Medusa: Fate's Game Ch. 04

"And who are you to me, Otrera?"

"You want to know?" she said.

"I do."

She chuckled, and pointed her sword at his face. "Queen of the Amazon tribe you wiped out."

Her eyes started to glow white too.

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~~Darian~~

Oh shit.

Otrera grinned at him. "Guards! Guards!"

Damn it. Darian made a dash for the door, but the Amazon got between him and the exit. She slammed her shield forward, and he blocked it with his own. Were it a typical man — or woman — his shield would have bashed theirs aside and sent them toppling. But this Amazon, a small and beautiful, if angry and steel-looking woman, pushed him back instead. Her strength was inhuman, like his own.

There were no women Fate's Children. The Fates didn't care about human women, tales and epic legends would never be told about women, according to them. But, the reality before him disagreed.

"You weren't a Fate's Child when I defeated your clan." Darian gritted his teeth, squeezed on his sword grip, and paced left and right. He had to get past her before the guards arrived, or he'd be painting the palace in red just to survive.

"You're right, I wasn't."

"But you survived I see. Funny, I remember killing every one of you." The memory of the slaughter was not a fond one; he really didn't want to kill those women. But he wasn't going to tell her that. Angry foes were defeated foes. Just make sure to practice what you preach, Darian.

"You did defeat me, but I lived. Barely." She growled, her stance mimicking his. Her steps were light, her eyes were locked onto him with their white glow, and her sword hand was clenched tight. She wanted to kill him; she dripped of murderous intent. This was what it was like to stare into the eyes of a Fate's Child. Scary.

Normally, one-on-one combat would be no problem. Duels were never a fair fight for his enemies, he always had the advantage. But not this time.

She bolted for him, sword stabbing straight toward his chest. He brought his shield up from the inside to knock her sword to her outside, and he returned her forward thrust with his own. And like him, she blocked from the inside, and knocked his sword to the outside, but she followed it with a hard kick into his chest. The armor caught the kick, but that didn't stop the inhuman power of it from sending him back against the wall. Otrera was also sent back by her own kick, and she rolled backward before standing up. She wasn't used to the inhuman strength of a Fate's Child then. Good to know.

Darian stepped in toward her, shield in front of him. When she stepped back, he quick stepped in with the right foot to stab forward; a feint. When she raised her shield to block him, he stepped in with the other foot, and reversed the momentum of his stab. He spun around, bringing the sword around behind him while his shield slammed forward into Otrera's. Her shield was pushed down toward her gut, and it brought her head down to the right level for his sword when it came around him in the full spin.

The Amazon ducked. She was fast, dropped to the ground to land her shield arm against the stone floor, and brought her sword up in a large slice. He had to jump away to avoid it.

She was after him the moment he did, jumping at him. Her sword came out in a forward thrust with a downward angle, her being above him, and he had to sidestep to avoid it. He came up on her shield side, only for her to swing the shield at him and force him away again. It left an opening though, and he stepped into it with shield in front of him, while stabbing over its edge. She spun with her shield to bring her sword in front of her and knock his sword aside, but it left her chest open, and he slammed his shield forward. A loud thud of aspis shield to her body made him smile. She fell back with a roll, and was back up on her feet a second later.

"Tell me how," he said.

"How?" The Amazon growled at him and started to pace around him again. She kept the exit behind her though.

"How you got those eyes."

"No."

He was really starting to hate this woman. No sense for banter at all.

He leapt toward her with all his weight burrowing down into the shield, and again she raised hers to block it. He swung his sword down against her, and the power of his swing pushed her back while making his whole body vibrate with the force of the impact of sword on shield. Before she could adjust to swing at him in return, he swung his sword down again. And again. And again. She had to block each one, and each one was like ringing a giant bell with a hammer. The hallway echoed with the sound; if the guards didn't hear Otrera call for help earlier, they'd be joining them soon enough.

The sword, resilient, sharp, something no human could craft, clanked and smashed down against the small woman's shield, until it lodged itself into the upper curve of her aspis, through the bronze sheet and into its wooden body. By then, Darian's relentless assault had pushed them out into the hall. He yanked his sword away, but the blade was stuck, and the motion threw Otrera to the ground as it yanked the shield off her arm.

