Spartan Run

by David Robbins

“Why not simply stay put?” the martial artist mentioned.

  “We’ll give our hosts the benefit of the doubt,” Blade stated, and slid to the ground. He whispered his final instructions. “Rikki, you’ve had driving lessons. If we’re right, get the SEAL out of here.”

  “We won’t leave you.”

  “That was an order.”

  “As you wish,” Rikki said, frowning.

  Blade slammed the door, plastered a fake smile on his face, and strolled toward the kings.

  “An astounding display of firepower!” King Agesilaus exclaimed, and clapped his hands together.

  “Evidently the Federation is every bit as strong as you indicated,” King Dercyllidas added. “Spartan might would avail us little against such mechanized dispensers of death.”

  “The Federation has no intention of attacking Sparta unless you give us provocation,” Blade said. “We’d rather join hands in friendship and become allies.”

  “Sparta can take—” Agesilaus began, then glanced at the transport.

  “Why are your companions still inside?” He did a double take. “And why have they just rolled up the windows?”

  “They’re making ready to depart.”

  “Depart!” Agesilaus practically bellowed “I didn’t give them permission to leave.”

  “There’s no need for them to be present during our further talks,” Blade said.

  “I want them out of there this second!”

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

  King Agesilaus took a step forward. “Don’t tell me what is and isn’t possible! You’re addressing a Spartan king, not some miserable cur of a Helot.”

  “What different does it make whether they stay in the vehicle or not?”

  King Dercyllidas said, interceding.

  The thin monarch whirled on his blond peer. “It’s a trick. They’re up to no good.”

  “You’re making a mountain out of a molehill,” Dercyllidas said. “Why do you persist on blowing everything out of proportion?”

  “I do, do I?” Agesilaus rejoined, his right hand casually easing under the folds of his robe.

  “Most definitely. These men would hardly have risked their lives to come here merely to indulge in petty tricks. They’re offering us a wonderful opportunity, a chance to expand our horizons, to enter into a political alliance that will reap untold benefits. Think of the possibilities!

  Why, we might be able to trade for ammunition and other necessities that are currently in short supply.”

  “Sparta has managed quite well for over a century without outside aid. There’s no reason to change our policy now.”

  “But there is. For far too long has Sparta existed in isolation. We’ve had no contact with the world beyond our boundary for decades. We don’t know what’s out there. And we owe it to ourselves and our people to find out.”

  “The Lawgivers instructed us to be extremely cautious in making contact with outside influences.”

  “True, but they wrote those words a century ago when the world was in turmoil, when hordes of looters and crazies were, scouring the countryside, slaying everyone they met.” Dercyllidas paused. “Now the world is different. The presence of these three men is proof of it. We must keep our minds open to their words or we’ll run the risk of suffering another century in a self-imposed quarantine.”

  Agesilaus stared at the ground. “Then I gather you’ve already decided Sparta should join the Federation?”

  “Yes. But the final decision isn’t up to us. The Ecclesia must vote on such a monumental issue, and I fully expect they will agree once they hear about the benefits to be derived from such a venture.”

  “The general assembly will never hear about the benefits.”

  “Oh? And why not?”

  “Because they’ll be too busy discussing your heinous plot to betray Sparta into the hands of her enemies,” Agesilaus declared harshly, and the next moment he whipped a dagger from under his robe and plunged the keen point into King Dercyllidas’s chest.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  All hell broke loose.

  King Agesilaus raised the dagger for another strike as Dercyllidas staggered backward and fell to his knees.

  “No!” Captain Chilon cried, and stepped between the monarchs, giving Agesilaus a shove that propelled the thin ruler onto the ground.

  The two dozen Spartan soldiers leaped forward, some surrounding King Dercyllidas, the rest encircling Agesilaus. In a flash swords appeared, and the two sides promptly clashed. Three men perished in the opening seconds of combat.

  Shocked by the unexpected turn of events, Blade saw an Agesilaus partisan charge Chilon. He automatically darted to the officer’s side, drawing his Bowies as he did, and braced for the onslaught.

