Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chaos and Order
Map: The World of 1250 BC
Part One, In Grecian Waters
Chapter 1 - Coming Home
Chapter 2 - The Black Flag
Chapter 3 - Giving Chase
Chapter 4 - Untested Waters
Chapter 5 - The Traitor's Price
Chapter 6 - Restoration
Chapter 7 - Safe Harbors
Chapter 8 - The Watcher of the Winds
Part Two, In the Two Lands
The Battle of Kadesh
Chapter 9 - The Delta
Chapter 10 - The Chancellor
Chapter 11 - The High King Returns
Chapter 12 - The Cobra Lies in Wait
Chapter 13 - The Court of the Sun
Chapter 14 - The Foreign Aphrodite
Chapter 15 - The Wives of Pharaoh
Chapter 16 - The Royal Heir
Chapter 17 - A Boy and His Master
Chapter 18 - The High Priest of Amun-Re
Chapter 19 - A Den of Thieves
Chapter 20 - Entertaining Seti
Chapter 21 - Lessons of the Vanquished Foe
Chapter 22 - Honor and Oaths
Chapter 23 - In the Marshland
Chapter 24 - Royal Reports
Chapter 25 - The Heifer or the Lioness
Chapter 26 - Salutations of Re
Chapter 27 - Proof of Conflict
Chapter 28 - A Poisoned Offer
Chapter 29 - Sacrifices to the Gods
Chapter 30 - The Swamps of Creation
Chapter 31 - The Phoenix Takes Flight
Chapter 32 - Rising From the Ashes
Chapter 33 - The Envoy
Chapter 34 - A Prince's Fate
Chapter 35 - The Joining of Houses
Chapter 36 - The Claiming of a Crown
Chapter 37 - A Twist of Fate
Chapter 38 - Brothers of the Sword
Chapter 39 - Parting Ways
Epilogue
Author's Note
Author Bio
Heroes Series
Coming Soon
THE PRINCESS
of
PROPHECY
Heroes of the Trojan War, Vol II
by
Aria Cunningham
LOS ANGELES
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2015 Aria Cunningham
Cover design by JR Burningham
ISBN: 0991420152
ISBN-13: 978-0-9914201-5-5
, a division of Mythmakers Entertainment | Los Angeles
www.mythmakersent.com
To JR, my love.
To Karma, my heart.
To Tristan, my soul.
Acknowledgments:
As always, this book could not have been produced without the input and influence of many people.
A big thank you to my Betas: to Claire T.H., a lady of class and spirit who inspires everyone to follow their hearts; to Autumn, whose keen insight into behavior kept me striving to dig deeper into my characters; to Chris, whose unparalleled sense of story is a talent I will also admire; to Claire D., whose passion for the material reinvoked my own - thank you all.
To everyone at Mythmakers Publishing, for all the handwork and resources poured into this series, and your faith that a historic retelling of mythology was a venture worth printing. To my editor, Kati Volker, a tireless and giving collaborator, thank you for pushing me to a higher ideal. And to Julieanne, who shared the journey to print, your example is one I cherish.
CHAOS AND ORDER
OUT OF CHAOS, there came Order.
From the black void of nonexistence, the first God spoke and the Cosmos was borne. To the Greeks, the creator God was Gaia, the solid Earth which brought shape to the world of Man. To the Egyptians it was the Solar God Atum who ruled the sky. While each region envisioned the birth of the Cosmos differently, the underlying myth was universal: the Gods were Agents of Order keeping the dark forces of Chaos at bay.
For Ancient Man, this struggle of good versus evil, of civilization over barbarism, was maintained by the Empires. Mystic, priest, prophet and all-mighty king ruled with iron fists. The Rule of Law, skewed in favor of those in power, ensured that mankind would survive.
Inequality reigned supreme. Rulers abused their powers and enriched themselves at the expense of the greater good. With that abuse, the Old World Empires sowed the seeds of their demise.
