«Get up, Cycler. It’s time.»
The voice woke Sthenar from his troubled slumber. Despite the situation he was in, he felt grateful for that. In his dreams, he could not help but always see that face.
Sitting in his driver’s seat, he looked outside. The Blue Moon and the Red Moon still formed a line in the night sky, as if they were following the direction of the road ahead. He couldn’t have slept for more than a glassturn. Everything was quiet.
He turned toward the voice. He saw that it belonged to the short, stocky man with auburn hair, and he felt relief that it was that man who came tonight, and not the other one. He silently nodded and then got out of the vehicle. The stocky man flashed him an unpleasant, smug grin, squinting with his dark, point-like eyes.
Looking toward the back of his tetracycle, Sthenar saw that another vehicle had parked behind it. A rough cuboid with four wheels, big enough to hold five or six people, not counting the driver. They were not necessarily pleasant to look at, but they did their job and gave a man like Sthenar the means to make a living as a cycler, driving around the town those who were too tired or in too much of a hurry to walk.
But tonight my passengers will not be of the usual kind, he thought. He asked himself one more time how did he manage to get involved in this thing, and one more time he told himself he knew the answer all too well. He looked at the driver’s seat of the other tetracycle. Perhaps, the person behind that glass was in exactly the same situation as him.
Once he reached the door on the back of his car, Sthenar opened it, but as he did that his eyes were drawn to the wall on his right. The light of the two moons shone on written words, old faded graffiti that he hadn’t noticed when he had parked there: “For our great sin/we deserve punishment/until the end of days”.
If that was a reference to something, he did not recognize it; as was to be expected, since he had never been good at studying. And yet, those words troubled him deeply. He felt they were written for him, as if it were some ill omen. He froze in place, gripped by an unease he was unable to explain or describe, until the stocky man roared at him: «They got on the car! Go back to your seat and start driving, quickly!»
Sthenar absentmindedly noticed that the other tetracycle had begun leaving, going back the way it came while emitting a low buzzing sound. He turned his eyes to the inside of his own car. He saw the three people he expected. Three pairs of tied hands and feet, three heads covered by cloth bags. A man, a woman… and the smaller shape of a young boy.
A strong hand grabbed him by the collar and Sthenar found himself at a hair’s breadth from the stocky man’s face. «Did you not hear me? Move it!»
He had just the time to think that with such a wrathful expression the combination of small eyes and wide nose made the man look like an angry boar, before he was violently pushed toward the driver’s seat. The message was clear enough for him.
As the man got on the vehicle and closed the door behind him, Sthenar went quickly back to his seat and started the car. The thermal plates on the back of the tetracycle opened up and the car started to slowly go forward, following the road.
Sthenar looked back one final time, glancing at the four passengers behind him for a single instant. Then the only one among them who was not tied punched the metal wall, warning him: «Eyes on the road, no distractions!» And he obeyed.
Sthenar wished he could tell himself that things were not as they seemed, that he was not helping criminals who had kidnapped an innocent family. Had he been a fool, he could have done so: all he needed to do was remember that the stocky man, even if at the moment he was not wearing his black uniform, was a spathar, one of the “eyes and ears of the Prince”, as they said, and that like he had been told by the other man, the one who was absent tonight, the criminals were the three with bags over their heads.
But Sthenar was no fool, not that big a fool at least. He knew well what “crime” the three had committed. Or rather, what “crime” a single one of them had committed, and for which not only he, but his wife and son as well were being punished.
«For how much longer must we suffer your attempts at deceiving the people standing here before you, Sofron Arystid?»
The sentence echoed throughout the entire Hall of the Synedrion unchallenged, then the speaker continued: «It is not for devotion towards your august father the Prince that you have taken the mantle of regent, nor out of any sense of duty towards this nation, a sense of duty that you have never felt, as we are acutely aware! No, if now you sit on that chair the reason is merely your thirst for power! Otherwise, why would you have removed from their posts more than half of the officials who faithfully served your father for years, for decades in some cases, and replaced them with men whose reputation is dubious, in fact men whose only quality no one can cast doubt on is their loyalty to you and you alone?»
The speaker was the delegate Timios, from the city of Elis. Sthenar knew that because they had announced Timios’ name when he had rose from his bench to make his speech. The Hall of the Synedrion, a semi-circular series of rows of gray stone steps clad in sapphire-colored walls, was open to any citizen who wished to observe the meetings of the delegates hailing from the many cities of the Principate. It was there that they debated, they proposed laws, they relayed to the Prince the provinces’ grievances, they decided the future of the country. Sthenar was not very cultured: his brother was the one raised to make a name for himself, not him; but as every good citizen, he still knew how to read, write and do some math, and he had a moderate interest in politics.
