The Paladin Chronicles Book bundle 1-4 by Neil Port - HTML preview

"Oh," was all Elena said.

"Indeed! Call it belated wisdom. We, the svartálfar, or some of us, had already gained appalling power and it was on the brink of finally destroying us and destroying or enslaving all other races of men. In this book we had made something even more dreadful than the Illvættir."

"Oh," Elena couldn't say more.

"Yes what is contained in this book is power beyond imagination. That's why I sacrificed myself to guard it.

"Anyone not strong enough to wield it will be simply destroyed. It must not be used until we are faced with a catastrophe so great that the consequences of not using the book are truly worse than the consequences of using it. Perhaps that time is now.

"The person chosen to use the book must be powerful and strong indeed, but he or she has to be not only strong enough to take it up but even stronger to lay it aside afterwards. None of us felt we could do so."

Elena thought of Daniel, could he do such a thing? Daniel, the great betrayer of the prophecy? Who could decide whether he or another could be trusted with power stronger than that which had almost destroyed the races of men once before?

Silver nodded. "I have been waiting a very long time and now I finally know what I have been waiting for. There is a legend of the man who never was but Jacinta is the only one I know for sure was able to destroy a daimôn. I name her Daimôn Bane.

"After she was hit by daimôn fire, she was near death, totally spent and in an agony beyond even my imagination, yet she went on to slay a daimôn.

"My task I now know is to select one of great courage and wisdom to be the living custodian of the book. It will be Jacinta. Jacinta must now either choose one of great power who can be trusted, or leave the book's secrets forever concealed. "

* * *

Jacinta was straining to wake. She couldn't move.

Terror flooded her, was she paralysed?

Something heavy pressed down upon her. As she came to her senses, she found she was covered by many layers of fur and there was a small body lying across her. Sophie murmured in her sleep as Jacinta tried with difficulty to slide out from under. The events had left the tiny seeress completely exhausted. They had been taking it in turns to warm Jacinta with their body heat and Sophie had begged for her turn but was so exhausted, she had fallen asleep even as Jacinta's body sucked all the warmth her body had to give.

As Jacinta crawled out, she felt freezing and wrapped one of the furs around her. Elena appeared beside her and gathered her daughter in her arms.

Her mother began crying and rocking her backwards and forwards. There were many others around but Elena asked for a few moments alone with Jacinta first.

"Jacinta, when I thought you were dead, I died inside."

"I'm sorry Mother." Jacinta clutched at her and they were both crying.

"You killed a daimôn. Didn't you know that couldn't be done?"

"I guess I didn't listen when that was explained," Jacinta said with a wan smile. "It hurt me, Mother. It hurt me all over but it hurt my hand as if I put it into molten rock, then the book hurt me even worse when I touched it with my hand."

She glanced at her left hand, wrapped in a bandage.

"Mother!" she called out in terror. "My hand, I can't feel it, I can't move it. Will it heal?"

"Jacinta, I don't know. " Elena said. "Just looking at it, I would have to say no. But you are a paladin. Perhaps what applies to normal people doesn't apply to you."

Jacinta looked at her hand, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Can I see it?" she said in a small voice.

"Not now, it's just dressed. I warn you though the sight is not a pretty one. We will get you to Troia as soon as we can."

"No, Mother." Jacinta's voice was hollow. "There is one more task for me to do here. One I have to do alone, but I will need to be strong enough."

"You're going to hide the book," Elena guessed, and looked at her daughter in horror. "Jacinta, you can't face the catacombs again, let me do it."

Jacinta shook her head weakly. "Silver will help me and see I come to no harm. I'm frightened but it is only darkness and memories that I will face the second time. What frightens me more is to think one day the book might be read. Such power is not for mortals. The svartálfar accepted the extinction of their race rather than use its power. I can do no less.

"I will find another hiding place, only I must know where it is." She gave a crooked smile, almost drooping with weariness. "Perhaps I should rest first."

"All those dead, was it for nothing?' Elena asked softly.

Jacinta shook her head helplessly. "I don't know, Mother." Then she looked at her hand. "I don't know."

Sophie struggled from under the layers of furs to find Jacinta cuddled in her mother's arms. Others were clustered around giving Jacinta congratulations and well wishes; Jacinta was trying to respond but she was very weak and struggling to stay awake. Elena had started feeding her daughter beef broth, spiced with healing herbs.

Sophie crept up and clutched at Jacinta's good hand and buried her head in Jacinta's shoulder. Jacinta realised Sophie was crying uncontrollably.

"I sent …" she tried.

"I know, Sophie." Jacinta said softly, "I had to go."

It was Sophie who had insisted Jacinta had to go into the catacombs. She had sent her best friend there.

Jacinta shifted and awkwardly pulled the little girl into her lap and held her till she was cried out. After a while Sophie looked up. Her face was streaked with tears and her nose was runny and sniffily but she managed a small smile.

"Daimôn Bane," she said softly.

Jacinta ruffled her hair with her good hand and managed a wan smile in return ... sure … the great Daimôn Bane. She felt nothing at all like the hero such a name implied. All she could feel was ill-used and half dead. She was struggling to stay awake. Daimôn Bane. She thought sardonically to herself.

Was a Daimôn Bane allowed to need their mothers? She hoped so.

"Does that make me weird, too, Sophie?" she asked her tiny elf friend.

Sophie reached her arms around Jacinta's neck and kissed her cheek fiercely; Jacinta was her best friend. Jacinta stared at her bandaged hand, trying to will it to move, as she drifted into sleep.

* * *

"This time, you have gone too far!" Philippos was beside himself with rage.

Olympias had never been frightened, truly frightened of her husband before.

Philippos had promised Boteiras, the Bithynian Prince, a deal. It included the marriage of Boteiras's only child, a daughter, to Philippos's illegitimate son, Arrhidaeus, if only he changed his allegiance from their enemies to Philippos.

Without Boteiras, the allies could not stand against Philippos. Likely after his defection, Philippos could bribe and bully any that remained. He would be able to capture much of the rest of northern Anatolē without hard fighting. This was the way Philippos preferred to win. He loved to outsmart his opponents and only outfight them when he had to.

Philippos loved to own all those around him but he would never let anyone truly own him. He kept all power centralized on himself. He kept any around him carefully controlled. And one of those he controlled was Aléxandros.

He bought some, he richly rewarded most others, but he never gave Aléxandros estates, titles or great riches. He said Aléxandros was his heir and would have all he had.

And so, Aléxandros had everything and yet he had nothing.

He was dependent on his father for everything, and his father found many subtle and not-so-subtle ways to remind him. If he lost his father's support, he lost everything.

Olympias had secretly offered Boteiras Aléxandros' hand in marriage to his daughter, if only he named Aléxandros his heir. Of course Boteiras was overjoyed!

Olympias knew Philippos would be angry at first, but she expected he would get over it. After all, he could hardly refuse once the arrangements were made. Anatolē would be his for the taking. Philippos himself had multiple wives, so this would not prevent Aléxandros from making a more favourable union later.

It was only a week before their daughter's wedding and Philippos had just found out. Olympias had underestimated his fury; she had never seen him so angry.

Philippos shouted that he was spending an unimaginable fortune showing what a great and wealthy empire he had built, and now the heir to his great "empire" was to marry the daughter of Boteiras because Philippos couldn't even fight a minor princeling!

Worse, it showed he could not even control his wife and son.

Was this why Philippos was so angry? It was hard to say, but his rage was frightening.

He had arrested Olympias's envoy, their informant in Philippos's court, and arranged for him to be tortured and killed, even though he was an important and wealthy noble.

And now Philippos would put a stop to the marriage. It would not only show bad faith to Boteiras, it would insult him!

Philippos felt so angry he could hardly speak to Olympias and his son. All his clever schemes to conquer Anatolē without a fight had collapsed due to their meddling.

"They are saying, Aléxandros, you are not mine," Philippos shouted. "This mother of yours even says so, claiming you were fathered by Zeus." He stared long and hard at Olympias. He had never spoken the words but she realised that he knew who Aléxandros's father was.

"This stupidity makes me wonder if you really are my son. What if I divorce Olympias for being unfaithful? What if I say you are illegitimate, Aléxandros? Think on that before you plot against me again."

He stormed out, too much in a fury to say more. He wouldn't even look at his son or Olympias again for several days.

* * *

It was the second day of the wedding and Philippos was awake well before dawn, getting dressed by his servants for the ceremony.

He still had not made his peace with his son and Olympias though in honest moments he realised what was behind what they had done. He knew he was in part to blame, but he was the King! Let them stew for a while longer.

"Great King!" An urgent voice spoke into his mind. "They will try to kill you this very morning."

"Arrh, if it's not my new friend," Philippos smiled as he spoke to the voice in his mind. He gestured to his servants to leave him for a time. "My wife first and now you; am I to be surrounded by witches telling me I am about to die. Why would you bother to warn me? Are you not my enemy?"

"I am just not on your side in this war, Great King. Despite what you have always believed, that does not make me your enemy." This time he got a clear image of her, a small beautiful woman with silky red hair, an elf, he realised.

Well, how interesting.

"There is no need for you to die."

"And tell me, witch. Do you see me living ... I thought so, you do not. I told you before, I am ready to die."

She had done it to him again. He meant to say he did not fear death, instead he told a truth that he had not yet realised. He was ready to die.

Philippos shook his head in amusement.

"I've really enjoyed our talks, witch. I'm sorry but it seems our time is running out."

"We need you, Great King." The voice sounded, for a brief flash more like a little girl but it was gone quickly, and Philippos wondered if he imagined it.

"So," Philippos snorted. "Many who should love me most want me dead. And now my enemies want me to live. It really must be my time. How will it happen?"

"At the beginning, today, when you walk into the stadium to greet the crowd, Pausanías will be behind you with a knife."

Pausanías? He is one of my best friends.

"A spell has been cast on him ... You can guess by whom.

"Attalus will be blamed. He was planning to kill you eventually, when your new son was older."

"I warned Pausanías about my wife," Philippos thought. "Yes, I knew he was captivated by her.

"I can't blame him, really. Well, I won't be needing this, then." Philippos took off his ceremonial breast plate and settled for a white woollen chiton and a heavy cloak bordered by royal purple.

He felt her shock. "What has happened to you, Great King?"

"Perhaps I got tired. You know I still love her."

"Argh, King, love makes fools of us all."

"It sounds like you understand. I thought you would not."

"I understand more than you can know."

"Will it stop her, do you think?"

"Olympias? She will have plenty of malice left, but it will take the heart from her, yes."

"So I lose and yet I win. You know, I can't really put her aside? I made that threat and for a time my anger made it real. Now she wants me dead, but it is the only way I can be free of her.

"Let her do it, I am not afraid of death."

"In truth, there is nothing to fear, Great King. If you permit it, when the moment comes, I would walk a little of the way with you. It is a road familiar to me. I cannot go the whole way, as I am at present amongst the living."

"You know, I would welcome that, do I head now for Tartaros (the place of punishment within Hades)?"

"No great Lord, nothing like that. We are here to struggle to be better but no one can blame a lion for its nature. It was your Karma to be born as you were. There are many who have watched over you who now wait; your father, your mother, your brothers and many friends who have died."

"Who are you and what is your interest in me?"

"You are soon to know all that."

* * *

Dawn was just breaking when Philippos and his escort joined the rest of the bodyguards outside the stadium. The men's breath steamed in the half light. Aigai was bitterly cold with winter not far away.

It's going to be a very beautiful dawn, Philippos thought. The clouds were bright crimson and magnificent. It would be a fit setting for the death of a great king.

The huge theatre was packed and people waited impatiently. They sat on luxurious cushions, wrapped in heavy blankets and woollen coats.

Let them wait. Philippos was in no hurry.

He greeted each of his bodyguards, hugging them all for the last time, though they did not know it then and wondered at their king's behaviour.

He stopped at Pausanías. His old friend hardly recognised him.

"Goodbye, Pausanías. I warned you about her, you know," he whispered. Pausanías made no sign he heard. Philippos shook his head and sighed.

As he walked slowly to the entrance, there stood Aléxandros and Olympias, a little apart from the others. Olympias's presence here with the men was unprecedented, but when had she ever known her place?

He limped up to her. "Well, wife, I'm glad you came."

"I am not your wife!" Olympias said coldly.

"I spoke in anger, forgive my foolish words," Philippos said softly, just to her. Then he raised his voice so it carried clearly to the audience beyond. "Let all here know! Olympias is my wife and Aléxandros my son!"

He grabbed her shoulders against her resistance and stared into her face.

"You know, I am hopelessly in love with you." She didn't resist when he kissed her long and passionately. "While I live, it will always be you and no other, I will never be free of you." The last he said in a whisper.

Olympias shuddered and looked at him in shock. "Don't," she started.

"No, love," he smiled sadly. "It is well enough."

She made a sound of anguish.

He ignored it and turned to Aléxandros and embraced him. "And here, I give you my true son, conceived from me and my only heir," he said it loudly.

The waiting crowd had fallen silent, wondering whether this was part of the ceremony. "Aléxandros, you are a great warrior, you will lead my armies. Of all I loved, I loved you and your mother most. I could not be more proud of you."

He leaned closer and whispered in Aléxandros's ear, "Please, son, spare your brothers and your cousin."

Then he spun away quickly and clapped his hands. "Now, let this entertainment begin!" he said loudly, favouring Olympias with a warm smile.

Olympias was in shock, shaking and huddled to herself.

Twelve great wooden statues of the Gods were pushed on carts into the arena, gilt and magnificently fashioned. At each one the crowd gasped in astonishment and cheered. The thirteenth and greatest, carried in procession, was one of Philippos himself. The crowd cheered wildly.

When they had passed, he ordered his bodyguards back and then he limped by himself into the theatre to deafening applause. He looked nothing other than an old soldier. A patch on one eye and his beard showing speckles of grey. He lifted his arms and acknowledged the crowds.

Behind him he heard the sound of running feet.

Aléxandros yelled out in agony, "Not like this!" He was the first to give pursuit.

Philippos heard a scream from Olympias, "No!"

He turned ever so slowly, with a smile on his face, arms still raised. Pausanías had almost reached him.

"Ahh, Pausanías, my friend!" he proclaimed loudly as he felt a powerful punch to his chest. He hugged the man, and then his arms lost strength and the darkness rapidly descended.

"Witch! Will I be forgotten after I die?" Those who heard him thought he cried out to Olympias who had run to throw herself on him, screaming hysterically.

"Never, Great King," came the voice in his mind, she was also was crying.

"Philippos of the Makedónes will never be forgotten, not till time itself has an end."

He felt himself beginning to drift upwards and the elf witch was beside him. "Will I be remembered more than my son?"

"No, Lord, you will not be remembered more than your son."

Philippos couldn't see Aléxandros return to cradle his body or hear his cry of anguish. Philippos felt a connection severed and his soul soaring, free. Aléxandros, he couldn't imagine a truer son.

So his son would be remembered more than him, it was well enough.

 

 

 

The Gathering Storm

Book 3

The Paladin Chronicles

2^nd Ed

Neil Port

 

Copyright © Neil Port, Jan 2023

all rights reserved

1^st Ed. Copyright 2014

Incorporating

'A Time for Peace' (the Gathering Storm)

' A time to gather stones together' (getting ready for war)

'A time for War'

And, The Last Elf Kingdom, its Final Days

 

 

Ecclesiastes 3

For everything there is a season and a time to every purpose under the heaven:

A time to be born.	A time to die.
A time to plant.	A time to uproot that which has been planted.
A time to kill.	A time to heal.
A time to tear down.	A time to build up.
A time to weep.	A time to laugh.
A time to mourn	A time to dance.
A time to cast away stones	A time to gather stones together.
A time to embrace	A time to refrain from embracing.
A time to get	A time to lose.
A time to keep	A time to cast away.
A time to rend	A time to sew.
A time to keep silent	A time to speak out.
A time to love	A time to hate.
A time for war	A time for peace.

 

With the death of Philippos, the Allies have a time for peace, but, unknown to most of them, this time will be limited. A cataclysmic storm is building in the East.

Part 1 (of 4): A Time for Peace

Chapter 1: Homecoming, a Distant War

In the darkness, two men thundered into Abydos at the head of their escort. One was a great elf lord and one a commander of the Shantawi.

The men's horses were lathered and near spent. Hakeem was deep in Bithynia and only Héctor himself was able to find him. But by then it was fully three weeks since news of Philippos's death had reached Troia.

When they arrived in Abydos, the stables were all but deserted, all discipline had broken down. Surely the townsfolk could not be still celebrating?

Perhaps they could. This city, more than any other, had a sword hanging over it for more than a decade. Now it seemed the threat was removed, perhaps forever.

But Hakeem and Héctor were in no mood to celebrate.

They only wanted to change horses. There were not enough in the stables, so they left most of their escort behind. They would even have gone on alone, such was their haste. With little pause they were off again, cursing every delay.

This was bad.

This was very bad.

It was morning when the small party clattered up to the road that led to the citadel. Many of the servants and guardsmen rushed in expectation of a joyous return. One look at the faces of the pair and the words of congratulations died unspoken.

The Warlord 's face was like thunder!

While they breakfasted, a council of war was hurriedly called.

