The Argive Ch. 001-005

The Argive -- Chapters 001-005

Author's Note: This story is set before the era of traditional Greek hoplite tactics, when fighting men still fought one-on-one instead of as a unit. Please note that part of the story will involve the eventual transition to more standard hoplite tactics. I've taken some other liberties with the history to make a better story. Please don't expect total realism. Enjoy!

*****

Chapter 1: The Cynurian Menace

"Horn of Hades, look at this big bastard in the front row!"

"He's too big. I bet you he fights like Dionysus after too much wine!"

Praxis of Argos couldn't help but smirk at the two Cynurian warriors in front of him, especially as they appraised his fighting skills. Each of them held up their spears, pointing at him as if to gesture that he would soon become intimately familiar with their potency.

After all, their war party was impressive by sight alone. Cynuria had at least five hundred warriors in front of them--the pride of their land. It was a region that neighbored the city of Argos, and it had always been a rustic and barbarous one, prone to frequent raids. It was that reason that found the two cities' warriors on the field of battle that afternoon, squared off and ready to fight.

Just a short distance away, Praxis' friend, Theron, had heard the boasts and turned to laugh.

"They think you can't fight, Praxis," said Theron, shaking his head. "I think they're in need of a demonstration!"

Praxis said nothing as he stared down the opposing warriors. The only thing he did was tighten the grip on the spear in his right hand.

One of the Cynurians hadn't had enough yet. He threw his head back and laughed upon hearing Theron's statement.

"A demonstration? The only demonstration I'll be giving is introducing my cock to your mother's ass. She had a face like Medusa but it would be worth it to watch her squirm!"

At that point, Praxis decided to respond. Taunting him was one thing but bringing his mother into the conversation was something else entirely. Operating solely on instinct, he yanked his right arm back and then sent it flying forward, releasing his spear at the last second.

The pointed tip flew through the air, nearly whistling as it sped toward its target.

It landed with an audible howl as the taunting Cynurian warrior cried out in pain. The spear had penetrated his gut and emerged out the back, killing him within seconds.

The warriors on either side stopped their jeering and watched as the Cynurian hit the ground, his mouth bubbling with blood while his legs twitched.

Praxis grinned and swapped his second spear into his throwing hand. "Does anyone else have a kind word to say about my mother?"

Just like that, the mood changed between the two small armies. The Cynurian force in front of them, content to taunt them for the last hour in the hopes that the Argive army would retreat back to their city, was now spoiling for blood after watching the fall of one of their own.

This was always the part of the battle that Praxis liked the most. He hated all the preliminary nonsense that was required before a fight started. He just wanted to destroy his enemies, building upon the reputation that he'd already established in his home city of Argos.

The reputation of being the best warrior in his city.

It was a fame that he would defend today even if others were determined to prevent this fight.

Others such as Xanthos, the son of King Damian of Argos.

Xanthos came rushing along the line, looking panicked at the thought of the battle kicking off in earnest. His timidness only amused Praxis.

"The next man that strikes out before I give the order will incur the wrath of Hades himself," yelled Xanthos, looking solely at Praxis. He stopped within a foot of Praxis, glaring at him with cruel eyes. "My father doesn't wish for a fight today. You know this, damn you!"

Xanthos never got to say another word before a decent-sized rock hit him alongside the helmet. More rocks came as the barbarous Cynurians began to launch them at the Argive ranks, forcing all of them to take shelter behind their shields.

Praxis shook his head at having to hide behind his shield. He stared back at Xanthos. "And yet, a battle has found us anyway, despite the best intentions of our king."

Xanthos grabbed onto Praxis' armor in a menacing manner. "If you don't follow my orders, I'll have you killed."

Praxis knew it was an empty threat. Xanthos didn't have that kind of power.

"Death finds all of us sooner or later," replied Praxis lightheartedly. "Some of us are more ready than others to accept our fate."

Whatever brawl was brewing between the two men would have to wait. The Cynurians were now launching into their pre-fight chant--a garbled cry that called upon blessings from the gods for the blood they were about to shed.

"You two might want to stop your flirting and pay attention," called out Theron, unleashing his sword. "They will be charging soon!"

