, along with his buddy who I had never heard of.

  My eyes switched between the two. One of them was my hidden king, I knew, but I did not have time to try and figure out which because they were on us in an instant.

  39

  My shield met Patroclus’s blade with a loud clang. I immediately cut at the man’s stomach with my sword, but he hopped back, avoiding damage by a hair. He was on me again before I could make another move, my shield rising just in time to deflect another blow.

  We had divided into two groups, still inside the tent. Artession had forced Achilles back while I was made to stay at the entrance, focusing all my energy to prevent my enemy’s attacks from landing.

  I followed through with another swipe of my blade, this time stepping forward as the King moved away. He bounced to the side and punched me square in the jaw like a boxing kangaroo. The taste of blood filled my mouth, and his laughter filled my ears. I slashed again but to no avail.

  We circled each other. I could see Artession and Achilles mercilessly going at it each time I looped around. The beast of a man thrust his spear with powerful jabs, but, like his partner, Achilles was quick on his feet. Now and again, he would use his sword to knock the spear aside and move in to follow up with an uppercut or an elbow bash, but Artession would have none of it, slinging his leg out to prevent his enemy’s progress.

  “The war is not quite over, my friend,” Patroclus said before meeting me with another jab.

  It was I who stepped back this time, not wanting to block out a large chunk of my field of view with my shield.

  “Oh, I think it is,” I said. “It’s the two of you against an entire city. Not like you’ll make it past us, though.”

  I closed the distance, faking an overhead attack with my sword followed by a kick to his stomach. I tried to knock him to the ground, but he only staggered backward—good but not great. I came down with another overhead attack, this time intending to land. He was quick, reaching up with his weapon to block in time, but I made use of his distraction once more and swung my shield into his side. This time he did fall over. My blade sailed down to meet him, but he rolled out of the way and was on his feet again before I even had time to bring my sword back up.

  “You are a worthy adversary,” he said, panting. “What is your name, foreigner?”

  “I am Troy.”

  He laughed. “Fine. Do not tell me then. I will think of something clever to have written on your grave in your name’s stead.”

  He came at me again, right on cue. I slid to the side and swiped my leg under his. The improvised attack made contact, to my disbelief. He tumbled forward into the side of the tent.

  The entire structure collapsed around us, and a chorus of gasps rang out from the woods. I blindly jabbed down to where I thought Patroclus had fallen, but I struck empty air. Each man scrambled to break free from the layers of interwoven hides. I lifted the entrance to see that I was the second man to find his way out, after my adversary. He had his back to me, taking in the sight of all the strange onlookers but, most of all, the beautiful women at their center.

  “You!” he shouted, pointing his sword at Helen. “You are the reason we’re all here! Your head will make a worthy trophy indeed.”

  He charged for her, but I went after him. I tackled him to the ground, dropping my sword and shield to make better use of my close-range MMA skills. He, too, left his weapon behind i
n favor of his fists, and we tore at each other like two lions whose tails had been sewn together.

  Dirt and dust spewed in all directions as we rolled around, stomping and kneeing, swinging and bashing. At one point, he had me on my back with the shaft of my spear pressing hard across my spine. I howled and pushed him off; he used the opportunity to rise and kick dirt in my face.

  Forest filth choked me and clouded my vision, but I did not need to see to hear his growling as he came back in to stomp down on me. His foot slammed into the ground just as I lurched away to the side. This dance was repeated several more times before I finally had the momentum to rock forward and bring myself to my feet.

  He disengaged to run for his sword, and I decided to allow him to have it so that I could go for mine. I left the shield where it was, planning to use that arm to choke him before we were through.

  A flash of orange flickered in my periphery. I glanced over to see that the tent was on fire. There must have been a lantern or something that got knocked over when the sheet fell. The entire structure was already ablaze, igniting the underbrush around it. My heart raced even more. I swung my head around to see if Artession had made it out, and—to my great relief—saw him not far from the growing inferno.

  He and Achilles were still going at it full force. His spear lay in two pieces not far from him, but he had managed to replace it with a sword, doubtlessly provided by one of his men.

  When I turned my attention back to Patroclus, I saw that he was already looking my way, as if waiting for me to signal that I was ready to resume.

  “I could have killed you just now, Troy,” he said. “But that would have been an unfitting way to end this fight. It would not have given me much to brag about.”

  “And do you have that—a lot to brag about?”

  He chuckled, and said, “I have led a simple life, but I consider it an honor to have such a friend in Achilles.”

  “The only thing you have worth bragging about is that you’re a sycophant, riding your pal’s coattails?” I began to move in an arc toward him, and he mirrored me. We were circling each other once again.

  “Are you always so cynical, Man-Named-Troy?”

  “Not usually, no. I’ll admit recent events have shaped me a little, but I still prefer to leave that kind of thinking to the Greeks.”

  I charged in, swinging for the neck. He ducked and made a counter-swing at my legs, which I was able to hop over and follow up with a low-momentum cut from above. He kicked himself to one side and rolled out of the way like a soccer ball.

  “Good attempt,” he said. “It is a shame you fight for these weak people. You could have truly made a name for yourself in Greece.”

  “You can put in a good word for me in Hades with all the Greeks these weak people sent there last night.”

  “You can tell them yourself.”

  He bolted forward and skidded to a stop just short of me while at the same time letting loose another swipe at my shins. Again, I managed to jump over his blade as it soared past, glinting in the light of the fire.

  The fire. It had spread to the trees and was consuming them with an insatiable hunger. I was so distracted before that I did not notice the heat creep up on me, but now it was glaringly apparent.