Darian didn't waste the advantage, and slammed his sandal down against her sword hand. No broken fingers, but he heard the grind of bones along with the smack of his foot against stone. The Amazon grunted, and nothing else. She glared up at him, eyes screaming at him. Rage, fire, fury that burned away and left nothing. She was consumed by it.

He put the tip of his blade to her neck. She didn't blink, didn't look away, and didn't squirm despite the weight of his foot grinding her fingers into her sword grip.

"Otrera, I..."

She'd killed Proetus. She'd killed Stheneboea, so she could frame him for their murders, in case he escaped and she needed more eyes looking for him. Ruthless. He should kill her, she was dangerous. She was a Fate's Child! Somehow, this Amazon, a woman covered in scars, was a Fate's Child. Fate's Children were never women, and they never scarred. What was going on?

She squirmed, but he pressed down on her sword hand harder, and pressed the tip of his blade to her throat. The few inches of movement made her necklace roll over onto the stone of the hallway floor. It was glowing the same white as their eyes.

"There! There he is!"

Shit. He looked down the hall, and caught the glimmer of hoplite armor at the corner, light brought by a servant carrying a torch.

He looked down at Otrera, back at the room with the two dead, and then down the hallway to the guards. They were running at him, spears and shields at the ready. Only a single moment, a single second to make a decision. And he had no idea what decision to make.

What would Medusa do?

He looked back at Otrera, and the white glow faded from his eyes. "... I'm sorry. For everything." He leaned down, yanked her necklace off her head, and ran.

No time to see how she reacted, and he imagined his apology probably only made her angrier. He knew he'd only be angrier if Proetus had apologized to him. Don't think about him now, don't think about Stheneboea, just get out.

Around the next turn of the hallway. More guards greeted him; he slammed through them with his shield up before they had time to react. A moment later, he was out into the center plaza of the palace, surrounded by giant pillars, and sky open to show the intense stars. Not a cloud in sight, the moon shown overhead; dark, but not dark enough to hide in plain sight.

He threw himself into the shadows of the columns, and behind one of their wide widths. Crouching down, he kept to the edge of the outer plaza, and made his way for the side entrance. If he could get out of the plaza through the side, he could — no good. Guards stood there, three of them, one with a torch in hand and another with a bow at the ready. He could break through them, but then they'd know where he was.

"Find him! Bellerophontes has killed the king and queen!"

Otrera's voice. She ran out of the hallway into the plaza, a dozen guards around her, torches lit and bows in hand. When he caught a glimpse of her face in the fire, his blood ran cold. Her glowing white eyes were like firestorms. She did indeed look angrier, like someone had just slaughtered her family and friends and apologized to her about it.

He really shouldn't have said anything.

Torches started to dot the palace walls. Everywhere, along the columns and hallways and platforms of his old home, fires started to move, looking for him, wanting him dead. Guards called out for each other, started making spot checks and patrol checks, and servants joined them with their own torches raised. He'd stirred the hornets nest.

The side entrance to the palace plaza was blocked. The other side entrance? He looked back to the walls he'd have to hug and columns he'd have to hide behind to make it to the other side of the open area. Torches and movement filled their shadows. He'd be spotted. And even if he got out of the palace, what then, back over the wall the way he came in? He'd have to climb the stairs up onto the wall's walkway and then throw himself over. Liable to be spotted, liable to fall and die from several hundred feet of falling and a sudden stop at the bottom.

He slipped deep into a corner of the plaza, where no torches or candles were lit, and no doors were to be found. No way out, but they wouldn't find him unless they came looking.

One of the guards did come looking after a few minutes, torch and sword at the ready. Darian kept the marble column between them, ears peeled for the sound of his sandals walking soft on the stone. Closer. Closer. When the man reached the corner and stuck his torch out to light the depths of the turn, Darian sneaked around the column's base to get behind him.

