Atlantis Gate

CHAPTER 26

“If the words of your Oracle were true, this is my last night.” Leonidas was lying on his back, his head resting on his rolled up cloak, his eyes staring up at the stars.

“Yes.” Cyra was seated on a small stone to his side, her own cloak wrapped tightly around her body.

“It’s strange. Before every battle I have felt fear — of being maimed; of being killed; of being defeated. But no matter how dire the fight appeared, or how terrible the odds, I always believed deep inside that none of those would happen.” He turned his head toward her. “I mean, I knew one day I would die. Either in battle or some other way, but it always seemed sometime in the future. But that future is here, now. It is very strange.”

Cyra said nothing, overwhelmed by the atmosphere of the camp. There was a low murmur in the air, many men talking in subdued voices to each other. Telling each words that only the prospect of imminent death could bring a man to say.

“When you take this map,” Leonidas’s voice was stronger, “will you stay with it or do you just deliver it somewhere?”

“I deliver it,” Cyra said.

“And then?”

“I do not know my fate.”

“If you live and are in Greece, will you do me a favor?”

“Yes, if it is within my power.”

Leonidas smiled. “I believe it is indeed within your power. Go to my home. Tell my wife how I died.”

“I can do that—“

“I’m not done yet,” Leonidas said. “I want you to teach my daughter.”

Cyra frowned. “What would you like me to teach her?”

“To be like you.”

Pandora cursed as she stumbled over an unseen stone and fell to her knees, gashing one.

“Silence, whore.” The voice was harsh and low. The warrior that Xerxes had sent with her was a man who had no name in the court. He was simply known as Xerxes’ Dagger. While the master-at-arms carried out public executions for the King, Xerxes’ Dagger was known as the one who worked in the dark, executing those who the King desired dead, but could not risk publicly killing.

Pandora had memorized the track as well as she could before they left the Persian camp and so far the trail was following the thin line that had been etched on the map. It was narrow, only one person wide and went up the mountain at a steep angle. At times she had to cling with her hands to the mountainside. But the bottom line was that so far, the trail was passable.

Leonidas slapped Lichas on the shoulder, startling the old man who was watching over the Middle Gate, toward the glow from the Persian camp.

“1 would ask you to fight until noon,” Leonidas said. “Then you are free from any obligation.”

“What happened to two days and reinforcements?” Lichas didn’t appear surprised by Leonidas’s words.

“Today is the last day. You just arrived, and you know it. I’ve been here three days, and I know it.”

Lichas slowly nodded. “You are at half strength. Your men, brave and stout though they be, are exhausted. I would recommend you pull back now, under the cover of darkness. Once you are engaged, you will not be able to withdraw.”

“We won’t be withdrawing,” Leonidas said. “I will send a courier in the morning and halt the six lochoi, sending them to defend closer to home.”

“You have done more than anyone could have dreamed. Another day won’t make much difference in the larger scheme of things. The Athenians still sit and argue. The other cities obviously don’t care much about the Persians, even though they will be destroyed once Xerxes gets through the pass.”

“That is where you are wrong,” Leonidas said. “It will make all the difference.” He smiled. “I have been told so by the Delphic Oracle.”

Lichas spat over the wall. “Oracles.”

‘There is more than that,” Leonidas said. “Wars are won by more than just force of arms. There are other factors.”

“Such as?”

“The will of the people. That is why we-the Spartans — are here. And why we will stay.”

Xerxes glanced up from his breakfast to note Pandora being escorted into the Imperial tent by his executioner.

“My lord”-she began, but he waved his knife, silencing her.

“You would not be alive if the path did not exist.” He jabbed the blade at his general. “I want four divisions of Immortals to take this track. Pandora will be their guide.” He turned back to her. “How long will it take?”

“It is a narrow track. One person wide. We will be over the mountain and behind the Spartans by noon at the earliest, King.”

“Attack as if we must break through the pass, while my Immortals march,” he ordered the general. He wiped his chin with a silk cloth, then stood. “I will be on the hill, watching.”

Leonidas found Cyra slowly walking in a circle in front of the Middle Gate. The sun was just above the eastern horizon, and Leonidas had all his armor on. Cyra appeared to be in a daze, her eyes half closed.

“What are you doing?” Leonidas asked.