Helios was paying a visit of state to Troia, so the room contained most of the senior commanders and the royals including Elena, Seléne, King Helios, King Leandros and his son Karpos.

People were laughing and talking loudly and, when Hakeem and Héctor finally came in, they cheered. The war was over, they had won! Hakeem knelt before the kings and attempted a wan smile.

"I'm sorry, Lords, that I could not be here earlier. I was badly delayed. I hope I'm not too late."

Helios smiled at him uncertainly. What was the matter with Hakeem?

"Too late for what, my dear Hakeem? Philippos is dead! We have won."

The Makedóne campaign in Anatolē had ended. The empire of Philippos was collapsing under the weight of factional fighting and revolt. Why did Hakeem look so sour? It was said he had ridden all night without rest. Why did he look so angry, so tired and, well, so … frightened?

Leandros knew.

The old king had seen it all before. It was all too familiar to him.

They had given the ultimate responsibility for defence of Troia to Hakeem, Hakeem alone. For moons, Hakeem alone bore the final responsibility. Their hopes, the impossible task, rested on him; he was under continuous attack from the town's people. Hakeem succeeded beyond what was possible and all knew the great burden of guilt and anguish he bore even in that great victory.

And then they gave him another impossible task.

He had to face the unbeatable leader of an unbeatable army.

Again, he delivered.

He took a tiny force against Parmenion and forced the Makedóne campaign to a standstill. He captured a great fortune. The enemy lost the freedom of movement and their supplies were bled back to the allies. Eventually they were so weakened that the Prince of Bithynia had managed to make progress in pushing Parmenion back and regaining land and some small towns. All this was done with little loss of men.

But it was Hakeem, always Hakeem.

Hakeem personally led the men, Hakeem devised the strategy, Hakeem worried about a thousand and one details and Hakeem went deeper behind enemy lines more times and for longer than anyone else.

Hakeem's concern for his men, his concern for the villagers and common folk, even his concern for his enemy was legendary.

But it was also his great weakness.

Leandros reproached himself. He should have known, yet Hakeem had always seemed so strong. They had expected Hakeem to be stronger than any other, and now Leandros realised their shocking error.

There had been no choice, but they demanded more and more from this strong and generous man and Hakeem kept giving without complaint. Finally, what had been asked had been too much.

He looked at Hakeem sadly. It was likely his young friend would never be the same again. It was likely that they had lost Hakeem, and now they must treat him gently.

"Hakeem, my young friend, you must rest. You have done more than all thought possible. It is you that has saved us but now your task is over!"

"IT IS NOT!" Hakeem shouted, hitting the table in front of him like a thunder clap.

He stood, shocked at himself.

"Forgive me, Lords," he mumbled and sank down into a chair and rested his head in his hands.

Now the other men in the room understood. They were witness to the ruin of what had been a great man. The elves: Seléne, Héctor and Elena merely waited, silent, impassive. Did they have so little understanding of human weakness?

"It is not," Hakeem said softly, almost to himself.

Helios tried to soothe the young man whom he had mentored, and whom he loved.

"Of course we still need your help, but the greater task is done. Much has happened while you have been away. Philippos is dead. His son Aléxandros has taken over, but the great empire Philippos had created is about to go up in flames.

"Makedonía is in chaos; Aléxandros has already managed to murder his cousin, his half-brother Amyntas, and his new half-brother."

"But he was just a baby! Argh!" Hakeem surged again to his feet.

"Sit down, my friend; it grieves me to tell you the rest as I see the news affects you so. It gets worse," Helios said firmly and placed a hand on Hakeem's shoulder. Hakeem bowed his head and sank down again. He clutched at Helios's hand and held it for support.

"He was only a baby."

Helios lowered his voice, trying to project some calm while he told the terrible tidings.

"Aléxandros is not his father; Philippos at least showed mercy to his family and Aléxandros also has that she-devil of a mother driving him. They say she had Kleopatra Eurydikē and her young daughter roasted alive and had her baby put to the sword. Aléxandros is now systematically killing all male members of Kleopatra's family to prevent reprisals.

"Attalus, her uncle, is accused of plotting the murder of Philippos even though he has been in Bithynia with Parmenion all this time. It is always thus with Makedóne successions, I'm afraid. The country swims in blood."

All paused in silence to allow Hakeem time to absorb the terrible news.

Then Leandros took up the tale somewhat excitedly. "Aléxandros must not be allowed to succeed! He is even more ruthless and cruel than his father. All the Greek nations and beyond march to war.

"Demosthenes is doing what he does best. He is mobilising Athēnai and Thēbai to revolt. He is in contact with Attalus and Parmenion and maybe they too will turn against Aléxandros.

"Attalus still has support in Makedonía itself and Parmenion has already carved a small kingdom for himself in Bithynia. The army there is loyal to them. Parmenion is known as their best general and he could easily beat the inexperienced Aléxandros.

"The tribes of Illyria and Thráki are mobilising to rebel. We are not only free of this threat, if we can play Parmenion off against Aléxandros we may be able to get rid of one or the other. We can either get Bithynia back or even join an expedition into Makedonía itself and you know how wealthy that has become!"

Leandros was getting old but had not lost his fire!

Hakeem looked at the two kings and shook his head tiredly.

"Please, my Kings, we must do neither of those things."

All the humans in the room were astounded. They looked at Hakeem in shock. Had he lost so much? This was a great chance! There was a growing murmur of dissent.

Héctor's voice cut through it all. "Tell them, Hakeem."

His voice sounded like a judge passing a death sentence.

"Do you trust me, Lords? Do all here trust me?" Hakeem asked, looking around.

Every human in the room looked from Héctor and Hakeem in confusion. Elena and Seléne continued to sit, waiting, their expressions unreadable.

"Of course, we do," Leandros and Helios said in unison and others added their murmured agreement. "We just think you are a little overwrought."

"If you trusted me, then you have all made a big mistake!" Hakeem said sardonically. "For I am a fool. It is only now that l have realised how much of a fool I have been.

"Philippos is dead, what do we get?"

They looked at each other and Hakeem, totally perplexed.

"A great opportunity, I thought?" Leandros said.

"Think back two moons and more ago. If you wanted to come with a great force to invade the Hellas, the Black Sea area or Thráki, or even come to Anatolē through Bithynia, what would happen?"

Leandros went pale. "Why, Philippos …" he whispered harshly.

He didn't finish and suddenly sat back in shock, like a man who had aged from one breath to the next. Suddenly all in the room knew what it was, and they knew fear.

Hakeem had said the fight against Philippos was a prelude. They had forgotten.

"How long … how long do we have?" Helios asked softly.

"Maybe three years," Hakeem replied, "but I think it will be less. Then we will face an invasion like unto the Aryan hordes, but we are far weaker now than we were then.

"I thought I was clever. Maybe, I even thought I was very clever.

"I was wrong.

"I don't know how long the Turks have been playing this game. It feels that we have been manipulated for an impossibly long time. Perhaps that's true, or we ourselves have been playing into their hands.

"The elves are united, East and West, but what about us humans? The war between Troia and Aiolía seriously weakened Troia. My Lord Leandros, you led the finest army in this region, bar none, if I may say so. With the greatest respect for former enemies who are now great friends, where is it now? The strongest point we had here in Anatolē is now one of our weakest.

"And where are the Sparte, Athēnai or mighty Thēbai? Where are their armies? The Hellas have long been protected to the north, if one can use such a term, by savage and warlike tribes. Where are the Illyroi, the Molossians, the Thráki and the Tribulans?

"Why, Philippos has seen to them all. Philippos even crossed the Istros (Danube) and killed the Skythian king, Areas!

"And what happened to the colonies around the Black Sea and their allies? Why, Philippos again. And what happened to the dozens of colonies in Makedonía and Thráki?

"Philippos raised thirty-one towns and cities in Chalkidiki (southern Makedónian peninsula) alone. He sold their populations into slavery and resettled just a small few with Makedónes.

"So what mighty army are we left with in the end? ... The Makedónes! Just the Makedónes, the only remaining force anywhere near strong enough to mount a serious defence and only then, I suspect, if we were all solidly behind them.

"Even for their unstoppable army, even with Philippos or Parmenion at the head, it would be a difficult task, even if we all joined with them.

"And what did the enemy do to defeat this mighty Makedóne force even before they marched against them? Well, I'll tell you, they killed a single man.

"I fear the Makedónes are finished as a credible threat. It would be too much to expect that Philippos's son, even if he were his father's equal, could in two years do what took Philippos twenty."

Leandros looked as if he was going to say something but Hakeem continued

"Perhaps the situation Aléxandros faces is not as bad as what his father faced, but if he takes a single mis-step it will be. And when the invaders arrive, will we be united and strong or will we be exhausted from fighting one amongst the other? Just guess which it will be.

"A very great opportunity, yes, but for our enemies."

A hush had fallen over the men in the room.

Gone was the laughter.

Gone were the congratulations. Now they looked one to the other, their faces showed fear.

"Do you think you can defeat these Hun?"

"I do not," Hakeem admitted.

"Are there really that many?" one of Helios's generals asked.

Héctor answered for Hakeem. "Their numbers are like that of the locust. This is like nothing you have ever faced before. Think of an army limited only by the ability of the land to sustain it; an army which picks the country clean; an army that must conquer and take all there is to take, just to sustain itself.

"We count armies by the thousands and huge armies by tens of thousands. Philippos at his height could field an army of sixty thousand if he emptied all his garrisons. If he took all these and marched out to meet what will come here, they would outnumber him two, or even three of their men to every one of his, and that will only be their first assault.

"But do not think that such large numbers means their army is inferior. Man for man, in their tactics and in the cleverness of their leaders, they are at least our match and, in some ways, our better. Each and every warrior learns to ride, to draw a bow and to fight in war from the time they first walk. A normal infantry cannot stand against their mounted archers and they are clever, treacherously clever. If a leader fails them, they simply kill him and choose another. And they are driven here by a great famine.

"Now do you understand?" Héctor raised his clear elfin voice to a shout. "They will wash over what we have here, now, like a wave crashes over a child's castle made of sand!"

There was a long silence.

"I don't think my uncle deliberately understated what we face," Elena added softly.

They looked at her with horrified disbelief.

"When he said 'here', he only referred to eastern Anatolē and the Hellas. Even more will come against Elgard, Kappadokia and even Karsh. So, we will each be asked to stand alone.

"In the hot lands, far to the south and the east, there are great storms as strong as an angry God. Their winds fling men, beasts, trees and even houses through the air. Sometimes just before such a storm comes there is a strange hush.

"It is an illusion of peace. And that is what we will have now, a time of peace but it will only be an illusion, a breath before the great onslaught."

No one had anything to say, what could be said to that?

Hakeem waited …

They saw him waiting and turned to him … and still he waited.

Then he gave them a humourless smile.

"We could, if you wish, surrender. They may be generous enough to let us live, depending on their mood. If condemning us to the greatest famine since the last great horde could be described as generous.

"I do have a plan but we will lose much of what we presently think of as dear to us.

"We fight this time not for our kingdoms or our cities: they can be rebuilt.

"We fight not for our farms or our cattle: they can be replaced.

"We do not even fight for our own lives. We fight for our very survival as a people.

"Do not speak of this to your people, my Lord Leandros. They have suffered too long from war. They need this time to celebrate and be glad. If you are all with me, we must concentrate first on recovering and becoming strong." He paused and looked around.

"And remember, we don't have much time."

Helios looked at Leandros, who nodded. "We will do as you say, Hakeem. For the moment get some rest, you look at the point of collapse. Then we will discuss what we have to do."

Now they knew. This was an illusion of peace.

In the East a terrible storm was gathering.

Nothing like it had been seen for a thousand years.

* * *

The lands of the Sakā

It was bitterly cold in the desert. The breath of men and horses steamed in the air.

"Not long, my Shah," Fro-hakafra his Spalahora (senior commander) said as he tried to squint into the distance for the first sign of their enemy. "Our scouts have spotted a large force coming this way."

"Then we will have them!" Afrīḡ replied, hungrily.

Afrīḡ was the Šâh (Shah) of Xvairizem, the greatest of the three great Sakā Kingdoms.

Like his father before him, he was a great warrior-king.

Like his father before him, he maintained the largest and finest fighting force in the region and, like his father before him, he chose the best men for his elite units. They were well paid, and trained, and had the best equipment.

These were the middle desert lands of central Asia. To the south and to the east of them were vast tracks of mountains they called the Himalayas (meaning 'the dwelling place of snow') and these mountains starved the Sakā lands of rain, but they also gave them a wondrous gift: mighty rivers born in the mountains out of ice, snow and rain.

This gave them oases: rich and fertile river valleys and wealthy trade routes joining east and west. And so they became rich.

 

 

They were surrounded by many enemies that would take their wealth (if they could), but the Sakā warriors were famous for good reason, and the most famous of all were from Xvairizem. Local petty kings paid Afrīḡ tribute and he, like his father, had taken the title Šāhanšāh (Shah of other Shahs). He was a proud ruler of a proud kingdom.

But nothing had prepared him or his men for what they now faced.

The Hun had poured over the mountains in numbers that were impossible to believe. They had fallen on Sogdiane in the Fergana valley and the Yakhsha Arta (Jaxartes River) like an army of wolves savaging a flock of lambs. The rivers ran with blood, cities and towns were burned to the ground. Bodies were piled high in the fields.

Then the enemy split into two and they came at Marakanda (Samarkand) from two sides.

After the terrible news from the Fergana, terror gripped the people. Citizens panicked; soldiers fled their posts. Cities and towns surrendered without even a fight, adding to the strength of the enemy.

Afrīḡ rushed to their aide but when Sogdiane resistance collapsed he was forced to fight his way out and, as he was retreating, he received disastrous news. Another huge army had appeared over the mountains, attacking Bactria.

With three great armies, each of 7 tumen (seventy thousand warriors), coming at them from different directions, it was impossible for the allies to mount an organised response. Not knowing where they would strike next, the other two kingdoms divided up their armies and sent them to reinforce their garrisons.

It was a disastrous strategy.

With no force large enough to oppose them, the enemy could attack them in small pieces wherever they willed, and the new siege weapons from the Chin made short work of mud brick and even stone fortifications were not immune.

The destruction was terrible.

And now one of these armies was approaching Xvairizem. Afrīḡ had raised the largest army that his land had ever seen, but he wouldn't be wasting it on garrisons. He planned to meet the Hun here. He would make a stand ... here, near the entrance to his kingdom.

Afrīḡ was an angry man. What these barbarous vermin were doing to his allies and friends ate at his heart. Until now, he could do nothing. Now, maybe, just maybe, the Hun had made a mistake. If they sent their armies at him one at a time, he could fight them two of his men to one of theirs, and he might just defeat them.

As he looked out across the desert it looked empty, endless wastes of grey and yellow sand dotted with the black saxaul shrubs. It was called the Kara Kum (the land of the black sands). It had its yellow sand dunes and rocky outcrops in the higher parts but it was named for the black soil in the low lands which had come from rivers none of which had run in human memory.

It was a punishing place, with blistering summers and frigid winters and yet he loved it with all his heart. He loved its people. If need be, he would die defending them.

The royal chariot he waited in was magnificent: it had a gilded carving of his family crest (the royal lion carrying a sword) and it was painted with the fire and stars of Mazdayasna (Zoroastrianism). It was superbly built, with two great axles to carry it over the rough ground. It could be pulled by its team of eight large horses at great speed as if in a race. It had a box to protect the heavily armoured driver and a protected platform for Afrīḡ to survey the field or signal his commanders. It had two each of spearmen and archers that rode in it and a mounted guard to follow it.

It was magnificent ... and it was completely useless for fighting the Hun.

It was impossible to turn at any speed and all the enemy had to do was kill one of the horses. It was a mobile command post, nothing more.

Afrīḡ and Fro-hakafra, his senior commander who waited nearby, wore the best quality chain and scale mail. Grooms also held armoured mounts and cavalry lances. When the time came, if the time came, he would mount his horse and join the fight.

It would not be the first time. He would fight as a knight, and the knights were the pride of the Sakā army. Many times, they had turned the tide for his people. The Greeks called them Kataphraktoi meaning 'fully covered', or less polite terms for the heavy armour in the oppressive heat of the summer.

The armour rendered the Hun arrows ineffective (except at point blank range). If they stayed in formation, where the treacherous enemy couldn't knock them from their mounts, lasso them or shoot their mounts, then the flighty Hun skirmishers had little taste for facing them.

On the hill behind him, he had fully five thousand of his knights waiting. They were a glorious sight, heavy coats of mail and polished cuirasses gleaming in the sun.

The site of his stand had been chosen with care. He waited on a large ridge that dominated the whole field. His archers were arranged in several rows behind a row of spearmen with their tall shields almost the height of a man.

It was the Sakā way.

Protected by the spear men, it allowed them to have archers in a forward position during the battle allowing them to send a lethal hail of arrows early in the enemies' approach. The Hun cavalry archers may be more mobile but they could not match the speed and power of his archers on foot, many trained by Skythoi.

As well as 50,000 archers, he had an equal number of spearmen and another 18,000 light cavalry. He was reinforced by 40,000 displaced troops from his allies, all of them thirsting for vengeance.

