Shield of Thunder

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE THE RIDER IN THE SKY

The little boy awoke with a start. Rubbing his small fists in his gummy eyes, Dex sat up and looked around him. It was dark in the bedchamber. A single candle guttered low in the corner, and by its dim light he could see that Gray One was not in her bed. He was alone.

He remembered leaving his bedroom after a nightmare and coming crying to Gray One’s room, tapping lightly on her door. She had opened it and, as she always did, had chided him gently for his fears. She always relented, though, and the previous night, as usual, had carried him to her own bed, laying him down beside her. “Sleep safely, little Dex,” she had whispered. “I am with you.”

But she wasn’t with him.

Muffled sounds came from outside the room, both in the courtyard below and on the stairs outside the door. There were harsh shouts and hard clanging noises.

Unused to being alone in the dark, the three-year-old was frightened. Gray One was always there when he woke up. She took him to the kitchen for breakfast.

Pushing his feet out from under the warm sheet, he slid to the edge of the bed and climbed down. Padding across the cold stone and the soft rugs, he dragged a wooden stool to the open window, then climbed up to peer down into the courtyard. It was dark outside as well, but he could see fires, and the smell of smoke drifted up to him, tickling his throat and making him sneeze. He could see the shapes of men and women running about and hear their cries.

The sight of the fires made him think of breakfast again. Gray One would toast yesterday’s bread and smear it with honey. He climbed carefully down from the stool, pushed open the heavy door, and slipped out into the corridor.

Outside he saw someone lying on the floor. By the light of a flickering torch on the wall he could see it was Gray One. She was lying huddled, knees drawn up. Her eyes were closed. He squatted down beside her for a while, but she didn’t wake up. Wondering what to do, he patted her hand uncertainly.

“I’m hungry,” he said, leaning close to her ear.

Just then he heard the sound of running feet coming toward him. Had Sun Woman discovered he had left his room? Would she be angry with him? On an impulse he ran into a dark corner and hid behind a heavy curtain masking a window.

The curtain did not quite reach the timbered floor, and he lay flat, staring out through the gap. A group of soldiers ran into sight. He liked soldiers, but he didn’t recognize any of these men and decided to stay where he was.

They ran past him, their hard metal greaves glinting in the torchlight, their heavily sandaled feet noisy on the timbers. He could smell their sweat and leather.

“Find the boy!” one shouted, his voice bouncing off the corridor walls. “He wasn’t in his room. He must be with the queen.”

When the soldiers had passed, their footsteps echoing down the staircase, he made his way out into the small courtyard. Staying in the gloom of the courtyard walls, he edged toward the stables. Dex liked the stables. It was never quiet there. He liked the sound of the horses’ heavy breathing and the shuffling of their hooves on the stone floor.

Dex didn’t know why, but he knew he was in trouble. Gray One had gone to sleep in the corridor, and Sun Woman had sent angry soldiers to find him. Keeping to the shadows, he saw more soldiers with swords race past him toward the tower. Then someone he knew, the man who put him on the pony sometimes, ran out into the courtyard. He was limping, and Dex was about to go to him when the man fell down. Two soldiers came up behind him and stuck their swords into him as he lay on the ground. He screamed and screamed and then was still.

Terrified now, Dex cringed into the shadow of the wall. He heard a woman cry out and could see flames coming from the kitchen, leaping high into the night, bathing the courtyard in an orange glow. Two women ran from the kitchen doors, pursued by more soldiers. The soldiers were laughing and waving their swords.

Dex closed his eyes. He could feel the heat of the flames.

“Dex!”

He opened his eyes to see a soldier he knew. He had a red beard, and he made Dex laugh when he carried him on his back. The man snatched him up and held him close to his chest. Dex felt a surge of pleasure and relief, although the man’s armor was hard against him. He tried to tell the red-bearded soldier about Gray One lying down.

“Hush, boy, I’ll see you safe,” the man said.

He sprinted across the courtyard toward the stables. There were bodies everywhere, servants and soldiers. As they passed the kitchens, Dex could feel the heat against his bare legs and smell cooking meat. He pushed his face into the soldier’s chest.

The soldier ran into the stable, then put him down. Kneeling down, he took hold of Dex’s shoulders. “Listen to me, boy. You must hide. Like you always do. You know? Find a place in the straw and burrow deep.”

“Is it a game?” Dex asked.

“Yes, a game. And you must not come out until I come for you. Understand?”