"Wha—"

One hand around the throat, the other around his sword hand. Darian squeezed hard enough to block his breathing, but not hard enough to kill him. He wanted to, but every time the thought entered his mind, he reminded himself Medusa was waiting for him. Instead, he brought the guard's own sword to his throat, still in his own hand, and held it there.

"Patrius. Nice to see you again." He relaxed his grip on the man's neck enough for him to be able to breathe — barely.

"... Bellerophon."

He knew this guard well, an old friend of his from early in his career. A father, a husband, and a good swordsman. Memories on the edges of his mind called to him, of him and Patrius sitting around a fire while hunting deer. Another friend who betrayed him and left him to rot in a quarry.

He breathed deep. "No use in trying to explain myself is there?"

"No."

Blunt as always, Patrius.

"Well, I'll tell you anyway. I didn't kill Proetus or Stheneboea, the Amazon did. I didn't try and rape Stheneboea either, she lied."

"You cannot—"

Darian tightened his grip again. "Not looking to chat, Patrius. I need a way out. Front gate still got that side exit?" Patrius couldn't breathe, but that didn't mean he couldn't nod if he had to.

But of course his old friend only managed to glare at him. Good thing for Patrius that Darian could read his eyes, always could. The side exit was still there.

Horns. Loud, blasting waves of sound poured from the palace and out. The whole city would be up. Wonderful.

"I know you don't believe me Patrius. But think about it when you wake up." And before Patrius could realize what he meant, Darian let go of his sword hand, only to punch the man in the side of the helmet hard enough to send him into the wall. He collapsed like a bag of wheat, and didn't make a sound other than the clink of his sword against the floor. His torch rolled out from the corner and into the open plaza.

Darian ran. His steps were silent, and without a light source on him, the wandering guards would head toward Patrius and his fallen torch. It gave him time, like leaving behind bait to lure away wandering predators.

Around the next corner, he found a guard yet again, but the guard was already facing him, and a moment of realization on the man's face was all he had time for before Darian smashed his head to the side with his obsidian shield. He fell with a loud clank of armor, shield, and spear to the stone. Darian ran over him. The noise would draw more of them. Killing them all would have been safer than this madness, but he didn't want to. He wanted to be able to look Medusa in the eyes when he got back to her.

Half of his mind was focused on working his way through the shadows between the titanic columns of the palace plaza, and the other half of his mind was on Proetus. He knew. He knew all along. He knew and he still sent him off to die. Just because it would make his wife happy? Gods, such a shallow reason, and yet he could understand it. Maybe that was why he felt different? Proetus having not believed him ate him from the inside out, but if the man had knowingly betrayed him for his wife, that was... better.

The front wall. It stood tall and proud, with a glorious archway in its center that loomed over the center gate. Past it would be the grand stairway that would lead to the city, and if he could reach it, he'd have a chance of getting out through the many alleys between the buildings. The city went silent come the night, and its winding passages in the black would be his only way out. But the gate was closed. Tall doors, wood with gold gods adoring their faces, thick and heavy. He'd never be able to break them down.

That was why he was going to take the side door. The grand arch and its massive doors were meant for display and for moving crowds. A small door, big enough only for a single person, lined its left side. He moved toward it, body low to the stone floor. This near the front wall, the plaza's raised platform fell away to the stone pathway that circled between the palace and the walls, and he crouched, shoulder against it, while he moved toward the archway.

Guards were running the palace up and down. The hallways, the columns along the plaza outskirts, the walls outside the palace, all of it was lit up with torches of moving people. Horns were blowing. Cries and screams of shocked servants were starting to join the noise. The people down in the city were probably wondering what all the noise was about. In another fifteen minutes, the whole city would be crawling with people and torches. He had to get moving.

Up ahead, along the wall, the protrusion of the giant gate had enough width for the small extra door. And five guards stood in front of it, two with torches, all with swords. They knew he knew about the side entrance, it was the only entrance in or out of the acropolis with the gate was closed. Darian crept closer, closer, until he knew he'd be just a blur of shadow on the edge of their vision. Another step and he'd be leaving the shadows the moon casted from the palace.

