David Gemmell: Shield of Thunder

“I am sorry,” she whispered, her face pressed to the rock, though it was not the answer she had given when the First Priestess had railed at her. She could not remember now exactly what she had said, but it had been defiant and proud. As she had lain among the rocks, all pride had fled from her.

At last, exhausted, she had slept for a little, but the pain in her abused body had wakened her. Just in time, for she could hear footsteps on the hillside.

And she had run for her life, coming at last, her strength gone, to a small grove of trees. There she had expected to die. Instead two men had fought for her, then helped her to a cave high in the hills.

They had not raped her or offered any threat, yet her terror would not subside. She glanced at the man called Banokles. He was heavily muscled, his face brutish and coarse, his blue eyes unable to disguise the lust he felt as he stared at her. There was no defense against him save for the wall of contempt she had created. The small dagger Kalliades had given her would be useless against such a man. He would knock it from her grip and bear her down as the pirates on the ship had.

She swallowed hard, pushing the awful memories away, though it was beyond her skill to shut out the pain of her injuries, the bruising and cuts from punches and slaps, and the piercing of her body.

The big warrior was not looking at her but staring at the tall, slim young man standing some distance away by a twisted tree. She recalled his promise to stand by her, then anger flowed once more.

He is a pirate. He will betray you. All men are betrayers. Vile, lustful, and devoid of pity.

Yet he had vowed to protect her.

A man’s promises are like the whispers of a running stream. You can hear them, but they are meaningless sounds. That was what the First Priestess had said.

The large warrior moved to the stream, leaning forward to cup his hands in the water and drink. His movements were not graceful like his companion’s, but then, she reasoned, it must be difficult to bend in such heavy armor. The breastplate was well made, scores of bronze disks held in place by copper wire. Banokles splashed his face with water, then pushed his thick fingers through his long blond hair. Only then did Piria see that the upper part of his right ear was missing and a long white scar extended from the remains of the lobe down into his bearded chin. Banokles sat back and massaged his right biceps. Piria saw another scar there, vivid, red, and no more than a few months old.

He saw her looking at him, and his cold blue gaze met hers. Anxious to hold him at bay with words, she said: “Spear wound?”

“No. Sword. Straight through,” he told her, swinging his body and showing her the back of his upper arm. “Thought it had crippled me for sure, but it has healed well.”

“Must have been a powerful man to drive a sword that deep.”

“It was,” Banokles said, pride in his voice. “None other than Argurios. The greatest Mykene warrior of all. Sword would have gone through my throat if I hadn’t slipped. As it was, it got stuck in my arm.” He turned and pointed to Kalliades. “That’s it there,” he said, pointing to the bronze weapon at Kalliades’ side. “The same sword made that big scar on Kalliades’ face. Very proud of that sword, Kalliades is.”

“Argurios? The man who held the bridge at Partha?”

“The very same. Great man.”

“And you were trying to kill him?”

“Of course I was trying to kill him. He was with the enemy. By the gods, I’d love to be known as the man who killed Argurios. I didn’t, though. Kolanos shot him with an arrow. An arrow! Bows are the weapons of cowards. Makes my stomach churn to think of it. Argurios was the reason they won. No doubt about it. We had the stench of defeat in our nostrils, but it was a Mykene who won the battle.”

“What battle was this?”

“In Troy. Would have made me rich. All that Trojan gold. Ah, well. Always another day.” Leaning back, he scratched his groin. “My stomach is beginning to think my throat’s been cut. I hope Kalliades comes up with a plan soon.”

“A plan to defeat two pirate crews?”

“He’ll think of something. He thinks a lot, does Kalliades. He’s really good at it. He got us out of Mykene lands even though they had hundreds of men searching for us. Outwitted them all. Well… had to kill a few, too. But mostly it was Kalliades’ planning.”

“Why were you being hunted?” she asked, not really caring about the answer but anxious to keep a conversation going until Kalliades returned.

“Mostly because we lost in Troy. Agamemnon King has no love for losers. Added to which we killed his general, Kolanos. Useless goat-shagging lump of cow turd he was. Ask me, we did Agamemnon a great favor. Anyway, killing Kolanos, which seemed a good idea at the time—and enjoyable, I must say—wasn’t greeted with acclaim back home. As far as they were concerned, we’d gone to war, lost, and then killed our general. Which, of course, was completely true. The fact that he was a gutless goat-shagging lump of cow turd got overlooked somehow. Three days after we got back Agamemnon King ordered the killers out. A lot of good men died that night. Still, we got away.”

“Kalliades told me you saved him.”

He nodded. “Done a lot of stupid things in my life.”

“You regret it?”

Banokles laughed. “Sitting here on a mountain waiting to be attacked by pirates? Oh, yes, I regret it. Could have had Eruthros for a sword brother. Man knew how to laugh and tell funny tales. Good companion he was. Kalliades isn’t much for laughter these days. Never was, come to think of it. I reckon it’s all the thinking. It’s not natural to think all the time. Best to leave that to old men. They need to think. It’s all they have left.”

“You said you were about to die in Troy. How did you escape?”

Banokles shrugged. “I don’t know. That’s the truth of it. The Trojan king started talking, but I wasn’t really listening. The arm wound was burning like fire, and I was preparing myself for a fight. Then we were all being escorted from the megaron and back to the ships. It was something to do with Argurios being a great hero. Lost on me. Ask Kalliades. Here he comes.”

Piria was relieved to see the young warrior striding back toward them.

“Thought of a plan?” Banokles asked.

Kalliades nodded grimly. “We’ll make our way back to the settlement, kill every cowson who comes against us, and find something to eat.”

“There,” Banokles said triumphantly. “I told you he’d think of something.”

For Piria the short journey into the settlement was terrifying. The dark voice of her fears whispered to her that Kalliades had lied, that he would seek some truce with Arelos, the pirate chief. Why else would he be heading toward the settlement? She wanted to run, to flee once more into the hills, but her body was racked with pain, her limbs too tired, her strength all but gone. If she attempted flight, either Kalliades or Banokles would catch her and bring her down.

All that remained was to choose the manner of her death. Piria held tight to the dagger Kalliades had given her. She had seen how sharp it was as she hacked away her hair. It would slice swiftly through her throat as the pirates advanced on her.

Neither of the men spoke to her as they approached the squalid little settlement. What a place to die, she thought. A few filthy buildings erected around a well and farther off some twenty hastily built shacks to house the workers in the flax fields. An old dog stirred on the street as they approached, watching them warily. No one else was in sight.

Kalliades walked to the well and sat down on the low wall at its rim. “I can smell fresh bread,” Banokles said, heading off toward one of the larger buildings. Piria thought about running, then saw a group of six pirates walking up from the beach. Banokles saw them, too, and with a curse returned to Kalliades’ side. The pirates glanced at one another, uncertain. Then they slowly approached, fanning out to form a semicircle around the well.