Chapter 42: Chapter 42: Strike at the Womb

The pain was indescribable.

It pulsed, sending waves of agony across his jilted and cold body. Breathing was incredibly difficult and his mind throbbed with pain but one thing was absolutely certain.

Praxis was still alive.

He had yet to figure out why but he was clinging to life as he coughed heavily, discharging flecks of blood in the process. He attempted to roll to his side, causing the wound to pulse with more fury. Praxis couldn’t help but grasp at the incision, finding dried blood in the front and a trickle in the back. Though painful, it wasn’t a killing blow.

And yet, he knew this attempted killing didn’t happen without a good reason. These were Damian’s men, and they only carried out his express orders.

Praxis was only surprised that he acted so swiftly after his mother’s death. She really had been the only protection that was keeping him alive.

What did this mean for Argos? That was the question he kept trying to answer as he made it to his feet, the pain still shooting up his spine. Praxis was the biggest proponent of staying out of the Spartan alliance, and now that their army was on the way, it could only mean one thing.

Argos was about to be subjugated to Spartan rule.

It was something he couldn’t allow to pass, not for the city that he loved so much. It was imperative that he got back to Argos to prevent what was surely to follow.

“Horn of Hades, how am I going to stand up?” he grumbled to himself.

If only his feet worked as well as they did before. With a great struggle, he managed to stand—an agonizing ordeal that nearly caused him to black out in pain. Praxis found that every step was excruciating, and several times he almost fell because the pain was too great. He needed help walking and that was why he searched for the closest fallen tree branch he could find. He stripped it of any twigs and used it as a walking staff, which helped to take the pressure off his side.

It was nearly dark by the time he was moving again, and Praxis resolved to walk all the way through the night. Moving with only his persistence and his adrenaline, he took small but dedicated steps on the road back to Argos.

He had to make it back in time. His city depended on him.

He just hoped he would make it before it was too late.

*****

Xanthos’ heart was beating rapidly as he moved to the house that was being used by the Spartans. He’d barely had any sleep the night before as he continued to ponder every detail of his plan. As such, he was up before the sun rose and after taking some wine to calm his nerves, he made his way to see Dorrusas.

He found the Spartans ready for action. All of them had shed their cloaks and protective clothing for the day’s operation. The entire city would know that it was soldiers of Sparta that had backed Xanthos, which Xanthos hoped would stem any kind of resistance, especially with the bulk of the Spartan army due to arrive this afternoon.

“Are you ready?” asked Dorrusas as he slipped his blade into its sheath. “The time has come and my men are ready. Tell me you’re ready to execute.”

Xanthos took a moment to respond but when he did, his answer was clear. “I’m ready. There’s no turning back from this point.”

Dorrusas sneered. “No, there’s not. Not if you want to keep your head. Let’s get moving.”

Dorrusas gave the signal to his men and for the first time since they arrived, thirty Spartan soldiers headed for the door and stepped out onto the quiet streets.

By now, the sun was starting to rise, and the first Argives were making their way onto the streets for the day. Nearly all of them stopped to stare at Xanthos and the Spartans, no doubt figuring that something was afoot. Xanthos didn’t care about that at the moment. The only thing that mattered was keeping the element of surprise before they got to the palace.

The group moved without incident to the palace near the center of the city. The first test would be the group of guards that were stationed at the entrance. Xanthos knew who was there, because it was usually the same men—Dymas and Halius. Both men had just returned from dispatching Praxis and were at their posts, although they both looked restless and tired to some degree.

Upon seeing Xanthos and his Spartans, they noticeably stiffened as their hands went to their swords.

“Drop them now,” barked Xanthos to them. “It’s the only way you come out of this alive!”

Both Dymas and Halius gave each other blank stares. They weren’t the smartest of the bunch.

When they didn’t move, Dorrusas took matters into his own hands. Four Spartans came forward, swords drawn, and they descended on the two hapless guards.

Neither of them offered any resistance. Xanthos suspected they were still too stunned about what was happening, or their fatigue dulled their senses. Either way, their corpses littered the entrance to the palace but they wouldn’t be the last.

“Spread out and take over the entire palace,” ordered Dorrusas to the rest of the Spartans before he looked over at Xanthos. “You, me and two others will find Damian.”

With those fateful words, the Spartans poured into the Argive palace. It was only a matter of time until they ran into more guards. The next set wasn’t as hapless as Dymas and Halius, and they actually put up a fight before they were gutted. One of them—a nasty creature named Nearchos—died with a sword to the back, severing his spinal cord. All around the palace, the sounds of screams could be heard. Many of them were male but a few were female, leaving no doubt as to what was happening.

Finally, Xanthos and his group found Damian. He wasn’t in his study, as could usually be expected in the early morning. Instead, he was in their private temple to Zeus. His head was bowed and his chest was exposed but he soon sprung to his feet as the sounds of footsteps surrounded him.

“What is the meaning of this?” he demanded, looking at the Spartans first. His eyes centered on Dorrusas. “You? What are you doing here!”

Dorrusas could only sneer back at him. It wasn’t long before Damian noticed Xanthos bringing up the rear.