Cyra held up a hand, hushing him as she continued to walk. She halted about twenty feet in front of the wall and opened her eyes. “This is the spot.”

“For?”

“Where the map will appear.”

“And once you have it?” Leonidas asked. “Do you know yet where you take it?”

“I have seen a vision that I will need to confirm with the wall today.” A ranger came running up to him from the north trail.

“The Persians are coming;’ the scout reported. “ Assyrians are in the lead. Swordsmen.”

“Archers?” Leonidas asked.

“Just infantry.”

The king turned to Cyra. “You must wait behind the wall.”

“But”-she began, but he cut her off.

“When your map appears. I will get you to it. I will detail some men to get you down the pass.”

Trumpets blared and drums throbbed, the sounds echoing off the mountain. The entire Persian army was preparing to move. Assyrians were heading up the trail into battle, while Xerxes had issued orders for all the rest of his massive force to be prepared to cross the pass. Tents were struck, pack animals loaded, and troops lined up in formation.

And high above the pass, in the folds of the mountain, Pandora led four thousand Immortals along the single track.

Leonidas arrayed his diminished forces along the western cliff wall, perpendicular to the killing field. Along the Middle Gate were Lichas’s archers, stacks of Persian arrows at the ready but their bows were hidden, and they wore the armor of those Spartans who had been killed or severely wounded. When the first rank of Assyrians came up the path and into sight, they paused at this unusual arrangement, but the pressure of thousands of men moving from behind forced the officers to deploy their men as best they could. The problem was, they weren’t certain whether their front should face the wall ahead of them or the Spartans arrayed against the base of the mountain to the right. There wasn’t enough room to form two lines at a right angle.

The decision, as Leonidas had hoped, was made to face the more immediate threat: the Spartans arrayed on the killing ground. The Assyrians were well trained, wheeling into ranks facing the mountain, shields up, long swords at the ready. Leonidas was in the front center of the first rank of Spartans. He had barely 140 of his original 300 left that could stand. He estimated at least a thousand Assyrians were already in the killing ground with more pressing up the pass.

The Assyrians advanced. Leonidas raised his shield into place, the Naga Staff at three-quarters. The rest of the Spartan line snapped into place in a similar position. The Assyrians were barely ten meters away, when Leonidas dropped the Naga Staff into the horizontal position. One hundred and twenty spears did the same.

And on the Middle Gate, Lichas and his men reached down, and grabbed their bows, which had arrows already locked. In one smooth movement, they brought their weapons to bear on the left flank of the Assyrians. Every third man fired, their arrows impacting, mowing down the flank. The next third immediately fired, then the last third, by which time the first third had their second arrows ready.

The effect of the rolling barrage on the exposed flank was devastating. The right flank of the Assyrians, unaware of what was happening to their left, collided with the Spartan line in a cacophony of metal on metal. Assyrian officers who were aware of what was happening were trying to bend back the surviving left of their line. When the arrows were killing Assyrians a third of the way into their line, Leonidas snapped the Naga Staff into the upright position. Lichas saw the signal and fired a flaming arrow across the front of his archers, who immediately ceased fire.

The unengaged Spartan right charged. They rolled up the disorganized Assyrian left flank, shoving over 100 of the warriors right off the cliff, then wheeling left. It was a classic pincer movement. And for the third day, a massacre ensued. Leonidas halted the advance when the killing field was swept clear of the Assyrians. He drew his Spartans back to their start position, backs against the mountain. Lichas and his men dropped their bows and resumed their original stance.

And the fresh Assyrian troops repeated the mistake of their predecessors, unaware of what had happened. And again. And again as the morning wore on. Blood flowed, soaking the killing field. Hundreds of Assyrians died falling off the cliff. Hundreds more fell to Spartan metal. And here and there one of Leonidas’s knights went down in the fierce fighting.

After four unsuccessful assaults, word must have finally reached the commander of the Assyrians. There was a lull in the fighting, and Leonidas took stock. He’d lost over 30 men against at least 1,000 of the enemy. But tens of thousands more waited on the trail, and he knew that the next assault would not expose its flank to the archers. He glanced up at the sun. It was after mid-morn. Noon was about an hour, perhaps an hour and a half off.

Leonidas pointed the Naga Staff toward the Middle Gate. “The wall, men.”

