Chapter 45: Chapter 45: The Fall

Praxis had no sooner reached the wall of Spartans in front of his brother than they raised their shields, brushing aside his attack like he was nothing more than a child. At that point, Praxis realized how much of his strength he’d lost due to his wound.

If the Spartans were in the mood to avenge their dead brothers, they didn’t show it. In fact, they seemed to be awaiting orders from Xanthos to do anything further.

“Pathetic,” muttered Xanthos as he saw Praxis easily discarded. “You’re supposed to be the best in the whole city and yet you get brushed aside so easily.”

“Tell that to all the Spartans I’ve killed already today,” quipped Praxis. “They would disagree with you . . . if they could still talk.”

“You’ve made a mess of things already,” replied Xanthos. “Once King Nikandros hears how many of his men had to die today just to secure Argos, he won’t be pleased.”

“Too bad for you then,” said Praxis. “His wrath is going to come down squarely on your head. It couldn’t come to someone more deserving.”

“At least I’ll still be alive. Speaking of which, you’re supposed to be dead,” replied Xanthos. “How are you still alive?”

“Hades wasn’t ready for me yet. But it’ll be ready for you, Xanthos. You’re going there today.”

Xanthos grunted. “I think not. My reign has just started. With the help of my Spartan allies, I’ve secured peace for Argos for all time.”

“The only thing you’ve secured for Argos is a pair of chains,” retorted Praxis. “You’ve willingly enslaved the city just so you could take over. I hated your father just as much as you do but I would never have killed him just to get a little more power.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Praxis. I never hated my father. As far as fathers go, he was decidedly average. But he did stand in my way. And his rule was leading the city to ruin. If I hadn’t done what I did, the city would be attacked when the Spartan army arrived. It was either a few of us had to die, or all of us. I chose the path with less death in it. In a way, you can say I was very merciful for what I did. Xanthos the Merciful has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?”

“You’ve lost your damn mind,” growled Praxis. “Not that you ever had much of one to begin with. You never acted like a man even when the situation called for it. You ran away from battle like a true coward. You have no right to rule Argos. You’re not worthy.”

Xanthos waved his hand dismissively. “Your words mean nothing to me now, Praxis. At this point, you’re nothing but a distraction for me. By nightfall, you will be dead and I will still be king. Argos is mine and always will be.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” growled Praxis, readying his sword. “There’s still a lot that can happen before the Spartans get here.”

Before he could launch into another attack, they heard the sound of commotion a short distance away. Everyone’s attention turned to the west, to the road that led to the main gate to the city.

And what Praxis and the rest of the Elites saw almost completely destroyed their spirits.

Moving six abreast was the cream of the Spartan army. Their ranks were deep and their shields glimmered in the afternoon sun.

There was almost a certain irony to it. Praxis was so close to ridding the city of their influence and just when it was in his grasp, it slipped away entirely. Argos was now living on borrowed time.

“Ah, earlier than expected,” said Xanthos, a grin spreading onto his face. “The Spartan army is now here.”

The Spartans continued to march with almost perfect discipline toward the palace. Suddenly, Praxis and his band of Elites were looking very exposed.

“Come on, we have to get out of here,” urged Lysandra, grabbing Praxis by the arm. “We have to find the rest of the army!”

There was no resistance to that request, despite the fact that Praxis wanted to throw himself into the oncoming army. He knew he wouldn’t last long against that kind of manpower. The remaining Elites started to melt away, slipping away from the palace and moving toward the marketplace, where the Argive army was still gathering.

Just behind them, they heard Xanthos let out a deafening roar.

“Leave none of them alive! Kill them all!”

It was now a race against the clock. The Spartan commanders unleashed their men, allowing them to spread out into the city. As fast as the Elites were moving, they soon found the Spartans on their tails.

“Move faster!” urged Lysander, holding the rear of the Elites as they raced through the city’s streets.

They only reached the marketplace as the Spartans caught up to them. Suddenly, there was an entire group of Argives ready to back them up, the first arrivals of the army that was still in the process of mustering.

It was just the backup they needed. The sound of metal on metal erupted across the city as fighting renewed in earnest on a much larger scale. Spartans were now pouring into the marketplace but they were being met by the warriors of Argos in free melee. Even with the reinforcements, Praxis quickly figured out they wouldn’t stand a chance.

