David Robbins: Spartan Run

“Where’s the debris?” Rikki responded, and rose onto his elbows to survey the room in which they had placed him. He spied the north doors 30 feet away, closed and barred and guarded by six soldiers.

“The debris?” Chilon repeated quizzically.

“From the part of the roof that came down on my head.”

The captain grinned. “If it’s any consolation, Captain Pandarus feels very bad about knocking you out.”

“Not half as bad as I feel.”

General Leonidas moved up to the bunk. “I’d like to extend my apology for what has happened. My subordinate believed he was doing his duty.”

“He does it very well.”

“Can we get you some water?” Leonidas inquired. “I’m afraid that’s all we can offer.”

“Water would be nice.” Rikki placed the katana in his lap, then swung around and draped his legs over the edge of the bed.

“Get him a glass,” the general instructed Chilon, who promptly hurried off.

There were Spartans standing at every window, and scores of them seated on the bottom bunks, most sharpening their swords or talking quietly.

“I heard you mention my friends,” Rikki said. “What happened to them?”

“I don’t know,” Leonktes answered. “I was injured during the battle and carried back to the barracks, so I didn’t note where they went. Some of my men reported that your vehicle was last observed heading into the city. Do you have any idea why Blade would go there?”

“No, but he must have an excellent reason.”

“King Agesilaus is still in the city. He’ll never let them return.”

Rikki grinned. “If you knew Blade as well as I do, you wouldn’t be worried.”

“And if you knew Agesilaus as well as I do, you would be.”

“I understand you’re trapped in here,” Rikki noted, staring out the nearest window. Beyond stood a row of soldiers holding their shields in front of them. Only their heads, necks, and legs from mid-thigh down were exposed to view.

“General Calabas has us surrounded, yes. I suspect he intends to simply wait us out. Hunger will drive us into his hands.”

“Perhaps you won’t mind if I offer a suggestion?” Rikki tactfully said.

“Be my guest.”

But before the Warrior could elaborate, a loud crash shattered the hushed atmosphere in the confines of the room as a heavy spear smashed through a window on the west side.

“They’re attacking!” someone cried.

Blade crouched, spun, and threw himself to the right, his finger on the trigger. Four soldiers were making toward him, each with an assault rifle they were bringing into play. He squeezed off a burst, sweeping the M-16 from right to left, his rounds taking them at chest height.

All four were jerked rearward by the impact, and all four went down without getting off a single shot.

The Warrior whirled again, anticipating the bearded one and Major Xanthus would be coming at him, but neither of them had moved.

Confused, he straightened and tried to read their inscrutable expressions.

“Why didn’t you try to stop me?”

“We told you we’re not backing either side,” replied the man with the beard, “Those were Agesilaus’s men.”

Blade glanced at the bodies, at the bronze helmets and the red cloaks worn by every Spartan soldier. “How could you tell?”

“Do you see these?” the bearded one asked, and reached up to touch the large metal clasp that fastened his cloak at the neck.

“Yeah. So?”

“Look at it closely.”

Suspicious of a trick, Blade studied the clasp briefly. “It’s made of copper.”

“All of the troops in the regular army wear such clasps, as do a few others. But the men assigned to King Agesilaus’s bodyguard wear ones of gold, while those in King Dercyllidas’s contingent wear clasps of silver.”

“So that’s the secret.”

“It’s no secret, actually. Every Spartan is aware of the difference. You’re the first outsider to know.”

“Thanks for filling me in.”

The bearded man smiled. “I wouldn’t want you to kill a soldier from the wrong unit by mistake.”

“Where’s Agesilaus now?” Blade inquired.

“In the audience chamber, I believe.”

“Then let’s pay him a visit,” Blade suggested. “The two of you can go first.”

“Do you still intend to interfere in Sparta’s internal affairs?” asked Major Xanthus.

“I plan to eliminate the madman, yes.”

“Why not let the struggle take its natural course as we advised?”

“Because one of my men is trapped in the barracks with King Dercyllidas. The only way to guarantee his safety is to terminate the egomaniac responsible for your civil war. If Agesilaus dies, it’s all over.”

The bearded man sighed. “Isn’t there anything I could say to convince you to change your mind?”

“No.”

“Very well.”

The two Spartans turned and walked toward the enormous door at the end of the hall.

Blade stayed a few feet behind them, his eyes darting from side to side, mystified by the absence of guards. Were they in the audience chamber?

Even if they were, someone should have heard the blasting of his M-16. Yet the palace resembled a tomb.

“I do wish you would listen to us,” Major Xanthus said I over his shoulder.

“I can’t.”

“Suit yourself.”

The door to the throne room, like the entrance door itself, hung open a crack.

“Open it,” Blade directed. “Slowly.”

The pair complied, pulling the portal a few feet out from the jamb.

“Do you prefer us to go in first?” asked the bearded man.

“Go ahead.”

Blade walked on their heels and hunched down. He planned to open fire the second he laid eyes on Agesilaus. All it would take was a single shot.

He stared between the Spartans, braced for the worst. Instead, to his consternation, he beheld an empty chamber: no king, no guards, no audience, nothing. “Stop,” he commanded the two men.

“Leave now before it’s too late,” Xanthus said.

“Be quiet.” Blade straightened and regarded the vacant thrones. “Since he isn’t here, we’re going to checkout every floor from bottom to top.”

“You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into,” the major stated.

“Let me worry about that.” The Warrior shifted so he could cover the entrance. “Where are the stairs?”

The bearded Spartan pointed at the southeast corner of the chamber.

“Through that door.”

“After you.”

Their faces reflecting resignation, the pair of soldiers complied.

Blade noticed other doors rimming the room and wondered where they led. He wouldn’t put it past the madman to have a secret passage out of the palace for use in emergencies or a hidden room no one else knew about. Agesilaus was a narcissistic power monger, true, but he was also a clever narcissistic power monger. Not the kind of man to leave anything to chance.

So far Agesilaus had stayed one step ahead of everyone else. The monarch must have been planning to do away with Dercyllidas for a long time, and the opportune arrival of the Warriors with their offer for Sparta to join the Federation had given Agesilaus the pretext he’d needed to save Sparta from a detrimental alliance and come off as the hero who slew the wicked Dercyllidas.

The assassination attempt was also a testimony to the man’s cunning.

Agesilaus had deliberately drawn Leonidas’s troops away from the barracks so the hit squad could terminate Dercyllidas. And by having the soldiers in the squad carry nothing but swords, Agesilaus had stuck to the letter of the law.

The man never missed a trick.

But it was time to do to him as he’d been doing to others.