Chapter 40: Chapter 40: Old Wounds

It was the day after the announcement about the Spartan army marching north, and Damian was on pins and needles. Due to the distance between Sparta and Argos, he estimated it would take that army four days to reach the city. That meant four days of anxiety, not knowing which way the Spartans would bend.

Damian wasn’t about to sit idle during that four-day period either. Though he hadn’t been able to come to any accommodations with the Spartan envoy the last month, he still figured it was worth trying to avoid a deadly fate. He sent two envoys to King Nikandros of Sparta, promising just about any concession in order to gain entry into the Peloponnesian League.

The only thing he would not bend on was a Spartan garrison. That would mean the downfall of his rule in Sparta, and he wasn’t willing to compromise on that.

Certainly, Nikandros might be more than willing to find an arrangement that suited both of them, right?

Damian was still worried about it when Crios, the head of his household guard, came into his study.

“What do you want, Crios?” asked Damian, still tapping his chin with his finger.

“My king, I have a delicate matter to discuss with you. You asked to be told if you noticed your son’s wife around your stepson, correct?”

Damian’s head snapped quickly as he looked over at Crios. “You have evidence of this?”

“I do, my king. One of my men admitted to seeing them in the courtyard together. Your stepson was training with his sword and shield as Astara entered. They took a seat together in the shade and talked for nearly ten minutes.”

“About what?” pressed Damian. “What did they talk about? Were they affectionate? Was there intimacy?”

Crios shook his head. “He did not overhear their conversation. From his vantage point, it looked like she was comforting him. My guess is that it has to do with the queen’s death. But he saw no intimacy.”

Damian growled. “Even still, he should know better. I told him to stay away from her and he breaks my order in less than a week? That boy has worn out his welcome in my city.”

“What do you want me to do, my king?”

“Bring him to me,” ordered Damian. “It’s time that he be taught a lesson he’ll never forget.”

*****

Praxis’ footsteps were heavy as he made his way to Damian’s study a short while later. He’d been training all morning, preparing for an event he hoped would never happen. Praxis hadn’t expected the summons to see his stepfather, but he was wary of what he would find.

They’d hardly parted on amiable terms yesterday, and Praxis knew better than anyone how vicious Damian’s rage could be. He suspected another exile.

That was why he was somewhat surprised when he found Damian in his study looking over a crudely drawn map of the Peloponnese. Damian’s attention seemed to be fixed on Cynuria.

“You wanted to see me?” said Praxis, coming to a stop near the map.

Damian looked over for a brief moment before gesturing his finger to the map.

“I need you to do something for me. I need some reconnaissance about events that are happening outside the city,” said Damian.

“You mean the Spartan army? What kind of reconnaissance? Do you need me to figure out how big it is?”

Damian waved his hand. “No, no, not the Spartans. I want to know what the Cynurians are doing.”

Praxis’ gaze narrowed. “The Cynurians? To what purpose?”

“Cynuria is allied to Sparta, which means that when the Spartans go to war, the Cynurians will follow,” explained Damian. “I know a rough count of the Spartan numbers but I want to know if the Cynurians are coming with them, and I want to know how many of them there will be.”

“I would assume they would come along for the campaign,” answered Praxis. “It’s part of being in their alliance. They have to send warriors to fight in Sparta’s wars.”

“Still, I want to know how many numbers they have.”

Praxis crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Why does that matter? We both know that Cynuria is small. They can only muster a few hundred warriors at best. Compared to Sparta’s thousands, what does the exact count of the Cynurians have to do with anything?”

“Because I want to know!” snapped Damian before taking a moment to compose himself. “I need to know for something I have in mind.”

Praxis raised an eyebrow. “Are we doing something with that information? Such as passing it on to the Corinthians?”

“No, we are most certainly not.”

“Then what are we to gain from this?”

“It’s not your job to question my decisions!” roared Damian suddenly, his voice echoing throughout the room. “I’m telling you that I need you to do something, and the only thing you can do is question my intent! What is wrong with you, boy?”

Praxis could only glare back at Damian. There were so many things he wanted to say, so many retorts but he knew all of them meant one thing.

Exile.

Instead of drawing Damian’s ire, he remained silent while the monarch composed himself again.

“Are you going to do this for me or not?” said Damian after a moment. “I need to know how many Cynurians are moving north with the Spartans, and I need someone whose opinion I trust. Can you do that for me? March to the edge of Cynuria and seek out their numbers? I can’t have you engage with them, but I need the count and I need it as quickly as you can provide. Can you do that?”

It was a strange mission to say the least. Praxis had no idea how that information could be valuable to Damian, especially if he didn’t intend to fight the Spartans but perhaps there was something he wasn’t seeing. Perhaps Damian was starting to see the sense in opposing the Spartan giant.

Because if it wasn’t, then this mission was just going to be a waste of time.

“Fine, I’ll do it,” said Praxis after a moment. “I’ll bring back a count of the Cynurians. How soon do you want me to leave?”

“Right now,” ordered Damian. “Time is of the essence, especially with the Spartans on the march. I’ll give you three of my men to act as a bodyguard. Good fighters, all of them. You’ll have Dymas, Halius, and Nearchos to watch your back. They’ve already been told that you’re coming to fetch them and that they are to follow your orders.”

“I don’t get a chance to pick my own men?” asked Praxis. “You’ve hardly given me anyone with serious fighting skill.”

“Those three are more than adequate for your purpose,” replied Damian coolly. “And I don’t need their fighting prowess on this mission. Reconnaissance only, Praxis. Make sure you understand that before you leave here.”