  He came for me another time, putting his body into a full-on lunge for my center. I swirled ninety degrees where I stood and smiled as he sailed past his mark, his face a fist’s width away from my navel. I sent my knee into his ribs the next instant, and he staggered backward.

  I spit out the glob of blood that had been pooling in my mouth since the tent and closed in. My sword struck the dirt; Patroclus had jumped away, as far from me as he was when I reengaged. He was bent over, hands on his knees, panting. I was starting to feel it myself.

  We observed each other with the rare respect you find among skilled competitors of any sport, our appreciation for the game overshadowing the superficial animosity that was common among younger challengers. All that smack talk we exchanged earlier—that was all it was. I was just playing the game like he was, trying to get into my opponent’s head. I had no hatred of the man. Yes, my aim was to kill him, but that was a simple matter of circumstance. Battle was our artform, and if a man played well, then he played well, regardless of which team he happened to be aligned with. I was reminded of Ajax the Great.

  “You tired?” I asked, making no effort to mask my own exhaustion.

  He smiled. “It comes with the job, No-Name.”

  It was my turn to laugh. “I wasn’t lying. My name really is Troy.”

  “What? Truly?”

  “Yeah.” I took another deep breath. “It’s fairly common where I’m from.”

  “And where is that?”

  I shook my head. “We don’t need to get into all that right now.”

  “Troy!” Helen called to me. “Do you wish for us to help you?”

  I shook my head again. “No. Artession and I need to do this on our own.”

  I know some people would think of that as some meathead macho bullshit, but that was just the way it had to be. I was in this fight for the long haul, and I needed to prove to myself that I could see it through, if for no one else.

  “But Troy—!”

  “No!”

  “That girl seems to care about you a great deal, Troy,” Patroclus said.

  “Don’t worry about her; worry about me.”

  “Maybe you should worry about your friend over there.”

  We turned to watch the other two.

  Artession was having a rough time. Each heavy swing of his blade came slower and slower, to the point where it was downright pitiful. Achilles was just playing with him at that point, taking his time stepping out the way of each attack.

  “Come on, man,” I said under my breath.

  I wanted to run in and come to my friend’s aid, but I knew that the moment I did, Patroclus would pounce. Also, I would look like a total hypocrite after what I just told Helen, but honestly that idea fell to the wayside upon seeing Artession’s life in danger.

  “If you move to help him, I will kill the girl,” Patroclus warned.

  It was tough knowing that I had to make the conscious decision, but I wasn’t about to sacrifice my queen to save my rook.

  He kept swinging, and I understood it was only him trying to save face. The fire roared behind them. I watched helplessly, knowing the woman I had grown to love would die if I ran in to help, and knowing that my closest friend in this strange land would surely die if I didn’t. As the heat grew, an appalling realization dawned on me; I was in Hell.

  Achilles wasn’t even doing Artession the favor of ending it swiftly and saving his pride. It could have been over minutes ago—not that that was what I wanted, but anything was preferable to the torture of having to watch this drawn-out game Achilles was playing. I could only imagine how it felt for my Thirian friend.

  One of his men called to him, and the Chief held up a hand, responding between gasps. I did not know what he said for certain, but I assumed it was along the lines of what I had told Helen, because she shouted, “You men are too proud for your own good! Why do you not allow us to help you?” I could barely hear her then over the bellowing of the flames.

  Artession was on his hands and knees. It seemed his energy had finally run out. His opponent watched him, arms crossed and lips pursed, apparently dissatisfied with the beast-man’s performance. He looked to Patroclus, who nodded in return.

  My friend’s head was separated from his neck in less time than it took me to blink. His men cried out moments later, a delayed reaction to an event they never thought possible. The man’s head had been chopped clean off. The man himself was the head of the body that was their tribe.

  Achilles turned to us without a word. Now it was time to watch his partner in battle.

  I tried not to let the anger well up inside me, but it was the hardest thing I had ever done. Patroclus grinned at me from across the way, waiting for my next move. I charged in to
meet him, just as I had many times before.

  I made a diagonal slash with his sternum as my target, and, true to form, he breezed out of my way. Before I had time to turn and unleash another move, my focus was interrupted by a scream loud enough to shake the trees.

  There was no way my hit landed, I thought. I spun around to see my world collapse. His sword had penetrated Helen’s stomach and shot through her back, coming out the other side by a solid foot. The blade winked at me in the light of the flames, taunting me. She hunched forward, motionless, supported by nothing more than the strength of my enemy’s right arm, holding her up like the last bite of meat on a shish kebab.

  His other hand rested on his hip, triumphant in the feat he’d just pulled off. He laughed to Achilles, who grunted his approval.

  This man was not Ajax. He was not my buddy. He was not some worthy, skilled adversary who appreciated the art of the game. He was just some random asshole who had just murdered—for all he knew—a helpless young woman. He was a true Greek. And in the half-second that followed my coming to grips with reality, he was dead.

  I gave him no time to loosen his blade from its new home. He had not yet taken his eyes from Achilles by the time my sword was in his side. His hand had only moved to stop me when I cut halfway through, stopping at his spine.

  He dropped to his knees, Helen’s body falling to the dirt beside him. I regretted that I wouldn’t be able to choke him after all, and that I did not have the time to make him suffer more for what he did.

  All I thought to say was, “Just know that it was personal.”

  Achilles was making his way to me, in no particular hurry.

  “Life is pain, boy,” he said, stopping in the center of the clearing several yards out of my reach.

  “That was unnecessary.”