In the years before the Trojan War, civilization unknowingly teetered on the edge of collapse. Palatial rule was failing, and the common man struggled to pay the oppressive taxes of their kings. Famine, plague, natural disaster and war had taken a mighty toll. The farmer who once worked the earth and the shepherd who watched over the flock, starved. With little to lose and their very survival on the line, these men became desperate...
And in that desperation they found their real power.
Shepherd and Farmer became Sell-sword and Pirate. Angry men marauded the open seas indiscriminately. The Scales of Cosmic Order became unbalanced, for these sea-faring mercenaries fought without cause or country. They had no allegiance to good or ill. They were the Agents of Chaos.
Had the rulers of the time been wiser, they would have joined together to stamp out this nascent threat. But they were not. Shortsighted, these foolish kings bickered amongst themselves and even hired these Soldiers of Fortune to secure their borders and fight their battles.
For the mercenary, the gain was not only in gold, but also in status. For the first time in history, these once common men rose above the station of their birth. They procured a taste for power and began to question the right of any man to rule supreme, that perhaps the notion of monarchy and noble birth was a fabrication told to ensure the maltreated masses doubted their own strength.
Too late did both King and Pharaoh discover that their costly victories came at a price. The swords they had once hired in greed would soon become the swords they faced. Should that force ever unite, or find common purpose, it could break the world.
As the Age of Bronze drew to a close, revolution was in the air. The world needed but one war to begin an avalanche of deep-seated unrest, and with that clash, Chaos—the yawning abyss of darkness and disorder—patiently lay in wait to claim them all...
Part One:
In Grecian Waters
Chapter 1
Coming Home
HELEN STOOD AT the prow of the Trojan galley eagerly awaiting her first glimpse of Troy, the Golden City that was to be her new home. If the Gods were kind, they'd grant her this second chance. They'd let the horrors of her life in Greece be erased, so she could be Helen of Troy forevermore.
Fifty oars dipped into the aqua-marine waters outside the harbor, the steady swish of their passing the only sound in the early morning Mediterranean air. The night's sea fog clung to the ground obscuring the harbor city from view. It swirled around her like a steam of hot breath luring her ever onward.
Helen turned to her lover, the svelte and alluring diplomat beside her, entwining her hand in his. Paris Alexandros, the second son of King Priam and noble prince of Troy... the love of her live, the mate of her soul. He was almost too handsome to be real. She lost herself in studying his chiseled features. His curly, brown locks fell below his ears, and his almond shaped eyes never wavered their stoic gaze. For Paris she had fled the land of her birth and honor itself, for a fool's hope of happiness in his arms.
He watched the approaching dock, his back rigid with the stance of a man expecting danger. The circumstance of their flight from Greece lay on his shoulders with heavy burden. Helen shivere
d beneath her cloak, clinging to his arm. She was not the only one to shirk honor and duty to save her from her former life. Paris, too, surely faced the collective condemnation of the Trojan people for the troubles Helen drew in her wake.
She shook her head, trying to ward off those dark thoughts, but Paris' somber mood infected her. She began to imagine a wholly different homecoming, one where the citizens of Troy cursed her name and cast her from their shores. Silencing those imagined cries was difficult, and in that effort, she realized a silence of a different sort. One far more sinister.
Troy, the bustling market city, the hub of commerce between the Old World kingdoms to the east and those of the youthful territories to the west, was silent. Not a sound stirred in the abnormally thick air, the pall of the grave radiating around them. It was quiet. Too quiet.
Before she could query her lover, the sun crept over the horizon, its rays lifting the fog like a hand sweeping back a curtain.
And what it revealed was death.
All along the banks of the Hellespont lay the discarded bodies of Trojan citizenry. Blood trickled from their corpses into muddy pools, trailing off in rivulets to the Scamander river. Even at a distance the vast tributary was visibly tinged with the crimson matter.