“Yes. But I am hungry.”

“Go now and hide. Do not make a sound, Dex. Just stay hidden.”

He pushed Dex away, and the boy ran to the last stall and ducked inside. The stall was empty, and straw had been piled there. Dropping to his belly, Dex eased himself into the center of it and sat, hugging his knees.

From within the straw Dex could just make out the image of the soldier. He had drawn his sword and was standing quietly. Then more men came, and there were angry shouts and the terrible clanging he had heard earlier. He saw one soldier fall down, then another. But then the friendly soldier also tumbled to the ground. Other soldiers jumped on him, hitting him again and again with their swords.

Then they began running through the stable, looking in all the stalls.

Dex stayed very quiet.

Halysia had always been told she had courage. By the time she was five she had tumbled from her old pony many times. Her father would tend her bumps and scrapes and once a broken arm, and as she suffered his rough care, he would look into her eyes and tell her how brave she was. Her brothers would laugh at her and put her on the mare again, and she would laugh with them and forget her injuries.

When, at seventeen, she had been sent to wed Anchises, she had been terrified at first of the old man and the dark foreign fortress where she must live and of the perils of childbirth that had claimed her mother and her beloved sister. But when she was frightened, she would remember her father’s dark eyes on her and his words: “Have courage, little squirrel. Without courage your life is nothing. With courage you need nothing else.”

Now, some way past her thirtieth year, she no longer believed in her courage. Whatever strength she possessed had been ripped from her during the attack on Dardanos three years before. No night had passed since then when she had not been ravaged by fears. Her sleep was broken by terrifying visions in which her son Diomedes fell in flames from the cliff, his screams terrible to hear, and she felt the pain and humiliation as the invaders held her down and brutally raped her, a knife at her throat. She would awake sobbing, and Helikaon would reach for her in the darkness and hold her in the fortress of his arms. He told her time and time again that she was a brave woman sorely tested, that the fears and nightmares she suffered were natural but would be overcome.

But he was wrong.

She had known the invaders would come back, known with a certainty that was bone-deep and had nothing to do with her fear. She had always received visions, even as a child among the horse herds of Zeleia. Her simple predictions about the foaling prospects of a young mare or the illnesses that struck down the wild horses in the wet season always came true, and her father would smile at her and say she was blessed by Poseidon, who loved horses.

Now, as she sat on the great carved chair of Anchises in the megaron, her hands gripping the wide wooden arms in a death grip, she knew that once again her visions were true. Mykene soldiers were inside the fortress.

Thoughts swarmed like bats through her mind, images flaring. Helikaon had sent word to beware of traitors, to watch for strangers. But it was no stranger who had opened the Seagate. One of her soldiers had seen Menon walking with Mykene officers.

Menon! It was almost inconceivable that he could have committed such a dark and terrible act. He was always charming and thoughtful, and Halysia had believed he was genuinely fond of her. To sell her for rape and slaughter was beyond understanding.

More than three hundred Mykene soldiers had entered the citadel, scarcely hindered by Dardanos’ depleted garrison. The Mykene had known exactly when to come. They had slipped in on unguarded seas on the one day she had sent—on Menon’s advice—Dardania’s small remaining fleet to Carpea to escort the fleeing Trojan Horse.

Surrounded by her personal bodyguard of twenty, she sat silent as a stone statue in the megaron as they all listened to the sounds of battle outside. Through the high windows she could see the flickering light of flames. She could hear screams and shouts and battle cries. She trembled so badly that her teeth chattered, and she clamped her jaw tightly so that the men would not hear.

The bodyguard, handpicked by Helikaon, waited grimly around her, swords in hand. She shook her head, trying to shake free the terror paralyzing her mind.

A young blood-covered soldier ran into the megaron.

“They have taken the north tower, lady,” he said between labored breaths. “The kitchens have been set afire. The eastern barracks have also fallen. There are more Mykene outside the Landgate, but they cannot get in. We are stopping the invaders inside from reaching it.”

“How many more outside?”

“Hundreds.”

“Where is Pausanius?” she managed to ask, surprised that her voice sounded firm.

The soldier shook his head. “I have not seen him. Rhygmos commands the defense of the megaron. Protheos is holding the invaders from the Landgate.”

“What of the boy?”

“I saw him with Gradion at the stable, but there were Mykene soldiers closing in on them. Gradion took the boy inside. I had to run then. I did not see what followed.”

