David Gemmell - Shield of Thunder

Peleus did not care. His mind was no longer functioning save for the need to run and run and never stop. To find some hiding place. Anywhere! Behind him he heard the screams of dying men.

The stallion was at full gallop now, heading west, along the line of the sea.

A spear hurtled past Peleus, then another. Glancing back, he saw that four of the enemy riders were closing on him. Then a spear went between the legs of his mount. The white stallion stumbled, pitching Peleus over its head. He landed hard, rolled, and came to his knees, the breath all but knocked out of him. The horsemen rode up, surrounding him.

He struggled to his feet. “I am Peleus the king,” he managed to say. “There will be a mighty ransom paid for me.”

One of the riders touched heels to his mount and rode forward, his lance extended. He was fair-haired and lean, and there were blue streaks on his face. “I am Hillas, Lord of the Western Mountain,” he said. “How big a ransom?”

Relief swept through Peleus. He would be taken to Hektor, who was a man of honor and understanding. Achilles could pay the ransom from the plunder of Xantheia and Kalliros.

Then the rider on the gray horse appeared. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“The king here is talking of a golden ransom,” Hillas said.

“Just kill the cowson. The battle’s not over yet.”

Hillas grinned. “As you say, General, so let it be.”

Peleus heard the words but could not believe them. “I am Peleus!” he shouted. “Father to Achilles!” The blue-streaked rider heeled his horse forward, his lance leveled. Peleus threw up his arms, but the lance plunged between them, ripping into his throat.

Choking on his own blood, the king fell to his knees. Then his face struck the ground, and he could smell the scent of summer grass.

“Come on, you sheep shaggers!” he heard someone cry. “Kill them all!”

Overcome by a blissful weariness, Kalliades sat down in the shade of a rock wall close to the beach. The wound was still troublesome, though it was healing well. The real damage seemed to have been the tear in the chest muscle, which restricted the movement of his left arm. The blow to the head still caused him occasional dizziness, but the injuries he had suffered could not dampen the euphoria he had experienced since surviving the attack on the pass.

It seemed to Kalliades that a new world awaited him, one filled with light and color and scent that had somehow been lost to him. It was not that he had never appreciated the brilliance of a summer sky or the magnificence of a crimson sunset. That appreciation, however, had been cool and rational. The glory of the world had not touched his emotions as deeply as it did now.

Even the barges on the beach, flat-bottomed and ungainly, had a sturdy beauty, the sunlight causing their oiled timbers to gleam like pale gold. Everywhere there was noise and confusion, but this spoke of life and movement, bringing with it a sense of joy.

Banokles came to him there and slumped down. “Apparently I shouldn’t have killed the king yesterday,” he grumbled, pulling off his helm and laying it on the sand.

“I did not know it was you who killed him.”

“Well, it wasn’t me, but I ordered it. Hektor’s generals said we could have used him to force the Thessalians from Thraki.”

Kalliades shook his head. “Achilles would not have agreed.”

“That’s what Hektor said. His generals don’t like me. Cowsons!”

Kalliades smiled. “You won the battle, Banokles. One crazy charge.”

“What was crazy about it?”

“It should not have succeeded. You attacked the strongest force—the Thessalian royal guard. If they’d had a braver king, they would have withstood the onslaught and then cut your riders to pieces.”

“Didn’t, though, did they?” Banokles observed.

“No, my friend, they didn’t. You were the hero of the day. Banokles and his Thrakians. What a story that will make.”

Banokles chuckled. “Yes, it will. In some ways I am going to miss them.”

“Miss them?”

“They are being left behind.”

“Why?”

“Only around forty barges. Not enough to take everyone in a single crossing. Hektor is taking the Trojan Horse across and leaving the wounded and the Thrakians. Says he’ll send the barges back tomorrow. By then it’s likely there’ll be an enemy fleet in the straits or another cowson army on the horizon.”

“Where does that leave you?” Kalliades asked.

“Me? What do you mean? I go with the Horse.”

“You and I have fought in many battles. How would you have felt if one of our generals had decided to cut and run and leave us behind on some enemy shore?”

“Oh, don’t you start on me. I knew I shouldn’t have come to see you. Cut and run? I’m not running. I am a soldier of the Horse, not a cowson general.”

“You are a general to them, Banokles. They trusted you enough to follow you into battle.”

Banokles stared angrily at Kalliades. “You always take the simple and make it complicated.”

“That’s because nothing is ever as simple as you would like it to be. Anyway, I’ll be staying with the wounded. And as you pointed out, we are sword brothers. We should stick together.”

“Pah! Sword brothers when it suits you . Didn’t suit you back at the pass, did it?”

“I didn’t want you dead, my friend. This is different. Those Thrakians revere you. They are pure warriors, Banokles. They’ve suffered defeats and seen their pride ground into the dust. You’ve given it back to them. At the pass, when they routed their enemies, and yesterday, when they killed one of the kings who brought ruin to their land. You are like a talisman for them. You’ve rescued the sons of their king and made them feel like men again. Don’t you see? You can’t leave them now.”

“I did all that?”

“Yes.”

“I suppose I did.” Banokles paused. “I guess I could stay with them at least until Troy.”

“That would be good.”

“I have to admit I was wrong about them. They can fight, those boys.”

Kalliades laughed. “They fought for you, General.”

“Don’t you start calling me that! I’m warning you, Kalliades. I’m sick of it. And Red will chew my ear off when she hears. You see if she doesn’t.”

Kalliades grinned and gazed around the deserted settlement. There were some twenty shacks and several tall huts for the smoking of fish. “Where have all the people gone?” he asked.

“They took their fishing boats and traveled across the straits,” Banokles said. “Didn’t want to be here when the enemy arrived. Don’t blame them. I don’t want to be here when they come again. How is the chest wound?”

“Healing well. Beginning to itch.”

“That’s a good sign,” Banokles said. He sighed. “I hate being a general, Kalliades. I just want somewhere to sleep, some good food in my belly, and a jug of wine by my side.”

“I know, my friend. Once we get back to Troy, it will all seem simpler. The Thrakians can choose their own general, and you can return to whoring and drinking and a life without responsibility.”

“No whoring,” Banokles said. “Big Red would break my face. But the rest of it sounds good.”

Smoke from the funeral pyres out on the plain began to drift over the settlement. “How many did we lose yesterday?” Kalliades asked.

“I didn’t ask,” Banokles said. “Judging by the size of the pyres, it must have been a few hundred. The enemy lost thousands. That’s the trouble when you break and run. My lads kept killing them until their arms got too tired to lift their spears. Even so, I reckon a few thousand of them escaped. They could re-form and come back.”