Afrīḡ's armour was heavy but he was careful not to show discomfort. A boy came to offer him water and ephedra, the stimulant. He took the water gratefully but shook his head irritably at the thought of ephedra. Though it was winter, ephedra could kill a warrior as easily as a spear, if he got overheated in battle.

He glanced at his nearby aide. Why was it taking so long? He resisted the urge to ask. The aide knew no more than him. His scouts had been having trouble getting close to the Huns due to their mounted bowmen but from what they could see at a distance the enemy was moving slowly.

That had to be due to Chin infantry making up their numbers – good!

It was the mobility of the horse archers that made them impossible to fight with armies based on infantry.

The wind blew a heavy cloud of sand stinging into his face. He blinked to clear it and he tasted it, gritty in his mouth; a familiar taste. Near the horizon, he could finally see a faint cloud of dust. At last!

"Great King!" Dahâka, one of his generals, pointed. "Here they come!"

Afrīḡ nodded. The size of the dust cloud as it approached was impressive; they faced a large force. It was both bigger and slower than he had expected.

The enemy was making straight for him – also good. He had worried that they might avoid a direct fight and use the speed of their approach to circle around him, to pillage his land. It was a Hun trick when faced with infantry to get the infantry to try to chase them till it was exhausted and disorganised ... and drawn out, and then they attacked.

This time, they were sending their infantry first. That was curious, more a Sakā tactic.

"Everyone, take your places now. Warn the rear-guard that I expect the enemy cavalry to circle and attack our rear. Whatever they do, they are not to give chase even if the enemy seems to break and run.

"If they hang back to shoot their arrows, we are to rely on our earth works and our own archers and shields." He muttered to Fro-hakafra, "They must handle them! It is vital we stay close together and concentrate on the front." The Hun cavalry had mainly bowmen but a few carried spears and lances for fleeing infantry, and they all had lassos.

"Same for the front, I don't want my men to charge unless I order it, and then only for a distance of hundred chebel. No more. Even if the enemy seem in disarray."

It had been drilled and drilled into his troops. He would not make the mistakes others had made. It would be difficult, but his troops were well trained, he hoped the remnants of the allied troops would keep their heads.

The Chin infantry specialised in armoured pike-men and cross bows. Cross bows were powerful and accurate but slow and the chin archers tended to hang further back than the Sakā archers. The Sakā infantry were more lightly armoured than the Chin, but they made up for this by their tower shields, tall and strong.

He planned to shower their infantry with his own arrows well before they could get near enough to engage. He could scatter any Hun cavalry with his Kataphraktoi and would dominate the field.

The Hun were conquering all they came against. It was time to teach these savages about what the Sakā could do!

He shaded his eyes to try to study the enemy now they were getting closer. They didn't seem so formidable. Their order was ragged and he couldn't see much armour, shields or weapons. Half of them seemed small for warriors. Was Mòdú Chányú running out of men?

He strained his eyes.

Something didn't seem right...

Then he gasped in horror.

"What animals are these?" Frachya, the captain of his Anûsiya (royal guard), cried out in agony.

What they thought was the van guard of the enemy army was ragged, hollow-eyed men, women and children. Their own villagers with their arms bound behind their backs.

The Hun had been herding them like cattle with whips and spears. Now they were driving them faster and faster. The peasants began running in a panic, many falling only to be trampled by those that followed. The enemy archers would be hidden in their midst.

If Afrīḡ's men sent a volley they would achieve little, mostly wasting arrows on their own villagers, yet the Huns could fire back into the crowded ranks of his own men. It would be an uneven exchange and the horror of shooting their own people was designed to demoralise his defenders.

It had almost unmanned him already.

"My King, what can we do?" Azata, his young aide, looked ill.

For a moment, Afrīḡ was unable to form the words, overcome with disgust and anger.

"There is no choice," he whispered heavily and raised his voice. "Tell the archers to aim for the front line."

He turned his face expressionless to one of the men by his side. Syavash was a very special young captain, one of the Shah's best. He had a small handpicked group of men waiting. Lightly armoured, they could travel swiftly. They looked ill-sorted but they were used to operating well into enemy territory. They were very tough, and extremely loyal, and had been chosen for one thing alone.

"Syavash, leave us. You know what to do!"

"My Lord?" Syavash couldn't believe the Shah's order.

The battle hadn't even been joined!

As he hesitated, a volley of arrows hit the peasants. The screams were terrible. The Hun amongst them were working like daimôns in a fury, lifting peasants up and pushing them to the front and shoving bodies aside. The helpless peasant army picked itself up and came on. The Hun fired back and their soldiers were screaming and cursing as they were hit.

"Go now, Syavash," the Shah said heavily. "Take my sons to safety."

Take my sons to safety!

Afrīḡ the Warrior King, the best of all the Sakā kings, the one who had the greatest army in the history of his land believed he was going to lose.

But, for Syavash, if Xvairizem was not safe, where was?

As Syavash turned to leave he could hear the screams of terror and pain from the peasants in the distance.

"Again!" Afrīḡ shouted.

The Great Shah of Xvairizem was living inside a nightmare from which he could not wake.

He was about to be overwhelmed by an army made from his own unarmed people, the people he loved and was sworn to defend.

"Again!" It was almost a sob. "Ready javelins and fire when in range!"

* * *

Troia, Leandros and Helios

It was early in the afternoon and Leandros and Helios were standing on the balcony staring gloomily over the Aegean Sea.

Gone was the jubilant mood of the morning.

"Do you really think the Hun will come here?" Helios asked.

Leandros sighed. "It makes no sense. They are so far away … but yes. I think, yes, they will come." He paused for a moment, "I don't know why, perhaps I have been around Hakeem too long. The elves have no doubt."

They turned to see Hakeem and Elena were walking towards them.

The two kings stared at the pair in disbelief.

The Warlord and the Elf Queen were strolling along arm in arm, smiling and chatting to each other. Wasn't this the same Hakeem and Elena who only hours earlier had told them the world was coming to an end?

"Good afternoon, great Lords!" Hakeem greeted them enthusiastically.

"It might have been a good afternoon if you didn't have to spoil things this morning," Leandros replied sourly. "Weren't you the one who came close to giving me the apoplexy? But why worry? We have at least two years before we are overrun, all of us murdered and our kingdoms burnt to the ground."

"Yes, plenty of time!" Hakeem agreed heartily.

"If you have found something to be happy about, my friend," Helios said with a sardonic smile. "I would like to know what it is. You appear like a ghost at a wedding feast.; you spoil our mood, and now you have the effrontery to look cheerful."

"A sleep certainly helped me," Hakeem replied, hugging his beautiful wife and kissing her on the cheek. "Isn't it such a wonderful, clear day for autumn? There is so much beauty in the world."

"There is so much madness in you, my young friend, is what I think." Leandros grinned, cheered despite himself. It was comforting to have Hakeem around and his almost unquenchable optimism.

"I must say, great Lord. I am impressed with what you have managed to achieve here."

Leandros felt a great surge of pride and then he almost choked over the idiocy of it all. It was his kingdom after all. He wasn't the chancellor and Hakeem the returning king.

But, yes, what had been achieved was indeed remarkable.

Before the recent wars Troia was on its knees. A great many of its most famous commercial houses had been ruined, homes and shops closed, surrounding villages impoverished, its coffers empty and its army just a shadow of what it was.

Hakeem, when they were facing invasion from two great powers, had insisted that they were not to raise the biggest army they could afford. The ongoing cost of supporting it would have forced them to move out to fight their enemies. He defeated the Athēnai, with little loss of men, and managed to recruit a large part of the survivors. He led one, and then several, guerrilla forces into Bithynia and played havoc with the Makedóne lines of supply, bleeding the Makedónes of supplies and plunder and sending it back to Troia.

They had diverted all the extra funds into settling refugees, training their Athenian recruits and strengthening the Troad.

They managed to open a channel to sell their wheat and produce in the Hellas and now, after fighting two campaigns against what had seemed impossible odds, and having their goods blockaded, Troia was stronger and more prosperous than before. It was not what it once was, no, but the recovery was noticeable.

The harbour was full of ships, people were moving back into the city, the countryside was regaining an air of prosperity and the Troian army, from a pathetic remnant, had swelled to a viable force.

Hakeem in his mad dash to the great city had observed signs of recovery everywhere. The villages looked prosperous, the people well fed and the land well tended. There was a pleasing number of livestock. There was a lot of commercial traffic: a good number of donkey-carts, wagons and even horsemen. The travellers on the road seemed consumed by their own affairs despite a Makedóne army supposedly on their doorstep.

Leandros knew that much of this was due to Apollo.

Apollo had been a successful merchant and a patriot, but one of their most dangerous critics before the Athenian siege. Leandros had wanted to execute him but Hakeem insisted he be given a key position in charge of the recovery.

Leandros could hardly refuse Hakeem after the miracle he had achieved, but it had provoked a terrible argument, the only real argument they ever had.

Hakeem was right, the man was a magician.

"What is the next step, do you think, Hakeem?" Helios asked his senior commander.

"For the moment, let the people celebrate. It will do them good. They need to heal after the dark times they have suffered."

"What about our celebrations and our dark times?" Leandros asked petulantly.

Hakeem actually laughed.

"I'm sorry, great Lords, it is one of the privileges of rank. Elena and the elves decided to wait till I could return to explain it to you. At least you had that little time to celebrate.

"I must say though, my Lords, I feel better having told you. It's not true, of course, but sometimes it feels like I have to carry all this on my own." He sighed.

"Well, thank you!" Helios laughed. "I'm glad you feel better! For some reason, Leandros and I haven't been feeling any better. How can you be so cheerful?"

"I am a Shayvist, Elena is an elf. If it is our fate to die, it won't help to worry about it, will it now?"

"There's that," Helios said with a straight face. "I might die, so why worry? You're making me feel better already."

"Also, Elena and I haven't seen each other in far too long." Hakeem paused. "With your permission, Lords, I would like to send much of our additional forces home. I think with the addition of the Athēnai, the Troian forces are more than enough to contain the remaining remainder Makedóne threat."

"I don't suppose I can convince you to move on Parmenion while we are all here?" Leandros asked a little wistfully.

Hakeem laughed again. "It may come to that, Great King, but if he stays where he is and doesn't cause us too much trouble, the answer is no. I have no intention of removing a well-trained army under a clever commander who decides to fortify a camp between me and whatever invasion force is coming."

"How do you expect me to explain this to the Bithynian prince and our Lydian allies?" Leandros asked plaintively.

"Convincingly, I hope," Hakeem replied. "If you need me, I should be able to help before I leave."

"Leave? You're leaving?"

"With the permission of both of you, of course.

" I need to go home. You have heard what happened in Sogdiane and Bactria? Any cities that did not surrender have been razed and their populations slaughtered. The Hun have defeated huge armies: the Chin, the Skythians, the Yuezhi and now the Sakā … all they have turned their attention to."

"Central Asia, that place has a fort every few miles!" Helios said in shock.

"Some are stone but a lot is mud brick," Leandros said grimly. "The Hun have brought Chin engineers and even the stone forts cannot stand forever against them. It seems so far away. Afrīḡ, the Shah of Xvairizem, can mobilise a huge army. Maybe he will stop them. There are still many cities and armies between us and the Hun. Surely someone can."

"Not as many as you think," Hakeem said softly, looking out over the harbour. "And there is a terrible drought, worse than in anyone's memory. It is the time of the Aryan all over again. The war has strangled trade. People from the countryside are starving, so bandits attack the trading caravans. Then those in the city and country that rely on trade are ruined, and their workers destitute.

"The Hun have warriors from all the lands they have conquered and they are sitting on a mountain of gold with the prospect of even greater plunder. For many, joining the Hun is the only hope they have of a better life. So, the Hun have no problem finding men and paying them.

"If they take Xvairizem they control the crucial trade routes through central Asia. In the East, they will control from the southern shores of the Kaspian Sea to the Aral Sea. They cannot continue south unless they are ready to face the Persikόs. It is the greatest Empire the world has ever seen

"But I think they will go north and cross the Ra (Volga), first," Hakeem said.

"The Skythians there were once numerous and united, now they would be hard pressed to stop them. Then they can then threaten the elves from the north or continue along the Steppe north of the Black Sea as far as the Thráki where they can threated Anatole or the Hellas. If they get far enough to try that, I hope the Makedónes have something suitably violent to say about it."

"That's still a lot of armies and fortified cities between them and us," Helios said. "If they are strong enough to come here, how could we possibly hope to stop them?"

"They can't take on the elves and us together," Leandros exclaimed.

Hakeem smiled a little sadly at his old friend.

"You don't agree, do you?" Helios whispered.

"There are not enough elves. They cannot face these sorts of numbers without our help."

" If they wish to hit the elves, they will find a way to draw us off." Leandros said.

"You see the problem," Hakeem said. "They can come at us from more than one direction at once. In fact, they have to. With the size of their armies, they can't supply them if they put them all together. But if they conquered the Persikόs, they could supply a huge army."

"You can't be serious! The Persian empire, you can't be serious!" Helios was in disbelief.

"It would be awkward," Hakeem admitted. "With respect, my Lord Helios, perhaps you don't understand the scale of what we are facing."

"Do you really think they will come here?" Leandros asked, looking grim.

"Yes, I do. I wish I knew what we have that they want so badly." Echoing what Leandros had said earlier. "It is something to do with the Elves, but I just don't understand what it is. The Western Elves don't even have cities anymore."

"Well, let's hope Xvairizem can stop them," Helios said glumly.

Then he shrugged. "Who will I appoint in your absence?" he asked.

"If you ask me, my King, I would suggest Neros the Athenian. He is my sworn man and he is clever, and a good leader," Hakeem replied.

Helios looked thoughtful. "I'll think on that, you might be right. But you still haven't explained to me why you want to go home."

Hakeem didn't reply immediately but a look of pain passed across his face. He stood for a while looking out over the sea.

"The Hun will come there," he said softly.

"How? Why?" Helios asked, puzzled.

Hakeem's homeland was protected by Mesopotamia to the north and to the east. To the west it is protected by Khanaan. All of that was controlled by the formidable Persian Empire.

Outside the irrigated areas it is arid and difficult to move over, but it would simply not be possible to move a large force through there without the Persikόs finding out.

""They have powerful sorcerers advising them. As to why, it will weaken you badly to lose me and the Shantawi. It will also give them a base for an attack west to Khanaan and maybe even down to Aígyptos or north up to Kappadokia," Hakeem replied. "As to how—"

"If I was in their position, I would smuggle smaller groups and assemble them on the border. It's the last thing we would expect," Leandros said for him.

Hakeem nodded. "They cannot send a large force into the desert. The wells and smaller springs would dry up if you tried to water a large army of men and horses, but even a small army for the Hun would not be a small army for the Shantawi. Karsh will be attacked. I just don't know when."

"You can't defend Karsh," Elena said softly.

Hakeem nodded sourly.

"What's the problem?" Leandros and Helios asked in unison.

Elena's voice became a whisper as she too looked out to the ocean, her mind deep in memory. "Karsh is beautiful. It is built in a great wadi (valley). Where the course of the wadi descends, they have built a dam to create an artificial lake. That's what gives water pressure to the city via its aqueducts. The city is famous for its fountains and gardens and bath houses, but it is that seals its fate.

"Even if it didn't, there are a dozen other problems with Karsh's defences. The fortifications are mud brick and completely obsolete but even with stronger walls, Karsh cannot be saved."

The two Kings looked at Elena and Hakeem in dismay.

Hakeem was looking in the distance and spoke softly. "South and east are our two greatest weaknesses: Karsh and Kappadokia, if they can get there. Kappadokia has a lot of open plains and its settlements have been repeatedly raided by the Kimmerioi and Skythians until it is almost empty."

He sighed. "Even before they moved into Central Asia, the Huns had an interest in the elves. It might be something to do with the prophecy but they have prophecies of their own."

"What can you do about Karsh?" Leandros asked.

"Now why do you think I have a plan to do something about Karsh?" Hakeem gave them a mysterious smile as he looked into the far distance across the harbour.

 

Chapter 2: A Wounded Daughter, and Apollo

Long had the people of Troia lived under shadow.

They needed to laugh and be glad. People danced and they sang, they feasted and they drank wine, they had festivals and they gave sacrifices to their gods. Men and women courted and fell in love, marriages were arranged, and children were conceived. But there was one person they knew in Troia who had no cause to celebrate.

Hakeem had seen her earlier and now he and Elena returned that same afternoon for a special meeting that had long been expected. They found their daughter sitting, hunched miserably on her bed, waiting for them. The shutters were closed, the room was in shadow.

Her left hand was in a brown leather glove and without realising it, she was rhythmically kneading it.

When she was brought back from the catacombs Hakeem had seen her then, but he couldn't help her paralysed hand. He left her to Elena and her elves and returned to the campaign in Bithynia. He promised he would return to try again.

Now was that time.

When Jacinta was hit by the daimôn blast in the catacombs below the ruins of Elvish Troia and then engulfed in daimôn fire there should have been little left to bury.

She was protected by the book she carried in the pouch at her front but she was still badly injured. Worse, she had absorbed daimôn substance and the book's protection spell began to attack her.

