The Argive Ch. 006-010

The road north to Corinth was well-worn and windy, passing by flat farmland and lush meadows. This part of the country was flatter than most, with only the sight of the mountains in the distance. It's what made this road one of the safest in Greece. Brigands typically holed up in the mountains, making other journeys more perilous.

At least this one should be relatively without incident.

About two hours into the journey, Praxis dug out some bread from his pack and ate it while continuing to walk. He wished he'd packed more water, finding that he went through his meager reserves rather quickly.

There wasn't much traffic on the road today, mostly merchants on their way between both cities, with a small helping of traveling families sprinkled in. At one point, Praxis caught the attention of a lovely young woman traveling with her father on the road south to Argos. The look she gave him was one that her father definitely disapproved of, and his glare told Praxis that she wasn't worth pursuing at that time.

By midday, he'd crossed a good portion of the distance. He'd fallen in behind a larger caravan that was moving north and taking up a good portion of the road, slowing his speed drastically. It was this particular caravan that he found to have a familiar face inside.

It was the sound of bickering that first drew his attention.

"Give it back, Nico!"

"Make me! I'm playing with it now!"

"By Hera, I swear I'm going to hit you!"

"Ow, you hit me!"

"I told you I was going to hit you!"

"Mother, she hit me!"

Praxis chuckled as he listened to the two youngsters argue back and forth before their mother came to settle the fight. The entire family seemed to be traveling in a small wagon, pulled by several mules. The two children were sitting just behind the mother, who was in control of the mules, while there was a canvas covering secluding the rest of the wagon.

Praxis looked at the mother, who could only roll her eyes in amusement at the bickering of her children. She attempted to discipline them, only to have the boy roll out of the wagon unexpectedly.

"Nico, come back here!"

The young boy, no more than six or seven in age, ran away from the wagon as fast as his legs could carry him.

He wasn't quite fast enough for Praxis, who intervened and grabbed the boy, bringing him back to his mother.

"I'm guessing this one belongs to you?" he asked the mother, holding the young Nico by the shoulders.

"Thank you for that," she answered, giving a scalding look to her young son. "Nico, what have I told you about running off when we're with the caravan? You could get trampled so easily!"

"Sorry, mother," said Nico, climbing back in the wagon and sitting next to his sister. It looked like the last place in the world he wanted to be. In the process, he disturbed another person in the wagon as well, this one with feet just hanging out from the canvas.

"You look very familiar to me," said the mother as she caught Praxis' attention. "Where are you from and where are you going?"

"I'm planning to go to Corinth but I call Argos my home," he answered. "My name is Praxis."

She gave him a knowing look. "I know you. Your mother is Doris, isn't it? You're King Damian's boy?"

"He's my stepfather," corrected Praxis. The last thing he wanted people to think was that he was the king's natural son, just like Xanthos.

"Right, right," she said, nodding. "You look like you're thirsty. Could you use a drink?"

"Was it that easy to tell?" he asked, wiping his brow of sweat. "I didn't pack nearly enough water for the journey."

She smiled at him. "Come have a drink." She then turned to address the person under the canvas. "Oh, Astara? Will you get him something to drink?"

It was a name that Praxis recognized immediately. He wasn't the slightest bit disappointed when the person under the canvas emerged right in front of him.

It was her. The gorgeous brunette that he'd seen with Theron two days ago. The same one that he'd vowed to make his wife one day.

It was also the one that his stepbrother, Xanthos, had his eye on as well.

And here she was right in front of him.

The best thing about the entire interaction was that she seemed to know who he was.

"I know you," she said, her eyes studying his face. "You're the one they call foreigner. You're Praxis, aren't you?"

Praxis felt his chest swell with pride. "That's me, all right. And I know of you as well. I've heard your name before. Astara."

Praxis thought he was playing it cool in front of the brunette beauty but it was the next statement out of her brother that truly caught him off guard.

"Uh oh, it looks like we have another suitor for Astara," said Nico, elbowing his older sister in the side.

"Nico, behave yourself!" said their mother, looking equal parts embarrassed and amused. She turned to look at Praxis. "I'm sorry about that, Praxis. As you can probably tell already, my youngest son doesn't have much of a filter."

Praxis was too busy turning red to offer much of a response. He was at least pleased to see that Astara seemed to be similarly affected.

Her mother came to the rescue again. "Praxis, would you like to travel with us for the day? We'll be stopping soon for the evening and bound to arrive at Corinth tomorrow morning. Ordinarily, we might push on to arrive after dark but there are tales of brigands coming into this area and we'd like to play it safe."

"I'd be very grateful to join your party," replied Praxis as his eyes soon turned to Astara. "And keep you safe from any brigands, of course."

"That would be lovely," replied their mother. "My husband and my eldest son should be with us soon. They were delayed in leaving Argos but we have safety in numbers as long as we stick with this caravan."

"Come on, foreigner," urged Nico, waving his hand. "Come into our wagon!"