  The soldier swung his short sword in a tremendous overhand clash, intending to cleave the giant’s skull.

  Blade blocked the blow with his right Bowie, the clanging impact jarring his arm, then stabbed his left knife into the soldier’s side. The man crumpled, and Blade jerked the Bowie free and glanced at Captain Chilon.

  The officer was supporting King Dercyllidas. “We’ve got to get out of here!” he told the Warrior. “There’s no time to explain.”

  Blade didn’t need to be persuaded. A quick look showed him the Agesilaus partisans outnumbered the Dercyllidas defenders by two to one, and despite the brave resistance of the defenders they were about to be overrun. “Get him to the van!” he shouted to be heard above the clashing of the swords.

  Captain Chilon nodded, looped both arms around the wounded king’s torso, and hastened toward the SEAL.

  Three troopers moved to intercept him.

  What had he gotten himself into? Blade wondered as he dashed to Chiton’s defense. Since all the Spartans were dressed alike, he had a difficult time determining which side they belonged to. The trio, however, left no doubt of their intentions. He parried the sword of the foremost soldier, then dodged when another tried to impale him in the groin.

  Nearby a defender went down fighting, blood spurting from his ruptured throat.

  The three Agesilaus backers converged on the giant in concert, their expressions set in grim determination.

  Blade backed up, his eyes flicking from Spartan to Spartan, knowing he was at a decided disadvantage. Not only was he outnumbered, the short swords were six inches longer than his Bowies and double-edged. The swords had also been forged with heavier steel. He couldn’t expect to hold them off indefinitely.

  All three lunged at the same instant, each one spearing his weapon at a different part of the giant’s anatomy.

  A side step enabled Blade to avoid a thrust aimed at his legs, and his Bowies deflected the other swords. Almost immediately the trio tried again, two slashing high, one going low. Blade threw himself rearward, evading the high strikes, but an intensely painful stinging sensation in his left shin made him aware the third soldier had scored. He didn’t dare glance down to see how bad it was or the threesome would finish him off.

  He blocked two swords, still backing up, and glimpsed a fourth foe racing toward him.

  Damn.

  Blade knew he had to put at least two of them out of action and do it swiftly or he would be overwhelmed. He dodged to the right, and when the nearest Spartan tried to slice open his abdomen he swung his left Bowie straight down, cutting into the soldier’s wrist and almost severing the man’s sword hand.

  Incredibly, the soldier simply grabbed the sword with his good hand and renewed his attack.

  The Warrior skipped to the left this time, just as another Spartan aimed a terrific swipe at his neck. Blade ducked under the sword and lanced his right Bowie into the man’s stomach, then wrenched the razor-sharp blade upward, ripping the Spartan from the navel to the sternum. The man doubled over and toppled forward.

  There were still three adversaries remaining, counting the man whose split wrist gushed forth a crimson spray.

  Blade countered a series of swings, his superior
size and strength enabling him to temporarily keep them at bay. One of the soldiers came at him from the left at the same moment a second came at him from the right. He parried the latter and spun to confront the other one, but someone else beat him to the punch.

  A diminutive black-clad figure seemed to streak out of nowhere and a gleaming katana arced into the Spartan’s neck. Red drops splattered in all directions. Not slowing for an instant, the martial artist swung his cherished sword in a figure-eight pattern, the blade cutting through two foes, downing both.

  For a moment they were clear.

  “Took you long enough,” Blade said, backing toward the transport.

  “I helped Captain Chilon and the king climb in,” Rikki-Tikki-Tavi explained, his body coiled in a ready stance.

  “Then let’s get out of here,” Blade proposed, and was about to turn when three more soldiers came at them.

  Nearly all of the Spartans who had come to Dercyllidas’s aid were dead.

  Off to one side, well out of range, stood King Agesilaus. He shrieked the same command over and over again: “Kill them! Kill them! Kill them!”

  Blade braced to meet the charge of the new trio. An object suddenly flashed past his left shoulder. Three objects, actually, one right after the other, making a slight swishing noise.