She was dying. But somehow, she managed to stand and throw the javelin that destroyed the daimôn. Then, with the last of her strength spent, she collapsed.

It had required the combined magic of the elf witch, Maerwen, and the guardian of the book, Silver, to save her life. But they hadn't managed to save her left hand, the one which was holding her peltastae shield.

She had forced herself to return the book to the catacombs, almost having to be carried back there and needing the magical help of Silver to loan her strength.

That, and the trip back from the Troad, had taken too much out of her. It had left her very frail. She could hardly keep awake and she thought she would never feel warm again. She could only move with painful slowness and the slightest exertion brought her to the brink of collapse.

Paladins healed well and Jacinta had learnt to heal herself but at first she could do little in her weakened state. Now her body was beginning to recover but no matter what she did, her hand never had. She knew Hakeem couldn't help her, but she had to let him try.

When Hakeem entered, he sat on her left and, for a long time, simply held her in his arms. Jacinta rested her head on his shoulder, borrowing his strength. Her mother sat on the other side, arm on her shoulder and holding her good hand.

Outside a woman laughed. A child yelled excitedly, playing some game. A dog barked.

It carried into the silence of the room.

"Jacinta, can I see your hand?" Hakeem asked softly.

Jacinta listlessly pulled at her glove. With her hand uncovered, she averted her head. Her hand was black with a sickly green tinge, dry and dead looking. Faint sparkles could be seen moving across it in the shadow of the room.

"Does it still hurt?" Hakeem asked.

Jacinta nodded, glancing at her hand in shame and disgust.

"I still feel pain through all my body though it is slowly getting better. The pain in my hand is the worst. On a cold day it aches and aches, deep down inside. But I can't feel any touch on my hand and I can't hurt it any more in any way that I can find."

She put her hand on her lap and shook her right hand free of her mother. Pulling her belt knife out, she jabbed down as hard as she could on the palm of her crippled hand. It made a dull sound, but there was no effect on the hand.

"Don't hurt it," Hakeem warned her. "I doubt it will heal if you manage to cause it damage."

Jacinta snorted in disgust. "If anything hurts it, Father, I don't know what ... but you're right. I guess I hate it. It doesn't seem part of me anymore."

Hakeem looked at her hand for a while, thoughtfully. "Tell me again what happened?" he asked.

"I remember little more than what I have been told." Jacinta shook her head. "The daimôn had got behind us and I stood to fight it. The others were telling me to run but it wasn't bravery or anything like that. What else was I going to do? My mother and friends were there.

"I hit it once with my first javelin but it just burnt up and then I remember it raised its hand towards me. The world exploded all around me and I was in an ocean of pain. I didn't know there could be so much pain in the world.

"I also felt a burning hatred and ... a hunger. Whether this was mine or the daimôn's I don't know. I don't know how I ever got to my feet to throw the second javelin. I felt a weariness beyond all experience. It felt like a mountain was sitting on top of me and I could hardly think.

"After that, I remember nothing. I woke and couldn't move at first. It was terrifying. I thought I would be completely paralysed ... and I felt cold, cold to my very soul."

Then Jacinta heard her mother start speaking in the soft tones of an elf. She had heard the story before, but it was not easy to hear it, even now ... even here.

"Daniel had connected to his previous life and was overcome with guilt. When he came out of it, he led us into the catacombs to search for the book," Elena started. "It took us a while to find the door but it was sealed with magic. There was something in the levels below us, something unwholesome and the use of magic had alerted it.

"When it came for us, it was a great fire daimôn. There was nothing we could do against it. Even Ǽlward's magic didn't affect it for long." Elena got a distant, anguished look. "Daniel said to flee. He was going to stay behind. I don't know if he was Daniel or Ǽlward at the time, but it was one of the bravest things I have ever seen, soon to be surpassed, of course, by our daughter here." She smiled and shook her head as tears came to her eyes.

"We yelled at her to flee but she stood her ground. She threw her first javelin but it had little effect, more than the arrows though. Then the Daimôn unleashed a blast of force and fire at her. Her body was flung like a child's toy to hit the rock wall, hard and high up, and then it was bathed in fire. I s-saw it d-drop."

Tears were running freely down Elena's cheeks now and her voice became harsh and broken. Jacinta took her mother's hand and kissed it. "My heart stopped. I ran at the daimôn, crazed with grief, but I couldn't get near it due to its heat.

"There was no hope. We were going to die in that place and that thing was going to be released into the world. Then we saw something moving on the burning floor. Daniel thought the daimôn had re-animated Jacinta's corpse; it was a horrible thought.

"But the daimôn did not have that sort of power. Jacinta had been saved by the book, but what had been done to her? Her whole body was black and covered by strange sparkling lights. Daniel got her to touch her javelins to the book. How she managed to throw a javelin in that state, I'll never know."

She grabbed Jacinta to her, hugging her, sobbing. She had to pause before she could continue.

"The javelin carried the spell from the book. It spread through the daimôn and destroyed it. Jacinta had absorbed some daimôn substance from the blast, especially in her hand and then she absorbed far more when she destroyed the daimôn. Apparently that's what happens.

"According to Silver, the daimôn substance itself is not dangerous, but that blast of energy was enough to kill her many times over. Then the book that had protected her, attacked her.

"Silver strengthened the protection spell but Jacinta was d-dying. Somehow she convinced the book's anti-daimôn spell that Jacinta wasn't a daimôn, and not to attack her."

"So the fire and daimôn blast, daimôn energy and two great spells on top of any other damage." Hakeem sighed.

Elena nodded, defeated.

"Can you move it?" he asked gently.

Jacinta shook her head.

"Can I see if I can help?" Hakeem asked.

Jacinta shrugged and held out her hand, looking away.

Hakeem placed his hand on her shoulder. He remained immobile for a while, eyes closed, hardly breathing, his face beaded with sweat. Jacinta felt him tense and then felt a great surge of power. Tears came to her eyes as she felt her father's love for her.

Then he slumped.

"Sorry, honey." He shook his head. "I can't even sense it. It's as if it's not even there."

Jacinta felt unaccountably better. She had no doubt her parents loved her. She wanted to reassure them. "Thanks, Father, I want to rest now. I know you tried."

"Do you want me to stay for a while?" Elena sounded uncertain.

"No, Mother." Jacinta put her arms around her and kissed her. "I'll be all right, maybe I'll sleep."

She just wanted them to leave.

As soon as they had, she checked that they were gone and lay on her bed, carefully placing her face amongst the pillows, hugging them to her face.

It was then that the Jacinta who was mentioned in prophecy, the Jacinta who had killed a daimôn and the Jacinta who fought the pirates screamed. She released a howl of animal rage and loss, her lungs straining and her body rigid with agony, and then she broke down into sobbing and shuddering.

It lasted a long while.

In just over two moons she would be fourteen.

* * *

Apollo

It wasn't till the fourth day after his arrival that Hakeem was able to get out to visit Apollo. Apollo would have come to the palace, but Hakeem wanted the chance to get out into the city and walk around.

When he arrived, Apollo's house seemed in an uproar. There was a great crowd of servants, factors and merchants, all coming and going and everyone talking at once. He was led to a waiting room by one of the many staff but was hardly seated before a young man burst in.

"Lord Hakeem!" Aison greeted him excitedly. "I'm sorry, Grandfather's not here but you didn't say when you would come. He's meeting with some traders from Tyros and is due back soon."

Tyros? It was part of the Persian Empire now. The Phoiníkē (Phoenicians) were great traders and rivals to the Greeks, they still were.

"What are they doing here?"

"Well, I'd best let Grandfather explain. He's using private merchant fleets to get around the blockade of the Black Sea, but of course it's really our fleet. I've never seen Grandfather so happy, though he sold most of his businesses so he could do this work."

Hakeem thought of Parmenion's blockade, then he snapped back to the present.

"You two are miracle workers. And talking about news, I hear congratulations are in order. You are a father."

"Penelope's wonderful." Aison beamed. "She can lift her head and she is always so excited to see me or her great-grandfather. Psykhe and I are hoping to have another as soon as possible."

A fleeting look of pain passed over Hakeem's face. He and Elena had been together for more than two years now and there were no signs of a pregnancy.

Just then they heard Apollo coming back, yelling in excitement.

 

Chapter 3: A Crippled Warrior

She had fought to get better.

At first it seemed as if the slightest exertion resulted in her collapsing on her bed and falling into an exhausted sleep for much of the day. Now she could walk some distance and ride Sheera gently. She could even run a little and do gentle exercises.

All through her recovery, she refused to talk about what she would do when she got to this point. She had tried not to think about it. Now that her father's visit confirmed that her left hand was not going to get better, it was something she could no longer ignore.

She got up at the usual time. After her sunrise meditation she felt better.

Then what? Should she return to training? Frankly, was there any point?

She was a cripple.

She couldn't hold a shield or draw a bow. She couldn't do the grabs and throws of unarmed combat.

A one-armed swordswoman. She was already more than good enough for a backstreet brawl. Why to try to become better?

And there were changes in her body. She hadn't stopped growing in height and she would be tall for a woman, but she had breasts ... not much yet, more of a start, but at least they would be breasts one day, and her hips were starting to broaden.

Due to the rigours of training, and her sickness, her monthly bleeding times hadn't started yet. Ugh! Yuck! No hurry for that!

But she was becoming a woman.

Perhaps she should start thinking about that, and stop thinking about becoming a warrior.

She sat down to think. She thought of Seléne, so deeply in love with Pericles. And Timo, who never seemed to stop talking about Nomion, her Karian corporal. Both of them were so happy.

Perhaps … but the thought about giving up her dreams just to become just some man's 'wife' flooded her with panic.

She got up and began pacing, trying to think.

"Can I come in?" a musical male voice called from outside, interrupting her thoughts.

"Drakon!" Jacinta's heart leapt. "They didn't tell me you were back."

He just had time to lay his gorytos (holder for a short bow, quiver and tools) inside the door before she ran to him and hugged him, careless of his status as her swords-master.

As usual he was dressed in elvish travelling garb: trousers of the softest leather, shirt and short boots with intricate colourful stitching, all of a quality human garments could not match. He wore his elvish long-sword on one hip and long elvish knife on the other. He moved with the grace not only of an elf, but of the master swordsman he was.

He settled himself in one of her chairs, putting his feet on her desk and studying her with those penetrating green eyes of his.

Seeing him there, his smooth face, his silken yellow hair tied in a warrior's knot, just watching her, she realised again how handsome he was. Many an elf maiden would have been happy if he only showed them some attention, but he had no regular girlfriend yet.

Drakon had openly despised humans but when her mother forced him to assess her for training, she had outlasted his hatred.

He had been there when they fought the Huns. He was there in the catacombs. It was he who carried her out, more dead than alive. Only a handful of weeks later he was there carrying her back, so she could hide the book. The svartálfar had accepted extinction rather than tap its awesome power. It didn't require a moment's thought.

They were right.

And Drakon had remained to watch over her through her slow recovery, whenever other duties permitted.

Now he started to talk about the work he was supervising at the ruins of Elvish Troia, but he was watching her intently with those shining green eyes of his. She realised he would know of the visit by her father.

"We have set up a permanent camp of elves to watch over the ruins," Drakon was saying. "My friend Galenos has been helping with his men. I didn't think I would ever say it, but those Greeks can work miracles with dirt, rocks and wood." He gave Jacinta a broad smile.

"We will stop anyone from entering the catacombs themselves, but we will do excavations of the holy city at other points. There are many elves who will wish to visit there." His eyes softened. "We elves have so much to thank you for, Jacinta."

Jacinta gave him a wan smile, and moved so she could talk to him and look out to sea. A soft breeze was blowing through the open window.

So many people had died, first in the battle for the ruins and then more in the catacombs; all that pain and all that suffering, and for what? In the end, the book couldn’t be used.

She began massaging her crippled hand without realising she was doing it.

The elves were grateful, she understood that. Others saw her as some sort of hero, fighting in that dreadful place. She started to pace back and forward, massaging her hand. Drakon watched her for a while without comment.

"I was wondering when you will be ready," he said softly.

Jacinta shook her head, shuddering. She turned her back on him for a moment, staring out to sea.

"I see," he said gently. "Jacinta, it is time to return to training."

"Drakon, I can't draw a bow," she said bleakly without turning around. "I can't hold a shield."

"That's a shame," Drakon said, his voice harsh. "If you're not the best, you're no use; is that what you think?"

He was right.

She wanted to be the best, but she knew not to rise to his bait. This was not about not being the best. Had her mother put him up to this? She sighed heavily, and wiped her eyes before turning to face him. She held her glove up for him to see.

"Drakon, I'm a cripple. I can defend myself in a street fight but a warrior? Someone who makes their living from fighting? Someone who protects others?

"It's over, Drakon."

She shivered. She felt so accursedly cold all the time!

"This isn't like my favourite little human," Drakon continued softly, fixing her with the intense green eyes of his.

"Drakon, I know what you are trying to do. Thank you, really." She gave him a small smile. "But it won't work. I need two hands for elf sword's-play, one for the knife. I need two hands to be in the cavalry or even the infantry. If I went back to training, I would be pretending. The thought of my father or mother dying terrified me but I could accept that I might die.

"I just never thought ..." Jacinta thought she was ready to say it now, but her voice cracked. She shook her head, furious with herself, feeling the blood rush to her face.

"Drakon, I don't want people to train me just because they pity me."

Tears came to her eyes. She wiped at them angrily.

"I don't want to be pathetic!"

"It used to mean so much to you," Drakon said.

"Yes it did!" she shouted.

She could feel her anger rising but had no control over it. She stood there, glaring at him, her good fist clenched.

"I tried so hard. It was all I wanted. I went through pain, Drakon."

The tears came back again. Would they ever stop?

She tore off her glove in disgust. Her hand looked as if it was made out of an old lobster shell, dry and black. She hated it. She held it up for Drakon, challengingly.

"You're angry with the Goddess," Drakon whispered.

"YES, I AM!" she screamed at him.

She stood glaring at him, flushed and breathing hard. Her tears were running freely now.

"Does that shock you, Drakon? Karma isn't about what you deserve, I know that. BUT I DID NOT DESERVE THIS!"

Then the fight went out of her. She huddled, sinking into herself, her head bowed as she clutched her useless hand to herself.

"And you're sure you can't hold a shield, draw a bow or continue to master two-handed swordsmanship," he concluded, nodding.

Jacinta's head jerked up. That got her attention!

"Don't do this to me," she begged. "Please don't do this to me."

Drakon was getting up to leave.

"All right," she growled, her body rigid, her teeth clenched painfully.

Drakon paused and gestured dramatically, cupping his hand around his elvish ear.

"That's funny, did I hear something?"

Jacinta had to smile, and then the smile fell away.

"Please, Drakon ... please help me."

Tear were rolling down her cheeks as he walked up to her and gently enfolded her in his arms. She stayed there for a long time, her tears wetting his shirt.

* * *

Jacinta had expected Drakon to explain.

She had completely surrendered. She felt some hope from what he said but now there was the agony of doubt.

She expected he would tell her.

Naively, she expected he would tell.

He pretended not to hear her questions, simply leading her down to the practice ground for her first lesson. Was she supposed to trust him completely?

Evidently so!

She was disgusted at how little she could do. She was breathless and dizzy after a few simple set-movements and Drakon had to halt the lesson after barely a few minutes. He seemed to be about to walk away when Jacinta dragged herself painfully over to block his path.

"Now you listen to me, you pointy-eared excuse for a wood louse!" Jacinta couldn't help but be amused, despite her desperation. "I said you won, elf! Now ... er ... honoured Sword's Master, Drakon ... sir, will you please tell me?"

"That's not a nice way to describe your sword's master is it, Jacinta?" Drakon chuckled. "I can't really expect a human student to understand such things, I suppose. Did I say I would explain? I don't remember saying that."

He squeezed her shoulders, giving her a mysterious and a distinctly elvish smile.

"I am your sword's master and I have confidence. Do you need to know more? Of course, you don't, that would be 'human-like' chatter, don't you think?"

She pouted at his smiling face. She felt a powerful impulse to hit him but resisted. He knew he was being infuriating and was thoroughly enjoying it.

Could she strangle the pompous elf one handed?

Perhaps if she caught him unawares ...

Well, she had outwaited Drakon before and she could do it again. Surely it wasn't so hard. And yet it felt like torture!

Jacinta's mind kept returning to ways she might be able to strangle her sword master, despite having one crippled hand.

Her father would suggest she ask herself what lesson her master was teaching her now. Could it be the one about not giving into despair? Or was it the one about patience and trust? Or perhaps it was the one about how to sneak up on an elf and attack him, despite having a crippled hand.

* * *

Leandros's spy master

Presumably Leandros had ways of contacting his spymaster. The man just seemed to know when Hakeem wanted to talk to him. but Hakeem had never figured out how the man knew

It was on his seventh evening back that Hakeem received the familiar note. He was led by one of the guards to a disused room in an old part of the palace. Leandros was already waiting.

An old street beggar limped in and stood in the shadows near the entrance, his face concealed by a scarf.

"What news do you have?" Leandros asked, he meant about Makedonía.