She stood on leaden legs and turned to the captain of her guard, clasping her hands in front of her to stop them from shaking. “Menesthes, we always knew the megaron could not be held. We cannot waste life defending it. We must pull back to the eastern tower.”

Just then the double doors to the megaron crashed open, and Mykene soldiers streamed inside. Menesthes drew his sword and rushed at them, followed by his men. Halysia knew they could not hold for long. Then Menesthes shouted back to her. “Flee, lady! Flee now!”

Halysia gathered up her gown and ran across the great room, pushing open the door to the antechamber, which she barred behind her. It would not stop determined men armed with axes and swords, but it would delay them.

She paused for a moment, fearing she would black out from the terror in her heart. Forcing her legs to move, she ran up the narrow stone staircase to her bedchamber. Its door was heavy and cross-grained. It would take them a while to batter it down. She closed it behind her and placed the solid wood locking bar across it.

The room was lit by low candles. There were soft rugs on the floor and jewel-colored tapestries on the walls. She paused for a heartbeat, breathing in the light perfume of roses on the night air, then walked out onto the balcony.

Helikaon had planned for this moment for three years. He respected her visions, and the warrior within him believed even more in Agamemnon’s desire for vengeance. Shortly after the last invasion, Halysia’s bedchamber had been moved from its old place in the north wing to these rooms high above the sea behind the megaron. It boasted a wide stone balcony overlooking the west.

The queen walked to the end of the balcony and thrust aside a hanging curtain of creeping plants. Looking down, she could see the first of the short wooden bars set into the stone of the outside wall.

Under cover of renovations to her new apartments, lengths of seasoned oak had been set deep into the stone, descending to an overgrown garden overlooking the sea. No guards or palace servants were permitted to enter the garden, and it had been allowed to grow wild with roses and vines. The work had been skillfully done, and it was hard to discern the handholds from the ground even if one knew what to look for.

The craftsmen responsible for the work had returned to her brother’s tribe in Zeleia, heaped with honor and silver and sworn to secrecy.

With Helikaon absent, only two people in the fortress knew of the escape route besides herself: Pausanius, of course, and his aide Menon.

Menon, the betrayer!

She hesitated in an agony of indecision, looking at the escape route into darkness. What choice do I have? she thought. I cannot stay here and wait for them.

She bent over the balcony wall and listened, trying to calm the thumping of her heart. She could hear nothing in the undergrowth below. All was still.

She hurried back to the door of her room and listened there. She heard the distant pounding of metal on wood as they battered down the antechamber door.

Moving to a great carved wooden chest, she yanked open the heavy lid. It thumped against the wall. Pushing aside embroidered shawls and gem-encrusted gowns, she pulled clear an old servant’s tunic of dull blue and a hooded cloak in dirty brown. Rummaging deeper, she found the scabbarded dagger her father had given her on her fifteenth birthday. It had a handle of deerhorn and a curved blade of shining bronze. She slipped off her dress of white linen and donned the drab tunic. Then, taking a deep breath, she unbarred the door to her room and opened it a crack. From below the sound of splintering wood was loud in her ears. She could hear the grunts and shouts of men struggling with broken timbers.

She stood calmly and thought her plan through one more time. Then she carefully placed the locking bar against the wall and opened the door wide.

Pelopidas the Spartan ran up the narrow stairs, his bloody sword in his hand. He knew what he would find. One more locked door, which the axmen following him would splinter in a few heartbeats. The queen would not be inside. She would have taken the secret climb to the garden below, where more of his men were waiting for her. Or, he thought with quickening desire, she would see the men below and climb in panic back to the bedchamber. Pelopidas hoped that was true. Far more comfortable to rape her on a bed. Easier on his aging knees.

A veteran with graying hair and beard in long braids, Pelopidas reached the top of the stairs and saw the door was open. Stupid bitch, he thought. In her terror she had made it all the more easy for them. He was followed by three other men, all sweating and cursing the splinters in their hands from breaking down the lower door. They went straight out onto the narrow balcony. Pelopidas thrust aside the tattered curtain of plants, tearing them down.

“You two,” he said, gesturing at his men. “Follow her down. When you catch her, bring her back here. I want her first.”

The two soldiers looked doubtfully at the narrow handholds and the drop into darkness beyond, but they followed his orders, as he knew they would, climbing swiftly over the stone wall and lowering themselves down.