So he knew, for example, that presently the Prince was absent. On the dark high chair located at the center of the hall, behind a large desk of the same color, at the point where the eyes of all the delegates converged, the place from which normally Prince Aryst would have presided over the Synedrion along with his councilors, now sat Sofron, Aryst’s younger son. An unusual sight for Sthenar, who had always seen only the old Prince on that chair, ever since he was a child.
«And I could say the same for the war against Dysis!» the delegate continued his vehement speech. «You often remind us that we cannot trust Dysis, that Dysis is evil, that Dysis must be stopped at all costs for the good of our children. But such a commendable worry is not the one that makes you send to the front the fathers and mothers of those children. Oh, not at all. You send them to the front for this!»
The man slipped a hand inside the white toga that symbolized his rank and occupation, and threw something in the direction of the man who sat in the Prince’s chair. It hit the floor with a metallic sound. Sthenar could not see very well from that distance, but it seemed to him that Sofron was rolling his eyes in exasperation. From the side of the hall opposite to delegate Timios, angry voices started to rise.
«Gold! Gold from the mines that Dysis reclaimed as its territory! The mines that once were property of our esteemed citizen Alop! The same citizen Alop who is father-in-law of your current War Councilor, strategos Leon Cryssid, who is sitting right there beside you at this very moment! Why are you lowering your head, strategos? Is there something you’re ashamed about?»
The angry voices grew even angrier. Sthenar even heard a few hisses. Somebody cried «Kick him out of this hall!», somebody else «Make him shut his filthy mouth!»
But the delegate went on, unperturbed: «In all the years he oversaw the Synedrion, your father never took a decision that was not his and only his: he listened to the people’s representatives gathered here from the whole of the nation, he consulted his councilors when necessary and then he came to his decision fairly and impartially, following his own heart and his own mind. Do you know why? He did so because he knew that the one answering to us, the people, for that decision would be him. Not his councilors, certainly not someone that is not even sitting in this hall! HIM ALONE!»
Timios had to scream that last sentence, in order to be heard above the cacophony of hostile cries. Some of the other delegates had stood up from their benches and were shaking their fists in threatening motions in his direction. But from his chair Sofron raised a hand, and in a few instants they all sat down again. Once they had quieted down, the Prince’s son spoke: «Delegate Timios, please, do conclude your address. And no one interrupt him.» His tone was calm and authoritative, but Sthenar still felt strangely uneasy.
Timios resumed: «Oh, be certain that I will, there is little left to say that is not blatant and obvious. I will be quick and I will be direct, compassionately cruel like the doctor who knows he has to cauterize a wound before it becomes infected, even if the patient will cry in pain!» He stopped for a moment, taking a deep breath. «You are not the Prince, Sofron, and must never become the Prince, for you have shown both now and many times in the past that you are not at all suited for that title. Yes, your father is very sick and can no longer attend these meetings, but that does not imply you can be his substitute. He has your mother, Kallista; let her take his place.»
There was no reaction in the hall. Sthenar thought he heard a soft laugh from some place behind Timios, but even if there had been one it was immediately stifled.
«Of course,» Timios continued «in this difficult time our Princess has understandably chosen to rather stay with her beloved husband and care for him. However, there is one more person you could, no, you should leave that chair to.»
Timios’ side of the Synedrion started to murmur. But it was a sound unlike the angry roars that had come from the other side a moment before. It was more organized, as if a choir were singing one single song.
«A person who has many times demonstrated their valor, unlike you.» The murmur became more intense. «A man you deliberately sent far from the capital, because you knew the people would side with him!» Timios once again raised his voice to a scream, but this time it was to surpass the enthusiastic cries of agreement coming from his side. «A man who, were he in your place, would not surround himself with incompetent sycophants, nor give in to undue pressure and call for a useless war to satisfy one man’s ravenous greed! No, the man I speak of would rule with more wisdom than even your father! Yes, you know who this man is, Sofron Arystid! The only one worthy of being regent is the legitimate future Prince, the hero of the Winter War,your older brother Stefan! If you still have a shred of dignity left in you, get off that chair and leave it to him!»