On the edge of the shadow, he grinned. Five men, all ready to kill him, and he was doing his damnedest to not kill any of them. They were making it tough.

But then, they were stupid enough to think five men could stop him.

He charged. At a full sprint and erupting from the night in his black and silver armor, he must have looked like a ghost. Perfect. The men looked his way at the sound of his sandals smacking the stone, and they gasped. One of them had time to start hollering, but the moment noise came out of his mouth, Darian drove his shield down into the man's face. The poor bastard wasn't wearing a helmet, and Darian felt the crunch of nose and teeth through his shield into his arm. The guard would live, but he'd never look the same again.

"Here! To here!" one of them said, the one in the back. Smart.

The two guards on his left and right screamed and swung their swords at him, and he blocked both of them by getting down to a knee and holding the shield up. He spun around, leg out, and drove the back of his heel into the first man's ankles, and then under him to collide with the second man's ankles. They toppled hard, one on the other.

"Stop him!"

On the spin, Darian jumped back up to a stand and swung out with his shield upon the approaching man. The sound of his Fates' shield smashing into the poor man's chest was deafening, bronze against whatever magical metal the Fates have given him. The force knocked Darian's arm away, hard, enough that he had to step away from the hit a few feet to keep from toppling over onto the fallen guards. The man he hit flew back and slammed against the wall.

Only one left. The loud mouth. He started to panic, shield up, sword raised, hands shaking, feet shuffling back.

Darian ran him down, shield in front of him. He pressed his sandals into the bodies of the men beneath him to drive himself forward, and he threw his small body against the large guard shield first. With the speed and force of his jump pushing his body straight forward, his light weight was more than enough to send the big fellow — Barnabus, a slow and muscle-bound funny guy — onto his ass.

Running forward, Darian jumped off the man's chest with one leg, used the other to stop his weight against the corner of the tiny door hallway, and pushed himself into a dash from its turn. A second later, he was on the steps leading down to the city. A few torch bearers were walking down its path, more guards looking for him. But he was out now, in the moonlight. They'd be able to see him, but he'd be a blur. He'd run right past them and—

"Fire!"

The sound of strings snapping at tension. He knew that sound well. Like a chorus of birds, loud snaps of arrowheads on stone and the sting of cracked air danced around him. He turned around with a jump, and came to a dead stop, shield raised. When he looked down, he could see a line of red oozing down his ankle where an arrow had nicked his calf, and the same on his neck. A few more arrows came raining down, and he walked backward down the stairway as they crashed into his shield and bounced off with a resounding crack of metal on metal.

When they stopped, he managed to turn around again to raise his sword, and block the swing of one of the guards. One of them had run up the stairway, arrows stuck out of his shield, and he was panting; he'd risked the arrows for a chance to stab Darian in the back. A hard kick to the chest sent him backward down the wide stone steps, and he slid down a few of them with some groans and yelps.

Darian couldn't stop. If he got stuck, he'd be surrounded. He broke into a run again, but running down stairs is less running, and more jumping down them like a leaping deer. The second guard he approached, he jumped over his head, managed to hear the gasp of the man, and landed with bounce before he kept running. Got to keep moving.

He glanced over his shoulder again. There were a couple of white dots at the top of the grand stairway.

And then there was an arrow sticking through his sword arm.

Pain took its time to show up, thank the gods, but he was still thrown to the side from the brutal, sudden impact. He spun out of control into the air, turned around several times in a complete spin, crashed down to the stairway's edge, before rolling off onto the cliff side. A harsh slope of hard rocks greeted him, and he rolled down the mess of earth with all the grace of a boulder. The arrow sticking through his arm bent and snapped at the shaft. Blood gushed out of the wound like flowing water.

He'd heard the snap of a string, but it was no ordinary bow. It was loud. And when the arrow struck him, it was like a horse had kicked him in the arm. And rolling down the hill wasn't helping. His arms and thighs were unprotected against the stone, and his armor didn't help when he bounced and bounced hard. But, after several painful moments, he landed on the grass below. The soft green did little to cushion his fall, and he fell against the ground shoulder first. A loud crunch announced his landing.