"Horn of Hades!" swore Xanthos as he turned around and resumed his place in line. He shot one more glare at Praxis. "My father will hear about this, Praxis. You can count on that!"

The threat didn't bother Praxis. King Damian was his stepfather, and he was used to being on his bad side. Why would today be any different? Besides, if things got bad enough, he would just have his mother intercede on his behalf like she had before.

One way or another Praxis would find a way to calm Damian's ire.

"Here they come!" yelled the man fighting right next to Praxis while nudging him with his shield. "Get ready to fight them, foreigner!"

Praxis didn't respond to the charge of being a foreigner. Instead, he focused on the Cynurian that was now charging him. The man was young, hardly more than a boy with a scraggly beard and a puny body. His rage caused him to move forward though, even if his technique was lacking. Praxis took the blow of his charge on his shield before stepping forward, putting his entire weight into a counterthrust which knocked the young man back. His eyes showed the surprise of the sudden charge, but nothing was more surprising than the way Praxis drove his sword right into his belly.

The man's mouth fell open and he looked down to see the new hole in his chest, now dripping with blood. Praxis withdrew his sword quickly, using his shield to push the now dead man down as he awaited his next opponent.

The next man arrived quickly--a silver-bearded veteran of many wars by the looks of him. He moved more gracefully than the young man, pushing back on Praxis and forcing him to actually defend. His biggest problem was speed. Age had slowed his movements enough to give Praxis a deadly advantage. It was on one such slow thrust that Praxis knocked away his sword, giving him the opening he needed.

The Cynurian warrior cried out in pain as the blade sunk into his shoulder. He dropped his own shield in the process--the mark of a dead man.

At that moment, Praxis operated purely on instinct. He saw the man next to him--the same that had called him a foreigner--about to be overwhelmed by a short but feisty Cynurian. Using the strength in his large body, Praxis hurled the dead man at the attacker, throwing him off balance and letting the Argive beside him land a killing blow.

"Thanks for the assistance, foreigner," said the Argive as he brandished his bloody sword. "You know that I had him though!"

Praxis chuckled. "Another two seconds and it would be your body in the ground, not his."

The Argive said nothing further, already engaging with a new man as the fighting became more brutal. Praxis found himself in the midst of several waves of attackers, all of them drawn to him and hoping to make his head a war trophy.

It would seem that his legend had even reached the wilds of Cynuria. No doubt they would love to display his head on a spear as they paraded back to their backwoods capital.

They would never get their wish. Praxis moved like a man possessed as he performed the dance of death. His sword was just as much an extension of him as his own arm, connected by the sinews of flesh. He mowed down the Cynurian warriors in front of him until he had trouble stepping over all the bodies of the fallen. In doing so, he found himself soon fighting side by side with his friend, Theron.

"You have an impressive number over there," said Theron, taking the time to gesture to all the dead men around Theron. "What's your count right now? Twenty? Thirty?"

"Nineteen," replied Praxis, slamming his shield against the chest of another fighter, taking the wind from his body. The second of surprise was all the opening he needed to land a killing blow, causing another Cynurian to fall to the ground.

Praxis shot a smirk at Theron. "Twenty."

Theron started to laugh. "Only twenty? You're losing your touch, my friend. The gods must have withdrawn their favor of you! Perhaps your time is numbered!"

Praxis laughed with him. "If that is the case, you better find someone else to watch your back. If I fall, you won't be far behind me!"

Theron shook his head warily as he blocked a new thrust from another Cynurian. "Maybe I'll have your stepbrother take your place. He seems to know how to fight!"

Both men glanced over to see that Xanthos wasn't even on his feet. He was on his back and using his shield to block a blow from a Cynurian with wild hair. The Cynurian looked to be gaining ground on him and it was only a matter of time before Xanthos was finished.

Praxis grunted. "My mother would be most upset if I let him die. Despite wanting to see the little bastard get his comeuppance, I should save him."

"And yet the whole city would probably thank you for letting him go," quipped Theron. "Anything to prevent him from becoming king after Damian dies."

Praxis eventually shook his head. "It would do no good for me to let him die, especially since Damian didn't want this fight to begin with. If I save his hide, I just might save mine in the process."