Pelopidas grunted and returned to the bedchamber. The last soldier was standing by the bedside, rummaging in a jewelry box decorated with ivory. “Leave that, you cur,” Pelopidas said. “You know what the general said about looting. Get below and find that damned child. There’s twenty gold rings for the team that brings his head to Katheos.”

“How are we going to find him?” the man answered. “The stable was empty. He could be anywhere.”

“He’s three years old and alone. He’ll be huddled somewhere weeping and shitting himself. Now go!”

The soldier lingered for a moment, looking around the bedchamber at the soft gleam of gold and jewels all around. Then he ran from the room.

Pelopidas sat down on the soft bed and rubbed at his left knee. There was swelling there, and the joint was stiff. Stretching out on the bed, he caught the scent of perfume from the pillow. Arousal swept through him. It was said the queen was slim and beautiful, though past thirty now, golden-haired and sweet of face. He chuckled. It wasn’t her face that interested him.

The bitch had to die and die slowly so that the Burner would hear of it and know it was vengeance for his raids on the mainland. Pelopidas felt his anger rising at the thought of the villages burned and sailors drowned by the vile Helikaon and his crew. Those crewmen would lose many of their loved ones before this night was over.

The Spartan took off his helm and dropped it to the floor. Rising from the bed, he stepped over to a flagon of water on a small table and took a great swig. Then he poured some over his head, shaking his braids.

He looked around assessingly at the bedchamber, its soft draperies and the gleam of bronze, copper, and gold in every corner. He breathed in the scent of flowers. Lifting the carved ivory box that the soldier had been searching, he saw the dark sparkle of jewelry. Reaching in, he pulled out a handful of gold and gems, scarcely glancing at them before thrusting them into the leather pouch at his side. There was a heavy gold bracelet worth a year’s pay, and he slid that into the pouch, too.

His eyes alighted on the huge wooden chest, its lid flung open as if left in haste. Inside, among folds of embroidered cloth, he could see the gleam of gems. Dragging out the top garment, he found it was decorated with gold wire, amber, and carnelian. He hesitated, wondering what to do with it, then snorted with laughter at himself. He could hardly carry a woman’s dress on campaign.

Filled with good humor, he bent down to delve deeper into the chest, searching for hidden jewelry. Suddenly he detected a movement deep in its depths, and in the heartbeat it took him to react, a face, white and ghostlike, surged up toward him. He felt an agonizing pain in his throat and fell back, blood gouting out in front of him. Panic-stricken, he clutched at his throat, trying to stop the fountain of blood. A small golden-haired woman climbed from the chest, a gory dagger in her hand.

Pelopidas struggled to his knees and tried to call out for help, but pain seared through his severed vocal cords and blood gouted between his fingers. The woman was staring at him with wide eyes. He felt his limbs weakening, his life draining away.

His head struck the floor, and he found himself staring at the pattern of deep red swirls on the rug. It seemed then that the rug was melting, crimson fluid spreading across it. A great calm settled on him. Something warm flowed across his leg, and he realized his bladder was emptying.

Have to get up, he thought. Have to find…

Halysia stood very still, watching the dying man thrash on the floor, his blood pumping over the ornate rug. Her thoughts fluttered like moths around the flame of reality. His throat was severed. She had killed him. But all she could think of was that the rug had been a gift from her father on her wedding to Anchises, embroidered with eastern silk. The blood will not come out, she thought.

Forget the blood, came the harsh voice of reason. Halysia blinked and took a deep breath. The warrior’s leg twitched. Then he was still. Stepping back from the body, she sheathed the dagger.

You must get out! They will return!

Donning the brown hooded cloak, she ran down the steps and through the shattered remains of the anteroom door. Pausing at the entrance to the megaron, she peered inside. All was silent. Her bodyguards lay slain, more than thirty enemy dead around them. The stone floor was awash with blood, the room thick with the smell of death.

Fear struck her anew, knotting her stomach. She wanted to run as fast as she could and put this scene of nightmare behind her. Failing that, she needed a place to hide, some dark and gloomy hole the enemy would not find.

Then the face of her son appeared in her mind. She was shaken by the image. Instead of seeing, as she usually did, the living proof of her rape and the constant reminder of the murder of her beloved Diomedes, she saw now his large imploring eyes and the sweetness of his mouth, so much like hers. Halysia gave a soft groan. At least Dio had known the love of a mother. He had been held and nurtured, caressed, and told many times how much she loved him. Little Dex, as Pausanius had so accurately pointed out, had been starved of her affection.