All around Timios, the delegates rose to their feet shouting «To him! To Stefan!» or «Prince Stefan!» or even just «Stefan! Stefan!»
Sthenar himself joined them, shouting that name. The delegate’s speech had certainly had an effect on him, but he had also heard disquieting rumors about Sofron around the city for a long time, and also… he just liked Stefan: after all, both he and Sthenar were elder brothers.
Right at that moment, the clouds that could be seen through the large skylight on the roof of the hall parted, and the sun’s rays divided the Synedrion cleanly in two: one side basked in light, where Timios and the crowd chanting «Stefan!» were, and one side in the shadow: there sat the delegates that had tried to silence Timios and that now were themselves silent.
It was such a beautiful and fitting image that for an instant Sthenar felt truly happy, and even managed to forget the face that tormented him in his nightmares.
«Sthenar Georgid, You’ve been a cycler for twenty-one years.»
«Twenty-two, in a month.»
An instant was all that happiness lasted. The morning that followed that meeting, they came to his door. The short man with auburn hair and the other one, pale-faced, with thick dark hair.
Their uniforms left no doubts on their occupation: coats as black as burnt wood, with trousers of the same color, and a red square of crossed swords embroidered on the right side of their chest. They were two spathari, members of the most feared warrior corps in the Principate. The spathari were feared everywhere, not only because they were fearsome fighters (as they had to be, for they were the Prince’s personal guards), but also, in fact mostly, because of their other duties: surveillance and security. They had the authority to conduct investigations, arrest suspects and interrogate them. A spathar wanting to speak with you was never something to look forward to. Sthenar knew that all too well.
After they made themselves comfortable, it was the pale-faced man who spoke first: «I know a Georgid who works with us. Are you brothers?»
«Yes.» was all Sthenar managed to say. He and his younger brother hadn’t spoken in years. Ever since Mom had died.
«Good. This will speed up procedures.» said the pale-faced man, flashing a faint smile.
«Am I under arrest?» Sthenar asked.
«I couldn’t say. Did you commit some crime, cycler Sthenar?» the man looked in his eyes, keeping the smile on his lips. However his gaze was cold, and Sthenar became afraid. For a moment, that face appeared before him. He tried to dispel the vision and find the strength to answer, but before he could manage to, the pale-faced man spoke again: «Choose your next words carefully.»
He knows, a voice in his head told him. He knows everything, throw yourself at his feet and confess! It is the only way to be given leniency!
But the words that came out of his mouth were: «No, of course not. I’m a law-abiding citizen.»
The smile faded from the man’s visage. «So be it.» he said, accompanying the words with a sound that could have been a sigh. He made a silent motion of the head to his red-haired companion, who answered in kind, nodding wordlessly. Then he looked at Sthenar again and said: «The tetracycle parked outside. Is it yours? We noticed it while we were coming.»
Sthenar could have said no. But if he did, then he would have had to explain why there was a car that did not belong to him in front of his house. So, he once again ignored the terrified voice in his head and said: «Yes, it is mine.»
«I’ve heard that many cyclers like to customize their vehicle, in order to make themselves stand out.»
«If customers recognize a tetracycle that has already served them in the past, they tend to seek that one again.» Sthenar explained. «Some of us paint theirs in a unique pattern, some others add ornaments…»
«And some of you draw a symbol on it.» he was interrupted by the stocky man. «You belong to this latter group, cycler Sthenar.»
Sthenar tried his best to remain calm. They already know everything, they’re just toying with you! the voice said to him. You already know how it’s going to end, confess now that you still have time!
«Your symbol are three white feathers on the side of the car, am I right?» asked the pale-faced man with dark hair.
The chain is tightening around your neck, do you not feel it? «Y-Yes. The idea came to my mother. The first feather is speed, the second one…»
«I am sure their meaning is incredibly interesting, but right now what we wish to know is whether there are other tetrakykloi painted with the same sign.» The man looked at Sthenar with cold indifference in his eyes. Gray eyes, like those of that face.
Sthenar was strongly tempted to lie. He felt the urge to say that many cyclers used similar symbols, that he was not the one they were looking for, that they had to go away and leave him alone.
But he could not do it: «No, there are not. If you see three white feathers on a car around Arlis, that’s me.»
«We did not see them.» the short man suddenly spoke. «But someone did. Four nights ago, on Secondhander Road.»
Sthenar fell silent. He let the pale-faced man do the speaking: «Four nights ago, on Secondhander Road, a man was run over, and died. A witness states that they saw three feathers on the side of the offending vehicle, that ran away without even offering aid.»