"The young wolf seems unable to place a paw wrong." Tonight the spy's voice was the wheezy voice of an old man. "As you lords know, when his father was murdered Aléxandros faced revolts in Thēbai, Athēnai, Thessalia and Thráki. The Thessalonians blockaded the main coastal route from Makedonía to the south with their cavalry. Aléxandros simply took his own cavalry through the mountain pass at Oros Ossa (Mount Ossa) and outflanked them.

"Many of them were already Makedóne sympathisers and when they recognised another strong Makedóne king they didn't just surrender to him, they joined him in a lightning cavalry dash south. He reached the pass of Thermopylae before Athēnai and Thēbai could get organised. They were forced to capitulate and recognise Aléxandros, not only as the Hegemon of the League of Korinthos but also as the leader of the Sacred League of Thermopylae."

"He moved too fast for them," Leandros laughed with delight. "With a small force he has reconquered most of the Hellas."

"He is moving too fast for me too, don't forget."

Hakeem gave Leandros a sour look.

"Within a few weeks half his job is done. That only leaves maybe Parmenion and a few tribes to his north to deal with and then he can come for us."

While Hakeem wanted a strong king in Makedonía, he didn't want to fight a war against one. Not now.

 

Chapter 4: Chalkedon

Chalkedon lies on the eastern (Asian) side of the entrance to the Bósporos. It is located on a small peninsula sticking into the Propontis, just across the water from Byzántion (which is on the European, Western side of the straight).

The site had been settled for a millennium and had been claimed early on in the Greek recovery after the dark ages by Meyara (Megara), a neighbour and early rival of the Athēnai. Meyara had also claimed many other cities around the Black Sea including Chrysopolis and Byzántion itself.

The three sister cities shared in much of the east-west land trade that had to be ferried back and forth across the water. It was safer to do it there than to enter the Bósporos itself, with its winds, fogs in winter and treacherous tidal currents. They also benefited from the busy sea trade in and out of the Black Sea.

And so the they had prospered.

Chalkedon was especially known for its architecture: its grand buildings, temples and tall monuments. The Athēnai resented Meyara, their early competitor, and had once banned its citizens from trading in any of the cities of the Athenian Empire.

They said Chalkedon was a terrible site for a city. There were so many better sites, better located and easier to defend. With typical Greek humour they called Chalkedon 'the City of the Blind'. They said only a populace of blind men would build a city there.

In one way, however, the location of Chalkedon was far superior to the much greater city of Byzántion, which lay just across the water. It was that little bit further from Makedonía which meant it was also further from Aléxandros. That, and the fact that it was closer to Bithynia, caused Attalus and Parmenion to make it their base.

Attalus had belonged to the 'pro-Makedóne' faction in the Makedóne court. He had wanted a pure Makedóne heir and had opposed Aléxandros. And Attalus had long been Parmenion's friend and mentor. If Aléxandros managed to keep his throne, he would likely have them both killed. To say that both men had more than a passing interest in the events surrounding the Makedónian succession could safely be described as an understatement.

"I am told my nephew has arrived from Makedonía with news," Attalus had come to tell Parmenion.

"I certainly hope it is better than it has been so far," Parmenion said heavily.

"He is refreshing himself after his journey. Apparently, Demosthenes has sent his reply through him. The death of Philippos has made Demosthenes a happy man. The Athēnai are ready to march. We can be ready, and Thēbai will also join. We know the Tribulans, Thessalonians, Thráki and Illyroi are all ready to revolt. And I think Leandros and Helios would join us if we asked. Whatever happens, Aléxandros is finished."

Attalus was gleefully talking about a revolt against their own country, and he was proposing an alliance with those they were theoretically at war with ... all to loot their own homeland.

Of course, stranger things could happen in war.

"I wouldn't say he is finished yet," Parmenion said softly. "The army is just as loyal to him as it was to his father, and the young pup is smarter than you think."

At the mention that Aléxandros's might still succeed, Attalus turned to him, for a brief instant frightened. "Parmenion, promise me that if anything happens to me, you'll marry my daughter. I have made a note of my wishes and whoever marries her gets whatever wealth I have left. I have no one else left, not since Aléxandros and his bitch of a mother finished with my family."

Attalus's plot against Aléxandros had blown up in his face.

It was obvious that Aléxandros and Olympias were not to blame for murdering Philippos. Everyone knew of the reconciliation. Olympias had had a vision of her husband's death and had given him warning. He had certainly joked about it widely enough.

She was seen trying to prevent him entering the theatron and only moments before he died Philippos had praised both Olympias and Aléxandros. He had said Aléxandros would lead his armies.

It was Aléxandros himself who had shouted a warning and it was he who, in a rage, had pursued and killed the assassin.

Philippos had many other enemies but political assassination was such a Makedóne tradition. If it wasn't them, then it was Attalus. Attalus wanted Kleopatra's new baby to be king, which would make him regent. So, he needed Philippos dead. As soon as Philippos was killed, even before his body was cold, friends of Attalus arrived in haste to take Kleopatra Eurydikē and her children into hiding. How could anyone have any doubt that it was Attalus?

The problem for Attalus was that it wasn't him. He would have killed Aléxandros as well, or better he would have delayed till his grandnephew was older.

The counter strike against his family and his allies was as swift, as it was brutal, as it was thorough. They killed his niece, Kleopatra Eurydikē and her children. They killed his (second) wife and all his other children, his closest friends and most of the male members of his clan.

Then they went on to kill any who might want to avenge those they murdered, and any others who might challenge Aléxandros. Attalus had cause to hate them … and he had cause to fear them.

"It would be an honour," Parmenion reassured him. "Photini will come of age soon; before that she will be under my protection, I promise you."

Parmenion was in his early sixties. He was ten years younger than Attalus but it didn’t bother them that they were talking of him marrying a thirteen-year-old girl.

"Bring your nephew to me as soon as he has made himself presentable but don't let anyone know I am meeting him. If anything goes wrong, I will look after Photini."

* * *

Attalus had Nicanor led into the room where they both waited.

"My dear boy." Attalus came forward to embrace him as he formally took the letter. "I am so glad to see you. I am sorry about your family."

Attalus was the head of their clan and Nicanor had always been one of his favourites.

Attalus started to read the letter. Why did Demosthenes have to write as if he was making a speech to the Athenian assembly? He tried to understand the message beyond all the high-sounding phrases.

Demosthenes said he could get Athēnai and Thēbai to join them, but only if Parmenion made the first move. He managed to make it sound as if it was only to be expected.

Was Demosthenes's position weakening? It would worry Parmenion, but it would have to do, it would have to.

"I am sorry about all of our family … and so many others, Uncle," Nicanor replied when Attalus had finished reading. "Many have died and our blood is forever stained."

"What news, Nephew?" Attalus said heavily.

"There is much, but little to your liking, I'm afraid.

"Antipatros immediately supported Aléxandros's claim. It ensured the army's support."

. "Of course, he did," Attalus sneered, "Did you ever look at Antipatros and Aléxandros standing together?"

"That's impossible!" Nicanor shouted but he was looking shaken. "The man is in his sixties."

But he looked uncertain, Philippos had looked different to his son.

Philippos had darker looks, black hair and a full beard. Antipatros may have white hair now but there was a time when he didn't. He also had a sparse beard when he grew it, just like the new king. And if you looked closely, one of his eyes was slightly lighter in colour than the other, just like the new King.

"Attalus, let's not bore Nicanor with old court gossip," Parmenion said smoothly.

All Makedóne royalty were inbred, what did all that prove?

More to the point, who cared? Only Attalus cared, with his obsession about his own lineage.

Attalus had been a useful friend to Parmenion. He was powerful, wealthy and well connected, but he could be such a fool. Even after all that had happened, he hadn't learnt. He wouldn't be in this mess if he hadn't insulted Aléxandros at the wedding of Philippos and his niece. He had given a toast: "Let us all pray that Kleopatra gives birth to a true Makedóne heir!"

What monumental folly was it to say something like that?

Aléxandros's position with his father was temporarily weakened, but he was still the chosen heir. Maybe more of Attalus's clan would still be alive if he kept his mouth shut … but then, of course, maybe not.

"Accept my pardon, Nephew," Attalus said with uncharacteristic humility. "Please go on."

He could see that he had made his nephew unhappy. Nicanor was younger than Aléxandros and hero-worshipped him. All the younger nobles had. It seemed that despite all that Aléxandros and his wicked mother had done, his nephew still had trouble seeing Aléxandros for what he was.

"Well, Aléxandros immediately called a meeting of the Korinthos Synedrion (Corinthian League). He has been affirmed as the stratēgos autokrator (Warlord) and all of them, even the Thessalonians, have vowed to support his hēgemonía (uncontested control of the league)."

"That puts an end to Demosthenes's little plot, now, doesn't it?" Parmenion said dryly.

"That fatherless … ah!" Attalus cried in anguish. "He got them to agree? Now if you oppose him you have to face much of the 'Ellas (Hellas)."

"How surprising of him to manage that," Parmenion said quietly.

Attalus shot him a sour look.

He got up from his seat and started to pace back and forward. His mind was spinning furiously. Aléxandros had proved to be smarter and more decisive than he had expected.

He paused to look over the city. They would definitely need help from Anatolē now and that would be awkward. Perhaps he could offer them some of Bithynia. No, it would have to be all of it!

In theory Parmenion was the commander here but Attalus was senior and had the better blood. Surely Parmenion would see the sense in letting him take charge.

Parmenion stood up and rested a hand on his old friend to stop him pacing and steady him. He even brought a stool and placed it just behind him, so his friend could sit if he chose to.

"Nicanor," Parmenion called to the young man. "How have you remained safe?"

It was the agreed signal.

Nicanor began walking across to the older pair, grinning with pleasure. "I practically grew up at Pella. Aléxandros would never doubt my loyalty. He has appointed me patriarkhes (patriarch) of what is left of our family; any forfeit property he gave to me. He has appointed me the guardian of any surviving widows and orphans."

"Well, lad, he thinks well of you, at least," Attalus said, surprised. "Be careful not to give him any cause to doubt you." Then something occurred to him. "How did Demosthenes know to smuggle his letter to you then?"

Attalus felt himself grabbed from behind. Was Parmenion trying to steady him from stumbling?

Nicanor smiled at his uncle. Attalus’s eyes widened as his nephew drew his xiphos (short sword).

"He didn't, Uncle. Aléxandros gave it to me. And, oh! He sends you his regards. No, I would never give Aléxandros any cause to doubt me. Did you know your ambition has destroyed my family? It murdered my parents and almost destroyed me? I volunteered to come here, Uncle. I wanted to do this myself."

Attalus tried to step back but Parmenion had a firm grip on him and he felt the stool placed at his heels to trip him. There was a searing pain in his belly as Nicanor punched his xiphos into him.

"You were always such a pompous fool, Uncle." He gave the sword a viscous twist.

Parmenion smiled as he whispered in his ear. "I will look after Photini, she is a sweet girl. I owe you that. You have always been useful to me, Attalus. Even in death you will be useful."

Attalus grasped at his stomach, bent over in agony, pressing hard to stop the blood escaping, but his arms and legs were losing their power.

 

Chapter 5: Engineers, and Strays

Drakon had duties up the Troad so he arranged for Alfarr (which means 'elf warrior'), one of her mother's bodyguards, to drill her while he was away. Alfarr was an excellent swordsman but was distinctly taciturn, even for a male elf. At the end of each lesson Jacinta's sword arm felt like a lead weight! She could hardly catch her breath.

It was only three weeks later that Lykos and Argyros arrived.

They were senior pupils of Anaxagoras, her mother's brilliant elvish scientist.

His school had expanded considerably since her mother had alerted King Cyron as to how valuable the elf was. It was Anaxagoras who had invented the liquid fire which her father had used against the Athēnai with such devastating effects. It was he and Hakeem that had found ways to use the explosive black fire-powder that had been invented by the Chin.

Lykos (wolf) was a burly human from Samos, an island famous for its engineers. While he was a weapons-smith, Jacinta later found out he was a fair warrior as well. Argyros was a small delicate elf who (as his name suggested) was a silversmith.

They looked at her hand gravely, poking and prodding it. No, she couldn't feel anything. No, she couldn't move her fingers. Then they enlisted Zenon, Troia's senior engineer. He came to look at Jacinta's hand the next day and did the same thing.

No, she still couldn't feel anything! No, she still couldn't move her fingers! Well, she had some movement in her wrist. Not the slightest sign of recovery in the hand, though, just like she said yesterday.

This was a lot of attention. She should feel honoured.

Meanwhile, the three engineers were lost in each other's company ... and they were having the time of their lives. The only explanation Jacinta was getting was overheard discussions which were only partially intelligible to her.

Perhaps they didn't feel it was necessary to explain, or perhaps Jacinta was supposed to know. Hmmm … Jacinta thought to herself ... three engineers. You don't send engineers to cure a cripple.

The idea of some sort of mechanical device to help someone crippled hadn't occurred to her, and she was intrigued. But what would it be? As the days passed, the mystery deepened. Sometimes she lay awake wondering, unable to sleep. Curse that elf!

"Just as well she can't move it," Argyros was saying. He tended to talk in front of Jacinta as if she wasn't there. "We won't need to make the holes larger and we can cover them with washers ... er, you call them burrs. So it'll be that much stronger." He looked at the other two to see if they were following.

Wasn't it handy that she couldn't move her hand?

If she could move her hand she wouldn't need these three clowns fussing over her. Maybe then she could use it to hit Argyros over the head.

"Solid bronze, rivets with flat heads," Zenon was agreeing.

"You heat them to soften them but you come from inside to outside," Lykos continued.

"And use a domed crimping tool to make it look like the rivet head is on the outside." Argyros concluded in delight.

Jacinta looked at the three in disbelief. Now they were finishing each other's sentences! Had they found some strange way to link their three minds into one very powerful one? She looked behind them, half expecting to see interconnecting cords.

"We might be able to adjust the fire scale to make it pretty; would you like that, Jacinta?"

Jacinta almost jerked in surprise. Oh, I'm in the room now, am I?

She nodded enthusiastically and favoured them with what she hoped was a winsome smile. 'Pretty' sounded nice!

Whatever 'it' was.

She understood fire scale, the change in colour caused by overheating certain alloys. Silver is too soft for practical use so it is combined with a small amount of copper, which leads to fire scale when it is heated.

Argyros would know all about it. Fire scale on silver is removed with acid. Heated bronze can give all shades of copper/pink/gold/ and some startling blues.

So bronze with interesting highlights. To use the fire scale of bronze to make something pretty! What a clever elf! Blue would be nice. Could she ask?

But she had another question. "What are you making for me, sirs?"

The three looked at her in confusion. "Why, a glove, Jacinta," Argyros exclaimed. "I thought you knew."

Jacinta thought to explain that she couldn't link minds and finish each other's sentences like they could.

"I have a glove." Jacinta held up her leather glove.

"This will stop your hand from being hurt," Neros explained.

"That's not needed, sir," Jacinta answered politely. "I can't seem to damage my hand at all, I've tried."

She felt ashamed to say it. It sounded such a stupid thing to try to damage something that was unlikely to heal. What sort of silly girl was she?

But they didn't scold her; the three engineers simply took it as another fascinating topic.

"It's the protection spells," Argyros postulated after a while of incomprehensible discussion and a lot of prodding her hand. "Before they became extinct the svartálfar were far in advance of the Illvættir, but they refused to summon daimôns or use their strongest spells, and, so they lost."

"Is that why I can't move my hand?" Jacinta asked.

"Jacinta," Argyros said almost kindly. "I don't know. You should have asked Silver. I suspect it isn't any of the spells or the Daimôn substance. My Lord Hakeem said it felt as if your hand was no longer part of your body. I think your hand died. The protection spell knows that and bonded with it to prevent any decay.

"The spell has left the living part of your body, so the rest of you can still be hurt but it has been in your hand for a while now, I think it will stay there forever."

She had no idea how strong the protection spell that had remained in her hand was, except that it was stronger than a daimôn blast. Gods! No wonder she couldn't damage her hand.

"So you have a glove already," came the musical tones of an elf's voice from just behind her.

Drakon was back! How long had he been listening in? "But can you attach anything to your leather glove, Jacinta? Oh, I don't know what, maybe a shield or a bow."

Jacinta leapt up with delight to embrace the elf. "Can such a thing be done?" she asked. "Oh, thank you, Drakon. Thank you." She hugged him excitedly.

"I hope so. It has never been done before so I guess we will have to see," he said softly. "I forgot. I really wasn't going to tell you till after it was finished."

Laughing, Jacinta punched him in the chest with her good hand.

"Now am I able to take my favourite human for her lesson?" he asked the three engineers politely.

"Of course," Argyros waved distractedly. "We were going to take a cast of her hand, but we can do that tomorrow."

They made no move to leave Jacinta's quarters.

"Probably won't notice I'm missing," Jacinta whispered to Drakon as the two snuck away.

* * *

The three were beaming as they presented the glove to her in a small ceremony. They had every right to be proud of what they had done. It was exquisite. It looked more like jewellery than the piece of armour it was.

It was made of gold-coloured bronze but with a subtle light-blue sheen that sparkled as she moved it back and forwards. She admired it with a wide grin of pleasure.

