Chapter 44: Chapter 44: Back from the Dead

“Wait for the signal. Wait, wait, wait . . . go!”

Theron and Lysander burst out of their hiding spot at that moment, and they ran as quickly as they could toward the watchtower that guarded the northern gate. It was being manned by no more than five Spartans—a woefully underpowered retinue but also a sign of just how few Spartans were actually in the city.

Behind Theron and Lysander were ten other Elites, giving them two-to-one odds against the Spartans. They would need all the numbers they could get. Even outnumbered, the Spartans would prove to be formidable fighters.

That was aptly demonstrated when the closest Spartan to Theron yanked out his sword and met his first thrust, moving with the speed of a man that was well-trained for combat. Theron countered, swinging his sword across the Spartan’s chest and narrowly missing his body. Around him, Lysander and the others were in the process of dispatching the other Spartans. Someone gave out a cry—a familiar voice of another Elite.

He wouldn’t be the first or the last Argive to die today.

Theron kept moving until he finally found the opening he was looking for. The Spartan fought confidently, like he was a man used to attacking but in that confidence, Theron found his weakness. He left himself too open with his attacks, not used to an enemy who could strike back once he was on the defensive.

It was this weakness that Theron used to pierce the man’s chest, quickly ending the fight as the gasping Spartan fell to his knees.

With his main enemy finished, Theron teamed up with the others to kill off the remaining Spartans until not one remained alive at the north gate.

“That’s the last of them,” said Theron, wiping his sword clean. “Get word to the rest of the army to man the north gate again and let’s move on to the south gate.”

One of the Elites went to the marketplace, where the rest of the army was still assembling, to carry back the message. The rest of them jogged quickly through the city, reaching the south gate a few moments later. It was even easier to dispatch the Spartans at this gate, seeing as they caught them unaware. The fight was over in less than a minute, and five more Spartans were added to the death toll.

Soon enough, more news came from the other gates, news that came from Lysandra.

“The east gate is taken and the west gate is in the process right now,” she informed them before looking at their progress. “Is the city ours?”

“Nearly,” replied Lysander. “We just need to take the palace. There are almost certainly more Spartans there though, and it won’t fall as easily as these isolated gate posts.”

“We can get the rest of the army to help us. Once we do that, we’ll have total control of the city before the Spartans arrive. Then we can—”

Theron never finished his sentence. One of the Elites standing closest to the gate pointed his finger to the south, where a limping person was making his way closer to the city.

“Who is that out there?” asked the Elite that noticed him. “That looks like the foreigner, doesn’t it?”

“Praxis!” yelled Lysandra, rushing to the gate. She looked out on the limping man and started waving her arms. “It’s him!”

Almost all of them set out in a headlong run to reach him. The closer they came, the more they realized that something wasn’t right.

Praxis looked to be in bad shape.

He nearly fell over when Lysandra collided with him, and he let out a scream in pain at the bodily contact.

“Praxis, what’s wrong?” asked Lysandra, her eyes of hope turning to dismay. “What happened to you?”

That was when she noticed the dried blood on his chiton. His color wasn’t quite right either, his face being deathly pale.

“Blessed Demeter, you’re hurt, Praxis,” she said, her fingers trying to find the wound. She almost fainted when she found it.

“I’m still alive,” he croaked. “But barely. They tried to kill me.”

“Who tried to kill you?” asked Theron. “Where did you go?”

“On the trip to Cynuria,” answered Lysandra, remembering what he told her. “Damian’s guards. They really tried to kill you?”

“They left me for dead,” confirmed Praxis. “They waited until I was distracted and then pierced me.” He gestured to his wound. “Not sure how long I was on the ground for but the underworld clearly doesn’t want me yet. I’m stuck here in the world of the living.” Finally, Praxis seemed to realize that something wasn’t right. He gestured to the walls. “What’s going on in the city?”

“We’re not entirely sure but Spartans are in the city already,” said Theron. “It’s a small group of them, and they took over all the gates and the palace. Damian is dead.”

Praxis’ eyes burned with hatred at the mere mention of the king’s name. “You’re certain about this? He’s really dead?”

“As dead as they get,” replied Lysandra. “Eulalia too. The city is abuzz with the news. Xanthos is in charge and from what we’ve seen, he’s in league with the Spartans.”

Praxis started to shake his head a moment later. “It all makes sense now. All of it.”

“What makes sense, Praxis?”

“Xanthos. He’s been up to something ever since we got back from our mutual exiles,” answered Praxis. “I’ve seen him sulking around the city, looking like he was up to no good. This was what he was doing. It was his plot to have the Spartans take over the city and to replace his father.”

“But why would he have to kill his own father to take over?” asked Lysander. “Xanthos was going to take the throne one day or another anyway. Why speed up the process and damn yourself in front of the gods?”

“Because for all his faults, Damian turned down the Spartan alliance,” replied Praxis. “Damian told him there could be no garrison in Argos and that was the point that killed it. Even though he wanted to be with the Spartans more than anything, he knew he couldn’t give them that. Xanthos gambled that if he gave them that last provision, they would help him take control of the city. And now it looks like they have.”