Sthenar had imagined the scene he was now part of many times, although he thought it would be the City Guards arresting him. In his mind, he had seen himself try to explain that he was tired that night; that it was raining and that the few lamps that lit up Secondhander Road were in bad need of maintenance; that when his own lantern finally shone on the terrified face of that man in the middle of the road he had immediately braked, but it was already too late; that he had understood right away that stopping and trying to give him some help would have been useless, that he didn’t want to go to prison, that he was an honest citizen and in all his life he had never hurt anyone.
«Cycler Sthenar Georgid, a little time ago I asked you if you had committed some crime. I had warned you to choose your answer carefully.»
However, not that it was actually happening, Sthenar couldn’t manage to say anything. It was as if he were in a stupor.
He woke back up only when the short man’s hand tightly closed around his arm.
«No. No!» He cried. «Please, don’t! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!»
«If you were so sorry, why did you run away and leave a fellow citizen to die alone under the rain?» The spathar’s face was a stone mask, devoid of any compassion.
«I beg you,» Sthenar continued, vaguely aware that he was very close to breaking down in tears, «don’t send me to prison. I implore you! I will die in there!»
«One life for another. Sounds fair to me.» said the short man, whose iron grip was making Sthenar’s hands lose sensibility.
At that moment, terror overcame any other feeling. Sthenar threw himself at the feet of the pale-faced man, with so much energy that the short man was forced to let him go.
«I beg of you, I don’t want to die! I’ll do anything, anything you want, just don’t send me to prison!»
Sthenar’s nerves had never been strong. He knew that flaw had earned him contempt from both his father and his younger brother. But there was nothing he could do about it. It always ended like that, ever since he was a kid.
And just like his father when he was a kid, the pale-faced man reacted with a sigh and said: «You are a coward, cycler Sthenar.»
But a moment later he added: «Fortunately for you, a coward is exactly the person we need.»
They told him they needed his help with an “operation”, that was the way they called it. That very night, Sthenar would bring his tetracycle to a certain place and then wait. Further instructions were pending. They did not explicitly tell him that doing this would make them turn a blind eye in regards to his incident, but he had no choice all the same.
A few hours later he did as they had ordered and waited in front of a large house in the Delegates’ Quarter, where members of the Synedrion resided during their time in office.
Not long after his arrival, the two spathari came out of the front door of the house, accompanied by other three figures: a man, a woman and a boy, all three tied up and with their heads covered.
«Who are these people?» Sthenar uneasily asked.
«None of your business, Cycler. Start the vehicle.» was the answer of the short man.
«Dangerous criminals we had to take into custody. You need to know nothing more.» the other one added.
Dangerous criminal? A child? Sthenar wondered, careful not to say it out loud. As careful as he had been when he had not asked why the spathari corps needed him when they had their own cars. Sthenar might have been an uneducated coward, but he was not a fool. What he was seeing was something irregular, something the rest of these men’s organization had to be kept in the dark about.
His suspects were reinforced when the two men did not direct him toward the prison but instead the opposite edge of the city. As Sthenar drove on, he heard the boy start to weep. The captured man spoke to the two spathari, with a booming voice that sounded powerful even under the thick dark cloth of the bag: «If you plan to kill me, do so and get this over with! Do you think I don’t know who sent you?»
Then, after a dull thud and a groan, Sthenar heard the voice of the short man: «Shut up!»
«Cowards! You and the man who hides behind you are all vile cowards!» the prisoner insisted.
«For the sake of your family, be quiet.» the voice of the pale-faced man.
Sthenar said nothing, he just kept silently driving in the direction he had been given. But he had recognized the prisoner’s voice. He had heard it in the Synedrion, the day before. The man sitting behind him, with his hands tied and a bag over his head, was delegate Timios from Elis.
Eventually, the two man made him stop the car. In front of them, Sthenar saw another tetracycle. And he understood he would not see their destination, just like the person who was about to drive the prisoners there had not seen where they were coming from.
«What do you intend to do with them? One of them is just a kid.» he asked at the end to the pale-faced man while he took the three out of the car.
The man gave him a strange look, maybe regretful for what he was doing, or at least that was what Sthenar chose to believe. Then he answered: «This does not concern you, cycler Sthenar. Go home, now. Your work is done for tonight, and you have seen nothing.»
«What do you mean “for tonight”? Will there be more?»
The pale-faced man smiled, the same unsettling smile he had shown him that morning.
