“What were the orders?”
“To burn down Dercyllidas’s barracks within the hour.”
Teucer thought of Rikki. “And the response from General Calchas?”
“He intends to try and convince Leonidas to surrender. If that doesn’t work, Calchas will torch the barracks.”
The bowman slowly let up on the string and took a stride backwards.
He had to reach the barracks and warn the martial artist and Dercyllidas’s men. “All right. Stand up and continue on your way. And don’t worry. I’ll never tell a soul about this.”
“Thanks,” the messenger stated gratefully, rising with an effort. He skirted the door and made toward the east without so much as another look at the Warrior.
So there were a few dissidents in the Spartan ranks, Teucer reflected as he quickly climbed into the SEAL and slammed the door. He moved behind the wheel, deposited the bow and arrow on the console, and started the vehicle. He’d begun to think of all the Spartans as infallible machines. The discontented runner had been the proverbial exception that violated every rule.
Concern for Rikki’s safety dominating his mind, the bowman peeled out and raced off. There was no longer any doubt about his decision. Rikki needed help. Blade would have to wait until after he rescued their companion. Then, and only then, would he return to the palace and seek the head Warrior. He just hoped that in the meantime the giant stayed out of trouble.
How long had it been?
An eternity? Two eternities?
Rikki-Tikki-Tavi stood alone on the blood-drenched battlefield and surveyed the carnage in disgust. What a waste of brave men! He wearily shifted his attention to the two figures approaching from the east.
“It’s over,” General Leonidas declared wearily. “We’ve won.”
“But at what a cost!” Rikki responded, sorry he had ever suggested the plan.
Captain Pandarus gazed at a nearby body. “Every last one of Agesilaus’s bodyguard has been killed. They fought valiantly to the very end.”
Rikki knelt and went to work wiping his katana clean on the cloak of a dead adversary. “I’ve never known men who died so willingly in the name of duty. They let themselves be slaughtered without a single request for mercy.”
“They were Spartans,” Leonidas stated proudly.
“Have you seen Captain Chilon?” Rikki asked.
Pandarus nodded. “We were fighting side by side when he took a sword in the chest. He managed to slay the man who had killed him with his dying breath.”
Sadness softened the Warrior’s face. “I’m sorry to hear that. I liked him.” He looked up at the general. “What will you do now?”
“Carry out King Dercyllidas’s orders. We’ll regroup and march on the Royal Palace. I won’t rest until Agesilaus is dead.”
Rikki straightened and stared out over the crimson sea of corpses.
“You’re not the only one.”
Blade heard an arrow thud into a bale behind him as he bounded toward the far end of the row. He passed another target and felt a slight tugging sensation on the back of his black leather vest a fraction of a second before a second shaft smacked into the hay. Two down, eight to go.
He abruptly dived and rolled, and narrowly missed being impaled by the third shaft. The archer had shot low, aiming for his waist. Surging erect, he weaved and dodged, his legs flying.
Another shaft nearly clipped his nose. Blade wrenched rearward at the last instant, then ducked under the arrow and sped onward. Four down, six to go.
Inspiration struck, and he abruptly halted. The fifth shaft whizzed by his chest and sank several inches into a bale. He went around it, going all out, knowing he was only halfway to safety.
The remaining five bowmen were all aiming carefully. Blade leaped into the air, sailing in a graceful arc as if diving from a high rock into a lake, his ears registering the clean hit of the sixth arrow somewhere below him.
He tucked his arms to his chest and his chest to his legs and flipped, a gymnastic feat he had performed many times in his youth. The seventh shaft brushed his hair. Uncoiling, his body a streak of motion, Blade landed lightly and dashed to the south.
Three more to go.
Again he threw himself to the grass, expecting to hear yet another arrow strike the bales, but nothing happened. He rose and hurtled toward the final bales, glancing at the archers as he did, and was astonished to discover that none of them were paying the slightest attention to him.
They were all staring in the direction of the palace. Mystified, he continued to the very end of the row before he halted. Only then did he face in the same direction. A second surprise greeted his gaze.
King Agesilaus and his bodyguards were hastening toward the bales, the ruler gesturing angrily and shouting, “No! No! No!”
Now what? Blade wondered, waiting patiently and conserving his energy. He inhaled deeply, grateful to be alive.
The archers lowered the bows. From their expressions, it was evident they were as perplexed as their intended target.
Agesilaus merely glared at the bowmen as he brushed past them, and drew to within a dozen feet of the giant before he halted. “I knew it!” he declared bitterly. “I knew you would cheat!”
“Cheat?” Blade responded in bewilderment.
“Don’t deny it, outsider! You cheated, and now I have every legal right to carry out your execution.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“How did I cheat?” Blade demanded. “Or is this a charge you’ve trumped up so you can kill me and be done with it?”
“You dare!” Agesilaus snapped. “You insolent swine. No one accuses me of being a liar. You did violate the rules and you know it. My instructions were to race from one end of the bales to the other.”
“Which is exactly what I did.”
“Like hell! You were supposed to run, moron, not indulge in all that leaping and diving and spinning.”
“You should have been more specific. How was I supposed to know?”
“Don’t plead ignorance. You were well aware of the rules,” Agesilaus stated.
“Perhaps he wasn’t, your highness,” interjected a familiar voice.
Blade glanced at the Spartans on both sides of the ruler and saw General Agis to the right. Strangely, Major Xanthus had disappeared.
The king pivoted, his countenance radiating spite. “Are you presuming to disagree with me again?” he asked the head of the secret police.
“Not at all, sire. I merely point out that he might not have realized he had to run the whole distance. As you wisely noted, he’s an outsider. He’s completely ignorant of our customs, laws, and general rules of conduct.”
“Are you saying I should forgive him?”
“Why not, your majesty? The greatest Spartan kings have always been renowned for their compassion. The ability to wield power is only one of the many attributes a wise monarch cultivates,” General Agis said.
“I know all that,” Agesilaus spat. “You don’t need to lecture me on the proper demeanor of a monarch.”
Agis smiled. “Of course not, sir.”
The power monger studied the Warrior for a moment. “Perhaps I was a bit rash. It would be foolish to expect someone who possesses inferior mental, capacity to comprehend Spartan ways.”
“Then we can simply continue with the Marathon?” Agis asked.
“Not quite.”
“Your highness?”
“Since he failed to adhere to the rules, he can start over.”
Blade stiffened. “Start at the beginning?”
Agesilaus smirked and nodded. “You’re not as dumb as you appear to be.”
“But is that fair?” Agis queried.
“Don’t try my patience with the same implied accusation twice,” Agesilaus said. “He opened his mouth to speak again, then stopped when he saw someone coming through the cluster of soldiers. “What is the meaning of this?”