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“Fine,” said Praxis. “I’ll get them now so we can leave. I’ll report back as soon as I have something for you.”

Damian didn’t reply to that statement. Instead, he seemed to be content to study Praxis’ face for a long moment, as if he was trying to commit to memory. It went on just a second longer than what was normal, and Praxis had to comment on it.

“What’s the problem?” he asked. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Damian’s eyes narrowed. “You just look a lot like your mother is all. You best get going. You have a lot of ground to cover.”

Praxis didn’t linger. With those last words, he left his stepfather’s study and made his way back to his room. It didn’t take him long to pack what he needed, and he strapped his pack behind his shoulder and left, making his way to find the guards.

Truthfully, he wasn’t impressed with Dymas, Halius, or Nearchos. While he got along with most of the guards in the household, those three had always been some of the men that worked the closest with his stepfather. He didn’t have a high opinion of their worth, and that went double for their fighting ability but Praxis was stuck with them for the time being.

He collected the three men, all of whom looked stone-faced and cold, before making his way to the closest gate. Along the way, he passed near Lysandra’s house. Not knowing for how long he’d be gone, he stopped to let her know.

“Why are we stopping?” growled Nearchos in front of her house. “We have a job to do.”

“We’re stopping because I said so,” replied Praxis, knocking on the door. “This will only take a minute.”

Lysandra appeared at the door a moment later. She gave Praxis a warm smile and a tight hug before looking at the three guards behind him with suspicion.

“I’ll be back in a few days,” he said, after telling her why he was leaving. “This is just a short patrol to Cynuria and back. With a little luck, I’ll be back before the Spartans arrive.”

Lysandra nodded, although she looked far from pleased at the fact he was leaving.

“Come back soon,” she said after another kiss. A coy look appeared on her face. “My bed will be empty without you.”

“You won’t even have a chance to miss me,” he promised.

She started to laugh. “I sincerely doubt that.”

With one last wave, he was off. The group of four exited the city moments later, and upon reaching the edge of the plain where the broken hills signaled the end of the territory of Argos, Praxis looked back on his home city.

He had no idea that the next time he would see it, everything would be different.

*****

“Horn of Hades, will you three keep up?”

Praxis was tired of admonishing the three guards. It was no more than a day out from Argos and he was already irritated by their lack of fitness. The three of them might look big and imposing but they had the same stamina as the old men who gathered every morning in the marketplace. They could only run for minutes at a time, and on a mission where time was of the essence, they were seriously hampering him.

“We need a break for water!” yelled out the hoarse voice of Nearchos, his face entirely red from the water.

“And a break just to catch our breath,” added Halius, trailing along just behind Nearchos.

“For men in the employ of the king of Argos, I expected much better,” grumbled Praxis, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “We’re still a day away from the Cynurian border. At this slow pace, we’ll never beat the Spartans back to Argos.”

“If we don’t slow the pace, we’ll never make it back to Argos period,” warned Nearchos. “Not with my living body, mind you.”

Praxis shook his head and gazed out on the hinterland in front of him. This part of the Peloponnese was rocky and lightly forested. It would only get more so the closer he got to Cynuria, where the wild landscape matched the soul of its inhabitants.

Praxis was still none the closer to discerning the purpose for this mission, but he’d accepted that he would probably never figure out just what Damian’s real intentions were. More than half of the things the king did didn’t make sense, and Praxis assumed this was one of them.

He was still thinking it over when he felt someone behind him. Looking out the side of his eye, he saw Nearchos had closed the distance, looking out on the countryside as well.

“What a shitty country,” said Nearchos. “It’s a wonder that anyone chooses to live out here at all.”

“Most don’t choose it unless they absolutely have to,” replied Praxis. “It’s a hard land, and only hard people can make a living out here. Nothing at all like Argos.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” said Nearchos as he started to play with something on his belt. “You ever wonder why we don’t just subdue the Cynurians? They are nothing more than pests to us. Why not just march an army in here and destroy all of them? Take all of this land for Argos.”

“Because the Spartans would declare war on us,” replied Praxis. “Cynuria exists under the protection of Sparta. We can’t move on them unless that protection disappears.”

“Hmm,” grunted Nearchos. “And what would happen if that protection over their errant child disappears? What happens the day Sparta dies and Cynuria is left to fend for herself? What then?”

Praxis shot the man a wary look. “Why do you ask? That’s an odd question for anyone, let alone a guard in the house of Damian of Argos.”

Nearchos put on a disingenuous smile. “No reason, I suppose. I’m not one for politics after all.”

Praxis shook his head and resumed his attention on the landscape in front of him. He was still plotting their next course when he heard it.

It was the sound of metal on metal. The same sound that could be heard on any battlefield but there was no battlefield nearby. So what produced the sound? What metal was closest to them, beyond a metal sword?

That was when he felt it. Liquid fire pierced his back, causing Praxis to scream. He couldn’t turn to see what had got him, but as he looked down, he could see the business end of a sword piercing out the side of his stomach.

Praxis fell to his knees as the blade was removed, clutching the wound as blood poured from his body. As he hit the ground, his eyes centered on the form of Nearchos, still clutching the bloody sword.

“Why?” asked Praxis, practically spitting out the blood-tainted words.

Nearchos grunted. “Today we found out what happens when an errant child loses his protection. Say hello to your mother for me.”

With those final words, Nearchos joined the other two men and started marching north, back to Argos, leaving Praxis in a growing pool of blood.

Eventually, he lost consciousness.

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