It had intricately fashioned small bronze plates held to each other with countless tiny rivets. No wonder it took a jeweller to make it. The heads of the rivets were especially flattened and moulded to fit inside, but they were designed to look like it was riveted from the outside with little domed rivets.

"It's beautiful!" Jacinta said, looking at it in awe.

She had to strap on a leather glove, pad it with linen and then jam the bronze glove over the outside. At least, her hand had 'set' half-open so she could pull the glove on and off with a little levering.

It was also very heavy.

When she first wore it for training the muscles of her shoulder and down her arm felt like they were on fire, but the glove was a weapon in itself. As she practised with it she thought she would be able to hold her own in an elvish sword and knife fight. Let's see, in unarmed fighting she couldn't do throws or grip but maybe she could use it to hook an opponent's arm or use it as a weapon. A punch from the metal glove would be formidable!

Better, definitely better.

As a forearm is wider close to the elbow, the first problem was getting it to stay on tightly. Drakon and Argyros didn't seem to be perturbed by their repeated failures but after a while it was driving Jacinta half mad. Lykos was more sensitive to her mounting disappointment, almost certainly because he was human.

He gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Don't worry, we'll get this right. If it was an amputation, and all you needed was a hook or a spike, it would be easier."

Should she apologise that her hand hadn't been amputated?

"We also have to figure out how to attach a bow or a shield. I just have to convince Argyros to try my ideas. We'll get there."

But could they? A shield would be a lot of leverage on the glove. Could they make it secure enough and would she be fast enough?

It was the morning of the tenth day that Lykos, true to his word, had solved the problem of fixing the glove. He got her to cover her hand and lower forearm with a sort of thick linen sock. Then over her forearm he fitted a leather sleeve and then a metal bangle over it, split open along its length to make two half-bangles that clipped together.

Push it down to lock into padding at the back of her wrist, tie it with sturdy straps and buckles and finally clip the glove to it at the wrist. She couldn't bend her wrist, and it felt like it weighed a talanton (talent), but that would not be such a disadvantage for a weapon once she built her strength up, and it guarded her forearm against a sword or knife cut.

Jacinta forced herself to learn to put it on and off, one handed, kneeling on the glove. Then she doggedly set to training with it, strengthening her arm. She had over-rested her left side and was now was paying a heavy price.

This then left the problem of trying to fit a shield.

As the failures mounted, Argyros became aloof and curt with her. As if was her fault!

It was the morning of the third week that Lykos brought the latest attempt. It was a clasp on the shield which he closed after she slid her glove into the specially moulded slot.

He didn't seem at all happy about it and after fitting it, he gave it a few tentative taps with a sword and then a hard, solid blow. The clasp sprung and the shield clattered at Lykos's feet.

At least he had the good grace to apologise, but his face seemed a mask of rage as he picked it up and turned to stalk away.

Jacinta could hardly speak. She felt so helpless and angry and there was a dreadful leaden feeling in her stomach. She couldn't bear to stay for training.

For the first time ever, she left a message for Alfarr saying she was unwell.

How was she expected to maintain her hope? Lykos was the weapons master but he was obviously being over ruled by Argyros. If it wasn't going to work, why put her through it?

She returned to her room and sat there, brooding.

Argyros was using her to experiment on. Didn't he care about the effect these failures were having on her? She had been eating and sleeping poorly again. Now she felt at the bottom with despair. It was really time to put this nonsense of a cripple trying to be a warrior aside.

She would have to go and explain it to her mother and write a letter to Hakeem. Her parents would be disappointed but they would accept her decision, she knew that. Telling Drakon? She was absolutely terrified of that, but she had tried. What more could the elf expect?

She was sitting holding her left hand to her chest, staring into space and rocking a little back and forward when Timo found her.

"Some people to see you, my Lady," she announced.

Oh, no! It must be Alfarr already, maybe even Drakon too! She felt her resolve melting.

No! This had to be faced once and for all. She took a deep breath to steady herself and walked reluctantly to face her visitors. But it was just one of the King's house managers, Aisopos, waiting for her.

"There are four young girls that request an audience with you, Lady Jacinta. They refuse to tell me why." Aisopos sniffed at this terrible affront to his authority. "Might they be friends of yours, my Lady?"

Aisopos was famous for being both officious and nosy.

"As you have given me no details, I'm not sure how I am supposed to know, Aisopos," Jacinta said sweetly. "In answer though, I doubt it."

"Well," Aisopos replied stiffly. "Only two seem worthwhile: the older ones. They are from near here. The other two are just peasants. They claim they are Lydoi and travelled here to find you. I'd say they are runaways and should be sent on their way; should I send the other two in?"

Jacinta felt like screaming at him. Send two away just because they were poor? But it would do no good. Aisopos was secure in his arrogance.

"No, thank you, Aisopos." She managed a mild tone. "Let my bodyguard know, and send them all in."

"Your bodyguard, Lady?" Aisopos raised one eyebrow.

"So, you think no one wants to kill me, Aisopos?" Jacinta said coldly. "On what basis have you come to that conclusion?"

"But these are girls, my Lady!" he protested, flustered.

"Would you care to explain that remark, Aisopos? Timo! Bring me my sword! Aisopos doesn't think girls can be dangerous. I think he needs a lesson." Jacinta started to rise.

Aisopos coloured and opened his mouth, lost for words. Then he just shook his head … and fled.

Timo was giggling. "No one likes him."

"I wonder why," Jacinta said, chuckling. "Well, let's see what he has brought us."

Aisopos had understated the poor condition of the Lydian sisters. They were called Alba and Meliboea, after the Lydian nymphs. Their dresses were ragged, they were barefoot, dirty and hungry looking. They were both dark haired. Alba was taller but scrawny, Meliboea was stockier. Jacinta noted old healed scars on their wrists. Meliboea had something behind her back that she was trying to hide, a plain hemp bag of whatever paltry possessions they had.

Aphrodisia and Syntyche, the two Troians, had never inhabited the same sort of world as the Lydians. They were such unlikely companions it was as if the Troians had brought two shabby-looking slaves straight from the market before making them look presentable. What were these four doing here together?

"Timo?" Jacinta asked. "Could you bring refreshments for our guests? I doubt they have had time for their midday meal."

Syntyche glanced at the Lydian pair and smirked.

Alba blushed. "My Lady, neither I nor my sister are hungry." She averted her head.

Meliboea shuffled her feet awkwardly, studying the pattern in the carpet. She suddenly realised she was standing on an expensive rug with filthy feet. She looked desperately for somewhere else to stand and ended up standing awkwardly, one foot placed upon the other as she coloured with shame.

"It is offensive not to eat when it is offered," Jacinta informed Alba coldly, as Timo brought bread and cheese. The Lydian girls each took a bun reluctantly but she noticed them close their eyes in bliss as they each tore off a mouthful.

They weren't beggars, so what were they?

"How may I help you?" Jacinta said as gently as she could, while Timo took up a position at her shoulder.

"May I speak, Princess?" Aphrodisia asked.

Jacinta nodded. She was wondering more and more what this was all about.

"Well, I and my friend were thinking of coming here for some time. We met Alba and Meliboea and. when we told them what we intended, they wished to come along. They wouldn't have been able to get in to see you by themselves."

She gestured at the sisters who had their heads bent. They seemed to have developed a fascination with their own feet.

It was true, without Aphrodisia and Syntyche the Lydians would never have been allowed into the palace.

"Syntyche and I admire what you have achieved, Princess," Aphrodisia continued, looking coyly at Syntyche who giggled. "We wanted to become warriors like yourself."

"I see," Jacinta said to the pair, struggling to keep a straight face. She turned to the Lydian sisters. "And what about you?"

The Lydians wouldn't meet her gaze.

Finally, it was Alba who spoke. "It was a mistake, coming here."

"You came a long way to find that out," Jacinta observed mildly.

"At home, things weren't easy." Alba looked up. "You look out and you dream … things. But when you come and look, you realise you were only dreaming. We won't be good enough to work for a princess like you. I wish we were, but we're not." Suddenly she took a deep breath and looked Jacinta in the eye. "We are not beggars, Princess, though we might look it."

Syntyche sniggered faintly. She and Aphrodisia kept exchanging glances and small secret smiles.

Jacinta nodded to the Troians first.

"Please remove any weapons you have and then step forward so I can see you."

The Troian friends removed a thin bladed dagger each with gilded handles decorated with semi-precious stones. Jacinta tried to calculate their value and gave up. Maybe enough to keep the Lydian girls fed for a year.

She took the Troian girls' hands in hers; no surprises there. Their hands were smooth and well-manicured. Their fingers thin and delicate, the nails were a good length and clean.

How long did they say they were training?

"Thank you, both of you. You may step back now. Now your turn," she said to the Lydian sisters.

They produced no weapons so Jacinta slid forward on her stool and hooked a foot around one of the legs, ready to kick it at them if she needed to. She could see no concealed weapons or anywhere they could have hid them.

She felt confident there was nothing they could access quickly enough to surprise her but perhaps she should have taken them one at a time. Her two guards moved well into the room and looked alert.

The Lydian girls' hands were coarse and filthy, ground in with dirt.

"Alba, squeeze my right hand, as hard as you can, good. Now push my left hand down. Good, now push your arms together as hard as you can," she instructed.

She felt Alba's arms with her good hand, as if inspecting livestock. Alba blushed furiously. She might look underfed but she was strong for a girl, used to hard work.

"Good, Alba, now turn around and lift up your skirt," she commanded.

Alba hesitated. There were men stationed by the door.

Jacinta had to repeat the order.

Alba had no undergarment. She hadn't bathed in some time and there were lice bites.

The scars, Jacinta saw, were of different ages ... a leather strap … it would have been hard enough to draw blood. Her wrists had been bound, and she had struggled.

Her chest, there was something wrong there as well.

"Take a deep breath, Alba." Jacinta placed her good hand on her back. "Now blow out as fast as you can." The vibration was unmistakable. Alba was overcome by a fit of coughing at the end.

"Thank you, Alba. Pull your dress down."

Alba was surprised; the 'Princess' spoke to her with gentleness.

"Just hold still for a minute while I put my hand on your shoulder. No one make a sound."

She closed her eyes in concentration. There had been a broken rib on the left, mostly healed, and old signs of damage to another rib on the right, mainly only thickening now. Jacinta's attention turned to Alba's air passages, branching like a tree. There was swelling and secretions inside the passages. The muscles around the passages were constricted.

Alba was sensitive to dust and pollen. It caused breathing trouble.

Could she help her with that? Well, one way to see.

Alba felt a faint feeling inside her like a gentle push followed by a loosening in her chest. She looked around in surprise. She must have imagined it. Her chest sometimes reacted to strong emotions, though mostly by getting tighter.

Jacinta then gestured to Meliboea to change places with Alba. There were fewer marks on her wrists. "Alba fought more, didn't she?" she asked.

Meliboea nodded and looked away in shame. She didn't ask to see Meliboea's back.

Jacinta felt a surge of anger. Didn't she have enough problems of her own!

"Alba and Meliboea, if you are slaves, I will help you make a complaint. I swear I can and I will protect you. I doubt any judge here will accept this could be just, though we haven't discussed what you did to earn such treatment."

"Little enough." Alba's mouth was drawn in a line of bitterness. "We have such laws in Lydia too, though I think a slave would be a fool to chance a complaint with the courts even if they could get someone to support their case." She brought her head up, to look Jacinta in the face. "We are not slaves. We are daughters. That gives us no protection in Lydia or anywhere else in this world. Our father can do as he pleases."

Jacinta's face was unreadable. "So you want revenge?" she asked.

Alba shook her head angrily.

Jacinta nodded slowly. She turned her attention to the pampered daughters of Troian noblemen. It was hard to fight a mounting rage.

"You could apply for the army; they train female warriors."

One look at their faces was enough. She held up her hand to forestall their reply and turned back to the Lydians. She had a few more questions before she was finished.

"Meliboea," she said, returning to her. "Do you want to be a fighter?"

"Princess, not as much as Alba. I figured if I could get money ... I'd like to learn ... er ... to read." She looked at Jacinta shyly. "I would like to help sick people and learn more about the Matar Kuvava (the Mother Goddess), the one we call Kybele."

"Alba, you didn't apply for training in the army because you have a weakness in the lungs, is that it? Do you somehow think training with a wealthy princess would be easier?"

"No, I did not!" Alba retorted, angry and ashamed. She was the younger but it was easy to see she was the fiery one. "Something brought me in search of you, Princess. Things at home were so hard. It was because we were girls ... even our mother said we were worthless. I heard about you and what you have done. I couldn't stop dreaming of meeting you, maybe doing things like you have." She looked away. "You must think me silly. I did go to the Troian army. They are taking girls, not many. Since you came here, I think.

"They wouldn't even give me a chance! Why I came to you after that, I don't know. I couldn't seem to stop myself. Then we met these two on the way, Aphrodisia told me how your grandfather was some sort of king of the Gypsies and that's why you were adopted by the Warlord and the Elf Queen. I wanted to turn away then, but they had already decided to come with us.

"I knew you would never understand. You with your rich friends. I'm sorry to waste your time." She turned to grab her sister's hand.

"HOLD!" Jacinta shouted as she sprang up. The stool went flying across the floor in a clatter. There was a metallic sound of weapons drawn as her guards hurried up.

"You will obey me!"

Alba stared at her in shock.

"How dare you walk out on me before I give you leave?"

She stood over the girls glaring. "Sit down! Both of you. Now!"

Alba sank back, in the chair, defeated. She had caused trouble for Meliboea again. When would she ever learn? Would Jacinta have them arrested?

Jacinta spun around to Aphrodisia and Syntyche who looked pale and frightened.

"Aphrodisia and Syntyche, now let me tell you why you really came. One of you or likely both are to be married. Yet I suspect you would rather marry each other."

Her voice softened slightly. They both blushed prettily and nodded. "You met these two and hatched a plan to run away together. You never considered being female warriors before."

"Will you refuse us because we are lovers?" Aphrodisia cut across her. She stared at Jacinta challengingly.

"No, I would not," Jacinta replied evenly. "But I will refuse you because of your lies. My offer stands. If you wish to become female warriors I will arrange a fair assessment with the army."

"You can't!" Aphrodisia exclaimed, aghast. "We are noble women!"

"I thought as much," Jacinta said. Suddenly she felt very tired. "If you had come and honestly asked my help, I would have listened. I doubt anything I would have said would be to your liking. You want all the privileges you were born with as noble women, but not the marriage-duty that goes with them. If I accepted your oaths, opposing your families might destroy all or much of what I and my family are trying to achieve here. But you don't care, do you? This is a game to you."

"But you don't understand!" Syntyche yelled in protest.

"No, I don't!" Jacinta retorted angrily. "Nor will I. I trust nothing you say to me. Leave now, before you see me really angry. The interview is over."

Aphrodisia and her lover flashed Jacinta a look of pure hatred and then they stormed out.

"Not you two!" Jacinta shouted at the Lydian sisters, who had started to get up.

They plonked themselves back down, looking very nervous.

"Princess, if you meant what you said, could you get the army to give us a try?" Alba asked. Her eyes had a desperate look.

Jacinta shook her head. "You won't succeed," she said flatly. "Not with that chest of yours."

Alba stared back defiantly, but it was clear all hope was gone. She couldn't stop a single tear from trickling down her cheek. Jacinta held up her hand, to stop her from trying to leave yet another time.

"Do not even think of trying to leave again." She gave them a small smile. "Can I assume you have nowhere more important to be at this moment?"

They shook their heads.

"Good! Wait here then. I need a chance to think and to confer with my maid here. I warn you, though, I won't be happy if I return and find you have eaten little. I will take it as a personal insult."

Jacinta went out on the balcony and turned to her maid who was also her friend.

"Timo, I can't help these girls."

"They don't expect you to, my Lady."

"Timo, I can't. I'm fourteen years old. I'm crippled. Less than an hour ago I decided I would never be a warrior. Don't I have enough problems without taking two waifs from the street?" Jacinta looked at her maid imploringly.

"You have already decided, my Lady."

Jacinta turned to look out over the sea for a moment.

"Timo, they have been sent to me. You can see that, can't you?"

Then she laughed. "I think this is about when you tell me what a fool I am."

"No, it isn't." Timo grabbed her mistress by the shoulders and turned her around. "This is where I tell you that you are the most wonderful girl in the whole world, and how lucky I am to serve you!"

She gave Jacinta a fierce hug and kiss on the cheek; tears were starting in her own eyes. She pushed Jacinta back to look at her and laughed.

"I really liked the way you sent those two spoiled bitches packing."

Jacinta chuckled at the memory. "They gave me no choice. Aphrodisia is very good at getting her own way. I just didn't fall for her charms."

"I saw you gritting your teeth every time they called you 'Princess'. They only got what they deserved."

"I suspect so," Jacinta agreed. "But it was all lies so I'll never know. If I had have thought either one was truly mistreated I might have thought differently but I have enough problems without sorting truth from lies."

"What will your parents think?" Timo asked.

"My parents will not be the problem.

"This is destined.