Theron tsk-tsked. "You spoilsport!"

Praxis didn't have time to laugh as he was already making his way to the fallen Xanthos. The Cynurian was just raising his sword arm back for the final strike when Praxis barreled into him with full force, throwing him to the ground in disarray.

Having removed the threat, Praxis offered his hand to Xanthos to lift him up. His stepbrother scowled at him.

"I could have killed him on my own," spat Xanthos, pushing to his feet on his own. "I almost had him!"

"He almost had you," replied Praxis. "An honest man would say thank you for saving your skin."

No such words would come out of Xanthos' mouth. Praxis knew the real reason why.

Xanthos was anything but an honest man.

Though Xanthos had been saved, a new threat soon emerged. Word had come down the line that the other side of the Argive flank was in trouble.

"The Cynurians are overwhelming us!" cried a warrior, his armor stained with blood. "Our flank is collapsing! Men are running back to Argos at full speed! We are about to lose this fight!"

His words sparked Xanthos into a panic. With eyes of fury, he latched onto Praxis' armor once more. "Don't just stand there! Do something about it! Save our flank before our army disintegrates!"

Chapter 2: Snatching Victory from Defeat

Hearing the news about the flank made Praxis' blood run cold. Even a good fighter could get overwhelmed if being attacked from two sides. If he didn't act quickly, all the men he'd killed today would have been in vain.

"Theron! Grab some men and follow me!" roared Praxis as his long legs began to dart across the battlefield. The tall grass tickled against his knees as he ran, breezing past other warriors locked in duels of their own. For the most part, the Argives seemed to be winning the fight but the closer that Praxis got to the flank, the less that held true.

By the time he reached the end, the situation was crumpling. Dead bodies adorned the ground, many of them still clutching their shields with the painted symbols of their city upon them. The Cynurians were vicious and bloodthirsty, especially as they saw victory within their grasp.

Praxis had to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat. Clutching his shield, he ran at full speed at the closest Cynurian, who was at the moment yanking his sword from the guts of a fallen Argive.

Praxis caught him off balance, knocking the big warrior to the ground before a quick thrust of the sword dispatched him.

The next opponent was more fierce. He was missing an eye, evidenced by the strap of cloth that covered the open socket. The lack of an eye was hardly a handicap by how quickly the man moved.

"I'm going to skin your hide as soon as I kill you," growled the one-eyed Cynurian. "And then I'm going to wear your face to remember you by!"

He followed the threat with a thrust that came just a little too close to home, slicing against Praxis' arm and drawing blood.

"So he does bleed!" howled the Cynurian, grinning with pride. "The great Praxis of Argos is human after all!"

Looking at the wound in his arm, Praxis used his thumb to swipe a dollop of blood, spreading it against his lips when he was finished. The one-eyed Cynurian took that as the next signal to attack, launching into a devastating series of blows and maneuvers.

Praxis had to give it to him--he knew how to fight. The only problem was that his missing eye caused a blind spot on the left side of his body, something that he overcompensated for by being more aggressive with his shield. Praxis only had to wait for the right moment when he overextended himself by striking instead of holding.

"You're mine, famous man!" yelled the Cynurian as he threw his shield one more time.

It was the opening that Praxis needed. He thrust his body forward, striking his sword into the soft flesh between the ribs. His blade penetrated the man's flesh easily, causing the Cynurian's mouth to drop.

His barely lucid face seemed to sputter as life fled his body. Praxis twisted the blade before pulling it out.

"No," growled Praxis. "You're mine now."

As soon as he pulled his sword out, the one-eyed Cynurian crumpled to the ground, never to rise again.

By that point in the battle, Theron and a group of men had joined Praxis, fighting off the remains of the Cynurians and saving the flank. The enemy warriors, seeing that the tide had turned, suddenly lost their nerve. They started to move backwards, taking tentative steps until they'd created enough space between them and the Argives.

Then they turned and ran, never stopping until they returned to the backwoods of Cynuria.

"This was a good fight," said Theron, using a dead Cynurian's cuirass to wipe the blood from his blade. "Those Cynurians are almost decent fighters. Impetus, yes, but they don't lack for spirit."