Further inland, heat shimmered in translucent waves off the inner city of the acropolis. This was no ordinary heat. It radiated from the ground as though the Gods had opened the vents of the underworld and the flames of Tartaros had crept into the world of Men. As she watched, billowing clouds of black smoke rose into the air, and the city burned.
"Helen," Paris' deep voice echoed in the silence. She spun, looking across the great plain of the lower city to where he pointed, to the beachhead of Troy...
Where sat the vast fleet of a Grecian army, an armada one thousand ships strong.
Helen fell to her knees, a sharp pain penetrating her breast. They were too late. The wrath of her former lords had followed her to Troy. There was no escape for her, not in this life.
As though her fears summoned him, the silhouette of a single man emerged on the dock. Before his features drew into focus, she knew who it was. The barrel chest and warrior stature announced the presence of the Mycenaean king. Agamemnon waited for her as their ship glided into port.
Draped in his lion skin cloak, the king's eyes were as wild as the creature he once slew. The garment, like the man himself, was soaked in blood, as though the beast had just feasted on the flesh of his enemies. He lifted a finger to her, the force of his dark will stretching across the distance and making her pulse soar.
"You are mine, Spartan. Mine. I have come to take my due."
Helen backed away from him, racing from the prow and nearly stumbling over her feet in her mad dash. But there was nowhere to flee. Agamemnon had come, as she knew he would. No place was safe. She fell to the deck and hands grabbed at her, pulling her around. In a desperate panic, she fought to remain free.
"Helen."
The female voice froze Helen's blood ice-cold. She looked up, her words of protest dying on her tongue as she stared at her twin sister.
"Helen," Clytemnestra's face was marked with horror. "What have you done?!"
Shame and fear flooded Helen as she backed away from her sister, incapable of response. A lifetime of suffering the abuses of king and husband had not prepared her to face this woman. She needed to get away. Far away.
She spun back to the prow just as Agamemnon raised his weapon: a fire-hardened short spear with a thick bronze tip that could penetrate any armor. He tossed the weapon into the sky, its dark shaft carving a path towards the ship and directly at Paris' back.
"Paris!" She desperately reached for him, but her prince, wholly unaware of the danger, was lost in shock as his beloved city burned. The spear found its mark.
And Helen's whole world was torn asunder.
"Paris!" Helen startled awake with a violent jolt. It took her a breathless moment to orient herself. In the pre-dawn darkness little was visible. Only the heavy scent of bitumen-sealed planks and the steady rocking of a ship at sea told her she was safe. Or as safe as a person fleeing for their life could be.
"Shhhh. It's okay." Paris stroked her back, continuing to whisper in her ear.
Precious air returned to her lungs. She clung to him, reassuring herself that he was real. Her hands roamed over his lean chest, up his chiseled jaw and into his hair. Alive. He was very much alive. The hammering of her heart began to slow as her brain finally accepted the information as truth.
"We're safe." She dropped her head to his shoulder and took a deep breath. Safe... for now.
Paris nearly cried out in relief. Since they left Mycenae a week prior, Helen's night tremors had only grown worse. Thick curtains separated the royal sleeping quarters from the remainder of the hold, providing what little privacy their circumstance afforded. Originally, he had given the space to Helen and her matron, trying for some semblance of honor in their questionable departure. Then the nightmares began, and try as Aethra might, the matron could not awaken Helen when the terrors took hold. Only Paris could, so each night he laid his bedroll within reach, ready to protect his love from her phantoms.
"Are you alright?"
"I'm fine." She spoke with a strength that belied her fragile psyche. "Don't worry about me."
He shared a worried glance with Aethra, the aged matron hovering near her charge. The woman's iron grey hair hung limp against a care-worn face, a face that bore more lines than when Paris had first met the woman. She must know the source of these daemons.