"I am to offer these two training in the way of the Shayvists. It really doesn't matter what others think." She sighed deeply. "I just hope I don't get too much opposition, though. More problems, I guess. All for two waifs. Why are these two so special, Timo?"

"Think, Jacinta!" Timo said excitedly. "This isn't just taking two peasant girls. I have a very strong feeling about this, my Lady.

"You have been lucky. In ways you don't realise.

"Your mother is an elf and you have that great lump of a father, or you could never do what you have been able to do. Elves value their women and your father is probably the most wonderful human man to walk the earth in his treatment of women, though don't you ever tell him I said so. I know you are mentioned in the Prophecy, but you were a girl and a Gypsy orphan if being a girl wasn't bad enough.

"There are so many women out there who are little more than the property of men. They have less rights than slaves. They cannot own property. They cannot take public office. They can never hope to own their own life, choose what they do, choose whom they marry and when. They cannot vote in council. They are not allowed to call on the law unless a man supports their case. As often as not, a poor orphan girl is forced into prostitution and then everyone blames her for it.

"There are good men, a great many of them, but if a woman has one of those it is her luck. Some men lust after women and then in a twisted way blame them because of it. Others enjoy power over women and children, and abuse it. Women are blamed if they are raped. They say the first woman in the world, whether Pandora or Eve, was the cause of all evil! What about men and their evil?

"Even in loving families a woman is often given little value. There are women everywhere who cry if they give birth to a girl first rather than a boy.

"Do you think there are only two young women out there who have been abused? Or only two women who want to be worth something, or want to be able to defend themselves and others?

"Don't you see? You're a paladin! You are to fight injustice; why should the greatest injustice of all be ignored? These two are just the start. You are to start a female order of Shayvists. Who else can do this, but you? This will become a symbol for women everywhere, and some men, as to what women can do. This will outlive you. This may be one of the greatest things you ever do."

Jacinta had never heard Timo talk like this and was surprised by her friend's passion. It seemed not so long ago Timo was talking about marrying off Jacinta at thirteen.

She groaned. As if her problems were not enough; as if two strays weren't enough. Was she supposed to set up a home ... no, a chapter-house, for lost girls?

Why me? she thought. That made her chuckle, at least; "why me?" indeed!

Timo was right, she had no doubt. She would need help, though, lots and lots of help, but as Timo said, no one else could do this. No one was in her unique position.

"At least we don't have to think of a name for your group of women warriors," Timo said with a smirk.

Jacinta looked at her blankly. Then slowly her face reflected a horrified understanding.

"Timo, don't you dare! I forbid you to even mention it!"

Timo laughed. "You think I need to suggest it? That will be the name. As soon as people know what you are doing, that will be it. The 'Amazónes' will be the name for your little group of fighting women."

Jacinta looked at her paralysed hand and sighed. She could work around it and teach. It would awkward but she could do it, with a lot of help.

As if she didn't have enough problems. But she had been like an old mill horse lately, going round and round about her own problems. Just in the next room waited two young girls with far worse problems.

As she and Timo returned to speak to her new 'recruits' her feelings were not victory or excitement, they were more defeat and resignation,.

"I'm sorry for taking so long," she said softly. She gave a little sigh. "I will assess you for training."

Their faces said it all; they were overjoyed.

Jacinta held up her hand. "I give you my promise now, I will never abuse the trust you have given me, nor will I ask more of you than you can give. You may not know it, but I am part of a religious order, as is my father.

"To be my pupils you will have to agree to join our order. The physical discipline and training in martial arts is only part of what you will study. You must also learn to meditate and study the mysteries of the Shayvist faith." She softened and smiled at Meliboea. "And you will have to learn to read in both Greek and Aramaic – both of you, I am afraid." She felt amused at the different looks the two sisters gave her over that.

"You will have to learn to defend yourself and others in your care but few Shayvist monks become professional warriors. Most, especially the more senior monks, specialise in something else.

"Meliboea, Alba said she wants to be a warrior but you may wish to become a midwife or healer or one of the religious monks. My father is a paladin and I am a student paladin and that is what makes us a bit different."

"What is a paladin?" Meliboea asked.

Jacinta blushed a little. "I'll explain it more later but paladins are the religious knights of Shayvism. Before my father and myself, there have only been four others. The Shayvists believe," she coughed, "paladins are sent by our God with an important task. My father's role is to be the Warlord who leads the defence of the elves and their allies. My role, according to the Elvish Prophecy, is fighting against the magic our enemies control though I haven't got very far with that so far."

"You are mentioned in a prophecy?" Meliboea looked at her in awe.

"We will talk about that later," Jacinta insisted. "If you stay in the order, you can marry or partner but I will have your vow that you will never to lay willingly with anyone who does not accept our attitude to women and our laws. Do you have any questions?"

"What about my lung weakness? I can't run much." Alba looked frightened.

Jacinta laughed gently. "You have placed your trust in me as your training master. I have confidence. Do you need to know more?" She smiled broadly. "But to stop you bursting with curiosity, there are lung strengthening exercises and I will teach you swimming in the summer. I give you my promise that it will not be a barrier to becoming a warrior, but you must really want it badly enough. You will have an allowance but it will be small while you are in training; all your other needs will be taken care of.

"If there are no other questions, Timo will find quarters for you and arrange food and clothes and any immediate needs … and a bath, I think. I will meet with you a few times before I take your oaths."

"You can have them, now!" Alba said feelingly.

Jacinta chuckled. "Thank you, but we will do this my way. You need to know exactly what you are getting into, what your responsibilities are ... and what mine are to you. I will have to leave you with Timo now. I suddenly have a lot of explaining to do.

"There is one thing, though. I want you to solemnly promise never to do it, or it will result in serious punishment."

"What's that?" the girls asked looking grave.

"You will call me Jacinta. On formal occasions you may call me Lady Jacinta or Lady. I am not and never have been a princess. If you call me ‘Princess’ again, I will knock your heads together. I didn't come from a wealthy family."

They relaxed and grinned back at her.

"One day, when I can, we will make a journey together."

"Where?" Meliboea asked.

"You ran away from home. I will travel to meet your father. I don't need his permission, but I will not be seen to steal his daughters."

Meliboea looked frightened. "He is a big man and violent, especially in drink."

Jacinta nodded and smiled. "I will be travelling with my guard but unless he is a trained fighter I'd be surprised if I couldn't deal with your father all by myself.

"It may not go as badly as you may think. I know all about bullies. I doubt if he would be foolish enough to think he can bully me. If he tries, I cannot promise I won't hurt him, though that is not my wish."

"Why would you do something like that?"

"One day, you will know. If I can, I will help your father too. But for the moment I must talk to my mother and send a letter to my father."

Despite saying she was confident, she looked decidedly grim as she left.

As Jacinta was looking for her mother she came across Seléne talking to Argyros and Zenon.

"Just the person I wanted to see!" Argyros announced loudly. "I hear you were rude to Lykos today, and didn't wait for your lesson with Alfarr. I'm not sure I like your attitude, young lady."

"May we discuss this in private, sir?"

"No!" Argyros was starting to work himself up. "I think it's important for my Lord Zenon and the Princess to hear what I say, so they can understand what you did.

"We have come a long way from Elgard to help you, young lady. I had other projects to work on. If you understood this you would be more grateful. I am an important man in Elgard I'll have you know." Zenon was looking embarrassed and was making odd waving gestures and placating noises. Seléne's face was unreadable to anyone but those who knew her very well.

Jacinta held up her hand to quieten him.

"Lord Argyros, I want to thank you from my deepest heart for the work you have done on the glove. It is absolutely beautiful and you are a true genius to create something like that."

Argyros looked a bit mollified and took a deep breath to reply but Jacinta hadn't finished.

"Now you will turn the control of the rest of the project over to Lykos and you will answer to him."

"That is preposterous!" Argyros sputtered, flushing angrily. "I have never met such an ingrate! I have half a mind to leave now. I am a senior student of Anaxagoras. Do you know what that means?"

"I know who you are, sir," Jacinta said coldly. "I disagree that I have been rude. You have not yet seen me be rude. Let's hope you never do.

"That latest ridiculous attempt to fix the shield to the glove was a spring latch, was it not? That followed the silly straps that came loose. One look at it and I knew it wouldn't work. Lykos surely told you the same, is that true?"

Argyros suddenly became wary. "Jacinta, I know how frustrating this must be but we have to try these things."

"Do we now?" she asked loudly. "You are a silversmith who is over-ruling the weapons-smith in the matter of weapon design. You try things as an experiment, because you don't care about me and you didn't even expect me to notice.

"Perhaps we should discuss your actions with the Queen or my father, or for that matter we could send a message to King Cyron who calls me his granddaughter. You are not here as a favour to some waif from the streets, Lord Argyros. Don't pretend you are.

"My mother and her father pay your wage. It is they who pay for the privileges you enjoy. You have reminded me that you are a senior apprentice, I have not forgotten. Do you wish me to explain who I am, my Lord Argyros? After that, if you want, you can come with me. I am looking for the Queen. Perhaps you would like to explain to her why you have made her daughter's life and her very future your 'play thing'!"

Jacinta stood there glaring at him.

Argyros had gone completely white. A part of Jacinta was surprised again at just how pale an elf could look. He looked on the verge of tears.

"Perhaps, now that you think about it, you can see the sense of placing the weapons-smith in charge of this part of the project even though he is only a human. And you realise the wisdom of doing your very best to make this work."

"It shall be as you suggest, Lady," he replied in a strangled voice and turned and ... fled. Zenon looked shocked and then hurried after him.

Jacinta stared after the retreating pair, her face expressionless.

Seléne burst out laughing. "You are totally evil when you get going, Jacinta. I'm starting to think you can be even scarier than your father!"

Jacinta started to giggle. "Pompous elf!" she muttered in disgust. "He insisted we do that in front of others.

"It's the same elvish disdain. I'm a human so he thinks he can get away with it ... I admit I enjoyed that, though." She took her friend's arm, grinning broadly. "Something has come up. I've just taken in a couple of strays, but I think they are very important. I will need your help and Mother's. Let's find her and I'll explain what's happening on the way."

* * *

If Lykos was astounded by the change in Argyros, he didn't mention it.

At his next visit, he took the glove away with him and returned it with a short extension welded to it with holes for screw bolts. It destroyed much of the beauty of the glove and made it even heavier but more usable.

By strapping the glove tight at the wrist Jacinta could bolt a very small shield on. But anything larger put too much strain on the ties. against a sword or knife she would be better with the glove alone.

It was not long after that Lykos showed her something that made her feel more positive about becoming a warrior with a crippled hand.

When Jacinta first saw the bow he had made, she burst out laughing.

"Lykos, that's a toy! You're playing a trick on me!"

Lykos laughed too. It did look funny. It was a miniature bow, just over a foot across, made of elvish sword-grade steel with a thick wire for a bow string.

"We'll see if you still think it is funny when you try it," he said, grinning.

He got two men to set up a target, not made of the usual hard-packed straw or cork, but of hard-wood three inches thick.

"I don't think I draw it," Jacinta announced after he bolted the bow to her glove. "I can hardly move it." She gave it a tentative tug, almost cutting her fingers on the wire.

"That's one of the problems," Lykos admitted as he handed her a solid steel bolt with two tiny fins on the back.

"The bow part is on a separate piece of metal and glides on the stock," he instructed. "Point it into the ground and then lean all your weight down until it clicks. Put the wire in the slot, there and then load the bolt. If you find it hard to keep it steady, rest it on your knee.

"The trigger is that short lever that sticks up at the top." He pointed. "Don't push it jerkily. Roll it with your thumb. Be very careful, the bow is much stronger than it looks."

It was really hard to cock, taking all her strength, and smelt of oil. She grunted as she pushed down with her knee till it clicked. There was a small grip for her hand to stabilise it and a lever for her thumb which moved one piece of metal against the other till the small slot the wire lay in progressively disappeared. She wiped as much oil as she could on the grass and the rest on her chiton. She decided it was best to sit and rest it on her knee and aim along her forearm as she took hold of the grip and eased the trigger forward.

THUNK! The bolt exploded from the bow. It punched deep into the hard wood. It would have to be cut out!

"By all the Gods!" Jacinta yelled.

She sat there in open-mouthed surprise. "What was that?"

"It's slow and awkward." Lykos was cautious in the face of her delight. "But it will easily penetrate armour."

Jacinta was laughing and smiling. "Yes, it certainly would! You said I would be surprised. Do you have any more bolts?"

 

 

Chapter 6: A Coward

Getting help in training Alba and Meliboea was easier than Jacinta had expected. With regular jogging and rhythmic chest exercises (and some secret cheating by Jacinta) Alba was gaining her wind. But another problem had arisen, and it was with Meliboea.

Meliboea was shorter than her younger sister; both were dark haired. They hadn't cut their hair as short as Jacinta so they had tied it in ponytails for training. Meliboea wasn't exactly plump but she had a pleasant female shape, broad in the hips with full breasts. She had a squarish jaw and a childhood habit of smiling in a way that emphasised it, though it made her smile rather pleasant.

Both the sisters were bright, but Meliboea was definitely better at reading and studying. Meliboea learnt the punches, blocks and stances easily enough, but as soon as she faced anyone, even her sister or Jacinta, she became stiff and awkward. If anyone went to hit her she would flinch and become useless. Jacinta had been working on it for weeks now, all to no avail. It only seemed to make it worse. Now she was sitting on a bench, hunched over in misery, not making eye contact with the young Gypsy. Jacinta sat with her, her good hand on her shoulder.

"I'm sorry, my Lady, I'm a coward," she explained. "I flinch all the time. I'll never be a warrior. I should leave," she concluded.

"No," Jacinta said firmly. "Your father has trained you to fear being hit. It gave him pleasure to have you frightened."

"If I'm frightened, that makes me a coward." Meliboea looked up, confused and at the same time hopeful. Tears were in her eyes. "My father used to taunt me, call me a fool. He said I was a coward."

"Well, you're no fool." Jacinta smiled back at her. "Flinching, even being frightened, doesn't make you a coward. The flinching is like a reflex. To train to be a warrior you need to act faster than thought, your flinching is faster than thought too.

"You are seventeen. You know what a great and experienced training master I am but I only have just started with you. Do you expect me to get over seventeen and a bit years in a couple of weeks?" She gave Meliboea an enquiring look. Meliboea relaxed a little and giggled.

"Pri… I mean, Lady Jacinta! We want to give you useful service. All we are doing is taking advantage of your kindness."

Jacinta looked at her levelly. "Meliboea, you will give me useful service. I need to build up an organisation that can run itself but it's something that can't be hurried. We won't be all warriors. Alba may become a warrior, I doubt you ever will. That doesn't mean I won't, or at least my God won't, have need of you."

Jacinta came to a decision. "For the moment there is no point in teaching you things that are only making you more and more nervous. You need a break from this and we need to build your confidence. I want you to concentrate on meditation and some other exercises." She wished Daniel was here, but he was in Elgard.

"I will ask my mother to teach you the bow," she said, coming to a decision.

Meliboea flinched as if she had been hit. She looked at Jacinta, deeply hurt. She looked like an animal that had learned to trust, only to be wounded. Tears started to run down her cheek as she drew herself up, her voice unsteady.

"I thank you for the kindness you had shown me, Lady," she said stiffly, "I will leave as soon as I am able. I feel shame that I have proven such a disappointment for you. I hope you believe it was never my wish."

Jacinta looked at her in shock and panic, her own eyes filling in turn.

Tears were running freely down Meliboea's cheeks.

"Meliboea, I have hurt you." She grabbed at her arm. "Please, I am sorry! Please stay! I don't know what I did."

Meliboea looked at her suspiciously but Jacinta was so obviously distressed and bewildered.

"Well," she said. "You made fun of me. You said your mother would teach me. That may be funny to you but it hurt me. You said I can't help flinching and I thought you were being kind."

It hit Jacinta like a bolt of understanding.

"Oh!" was all she could say for a moment.

"Meliboea, I was not joking," she eventually managed. "If you stay, you will be joining a sisterhood of which I will be part. I'm sure my mother will agree to teach you, or Seléne, except she can't do too much now, she is so busy."

Meliboea looked at her in horror. "But they are elves!"

Are they? Now you mention it, Meliboea, you are right. My mother and my best friend are elves!

"Your mother is the Queen of the Elves! And I am …"

"My student," Jacinta finished for her smoothly. "Meliboea, I'll come along to reassure you that my mother doesn't eat Lydian girls. Not unless they are well cooked and properly prepared of course. She is really very nice, you know," Jacinta finished gently and hazarded a tentative smile.

The tears were flowing freely now but the look on Meliboea's face was one of awe and wonder. "You would do that for me?" she asked in a small voice.

Wordlessly she fell to her knees before Jacinta and bowed her head. Jacinta sat again and pulled her close to place the girl's head in her lap. It was a long time before Meliboea could speak again.

 

 

Chapter 7: Olympias, the Truth about Daimôns

Olympias and Antipatros

Antipatros lay back on the pillows, feeling completely satiated.

Olympias was standing naked just to one side of the window in the morning light. He still found her stunningly beautiful, sensual and intriguing. Time had only intensified his burning need for her.