In good order, the Spartans relinquished the killing field and retreated behind the Middle Gate. Squires carried the dead and severely wounded with them. Leonidas was the last remaining in front of the wall, watching as a fresh group of Assyrian warriors deployed at the far end of the killing field. Reluctantly, he climbed over the wall and took his place in the center.

For the first time, he noticed that the sun was no longer shining. Looking up, he noted that dark clouds blanketed the sky. Thunder sounded in the distance. Drowning out momentarily the sound of the Persian army drums and horns signaling the advance. Leonidas looked across at the ledge where Xerxes was perched. The Persian King seemed calm, a change from the last three days. Leonidas frowned.

“A storm comes,” Cyra was next to him.

“He’s up to something,” Leonidas said, indicating Xerxes.

“All we need are a few more hours,” Cyra said.

“We can hold the wall for a while,” Leonidas said. “But once they breach it. It will be over quickly.” He turned to Lichas. “You have many arrows. You may fire at will.”

The archers opened fire, their missiles slamming into the Assyrians. The bombardment was fierce, but the Assyrian officers marshaled their troops as if on a parade ground, lining them up moving unlimited reinforcements up to take the place of those struck down.

“They’re good,” Leonidas allowed, watching the spectacle.

“They’re insane,” Cyra muttered.

“No. They need a solid front to move forward. It’s what I would be doing.”

Cyra shook her head. “1 never said you were sane, either.”

Leonidas laughed. “I suppose we aren’t. But you needed us. Still need us.”

The Assyrians were finally formed and began moving forward. Their shield wall was up, and the effect of the barrage was almost negligible now. Leonidas went to the right side of the wall and tapped Lichas on the shoulder. “You’ve done your duty.”

Lichas nodded, then passed the word down his line. The archers slowly slipped away, making their way down the south trail until only Lichas remained. There was no time for more farewells, as the Assyrians were just about at the wall.

“I will tell Greece what you have done here,” Lichas said to Leonidas before following his men.

Spartan spears were leveled. And the points met the Assyrian’s assault along the rocks of the Middle Wall. The front rank of Assyrians died, then the second. The third clambered over the bodies of those in front. Leonidas ran to and fro on the wall, using the Naga Staff wherever it was most needed, slicing through shields and flesh. He’d dropped his shield some time during the fighting, the leather hooked on an Assyrian sword.

It was even darker, and the sound of thunder was close. An Assyrian leaped up onto the wall to Leonidas’s right. A huge warrior, a four-foot-long sword in his hand. He decapitated a Spartan who tried to push him back. Leonidas jabbed at the man, the blade of the Naga Staff punching easily into the man’s chest, but the Assyrian still managed a strong blow, which slammed into the Spartan King’s helmet, staggering him. Leonidas twisted the haft of the staff, gutting the warrior, then pushed the dead man back over the wall to crash into his fellows.

Leonidas couldn’t see out of his left eye. He wiped with a free hand and pulled it away, covered with blood. Someone touched him to his left, and he whirled blade first, halting when he recognized Cyra. She used her cloak to wipe away the blood from the wound on his scalp.

“It is almost time!” she yelled, straining to be heard over the screams of the dying, the clash of arms and the thunder.

Leonidas shook his head, spraying blood and trying to organize his thoughts. He saw Assyrians on the wall here and there, his Spartans trying to push them back. He looked to the rear. Ten Spartans stood, spears ready, eager to join the fray, their eyes locked on him, waiting for his command.

“There!” Cyra pointed at the spot she had indicated in the morning. A black sphere was forming. Frightened Assyrians stepped back from it, opening a hole in their front. Leonidas held up five fingers and pointed. Half of the ten Spartans he had held in reserve broke ranks and dashed forward.

“Come,” Leonidas yelled at Cyra, straining to be heard over the sound of battle and storm.

He jumped over the wall, swinging the Naga Staff in a large arc. Clearing space. The five Spartans followed. Locking their shields, protecting the priestess. Leonidas pressed forward. The black sphere was just like the one he had gone into to get here, hovering just above the ground. One of the Assyrians stumbled back fell into it, and disappeared. That caused the others in the immediate vicinity to panic.