«Of course.»
«Eyes on the road!» The short man repeated his previous warning, from behind Sthenar.
It had been one week since that night. Now Sthenar was driving his tetracycle out of the city, heading north-west. This time he knew there destination, he had convinced them to tell him, in an act of bravery that surprised even himself.
«If you want to use me, then you tell me where we’re going and… and I choose the route. O-Otherwise you can find somebody else.» he had told the pale-faced man, when the latter had come to meet him the night before.
And the pale-faced man had consented. «You must take us to the Great Bridge.» he had told him.
From the point on the road he was, Sthenar could already see the bridge, high up in the distance, a great structure stretched over a deep, narrow gorge. Its main function was connecting Arlis, the capital, with the Hendo Plain and the cities in the north of the Principate; without it, travelers from Arlis would have to go around the long mountain chain to the west to reach them, a deviation that would lengthen the journey by weeks.
But that was only its main function. Decades past, before the Liberation and the Principate, there was another name the people called it: the Bridge of Executions.
Sthenar couldn’t lie to himself, it was clear as day to him what would happen to his three passengers once they arrived there. This time the boy didn’t cry, and delegate Timios remained silent under his bag. By now the entire city knew of the sudden disappearance of him, his wife and his son. Even the dumbest of citizen, seeing those three, would put two and two together.
The two moons, now no longer aligned over the road, shed their light on the woods the tetracycle was entering. The only sound was the car’s low hum. It seemed that even all the animals had gone to sleep.
Suddenly, Sthenar left the main roead and took a narrow trail that wound through the trees. He heard a fist bang on the metal wall behind him, and then the irate voice of the short man: «Cycler! Where are you taking us?»
«It’s just a shortcut.» he answered.
That seemed to satisfy the spathar, who no longer complained.
The tetracycle continued on the trail, cautiously, without hurry, until the road behind them disappeared from view and then even deeper into the woods, where not even the light of the moons could enter and Sthenar had to use his lantern.
«Are you sure this is a shortcut?» the short man asked.
Sthenar did not answer. He was too busy watching the road in front of him.
The silence was absolute. Sthenar had visited those woods many times, at different hours both of the day and of the night, and no matter the time the animals never failed to make their voices heard. Their absence was bizarre.
Whether the spathar noticed it as well, nevertheless he did so too late.
When he banged again against the wall of the car and shouted «Hey!» Sthenar was already stopping the vehicle. In front of them, barely visible in the light of the lantern, a man had appeared, standing still in the middle of the trail. And many others like him had emerged from behind the trees and from inside the bushes, all around them. They were armed and wore a black uniform, the same one the short man would have worn in normal circumstances.
«You are surrounded. Get out of the car. Now.» said the man who had appeared on the trail. Sthenar obeyed, feeling more relaxed than he had been that entire week.
The man got closer. Sthenar looked at that familiar face, similar but not identical to his own, but before he could say anything the other one spoke, putting a hand on his shoulder: «You have done well, Brother. I will take it from here.»
The very same night he had drove his three prisoners away from their home, Sthenar had run to his brother to tell him everything, starting with the incident on Seconhander Road.
The moment he had seen that the two spathari were kidnapping a child, he had understood he was condemned no matter what he did. And at that point, something curious had happened in his mind. He had stopped being afraid. It was as if some part of him had accepted his fate. Now that he knew he would end up in jail or dead anyway, he found out that he wasn’t particularly worried about it. The important thing was saving those who were innocent. But if someone were to ask him why, Sthena wouldn’t have known the answer.
His brother Galen patiently listened to his story, without interrupting him; he even comforted him when he got to the moment he saw the three captives and his voice broke: «There was even a kid, Galen… a little kid!»
They hadn’t seen each other in years, and yet his brother hadn’t even asked him what he wanted: he had just welcomed him in his house even at that late hour and had even offered him some food. Sthenar had always been convinced that his brother despised him, like their father did. And yet his kindness seemed so authentic…
«So, you have no clue where they might have been taken.» he had said, once Sthenar had finished.
«No, I’m sorry. But I know you can do something about it, you have to do something about it…»
«Yes, I know. We need to act.» Galen’s expression then had turned serious. «And not only to save the delegate and his family. Delegate Timios has been kidnapped because he spoke against Sofron Arystid. That man… he intends to proclaim himself Prince the moment his father dies, with the support of his sympathizers among the spathari. I’ve had a feeling for a long time already that he was preparing to take power in some way. Timios is a symbol of the opposition. By hitting him, Sofron is suppressing every voice that might go against his own. And yet, fortunately he made a mistake. By openly involving the spathari, he has shown his cards too soon. I will call a few colleagues I know I can trust, and then we will crush this conspiracy.