When Philippos was killed it was a terrible thing, the death of a great king. People were in turmoil, the empire trembled and enemies rose up. But all Antipatros could think of was Olympias and what would happen to the two of them.

It seemed impossible, but here she was, totally his, loving him. If only he could help her with the sadness that lingered in her eyes.

She had returned to live in Aigai, close to her husband's tomb. She was not the same woman she had been; her only remaining ambition seemed to be for her son.

"What are you thinking about?"

She turned and gave him a tired smile.

"Hakeem will come to Aigai; I have foreseen it."

"Hakeem?"

"I don't know what it means. I have never been able to locate him and those close to him and now there is something else clouding my vision and that of my sisters. It is coming from the east, north of the Black Sea. I do not know what it is."

She paused. "And it makes me feel afraid."

* * *

Training Amazónes

"Now I want you to take a slow, deep breath," Jacinta started. "Not so deep that it feels a strain. Now breathe out … very slowly. As you breathe in and out, I want you to concentrate on the point just below your nose where you can feel the coolness of your breath. Concentrate on that and nothing else. If your mind wanders, gently bring it back. Try to empty your mind and focus on the breath. Control your thoughts, but gently, don't use too much effort."

The breathing meditation was one of the core meditations of the Shayvist sect, central to both their religious and martial arts. Jacinta kept her two new recruits practising it for half a turn of the glass. Later they would share her sunrise meditation that she loved so much. It would be good to have some company for that again.

Meliboea was surprised to find this was one lesson that she found especially easy, and she basked in Jacinta's delighted praise. For a moment she was so relaxed she had been able to put the bowman-ship lesson from her mind. When she finished she almost jumped with fright to hear the musical tones of a lady elf behind her.

"Meliboea, I haven't met you before. I am Jacinta's mother."

"Great Queen!" Meliboea leapt up. She was almost to her feet when she decided to immediately drop to her knees and bow her head.

"I can't impose on your time, Great Queen!" she said to the ground at her feet.

"Please relax, Meliboea," Elena said, helping her up. "Come with me, all is ready."

Meliboea wanted to follow well behind the Elf Queen. Elena smiled and passed her a bow and a quiver and then firmly took her arm and pulled her forward till they were walking side by side.

Elena had the pale complexion of an elf, with elvin ears and penetrating green eyes. She was tall and slender as most elves are and moved with a grace impossible for a human. As the Queen took her away, Meliboea looked like she was being led to her death.

When they reached the enclosed practice yard, Meliboea pulled away again.

"Great Queen, you can't teach me bow-man-ship."

"Well, Meliboea, is it because I am not good enough for you?" Elena laughed, firmly grabbing her hand again. The Queen was stronger than she looked.

"Oh, no!" Meliboea coloured. "You are a queen! You have important things to do!"

"Yes, I do," Elena admitted. "And this is one of them. Should we start?"

"Will you and Seléne be part of the sisterhood, Great Queen?"

"The Lady's Mercy, no, " Elena laughed. " We are elves, not Shayvists. But we are friends of the Shayvists. I hear you are interested in the Great Earth Mother. Don't worry you can be a Shayvist and still worship the Earth Mother. And I hear you are interested in healing people. I'm looking forward to spending more time with you, Meliboea ... but first things first."

Meliboea was surprised to find that Elena was a pleasant and patient teacher. Her friendly manner made it possible to forget she was the much loved (and feared) Queen of the Eastern Elves.

Shooting a bow, even the light hunting bow, required mental preparation above all else. Elena was a skilful teacher (adjusting Meliboea's stance and the position of her arms) and Meliboea seemed to have a good eye, so it was barely over an hour before Meliboea's arrows were flying straight and true. That was when Jacinta and Alba jogged up side by side to greet them.

"Great Queen and Lady Jacinta. I don't understand why you are doing all this for us," Meliboea said. "What use are we?"

Elena smiled gently. "So you don't think a Meliboea who can shoot a bow or an Alba who can run and fight can be of use to us?"

Alba was still breathing a little fast, but she wouldn't have been able to jog like this even a week ago.

"Meliboea and Alba, please sit down," Elena said.

She and Jacinta joined them on the ground.

"You will repay us many times over, I'm sure. Before that you must decide whether you wish to join Jacinta or not."

"We have decided all ready, Great Queen!" the sisters cried in unison.

Elena glanced at Jacinta who tugged off her glove and held up her crippled hand to show them.

"You may have heard a story of me fighting a daimôn. My hand was damaged and I cannot move it. It means I will never be what I once wished for. I was about to give up entirely when you two came to me with a message."

They looked at her and each other in surprise.

"But, Jacinta," Alba said. "We didn't carry any message."

The expressions on their faces were almost comical.

It was so deeply touching.

"You were sent to me bearing a message from my God, Alba. It told me to stop focusing on my own problems, that I have at least one great task left, likely more. Many women and girls are bullied, raped or simply powerless. The task I have been given is to set up a religious community of women within the Shayvist sect. I believe you two have been sent to help me with that.

"If you agree, you will form the core on which we, and by that I mean you and I and others who join us, will build. That is why you are so important. Only a few might join us but we will be an example to others."

"Why choose us?" Meliboea asked. "There is nothing special about us. We are peasants. We don't belong in a palace. I am a coward and Alba has the lung sickness."

Jacinta stared at them levelly. "While you are my students, you're flinching and Alba's breathing is my problem. As to being a peasant, do you think I should have chosen Aphrodisia and Syntyche? Perhaps they would be better sweating around in the dust, do you think?"

She smiled at them, and they giggled at the thought.

"I was a peasant, and an orphan, and so was my father. When my mother adopted me she knew I was a peasant, an orphan and a Gypsy to boot, while she was the Elvish Princess mentioned in prophecy." Tears came to Jacinta's eyes. "She loved me anyway. When she agreed to marry my father she believed he was only a file leader. Do you want to explain to us why you think I or my father are unworthy?"

Elena laughed at the memory. "Only later did I, did we, realise that they were the other two mentioned in the Prophecy."

Jacinta took a breath. "Alba and Meliboea, I didn't choose you; my God did. Nothing, and I mean nothing, has caused me to doubt that. If you are good enough for my God, you are certainly good enough for me.

"My God, who is also your God in whatever form you understand him or her , may have other tasks for you. A terrible time is coming. You may be chosen for something difficult and dangerous."

Alba looked back at Jacinta soberly. "I don't think we are good enough but if you would accept us, it seems like a dream. We accept. You can't scare us off with talk of hard work or hard times, those we are used to, and violence, we had from our father. Will you take our oaths?"

Jacinta looked uncertain. "Perhaps I should wait for my father."

"No, Jacinta," Elena said. "Only you can do this, no one else. I think you are afraid to start."

Jacinta nodded reluctantly.

Alright, it starts here and now.

"Alba and Meliboea, do you agree to follow the philosophy and teaching of Shayva and be bound by the laws and rules of the order? Do you agree never to give yourself willingly to another who does not respect our laws?"

"We do," the sisters said in unison.

"Do you accept guidance and authority from me, my father, seniors of our order and any we may appoint to train you or look after you? Do you agree to be bound by all lawful directions in matters of training?"

"We do!"

"I, Jacinta, accept you as my pupils and I accept you on behalf of the Shayvist order as novices, until you come of age or can be assessed for full membership as monks, whichever comes first." She got them to stand up and she embraced them and Elena embraced them too.

"Is that all?" Alba asked.

Jacinta nodded.

At least, she hoped it was. Not yet fourteen and she had accepted two students and set up a new branch of the Shayvists, without permission from her father or the Grand Abbot.

She was to be a paladin and she had received a message from her God, but if either or both of them didn't see it that way, it would be awkward (to say the very least).

* * *

"Now this is your father," Jacinta announced, showing Meliboea and Alba the tall leather bag of millet hung from a steel frame, bound with several layers of cloth to make it softer.

"Once you have drilled in some of the basic strikes I will be getting you to punch it, knee it or chop it. Only low kicks. No elbows and definitely no head-buts!

"How about biting and scratching his eyes out?" Alba asked with a broad smile.

They all laughed.

"I'd be afraid he'd hit me back!" Meliboea smiled shyly.

"Then hit him hard first!" Jacinta said with a grin, and punched the bag, hard. "And if he hits you back, hit him back harder ... and harder, till he stops." She demonstrated.

"Here, let me show you on this." She took them to the Wing Chun post hammered deep into the soil, removing her leather glove as she did so. "I haven't used this for a long time, so I will start slow and I may not be able to do it for long. It's to practise a form of fighting called 'Win Chun' from the Cina. It was invented by a lady."

Alba and Meliboea looked with curiosity at the heavy post with the four thick broom handles stuck in at different angles: one for a foot and three arms. Fighting the post was very hard and few could do it for long.

It was a long time since Jacinta used it or had the opportunity to practise the exercises that would toughen up her forearms. She didn't want to do any damage to herself but some gentle toughening up wouldn't hurt.

Wouldn't hurt? Who was she kidding? Of course it would hurt.

Bashing flesh hard against solid wood; the post always wins.

She prepared her mind and then she started slowly. To her delight she found she could still do it. She had to go softer on her right side. The left hand was useless for some of the grips of Win Chun, but she hooked the handles instead. She could hit as hard as she liked with the edge of her paralysed hand and it didn't hurt at all.

She felt her anger at her crippled hand and began to hit harder on that side. She imagined the size of the girls' father and how hard she would have to hit him.

Alba and Meliboea watched in awe as Jacinta squatted, crouched down in front of the post, kicking, blocking, striking and trapping her 'opponent'. The Gypsy girl was sweating, breathing hard and grunting, but she had broken into a wide grin and a frown of concentration as she began going faster and faster, harder and harder.

Her hands became a blur and she began panting with the effort. Hitting the post with her paralysed hand was making a very satisfactory loud "thunk" which echoed across the practice yard. Like an axe striking wood. Her body moved to focus the power. She hit it again and again and again with maximum power.

A loud 'crack' echoed across the courtyard.

Jacinta froze in shock, and looked at the handle. It was bent! She had broken it.

She looked at her left hand. It wasn't hurt at all. Not even bruised. Her right knuckles were bleeding and both her forearms were red and sore and would be covered in bruises tomorrow.

Alba and Meliboea were jostling her in congratulations.

"I didn't know I could do that," she whispered to them, stunned.

All she could do was stare from her left hand to the broken post and back again while her friends congratulated her.

* * *

It was that very night that she found an even greater use for her hand.

"Jacinta!"

She woke in her room feeling very strange. The male voice echoed like when Sophie talked in her mind. "Ah, you can hear me … good. You don't need that knife, I mean you no harm."

A huge black man the size of her father was in her bedroom, grinning down at her!

How did he get there? In her dreamy state it seemed that he had simply appeared in front of her.

His skin was shiny as if oiled. He had long black pants of a shiny material that clung tightly to his legs. He was naked to the waist. His body rippled with huge muscles. He had no hair, not even eyebrows. He stood back from her bed, grinning in a relaxed, friendly way, showing pearly white teeth. He was strangely attractive and seemed to know it.

"Whoever you are, you can leave now," Jacinta said coldly. "Or I will call the guards."

What is stopping me, why haven’t I called out already?

"Jacinta, believe me, you don't want to do that. I only came to ask for your help, and you very definitely need mine. The guards cannot hear us and, if they could, they cannot hurt me: not your guards, not your father and not even Ǽlward, at least not yet and not here.

There is only one being in this realm who can hurt me, and that is you and I would never want to hurt you, though some of my kind may not feel the same."

"Who are you?" Jacinta asked, watching the stranger intently.

"Not who but what. I've never had a real name. At first humans called me Adad, the Lord of Thunder and Lightning. In ancient times, I was worshipped as a God, which I am not.

“Amongst your father's people it was forbidden for any but one of my priests to say my name. Your father would know me simply as Ba'al or Belu, which means 'Lord'."

"I know what Ba'al means," Jacinta said automatically.

Then she realised!

"You're a daimôn lord!" She spat the words in anger and fear.

"Not just any daimôn lord," Ba'al declared, grinning broadly. "I am the greatest of all Daimôn Lords , the oldest and the most powerful of all."

He paused. "Or at least I was. My enemies don't know it yet, but they have surpassed both me and my allies in strength. It is why I need your help. I am one of very few of my kind who can travel to your plane at will and stay unaided, but I have been fighting many battles and am weakened. So I cannot stay long. May I sit?"

Jacinta glared at him with a look of hatred. She sat on the couch drawing her knees up, as far as she could from him. Ba'al smiled handsomely and gave a bow before pulling up a high-backed chair, reversing it before sitting in it, as a warrior would.

"You said I could hurt you."

"That's a good place to start. But first I must do something; don't be alarmed, this is necessary. It will hurt you but it will make you even more dangerous to my kind. Silver's spell should protect you."

He simply looked at her.

"Gods!" Jacinta cursed. She bent over in agony, dropping her knife in a clatter as she clutched at her left hand. "It burns!" Tears of pain came to her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Jacinta, believe me. I had no way of telling how much that would hurt. I can erase the memory if you like but I would need your permission for that."

Jacinta just glared at him, possessively gripping her left arm.

Her eyes darted to the locked trunk containing the two charmed javelins. She could not reach them in time.

"You must understand, daimôns trick people but we do not, like you humans, tell lies. You can ask Maerwen."

Jacinta was jolted by surprise. She had assumed everything about daimôns was bad.

"You alone of all living humans can kill daimôns. You are unique," Ba'al continued. "There was once one other at the start of the Illvættir wars, but you are the only one left.

"Oh, and the javelins in that trunk that touched the book will stay potent indefinitely. But you don't need them. The anti-daimôn spell and the protection spell have stayed in your hand, but not the rest of your body. They will be potent indefinitely.

"Silver made the anti-daimôn spell recognise you, but it will attack any daimôn you touch. You can charm other weapons with your hand, but they will lose their power after a moon of your time."

"Why can't I move it?" Jacinta asked.

"Your hand is dead. I has lost access to your life essence."

"So why doesn't it die or be hurt?

"Silver's protection spell," Ba'al said. "Her magic is far beyond anything left in this world or my own. The Svartálfar were almost infinitely powerful in the end, but they chose not to use all their power, and so they perished."

"So I can hurt you just by touching you?"

"Yes, Jacinta, and with a massive dose you could destroy even me. Above ground cold, water and iron gives us pain and weakens us but it is only you who can destroy us. I just gave you even more daimôn essence and made you stronger."

Jacinta didn't understand what use the daimôn substance was to her. She put that aside. "Why are you telling me this?"

"I am in a room with a young woman I find very attractive."

Jacinta gave him a look of total loathing.

"A woman who can take her glove off and hurt me badly, even destroy me. Perhaps I have lived too long, but you have no idea how irresistible that makes you."

Jacinta screwed her face up in fury. "Go! Go now!"

"Not fully reciprocated, I see." Ba'al smiled. He seemed to smile a lot.

"Never mind; I know you do find me handsome." Then he scrambled to his feet, backing up in alarm, knocking the chair over in the process. "Jacinta! There's no need for that!"

Jacinta was advancing towards him with a broad smile on her face. She had removed her glove and held her left hand forward.

"Please, I apologise." Ba'al was genuinely alarmed and backed up against the wall.

Jacinta gave him a pleasant smile in return. She straightened up the chair and sat on it herself, watching him backed up against the wall.

Ba'al was panting slightly and gave her a rather wan smile. "I was right to admire you but I would never try to force myself on you. I will try to charm you, but not by magic. Surely you must know it is not my fault I am what I am. May I sit?"

Jacinta smiled at him and shook her head. She left him where he was, backed up against the wall.

"Can I tell you the rest? Promise not to attack me."

Jacinta smiled sweetly and shook her head very firmly.

"All right, no promises. I will take my chances. Some part of you is daimôn now."

Ba'al held his hand up to forestall her protest.

"That is not a bad thing and there is no conflict in carrying both daimôn and human life force. In fact, it is normal for us. All daimôn lords are part human."

Jacinta gasped in horror. So that was it! She held her other hand over her mouth, appalled. It was so awful!

"You figured it out so quickly!" Ba'al said admiringly. "How can you understand so fast? We daimôns in our own plane are not clever, and we have no soul. We are mainly beings of energy, absorbing the energy of our sun and our world ... and yes, from each other.

"When you kill a daimôn the energy, the essence, is not lost; most of it is absorbed by the one who does the killing. That's what happened to you with the daimôn you killed. You are remarkable to survive that amount of energy, let alone all the other things that happened to you at that time.

"In a time beyond all memory, some great šamán, magus, witch or sorcerer must have discovered the way to travel to our plane. He or she offered to bind themselves to a daimôn. That binding is part of our nature and is a sacred thing to us. It is how we form our version of a family.

"For us, to bind to a human soul is completely irresistible ... or almost so. Once we are bound, we can be summoned to this world for a time, usually much less than the turn of a glass and we have to obey orders within certain limits. There is a cost to the summoner each time they call us. If it wasn't for that, they would live for a very long time, as we do not age. They can be almost invincible as they can command us to defend them ... they would be near immortal. Almost, but not quite."

"So you do evil."

"It took me and the others a long time to understand evil, as you humans understand evil."

"You say daimôns are only summoned for a short time but the daimôn I killed was hiding in the catacombs."