“My son, what are you—”

At that moment, Damian caught himself. A look of profound sorrow and hopelessness took root on his face.

It wasn’t hard to figure out why—he knew what was going on.

“So this is how it ends, is it?” he asked Xanthos. “You’ve come to take my place, haven’t you?”

Xanthos raised his chin. “I have. I’m sorry that it has to be this way, Father, but your time as king of Argos is now over.”

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Damian looked over at Dorrusas briefly before looking back at Xanthos. “So you’re throwing in with the Spartans? Why?”

“Why not?” retorted Xanthos. “They are the power brokers in this world, Father. The Spartans and their alliance are going to rule every state on the Peloponnese. I can’t take the chance that Argos won’t be a part of that alliance. We would be totally alone and easy pickings for anyone that desired us. I can’t allow that to happen.”

“There is still the hope for diplomacy,” replied Damian quietly.

Dorrusas scoffed. “The time for diplomacy is over. We gave you a chance, Damian, and you rejected us.”

“I rejected you for a good reason,” snapped Damian. “The people of Argos will never accept a Spartan garrison.”

“Then the people of Argos will get a new king,” replied Dorrusas. “I promised you as much the last time we spoke. Do you remember? Spartans always uphold their promises.”

Damian’s panicked eyes locked on Xanthos. “Don’t do this, Xanthos. You have no idea what you’re doing. You won’t be an ally of the Spartans. Only a subjugated territory. There are still options that we have. There is still a way to keep Argos free.”

A tear fell down Xanthos’ cheek. “There is no other way, Father. Argos will enter the Peloponnesian League with or without you.”

Damian fell to his knees before Xanthos. “Do you really have it in your heart to kill your own father? I sired you, Xanthos. I raised you and taught you how to be a man. Is this how you’ll repay me? By killing me in cold blood?”

“Hera’s fiery ass,” swore Dorrusas. “I’ve seen enough of this begging nonsense.”

With those final words, Dorrusas moved quickly behind Damian. He grabbed the king’s hair with one hand and placed his blade across his throat. With one firm tug, a spray of blood erupted from Damian’s throat, coating the lower portions of Xanthos’ chiton.

Damian fell to the ground as he tried to grab his throat. His hands became covered in blood as a thick, wheezing sound emerged from his body. In his final moments, Damian couldn’t stop staring at his son, no doubt wondering if this was truly the end. His body fell silent moments later.

Damian of Argos was dead.

Xanthos lost track of how long he looked at his dead father. What was only a matter of minutes felt like hours, all the while Dorrusas and his Spartans gave him a wide berth. Several Spartans came and went at that time, no doubt helping with the remaining guards. Finally, he felt Dorrusas’ hand on his shoulder.

“King Xanthos, the palace is secure. Your reign has begun.”

The words were bittersweet. Xanthos nodded his head and was about to order the Spartans to take over the city’s gates when someone new burst into the room.

Eulalia took one look at the blood on Xanthos’ chiton before her eyes fell on her dead husband. Confusion turned to agonizing sorrow as she burst into tears and rushed to his side, cradling his lifeless head in her lap.

It was a testament to her intelligence that she didn’t ask what happened. Eulalia glared at her son as she rocked her husband back and forth.

“What have you done?” she cried, spitting out each word like a foul-tasting stew. “How could you? Your own father!”

Xanthos swallowed the lump in his throat. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand, Mother. It was for the good of the city.”

“The good of the city,” she mocked. “The good of the city!”

She grabbed a bowl from a nearby table and hurled it at him.

“You fool, you’ve killed us all! You killed your own father just to please the Spartans!”

“Everything will be fine now. I’ve secured peace for Argos—”

“No, no, no, no,” she said, shaking her head furiously. “You’ve only secured war for Argos. You’re not my son, Xanthos. You’re not my son!”

That statement hurt just as much as watching his father die. Xanthos shook his head.

“You’re upset, I can see that. In time, you’ll see that I did what was necessary.”

“No, I won’t,” she seethed. “I curse you, Xanthos. I curse you to Hades. You are no son of mine. You never will be!”

With those troubling words, Eulalia produced a knife that had been hidden in her chiton. She raised it in the air and brought it down on her stomach multiple times, not stopping until she lacked the strength to continue anymore.

Xanthos watched from feet away as his mother’s arms finally stopped moving, and her lifeless corpse came to a rest next to her dead husband.

He didn’t know what to say or where to begin. In a matter of minutes, he’d lost both his parents—all in his undeniable quest for power.

Was the price worth it? Did he really want to be king this badly?

Dorrusas was the first to speak after she was dead. He snapped his fingers, getting Xanthos’ attention.

“One less obstacle in the way,” he muttered. “Come on, we have a city to secure.”

Dorrusas moved to the door but once he found that Xanthos wasn’t following him, he turned around.

“King Xanthos, are you with us?” he said, challenging the new monarch. “This is the first critical juncture of your reign. Are you going to choose glory or regret?”

With one last look at his parents, Xanthos turned to face Dorrusas. “Secure the city. Do it now.”

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