  All three green shafts struck home with unerring accuracy. Each hit a soldier in the eye, penetrating deep into the cranium, slaying the target in midstride.

  “Kill them! Kill them!” Agesilaus raged.

  Blade whirled and sprinted to the vehicle.

  Standing next to the open door, another arrow already notched to the green bow, was Teucer. “I’ll cover you!” he said. “Get in.”

  A half dozen soldiers were racing to stop them from escaping.

  There was no time to lose. Blade vaulted up into the van, then slid over the console to the driver’s seat. Both Chilon and Dercyllidas were in the wide seat behind him, the king unconscious. Blade beckoned urgently at his companions and shouted, “Let’s go!”

  Rikki entered next, moving back to sit beside the Spartan officer.

  Teucer hadn’t budged.

  “Get in here!” Blade bellowed.

  Several of the soldiers were in the process of unlimbering their automatic weapons.

  “Just getting some air,” Teucer quipped, and let fly, his right hand a blur as he fired one, two, three arrows in rapid succession. The shafts sped true, and the Spartans in the act of employing their guns toppled. Teucer rotated and quickly clambered into the passenger seat, pulling the door shut just as a soldier ran from the east and swung a sword, the steel edge glancing off the virtually indestructible plastic. “The natives are a bit restless. I suggest we haul butt.”

  Blade started the SEAL and threw the gearshift into reverse. Outside, King Agesilaus raved insanely and more soldiers poured from the palace.

  Some opened fire, their rounds ricocheting off the van with high-pitched whines. Blade tramped on the accelerator and the SEAL hurtled rearward.

  Spinning the wheel, he executed a semicircle, then shifted again and made for the gravel road.

  “We must reach the barracks,” Captain Chilon stated urgently.

  “Why?” Blade asked. “What’s going on?” He gazed into the rearview mirror and saw Spartans piling into the four jeeps.

  “You and your friends have been caught in the middle of a power grab.

  Agesilaus is trying to take complete control of Sparta.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” Blade said, scanning the pedestrians crowding the sidewalks that lined the square. So far none had displayed any hostility.

  “This has happened twice before, many years ago. Each time the would-be dictator was defeated,” Chilon disclosed. “Frankly, I expected Agesilaus to make his move a long time ago. He probably decided to act now because he wants to prevent Sparta from joining the Federation at all costs.”

  “What difference does joining make?” Blade asked while exiting the square and speeding westward, the huge tires spewing gravel and dust in the SEAL’s wake.

  “I’m just guessing, but I’d say he’s afraid the Federation would intervene if he tried to take control afterward.”

  “Then the joke is on him. A clause in the treaty prevents Federation factions from interfering in the internal affairs of other members.”

  “Really? Well, whatever his reason, Agesilaus has gone over the brink and blood will flow until he’s stopped.”

  “What will you do now?”

  “I must get King Dercyllidas to the barracks where his bodyguard contingent is housed. They’ll protect him.”

  “His bodyguard contingent? I thought there are three hundred Spartans assigned to safeguard both kings,” Blade said. He took a curve as tightly as possible and glanced in the mirror.

  The four jeeps, intermittently visible through the swirling dust, were roaring in pursuit.

  “True, but each king selects one hundred and fifty men for the royal bodyguard. In effect, each king controls half of the contingent. Those who were picked by Agesilaus will back him to the death, and the same goes for those who owe their position to King Dercyllidas.”

  “What about the rest of the army and the Spartan people? Which king will they help?”

  “Neither.”

  “What?”

  “The regular army and the populace at large won’t intervene. Custom dictates that the kings decide this between themselves.”

  “And what about the judges everyone keeps talking about, the Ephors? Do they have any power? Can they influence the outcome?”

  “In a word, no. The Lawgivers tried to improve on ancient Sparta’s constitution by incorporating certain changes into ours. Unlike the Ephors in the early Sparta, ours have only judicial powers. Even though all five might prefer Dercyllidas over Agesilaus, they won’t attempt, to intervene. Agesilaus is crazy enough to have them slain on the spot.”