And now cruel men were seeking to kill him.

Instinct urged her to run out of the megaron to the stables in the hope that Dex was still there. Reason told her she would never make it. A running figure would be spotted. Halysia decided to make her way through the side entrance of the megaron, pass by the kitchens, and reach the stables from the back.

Determination fueling her courage, she made her way to the side door. She could hear shouting from beyond it and saw movement as a shadow crossed the doorway. Crouching down behind a column, she waited, not daring to breathe. Then there was silence. Carefully she rose and peered around the column. Whoever had paused in the doorway had moved on.

The kitchens beyond had been destroyed by fire. The wooden buildings must have gone up like tinder, she thought, but now the fire was largely over. A pall of thick choking smoke lay over the vegetable gardens in front of the building. Halysia slipped into the smoke, disappearing like a wraith in sunlight.

She could hardly breathe and dropped down to her hands and knees, hugging the stones, where a carpet of fresh air flowed gently beneath the smoke. Carefully she crawled along the path to the stables, her knees snagging in the drapes of her tunic and cloak. Along the way she passed many bodies, some dead, some mortally wounded.

Ahead she glimpsed movement and lay still. Mykene soldiers, some coughing and sputtering, came striding toward her. Pressing her face to the earth, she lay as one dead, eyes closed. Feet pounded close by, and then came a sharp command to halt.

A foot slammed into the back of her thigh. The soldier stumbled and swore. The pain made her bite her lip, but she made no sound.

“Damned smoke all over the place,” came a voice. “Can’t see a thing.”

“It’s no use running around in this,” said another. “Let’s get to the Landgate, kill the bastard defenders, and let the Atreans in. Then we can loot the place and get out.”

“Shut your mouth,” a third voice said irritably. “That boy’s head is worth twenty gold rings. Now, keep looking.”

The men hurried off. Halysia remained where she was until the creak of leather and their grunting breaths passed from earshot. Then she got to her feet and ran for the stables.

It was pitch-dark inside, and she could hear the horses moving anxiously, smelling the fires. She walked among them confidently, speaking quietly to them, patting the solid warm horseflesh that bumped gently against her as she felt her way through the stable.

“Dex,” she whispered into the gloom. “Are you here? Dex.”

She could hear nothing but the sounds of horses and the far shouts of men. Then she heard a command that caused her heart to beat wildly. “Fetch fire. If he’s hiding in the stables, we’ll smoke him out.”

The horses shifted and whinnied around her but soon calmed as she walked among them. Only the great black horse carried on clattering in his box, banging his flanks against the wooden sides and kicking out against the barred stall door.

“Dex! Dexios. Are you here?” she whispered urgently.

Suddenly she stopped. Standing motionless in the dim rays filtering in from the entrance to the barn, there was a small figure, hands to his face. Motes of straw whirled in the heavy light around him. He was quite still, quite silent. For a heartbeat mother and son stood looking at each other.

Then a small voice asked, “Are you angry with me, Mama?”

She knelt down and opened her arms. “I’m not angry with you, Dex. Now we must go. We must run away.”

He ran to her then, and his small body hit hers with the force of a battering ram, almost knocking her over. She felt his arms around her neck, his wet, grubby face against hers.

Picking the child up, she ran to the front of the stable. If she could just make it down to the outer wall and the hidden postern gate, she could carry Dex out into the countryside and hide in one of the many caves.

Looking out, she saw a group of enemy soldiers running toward the building, flaming torches in their hands. Hugging the boy to her, she fled back to the rear entrance and peered though a crack in the door. Just paces away she saw a burly Mykene warrior. In one hand he grasped the hair of a young horse boy. In the other he held a blood-covered sword, which he slashed across the lad’s throat. The towheaded boy twitched as his lifeblood ran out. The soldier dropped him to the earth and turned toward the stable door.

Quelling her panic, Halysia carried Dex back through the stable and stood holding the boy, eyeing both entrances. Hefting the child into one arm, she backed up against the stall where the black horse was fidgeting and clattering.

There was no way out now, and within a few heartbeats the enemy would find her and her son.

“Not this time!” she whispered. “Not again!”

Reaching behind her, she opened the door of the stall and slipped inside. The huge black horse regarded her with a wild eye but made no move. Putting Dex down, she moved to the horse and took his head in her hands, resting her cheek against his dark face, feeling the hot breath.