But to do that, I need your help, Sthenar. You said they will come for your help again. When that happens, make them tell you their plans, get information out of them. Convince them. Then come back to me and we’ll organize a plan.»
«Convince them? And how am I supposed to?» Sthenar asked.
«What do you mean? Of the two of us, you’ve always been the clever one. I have no doubt you’ll manage.» had been his brother’s answer, delivered with a confident smile.
Sthenar had done what Galen asked of him, and even more. Once he knew their destination, it was he who suggested the ambush, and his brother had liked the idea.
Now Sthenar was resting with his back on the side of his tetracycle, while the spathari who had accompanied Galen were holding the short man like a dangerous suspect.
«Midas.» he heard his brother say. «So there’s Hektor Leonid behind all this. I should have known, considering who his father is.»
The short man, to whom Sthenar could now finally give a name, answered with a barked insult and an attempt to spit on his colleague’s face. Galen ignored him completely, and headed for the car’s door.
The three captives were still inside. And they still hadn’t said a single word. For a moment, Sthenar feared they were dead, but then he remembered they had entered the vehicle on their own two feet. He noticed that the man was thinner than he had been a week before, and that the boy was too.
«Delegate Timios? Don’t worry, you’re among friends now.»
The answer was almost a whisper, but in a familiar voice: «Who… Who are you?»
«Galen Georgid, Delegate. And fifteen other men you can trust.»
«Fifteen? So few? No one else?»
Sthenar suddenly felt a strange unease. The voice was familiar, but it didn’t remind him of the man he had listened to in the Synedrion.
«Have no fear, more of our allies lie in wait in the city, but first things first: we have to ensure your safety. After that, we can move all together against Sofron Arystid and bring back justice.»
«Ah. Good.» said slowly the man with the head covered by a bag. «Perfect.»
An instant later, Galen fell on the ground, out of the car. Then Sthenar heard a sound like the crack of a whip, and one of the men who were holding Midas cried out, gripping his own shoulder. After a second crack, another man collapsed to the ground, with a hole on the side of his head. A third man barely had the time to shout: «We’re under attack!», before Midas was on him. A single punch threw the man against a tree a few feet away, where he remained still, his chest caved in. Midas turned his attention to the man wounded in the shoulder, who was still stunned. Looking at Midas, Sthenar didn’t notice only his beast-like grin but also that now suddenly he was wearing a white band on his forehead and gloves that glinted like metal on his hands.
A loud groan brought his eyes back to the tetracycle. His brother was thrashing on the ground. Around his arms and legs now there were thin ropes that seemed made of metal, glinting like Midas’ gloves.
Though they were supposed to be tied up, the three captives stood up from their seats and exited the car. Galen managed to cry: «It’s a disguise! That man isn’t the delegate!» then the boy hit him with a kick to the stomach. The spathar who had been wounded in the shoulder took out hismikra, aimed at the man with a bag on his face and pulled the trigger, but the bullet cutting through the air with a cracking sound didn’t reach its target. It was blocked by a wall of metal that had suddenly formed between the two men. A moment later, the spathar’s head was cleanly cut off, by the woman, with a sword she did not have in her hand a moment before.
Someone hit Sthenar in the head, making his consciousness wane. The last things he saw were other men in black emerging from the trees, and the man he thought was a captive removing the cloth bag from his head, revealing a face Sthenar knew, but different from delegate Timios’.
A pale face, with gray eyes and thick dark hair.
Galen could not move. He was tied up in such a way that he couldn’t even turn his body. All the information he had on the battle raging around him came in the form of noise and screams. He prayed that his men managed to reorganize and cursed his own naivety.
The conspirators were spathari, just like him: how could he think that his brother hadn’t been under surveillance? They had probably known from the start that Sthenar had talked to him. And instead of disposing of him, they had used him to set up a trap in which Galen and his companions had been caught like the greenest of rookies.
The sounds of battle were dying down. One side had won, and since nobody was untying him Galen understood it was not his.
«Take six or seven, as prisoners. Kill the others.» A powerful voice, the tone of a man sure of himself.
Steps drawing closer. «What do we do with him, Captain?» A young voice, still partially bearing the acute timbre of a child’s.