He held Aethra's gaze, that unanswered question lying heavy between them. The woman backed away, her tongue weighed down by some inner conflict. Let her keep her secrets, he grumbled silently to himself. So long as she stays true to Helen.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
She shook her head, a fierce resolve in her eyes. Her excuses varied whenever he asked. She didn't want to burden him, or, in this case, revisit her nightmares. Paris could only imagine what tormented her, what visions could cause her to thrash in her sleep and soak her bedsheets in sweat, a malady that only started when she set foot on his ship. He couldn't help but feel somewhat responsible. She would not be here if he had not convinced her to leave her homeland.
He ran a hand through his sweat-soaked hair. If Helen would not talk, then he had no choice but to find a way to help her forget. "Do you want to get some fresh air? It's almost first light."
Helen took a deep breath and nodded, grateful for Paris' patience. She quickly donned a fresh chiton, and he wrapped his cloak around her shoulders. Together, they quietly made their way above deck, careful not to disturb the score of sleeping sailors in the main hold.
A tremor of guilt pulled at her gut. Helen hated excluding Paris from her troubles, but the events on the night they left Mycenae, and those of her childhood, had left her scarred. Time and again her lauded beauty had subjected her to the sick attentions of powerful men. But this last abuse, by one whom she loved more than her own self, was beyond bearing. Helen felt saturated by a filth that penetrated far beneath the skin. Those type of hurts did not lessen when they were shared.
She grabbed hold of a rope ladder, climbing to the main deck, a task made difficult by the rolling swell of the Aegean. Fortunately, she had always been athletic and managed the task with grace. Once topside, the cool breeze off the pre-dawn waters instantly cleared her foggy mind.
A handful of Trojan sailors manned their stations, watchful for a change of winds or current. A young lad, no more than ten and seven years, tied off the main sail. He looked away nervously as she passed.
Helen flushed and hid her face in her golden tresses. Her interaction with the Trojan crew had been minimal at best. She found herself at a loss on how to relate with the hardworking men. They sailed for home, but under the dark auspices of having broken the bonds of xenia. Every shifted gaze or stiffened back made her wonder how many of them secretly wished to return her to Greece. How many wished
to rid themselves of the wrath of the Gods that was sure to follow?
Paris told her not to worry, that his crew had faced death and more with him, but it was hard for her. What right did she have to ask that they risk so much for her freedom, especially when their kindness would earn them the undying hatred of the Mycenaean king? The fears that haunted her dreams were very real, and she would not suffer the fallout alone. Her presence on this ship placed the entire crew in danger. When they realized she was not worth the risk, not even Paris would be able to keep her safe.
Her prince took her by the hand and led her to the raised platform where Glaucus awaited them at the back of the ship. The stoic captain stood at the stern in the precise spot she had last seen him the night before. Did the man ever sleep?
"Paris. Princess," Glaucus grunted. It was as much of a greeting as Helen had come to expect from the quiet man. She had learned that Glaucus used his words sparingly because when he spoke, he wanted those words to matter.
"Any sign of pursuit?" Paris returned the greeting with similar gruffness.
"Not a sight of slip or sail." Glaucus kept his iron gaze locked over the grey-black waters. Scarcely a week from their flight from Mycenae, and they were still in Grecian waters. "Strange for these parts." The captain tightened his grip on the stern oar, making small adjustments in their course with the wide-bladed rudder. "Greeks are born mariners. If you prayed for secrecy, I'd say Poseidon favored your wish."
"Don't count your blessings yet," Paris scoffed. "We're not in safe harbors."
Helen shivered in agreement. An eastern zephyr had sent the Trojan galley off course, bringing them dangerously close to Crete, a kingdom almost as full of dangers to her as the one she left. The palace at Knossos was currently playing host to her husband Menelaus and his fearsome brother Agamemnon. At first, Helen thought the news of their grandsire's death, and their abrupt departure to observe the Cretan king's funerary rites, was a blessing. Their absence was akin to a cloak of darkness. With them gone, she was free to act unobserved, to escape with Paris. It was though Aphrodite removed all the obstacles binding her to Greece and illuminated the path to freedom and happiness.
The Princess of Prophecy Page 1