“I need you now, greatest of horses,” she whispered. “I need your strength and your courage.”

Patting the horse for reassurance, she picked Dex up and set him on the beast’s back. The horse shifted about but then was still. Levering herself against the side of the stall, she climbed up behind the child. Putting her face close to his ear, she said, “Courage, little squirrel. Be brave!”

“I will, Mama!”

The main doorway to the barn burst open, and torch-bearing Mykene warriors swarmed in. Taking a deep breath, she leaned over and flung wide the stall door, then grabbed the horse’s mane and kicked at his sides. With all the breath in her body Halysia screamed the war cry of the Zeleians.

The horse bunched its great muscles and took off at a run, its huge hooves clattering on the stone floor.

The Mykene warriors shouted out as the horse surged toward them, waving burning brands to frighten it. Instead it thundered into them. One man was hurled from his feet, his head smashing against a timber column. A second went down under the stallion, and Halysia heard the sickening crack of a hoof striking bone. The other warriors leaped aside.

Outside the stable, Halysia made for the Landgate. If it was open now, she could ride straight through and down the defile to the bridge at Parnio’s Folly.

They sped through the great courtyard, hearing the shouts of the enemy soldiers as they realized who rode the horse. An arrow hissed by her, then another. Drawing Dex more tightly to her, she urged the stallion into a full gallop.

The Landgate was just ahead, beyond the next corner. The horse’s hooves skidded on the stones as she turned him.

Ahead she saw that a battle was still being fought. And the gate was closed.

A group of Dardanian soldiers, engaged in a desperate last stand, had formed a shield wall in the gateway. They were close to being overwhelmed.

Halysia dragged her mount to a halt, and there was an eerie pause as the fighting came to a slow stop. Her soldiers looked at her with sudden recognition and wonder, and she looked down with pride at their doomed faces. Some of the Mykene turned and saw her, and she heard a voice snarl, “That’s her! That’s the queen! Get the bitch!”

With the enemy’s attention distracted, the Dardanians drove into them with renewed effort, and she saw many Mykene go down. She knew she had bought her soldiers more time. But now some of the Mykene were racing toward her.

Swinging the great horse, she dug her heels into his flanks. Half rearing, he came down running. Halysia headed him down the stone streets and cobbled alleys leading to the Seagate and the high cliff. She felt a painful blow to her thigh. Glancing down, she saw an arrow there, buried deep in her leg. A dull ache began, then flared into sharp pain.

The Seagate came into view, its huge stone towers looming up in the darkness. The few soldiers around it scattered as the stallion bore down on them. Then the great horse galloped under the stone and marble gateway and out into the night.

Halysia knew she could not keep to the road. It would carry them down to the beach and more Mykene soldiers. Dragging back on the horse’s mane, she shifted her body weight, causing the beast to turn. Its hooves clattered on stone, then slipped as the precipice loomed. For a moment Halysia thought it would fall from the cliff, but it righted itself and ran up the narrow path alongside the walls.

In daylight this ride was perilous, but at night, she knew, only luck and the blessings of many gods would see them to safety.

The stallion climbed on, moving slowly over the broken ground. At the highest point, where Halysia knew the path narrowed, she halted him. The walls towered up on her left, and to her right she could see the star-spattered sea and the Mykene galleys gathered all along the beach.

Then she saw another fleet beating toward Dardanos across the Hellespont. For a moment she thought they were more Mykene vessels, but then she recognized the great bulk of the Xanthos. Exhilaration swept through her.

Her husband was coming home, and now the Mykene would know the meaning of fear. His vengeance upon the enemy would be both terrifying to behold and good to savor.

The Mykene crews on the beach had also seen the Dardanian fleet and were racing to launch their vessels. Halysia smiled. Whether they sought to run or to fight, the result would be the same. They were all dead men.

Relief washed over her. All she had to do was wait quietly beneath the walls until Helikaon came ashore.

Then something hissed by her, striking the stones and ricocheting off them. She heard shouts from above and gazed up to see men leaning over the battlements.

Hugging Dex tightly to her, she patted the horse on the shoulder, speaking firmly and calmly to him. Gently she urged him on. Arrows flashed by her, startling the horse. “Be calm, great one,” she whispered soothingly. Dressed in a dark cloak and sitting on a black horse, she made a poor target for night shooting. Even so, if they stayed where they were, a shaft eventually would strike home. Halysia decided to circle the fortress, outrun the enemy soldiers beyond the Landgate, then make her way to Parnio’s Folly and safety.