«Bring that one to me.»
Suddenly, the grip of the metallic ropes on his legs loosened and Galen was forced to stand up with a jerk.
The first thing he saw were the bodies. Sfudas lied back on a tree trunk, Takhis and Kharumen were collapsed on the grass not much farther. He recognized Takhis by the fact he held his mikra in his left hand: his head was gone. And there were others, so many others. All dead because of my sutpidity, Galen told himself.
«Move, let’s not make the captain wait.» the owner of the childish voice told him: a boy so young he could have been his son. Brown hair, Big green eyes and a confident smile, the one wore by young people who still think they could never die. He was dressed in civilian clothes a few sizes too big, and on his forehead there was a thin silvery band.
«What did you do to the real son of delegate Timios?» Galen asked.
«No questions.» said the boy. «Come on now, let’s go.»
He made no movement, and yet Galen felt himself being dragged forward by the ropes around his arms and chest.
What psychic mastery, he thought. He did not know that boy, but something in his head told him he should.
They proceeded toward a group of people about thirty feet from the tetracycle. By the light of the lantern that had been uncovered, Galen saw half a dozen of his men gathered in a corner on their knees, under the watchful eye of a lean spathar who kept his long hair tied at the base of the neck and in whose hand spinned a thin, sharp disk. In another corner, a young man sat against a tree holding a hand over his bleeding abdomen. At least we managed to hurt one, Galend told himself bitterly. He noticed the man who had pretended to be delegate Timios: he was caring to the wounded man. And now that he could see his face, Galen recognized him. Eulogh, another one of Hektor’s men.
He knew then as well the identity of the woman who had played the part of the delegate’s wife, just before he saw her in front of him.
Antendra and Midas seemed to be expecting him. Like good little underlings, they stood to the two sides of a tall, imposing man: probably Galen would have barely reached his chin with the top of his head if he got close. His most striking characteristic though was not his height but rather his blonde hair, which gave the impression he was wearing a golden crown on his head.
Galen knew that man, but even if that were the first time they met, that hair would have been enough to tell him who he was looking at: there was a single spathar whose hair were of that rare color.
«Hektor Leonid. Do you have any idea what it is you’re doing?»
«Is it not obvious?» said the man, raising an eyebrow. «I am stopping a conspiracy against the Principate. Delegate Timios confessed that he was plotting to assassinate regent Sofron, with the complicity of some members of the spathari corps.»
Despite the situation, Galen laughed. «Do you expect the people to believe you?»
Hektor gave an amused hum. «No. But what the people believe will make no difference. What the delegates and our comrades will know, that’s what matters: they will know what awaits those who oppose the established order.»
«Those who oppose the Regent, you mean.»
«Different names for the same thing.» Hektor replied, with smile that probably was meant to be compassionate.
«Interesting. Tell me, is that a thought that came to you on your own or are those words your father taught you to repeat?» Galen asked, baring his teeth. Among the spathari there was a persistent rumor that Hektor owed the rank of captain mostly to his father, strategos Leon.
«How dare you!?» Antendra snarled, taking one threatening step toward him, but Hektor stopped her with a light motion of his hand. The smile had vanished from his lips.
«Galen Georgid, I could have ordered Thesor to kill you together with your companions, or I could have arrested you and made sure you never saw sunlight again. Even right now I could just let Antendra cut off your head for your insult, something that, as we both see, she’d be very glad to do. But despite you very clearly not reciprocating, I have much respect for you. And so I have decided that your death will be one worthy of a warrior. Thesor, free him.»
The boy nodded. An instant later, a metal armband appeared on his wrist, while the ropes that held Galen disappeared.
Galen looked at the boy, and finally he remembered the tales he heard about a child prodigy who had started training as a spathar when he was not even ten years old. Until that moment, he had thought them too absurd to be true.
The boy, Thesor, left, as did Antendra and Midas, forming a sort of arena inside which only Galen and Hektor remained.
Hektor was tying his band around his forehead, without hurry. «You’re considered a peerless swordsman. I’ve been anxious to measure myself against you for a very long time. This is the perfect chance.»
Galen took out his own band and did the same. He knew he would not see the dawn again in any case, but if he managed to take a man like Hektor with him in death, it would be worth it.
He took a deep breath. He held out his left arm and sent an impulse through his control band. The sklerygron armband he wore on his wrist turned in a long thin sword, blazing white in his hand.