"They're worse fighters than Corinthians," said Praxis. "They are too wild and ill-disciplined to be that much of a threat."

"That's because the Spartans probably prefer them that way," replied Theron. "They make better slaves when they're not smart enough to realize they're being used."

There was a lot of truth to that. Everyone knew that the Spartans used the Cynurians as a cat's-paw, testing out their neighbors to see who was ripe for an attack. Praxis believed that was part of the reason why Damian and Xanthos didn't want this fight.

They didn't want to do anything that might draw the ire of the Spartans toward Argos.

In fact, when Xanthos arrived at the flank to see that everything was fine and that Praxis was still alive, he looked disappointed.

"You're still here then," said Xanthos, spitting out each word like it was a foul-tasting wine.

Praxis smirked. "Try not to look so upset about it."

Xanthos gestured to the fallen Cynurians. "All this killing and for what? Nothing. The Spartans won't be pleased. They will send their mighty army to Argos next and kill us all."

"They won't get far as long as brave men are willing to stand up to them," said Theron.

Xanthos scoffed at him, but instead of looking at Theron, he glared at Praxis. "My father and I will have words about your actions today. You will be punished for what you've done."

Of course Xanthos would run to his father. It was the only thing he knew how to do. Still, his threats hardly bothered Praxis.

He simply nodded his head. "Then I'll await my audience with the king."

Xanthos shook his head and then whistled, signaling the rest of the army to return to the city of Argos. While they were forming up to march out, Theron fell in beside Praxis. The smirk on his face said everything.

"One of these days that man is going to try to kill you," warned Theron.

"He's been trying to kill me ever since his father took my mother as his second wife," replied Praxis. "He hasn't succeeded yet."

"That doesn't mean he might not succeed in the future."

Praxis chuckled. "Then I guess I'll just have to rely on my superior fighting skills to save my neck."

Theron grinned. "It's good you have something to fall back on then!"

*****

"My son! Let me have a look at you!"

Praxis stood proudly as his mother, Doris, looked him over. It had been over an hour since the end of the battle, and his first stop had been to the small chambers where his mother lived. The dwelling was part of the palace structure, the home of King Damian of Argos.

Doris was over a head shorter than her son. She'd been one of the most beautiful women in the entire city but age hadn't been kind to her, turning some of her hair gray and putting deep wrinkles in her face. She wore every one of her forty-five years in the crevices on her face, and these days she seemed to be in ill health more so than ever before.

And she seemed far from pleased as she looked upon her son.

"So much blood, Praxis," she said, gesturing to his stained cuirass. "You're covered in it!"

Praxis looked down at his torso and smiled. "None of it is mine. Just a simple wound to my arm but that's it. All of this belongs to the defeated Cynurians."

Doris beamed with pride. She put her hand over her mouth as she looked at him. "My little hero. My young Aeneas!"

Praxis rolled his eyes. "Mother, don't call me that."

"Why not? It's true! To think that my son, yesmy son, is the pride of all Argos, the best warrior produced in the city in a number of lifetimes. Some day they'll talk of you like we talk of the demigods and the titans today."

"Mother," warned Praxis again. "You're embarrassing me!"

Doris could only grin in return. Praxis knew why she did it. He was her only son, and even at twenty years of age, she still tried to baby him like he was fresh from her womb.

Their bond had always been a strong one. After all, it had just been Praxis and his mother for longer than he could remember. Praxis never knew his father.

In fact, the only father that he had was his stepfather, Damian. And the king was certainly lacking in the proper parental attributes.

Doris seemed to remember her husband at precisely the same time. A worried look appeared on her face.

"Damian isn't happy about what you've done," she whispered. "He was furious when you led part of the army to battle."

Praxis shrugged. "What would he have me do, Mother? The Cynurians were raiding our lands. They were killing our people and raping our women. We couldn't let that continue to stand."

"The Cynurians have powerful friends," she warned. "You know how your father feels about the Spartans."

Praxis growled. "Damian is not my father."

Doris grabbed his arm. "Don't say that so loud," she hissed. "You never know who could be listening. As far as our relationship goes, you need to treat him like he sired you. I won't always be around, and you need to have a good relationship with him. I won't always be here to... to..."