The land dropped away sharply to her right into darkness. On her left the walls of the citadel rose like a cliff. The big horse dropped his head and carefully picked his way along the narrow path. At times his hooves slipped on the crumbling rock. Arrows continued to slash by them, but few came close.

When the Landgate came into view, she saw it was still holding. Hundreds of Mykene troops were milling around uselessly outside, waiting for their comrades inside to open the gates. There were cries and curses of frustration, but they were all staring at the walls, at the gates, and had no attention to pay to a woman and a horse quietly emerging from the darkness.

Halysia saw movement in the distance, and a line of brightly armored horsemen appeared there. The Trojan Horse had arrived! The Mykene saw them, too, and began to form a defensive shield wall.

Then someone shouted from the battlements. “The queen is escaping! Kill her!”

There were only a few horsemen beyond the gates, but they immediately kicked their horses into a run.

Halysia heeled the black stallion, and he took off again, racing past the rear of the Mykene forces and straight for the defile. Glancing around, she saw four Mykene riders falling back. The stallion was pounding now at full gallop, and his speed was colossal. Halysia had ridden many horses in her life, but none had had the strength and speed of this huge beast.

She felt the wind in her hair and allowed her heart to lift. Helikaon would sink the enemy fleet, and the Trojan Horse would slaughter the enemy soldiers left on land. All she needed to do was outrun the Mykene riders and she would be safe.

The stallion galloped on, and she saw the defile widen just before the bridge. Only, now there was no bridge, merely a smoking ruin. Its remains hung blackened and charred, dangling from the edge of the chasm. There was no way out.

A group of Mykene soldiers came running out of the darkness beside the defile, sprinting toward her, shining blades in their hands. Swinging her mount, Halysia rode back along the defile, then turned again. The Mykene horsemen were close now, and she heard their shouts of triumph.

“Whatever happens, little Dex, we will be together,” she promised. Then she slapped the stallion’s rump. Startled, he set off down the defile toward the chasm. His speed increased as he thundered on. Halysia held his mane in a death grip. She saw soldiers in a blur in the corner of her eye. She felt a blow in her side, but the spear point ripped through her flesh and did not bring her down. Pain seared through her. Ignoring it, she focused on the horse moving beneath her, the small warm body huddled against her, and the chasm yawning just ahead.

Could even this great horse make such a jump? Halysia did not know. What she did know was that the horse might balk at the edge and throw her and her son to the rocks below.

As they closed toward the chasm, she dug her heels into the horse’s side for the last time and screamed her tribal yell, the sound high-pitched and ululating. The horse bunched his great muscles and leaped.

Time came to an end. The only sound was the beating of her heart. There was stillness all around. She could not feel the horse’s back. She could not feel the boy at her breast. She wondered if her life had ended there and the gods were carrying her away. She even had time to glance down at the jagged black rocks so far below.

Then the stallion’s hooves hit the ground on the other side of the chasm. The horse stumbled a moment, his rear hooves scrabbling on the lip of the cliff. Then they were over and running free.

Halysia halted the stallion and looked back at the Mykene. Not one of them had had the nerve to follow her, and they screamed insults at her. Then they rode back along the defile. Weariness flowed over her.

“Have the bad men gone, Mama?” Dex asked.

“Yes, they have gone, little squirrel.” Halysia lifted her leg and jumped down from the horse. She cried out as the arrow in her thigh twisted, ripping her flesh. Sitting down on a rock, she released the boy. He did not move away but clung to her. Halysia kissed his brow.

“You are my son, little Dex. And I am so proud of you. Soon your father will be home, and he will be proud of you, too. We will sit here quietly and wait for him.” The child looked up at her and smiled. Such a sweet smile, she thought, like sunshine spearing through cloud.

The left side of her tunic was drenched with blood from the spear wound. She thought to stem the bleeding with her cloak. But then the cloth slipped from her fingers. It seemed to her that the night was growing brighter. Someone was close by. Halysia turned her head with a great effort. The light was almost blinding now. A small golden-haired figure came into sight. Halysia squinted against the brightness and then cried out with joy. It was Diomedes, her son. He was smiling at her and holding out his arms.

Tears filled Halysia’s eyes. Both of her sons were with her now, and the world was in harmony again. In that one blissful moment, as the light faded, Halysia realized she had never been happier.