  Blade passed an intersection, narrowly missing two Helots who were scurrying to get out of the SEAL’s path. “Every Spartan must know that Agesilaus has gone off the deep end. Why haven’t they deposed him?”

  “Such an act would be unthinkable. Spartans are raised from infancy to be loyal citizens. They pride themselves on their dedication to Sparta and the principles underlying the foundation of our city-state. For a Spartan, even the mere thought of disobedience is unconscionable.”

  Frowning, Blade glanced at the pedestrians on both sides of the road.

  “Are you telling me they’d rather be ruled by a madman than revolt?”

  “Essentially, yes.”

  Blade shook his head in astonishment. What manner of people were these Spartans? He looked in the mirror once more and spotted the jeeps, now less man 40 yards behind the transport and slowly gaining. “Where are the barracks you mentioned?”

  “Almost on the outskirts of the city. The troops are billeted there in case of an attack, so they can be called up and into formation at a moment’s notice,” Captain Chilon said. “Look for a side street on the left. There will be a long, narrow building adjacent to the street.”

  “Are Agesilaus’s men in the same barracks?”

  “No. They’re in a building on the other side of this road.”

  “So the contingents are right across from each other?”

  “Yes.”

  “Terrific,” Blade muttered, and checked on their pursuers again. Only 30 yards and closing.

  Unexpectedly, King Dercyllidas coughed and spoke. “Blade, I want to thank you for your aid.”

  Captain Chilon bent over the slumped monarch. “Don’t talk, my liege. You must stay still until I’ve summoned a doctor.”

  “I’m a Spartan king,” Dercyllidas stated, straightening slowly. “I won’t be coddled.”

  “These guys give new meaning to the word tough,” Teucer interjected.

  “All of you must leave as soon as you can,” Dercyllidas said. “Drop me off here, if you like, and depart in safety.”<
br />
  “No can do,” Blade responded.

  “Why not?” the ruler asked weakly, his left hand pressed to his chest.

  “Because I intend to drop you off at the barracks where your bodyguards are housed. You wouldn’t be safe anywhere else.”

  “You must leave,” Dercyllidas insisted. “If anything happens to you, the Federation will blame us. For the sake of my people, this mustn’t happen. I don’t want to jeopardize Sparta’s chances of joining.”

  “I can appreciate your concern,” Blade noted, his eyes on the road ahead, seeking the barracks. “But look at this situation from my perspective. I believe the Spartans would make great allies. But if Agesilaus prevails, he’ll never sign the treaty. Sparta won’t be able to join the Federation until after he dies. I’d prefer to hasten his demise.” He paused. “It’s in the Federation’s best interests if we help you out.”

  “This isn’t your fight.”

  “Wrong. It became our fight the second Agesilaus tried to have us killed. If he wants us for enemies, he’s got us.”

  King Dercyllidas glanced from the giant to the man in black, then at the bowman. “I am deeply in your debt.”

  “Save your gratitude,” Teucer said. “If you’re not alive when this is all over, you won’t owe us a thing.”

  Blade looked in the mirror at the thick cloud of smoke behind them.

  Where were the jeeps? he wondered, and moments later received an answer.

  The dust briefly parted, revealing a jeep not ten yards off. A Spartan was leaning out the passenger side, his arm extended.

  It took Blade a second to realize the soldier held a hand grenade.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Blade turned the wheel sharply to the left, causing the SEAL to slew wildly. He regained control and saw the jeep still ten yards away, riding on the right side of the road. Apparently the driver planned to draw closer and then the other soldier would throw the grenade. Sixty feet beyond the first vehicle was the rest of the pack.

  “Too bad we can’t get behind them,” Teucer remarked.

  “Who says we can’t?” Blade said and slammed on the air brakes, holding on tightly as the van screeched to an abrupt stop. He saw the lead jeep shoot past and floored the accelerator, hoping the other three jeeps wouldn’t smash into the rear of the transport.