The way was open. Leonidas stepped off to the left, just short of the black sphere, feeling the power emanating from it race over his skin. The other five Spartans completed a semicircle around the portal, Cyra on the inside.

Leonidas risked a glance over his shoulder. Cyra was reaching forward, toward the darkness, hands outstretched. And out of the portal came two hands holding a golden sphere about three feet in diameter. The skin on these hands was blistered and raw, but they were steady, holding the sphere. The arms extended out all the way but whoever it was didn’t come through.

Cyra took the globe, staggering as if it was heavy, her body shaking as she stepped back from the portal.

“To the wall!” Leonidas yelled. He took point, the five Spartans flanking him in a wedge. There was little resistance from the Assyrians, their ranks still disjointed. The rest of the Spartans had regained the Middle Gate and stood on top of it.

Leonidas paused at the gap in the Gate, allowing Cyra and her precious cargo to pass through. He looked over his shoulder. The Assyrians had pulled back and were re-forming, the task easier now that Lichas and his archers weren’t bombarding them. With the reinforcements that were pouring into the killing ground, and the losses his men had already endured, Leonidas knew the next assault would ride over the wall and break his line.

He turned his attention back to this side of the wall. Cyra was reverently holding the golden sphere in her hands, peering into it. He could see that the surface wasn’t smooth but appeared to be made of numerous two-inch strands of gold interwoven in a complex pattern.

Leonidas blinked, because the strands seemed to be pulsing, as if they were alive, even shifting

in place, as if she were holding a nest of snakes.

“You must go,” Leonidas said to Cyra.

She didn’t appear to hear him, her focus on the sphere.

Leonidas placed a blood-spattered hand on her shoulder.

“You must go.”

Cyra slowly looked up. “I see … ” Her voice trailed off.

Then Leonidas saw something beyond her that caused his heart to pause momentarily: Lichas limping up the trail with a half dozen of his men. And they were firing their bows back down the trail. The king held up his free hand, five fingers spread wide. Then he pointed to the south. The five remaining knights broke ranks and dashed to support Lichas. The other five stayed near Cyra and Leonidas.

There were shouts of alarm from the east. When Leonidas looked in that direction. He saw the solid line of Assyrian reinforcements moving forward in step toward the Middle Gate.

A horn sounded to the south, and fifty Immortals came rushing up the path, overwhelming Lichas, his archers, and the five Spartans Leonidas had sent as reinforcements. And in the center of the Immortals was a woman who the King recognized as having been the one next to Xerxes: Pandora.

“We’re surrounded,” Leonidas stepped between Cyra and the Immortals. He saw that Pandora also carried a Naga Staff. His eyes darted about, searching for a way to get Cyra out of the pass, but the Assyrians were charging to the north, the Immortals filled the pass to the south, the cliff and sea to the east and the rock wall to the west. He felt a pang of failure, that despite his best efforts, he had not achieved what the Oracle had tasked him to do; the map would be Pandora’s.

“King.” Cyra’s voice was so low, Leonidas almost didn’t hear her over the din of battle.

“What?” His eyes were on the advancing Immortals, now less than fifty feet away. Pandora in the lead. At the very least, he figured he could kill her.

“I can open a portal”

Leonidas didn’t understand. He held the Naga Staff across his body, ready for action. The skin on the back of his neck tingled. He’d felt this before. He turned away from the Immortals. Even as the Assyrian ranks smashed into the depleted Spartans holding the Middle Gate.

Leonidas saw that Cyra’s eyes were closed and one hand was running lightly over the surface of the sphere.

“I see the path.” Her hand wrapped tightly around one of the strands. A golden glow suffused her, then extended out about three feet in front, between her and the King.

Leonidas stepped back as a portal began to open there. He heard a female yell and could see that Pandora was leading the Immortals in an all-out charge toward them. His time sense had slowed, as it did in the heat of battle, and every second dragged slowly.

Cyra stepped toward the portal, the map sphere in her hands, still covered in gold. “Come with me.”

Leonidas smiled, and held out the Naga Staff toward her, drawing his sword. “My place, my destiny is here.”

Cyra didn’t argue. She took the staff. Leonidas spun about, bringing the sword up, the haft of Pandora’s staff slamming into it, the blade stopping just short of slicing Cyra in two. The priestess stepped into the portal, and it snapped shut behind her.