“Not on our watch,” said Theron, shaking his head. “The Elites are taking control of the gates, where the Spartans have been posted. Only the west gate is still in their possession, which we are still working on. We’ve also gotten word out to have the army assembled in the marketplace. Our hope is that when the Spartans get here, they’ll find that the full army is in control of the city, and it’ll make them think twice about attacking.”

“That’s good work,” said Praxis, suitably relieved. “That’s the best outcome we could hope for.”

Lysander grinned. “We just tried to picture what you would do, and here we are.”

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That caused both Theron and Lysandra to roll their eyes. Lysander’s worship of Praxis wasn’t something that went unnoticed in most situations.

“We need to make sure the army keeps assembling in the marketplace but now that this gate is secure, we need to do one more thing,” said Praxis.

“What’s that?”

Praxis unsheathed his sword. “We need to take back the palace. And we need to kill Xanthos before it’s too late.”

*****

Praxis felt like he had no business leading this small but elite group toward the palace shortly after arriving in Argos. What he ought to be doing was getting patched up or resting, but he was at the forefront of the action instead. As much as his wound hurt, the sting to his pride hurt more.

Argos was in a terrible position, and if he didn’t move quickly, the city would fall.

The fact that his main adversary now was his own stepbrother only made him angrier.

It was this anger that fueled his body, allowing him to discard the walking staff and push forward despite the pain.

Anger was the only motivation he needed.

Praxis and his small band of warriors arrived at the palace, only to find the Spartans maintaining a post near the main entrance. They were on high alert, their swords drawn as if they already knew what was happening.

“You know what to do,” said Praxis to the rest of his group. “Take them all down!”

Those three words launched one of the deadliest fights of Praxis’ life. The Spartans at the palace were the cream of the crop and they fought like possessed men. It wasn’t the first time in his life that he’d fought Spartan warriors but Praxis’ mobility was severely hampered by his wound. He found that he could barely dodge the blows before they connected with his body, and he took more damage than he would otherwise.

At one point, the Spartan warrior in front of him knocked Praxis off his feet with the weight of his shield. Praxis hit the ground with a garbled yell, sending pain shooting through his entire body. He looked up to find the Spartan raising his sword, ready for the killing blow.

It never arrived. Before the Spartan could bring his sword crashing down, the blow was blocked by none other than Theron, rushing to his rescue.

“I thought you could use a hand,” said a grinning Theron, now engaging with the Spartan.

“Not a moment too soon,” replied Praxis, trying to push to his feet. Around him, both Spartans and Elites were falling in equal numbers but Praxis certainly didn’t expect what happened next.

Theron, despite being engaged with the Spartan in front of him, stepped on a loose rock in the street that set him off balance. In the process, he lost his footing temporarily, having to step too close to the Spartan.

It was a mistake that would cost him dearly. Seizing on his enemy’s predicament, the Spartan lunged into a final attack that saw the sword stripped from Theron’s hand.

Praxis winced when he heard the cry that erupted from Theron’s mouth when the blade pierced his body.

In a flash, Praxis was back on his feet and ready to take over again. Seeing his friend fall to the street put a new fire in his stomach, and he launched the most devastating attack against the Spartan that he had left. His enemy, blinded by Praxis’ speed, was forced backwards until he reached a corner, created by the palace walls. With nowhere to run, he was out of options.

“You will die, you Argive bastard,” roared the Spartan at Praxis.

“You first,” snapped Praxis, continuing the fight.

It took every amount of energy he had left to swing his shield against the Spartan’s arm, causing enough force to make him drop his sword. Now defenseless, Praxis continued to work him with his shield, toying with the man like a cat would a mouse.

First, he ripped his shield from the Spartan’s hand.

Then he repeatedly used his own shield to bash against the Spartan’s head and body, which only served to disorient him further.

Lastly, once the Spartan had fallen, Praxis brought down the full force of his shield against the man’s neck. It only took three mighty blows before the Spartan was decapitated, his head rolling harmlessly away.

When Praxis finally turned his attention away, he found the rest of the Elites huddled around a small group of dead.

Chief amongst them was Theron. Praxis’ friend’s eyes were already closed and his face was deathly pale.

He’d given his life to save Praxis’. And it was a sacrifice he would never forget.

“I’m so sorry, Praxis,” said Lysandra, looking at the dead Theron.

Praxis could only shake his head. “So much death today. For no reason.”

“Theron gave his life for Argos though. That has to count for something, right?”

“It certainly does,” confirmed Praxis. “He was the bravest of men, and he was a great friend. He shouldn’t have died like this. We’ve lost enough men today but only one more needs to die. The man that started this all.”

“It sounds like you’re talking about me, dear stepbrother.”

All of their heads snapped in attention toward the entrance to the palace, where Xanthos was now standing. His eyes of fury were centered on Praxis and there were three Spartan soldiers standing in front of him.

Praxis stood up and raised his shield. “This ends now,” he growled at his stepbrother before lunging in his direction.

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