The bulk of the Spartan army was inside the city, and the Argive army still hadn’t mustered to its full numbers. That meant the Spartans were almost guaranteed to take over the city in enough time. The main question was how long could they keep offering resistance?

Praxis and his people found themselves pushed back on all fronts. No matter how many Spartans they killed, they were pushed closer to the city’s gates. As the fighting spread out, it was no longer groups of Spartans against groups of Argives but rather singular combat—the style of fighting that Praxis relished.

Even with his wounds, he still gave better than he got. The Spartans were accomplished fighters but they couldn’t match Praxis’ fury. They fell in droves, littering the fine streets of the city they attempted to take by subterfuge.

Despite his best attempts though, the Argives were still losing. Members of the regular army and the Elites were falling at alarming rates. At one point, they managed to fortify a small square into a makeshift defensive position, but it only gave them temporary breathing room.

“We can’t stay in the city for much longer,” said Lysander, his shield and sword covered in blood. “Eventually they’re going to push us right out the damn gate!”

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“Lysander is right, Praxis,” added Lysandra. “We can’t keep fighting them. This is a losing battle.”

“We can’t give up the city!” yelled Praxis. “What you’re saying is that we surrender Argos to the Spartans. I can’t let that happen!”

“It’s already happened! Look at us,” said Lysandra. “We’re only clinging to the one portion of the city that the Spartans don’t control. We’ve lost, Praxis. It’s time for us to recognize that.”

“Never,” spat Praxis.

He didn’t let her say another word. Two Spartan warriors happened upon his position and Praxis went after them quickly. What he didn’t see was another group of Spartans that hit the other side of the square shortly after. The strength of their vigor, when coupled with the exhaustion of the Argives, proved to be the tipping point.

The Spartans easily shattered the defensive position, descending on those remaining Argives with their full fury.

The situation couldn’t have gotten any worse until it did. Praxis had no sooner killed the two warriors in front of him than he heard the scream.

Lysandra’s scream.

He turned quickly only to find her being dragged away by two Spartans who weren’t at all concerned with the fighting. No doubt to them, the fighting had already been won, and now was the time to take the spoils.

“Praxis, help me!” she screamed, being dragged by her hair. “Please help!”

Praxis moved on instinct alone. He cut a path through any Spartan stupid enough to get in his way but he wasn’t alone.

Lysander was moving as well, desperately trying to save his sister from a fate worse than death. Lysander had a good ten feet head start and he was taking the brunt of Spartan damage. Praxis was almost able to close the distance between them when he saw a Spartan shield collide against Lysander’s head.

The blow brought the young man to his knees.

“Lysander, hold on!” roared Praxis, increasing his speed.

He never arrived in time. The Spartan in front of Lysander thrust forward with his sword.

Lysander didn’t make a single sound as the blade entered his chest.

“No, Lysander!” cried Lysandra, witnessing the entire ordeal.

Even though his wound was still agonizing, Praxis found the last reserves of his strength. He launched himself into a headlong jog against the Spartan that just killed Lysander. Praxis caught him off balance with a half-jump that resulted in his blade slipping through the soft flesh just below the man’s collarbone.

Praxis jerked his sword for good measure, sending blood spraying out of the man’s severed neck. He wouldn’t be long for this world, but neither would Lysandra if Praxis didn’t hurry.

Lysandra screamed again as she fought to free herself but the Spartans were too strong. And now they were getting further away.

Night was quickly falling and he was running out of time. Praxis quickly dispatched another man that had gotten in his way before stepping over the bodies of several fallen, many of them Argives. Finally, he reached the two that were dragging him away.

“Would you look at that?” sneered one of the Spartans, jerking Lysandra’s hair. “I think we found the boyfriend.”

“What a pity,” retorted the other Spartan. “She’s going to have to watch her boyfriend die right in front of her.”

“The only ones dying tonight are you two,” growled Praxis.

The first Spartan actually laughed and pointed to the blood on Praxis’ chiton. “I don’t think so. You’re only a few breaths away from death anyway. If not by my sword, then your wound will do it.”

Praxis looked down, seeing his fear confirmed. His wound was bleeding again, soaking the contents of his clothing.

He didn’t have much time. If he didn’t get Lysandra now, he wouldn’t be able to save her before he died.

“Last chance,” warned Praxis, tightening his grip on his sword. “Let her go.”

The first Spartan shook his head. “If you want her, come and take her.”

Praxis swallowed heavily. “Here I come.”

With those three words, he launched his final attack.

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