«Nobody interfere.» Hektor said, as he held both arms in front of his chest, his fists clenched one over the other. An instant later, a giant sword materialized in his hands.
«Come,» he egged Galen on with a cruel grin. «on your guard.»
He moved with a speed that his large sword belied.
Galen dodged the slash, but couldn’t manage to take advantage of it and hit his adversary, because despite the weight put in the motion Hektor had already recovered and put himself in position for a thrust.
The scene repeated many times, with marginal differences. Galen just could not get close. It was as if that giant sword were weightless, and yet the gashes it left on the ground and trees left no doubt in his mind: if he tried to block that blade with his own he would be cleaved in two.
How much psychic mastery did that man possess? Even Galen himself had to accept as inevitable the weight of the weapon in his hand, a weight that as the fight dragged on was making him more and more fatigued. Every slash came closer to hitting him than the preceding one.
«Is that all? You disappoint me, Galen.» said Hektor, who didn’t even seem mildly tired. Or disappointed, really, if his smile was any indication.
Galen understood he had to take a gamble. He knew he could never block a blow from that two-handed sword, but maybe…
He stopped, with a large tree trunk behind him. Hektor took immediate advantage of that momentary hesitation and raised his sword over his head.
When the blade fell on him from above, Galen stood still until the last possible moment, holding his sword above himself. Then he moved a single step to the side and angled his weapon downward, letting his opponent’s sword slide on it, as he used the bare minimum of resistance needed to deviate the blow.
The two-handed sword hit the trunk and made a cut about ten fingers deep inside it.
That was his chance.
Like Galen had deduced, until that point Hektor had restrained himself, expecting him to dodge his blows and keeping himself ready to react. Hektor knew that Galen would never do something as foolish as turn the fight into a clash of raw strength, in which he was clearly superior, and would instead rely on speed. But when he had seen Galen standing still, incapable of drawing back any further and apparently intending to parry his blow, Hektor had decided to call on all his strenght, for the first time during the duel. And Galen had turned that strength against him. Now his sword was stuck in the wood and Galen was free to hit him.
The fight still wasn’t a guaranteed win for Galen, an expert warrior had many ways to recover from such a blunder. But Hektor had been surprised by the unexpected action of his opponent. For one single instant, Hektor was confused.
That single instant would be enough.
Galen lunged at his enemy, aiming straight for his head.
But then, something bizarre happened.
Hektor let go of his sword with one hand, bringing that to his breast.
He bent his back.
And Galen flew past him, unable to stop, and fell to the ground.
Once he tried to get back up, he was unable to.
Turning with great difficulty on his back, Galen saw that both his legs had been severed under the knee. And finally realized he was in searing pain.
In front of him, Hektor was drawing out his large sword from the tree trunk, using a single hand, while the other one held a second, shorter blade.
«I must give you credit.» he said. «Even if only at the end, you forced me to get serious.»
His smile was gone. He seemed far more disappointed now than before. But when he turned to look at his opponent in the eyes, his snide expression came back.
«Nevertheless, I find it hard to believe that this is the best you old-timers have to offer.»
If he said anything more, Galen did not hear it. The fallen man closed his eyes, begged his comrades for forgiveness and prayed the pain would not last long.
His wish was granted.
Sthenar had watched the duel from his angle, on his knees together with those among his brothers’ spathari who had survived.
The man with his hair tied behind his neck hadn’t given a single glance to the scene behind him, his gaze remaining vigilantly fixated on his captives. Wether the reason for that was his sense of duty, certainty that his captain would win or utter indifference to the affair, Sthenar would never know.
«We are done here. Let us go.» said the man his brother had called Hektor. «Once we are at the prison we will interrogate those men and make them tell us who else is involved.»
«Captain.» said the guard. «What do we do with him?» he pointed at Sthenar.
Hektor seemed to ponder the question for an instant, then he said: «It is unlikely he has any information. I will take care of him.»
He made his two swords touch, and the two weapons joined and changed shape. Now he was wielding with both hands something that looked like an enormous hammer.
Sthenar became conscious that his fellow captives were trying to get as far from him as they could, but he didn’t blame them. He had expected his fear to come back, but it did not. On the contrary, he was feeling weirdly relieved.
As Hektor drew closer, the only things Sthenar thought about were the face of the man he had run over and that graffiti he had seen on the wall less than an hour ago.
And when the hammer fell on his head, his final thought was that his days were ending earlier than expected.
For him, the punishment was already over.
Saiai Webnovels 
Leave a comment