That was how Praxis found himself sitting next to Astara. He almost had to pinch himself at being this close to her. He knew many women that looked beautiful from far away, but their beauty paled upon closer inspection.

Astara was the exact opposite. At this close distance, it was only revealed just how flawless she actually was.

"Are you going back to your homeland?"

The question caught him off guard, and Praxis took a moment to formulate a response.

"I'm sorry?"

Astara gave him a small smile. "Everyone calls you foreigner. Are you going to Corinth because that's where you're really from?"

"Oh, no," said Praxis, shaking his head. "The situation is a little more complicated than that. The truth is..."

He caught himself before blurting out the fact that he'd been exiled. Not knowing whether he wanted that to be public knowledge, he pulled back and made something up on the fly.

"The truth is that my stepfather asked me to attend to some business for the family in Corinth," he lied. "King Damian has several contacts and I have some messages for them. Can't say what it is, of course, but only that I'm the message-bearer."

Astara smiled as the entire caravan entered a heavily-wooded area that lined both sides of the road. "That sounds awfully exciting. Much more interesting than what we're doing. My father knows most of the merchants in Corinth and he's going there to renew some of his business deals. But I find your task much more exciting. Is there anything that you're doing that's... dangerous?"

"Dangerous like how?"

Astara shrugged, causing her perfect dark-brown locks to dance. "I don't know. Something that's out of the ordinary? Something that pertains to war or something like that?"

Deciding he didn't want to go too far into this lie, he played dumb. "Not sure. They are sealed messages and I don't know the contents."

That didn't seem to bother Astara. Once the jar was opened, she had many questions about his life.

Praxis never got the chance to answer most of them though. An ear-piercing scream erupted from near the front of the caravan, getting everyone's attention. Turning toward the front, Praxis could see armed men emerging from the forest and surrounding the tiny caravan.

One older woman's scream illuminated exactly what was happening.

"Danger, danger! We're being attacked by brigands!"

Chapter 10: Brigands

It was the surge in adrenaline that sparked Praxis into action. Within a matter of seconds, he'd jumped out of the wagon and unsheathed his sword, running to the front of the caravan where the brigands had surrounded the leading group.

The scene there was one of absolute chaos. No one had been paying proper attention to the terrain, and these heavily-wooded areas were ideal hiding places for those with nefarious intentions.

As he neared the front, Praxis saw that the odds weren't on his side. There were between twenty and thirty brigands altogether, surrounding the caravan that was full of fat merchants and their families. The few fighting men that were in the caravan had sprung into action but several of them had already fallen, being dispatched quickly by the vengeful raiders.

And yet, these were the kinds of moments that Praxis lived for. It was a chance to prove himself one more time.

He launched into an attack on the closest brigand--a ragged man that was holding a sword too big for his body. The size of the blade delayed his response and prevented him from striking before it was too late. Praxis dug the tip of his sword into the man's belly, tearing all the way across until his entrails were falling out the front.

This brigand was going to be the first but certainly not the last.

The next two men were fat and suffered from the same issue of slowness. Praxis darted between them, letting his blade do all the work as he made quick swishes of his wrist, taking them both down.

By that time, he'd attracted plenty of attention. A small gang of brigands approached him, wanting to deal with him quickly before he had the chance to strike again. They surrounded him and closed the net, keeping their blades in front of their bodies.

It was the scream from the rear of the caravan that caught his attention. Praxis could only spare a split-second's glance behind him to see more brigands were now surrounding the part of the caravan where he'd been, and that was when he began to panic.

Astara.

He had to get to her before something happened.

Finding some innate strength, Praxis targeted the shortest and weakest man in the circle around him and made an all-out dash toward him. Instead of relying on the safety of the defensive circle, the brigand panicked and stepped back, breaking the lock on him. The same brigand screamed when Praxis' blade penetrated his throat next, causing a geyser of blood to erupt from the wound.

Now that he'd escaped, it was time to get to the rear. Praxis ran at full speed to Astara's caravan, not stopping until he reached them.

He found a sight that chilled his blood. Three of the brigands had grabbed her and were now dragging Astara back to the forest, with only the gods knowing their true intentions.

All the while, Astara screamed for help.

Moving with a speed that surprised even him, Praxis was on the three men faster than lightning. The trick was how to free Astara without hurting her. Unfortunately, taking the legs out of the rear man caused them all to nearly drop her, but once she was on the ground, Praxis was able to dispatch the second man in a hurry.

It was the third man that proved to be the most trouble. He moved quickly and had good fighting instincts.

"Go find your own whore," he growled at Praxis. "This one belongs to me!"

"Not a chance," muttered Praxis, lunging for a high thrust. The brigand deflected it and attacked back, forcing Praxis to cede ground.

The man fought well but Praxis found out that he definitely favored his right side, keeping it protected more than anything else. It was revealed why when he lunged for attack, as there was some wound in his left leg that kept him from having total mobility.

It was this knowledge that Praxis used against him, unleashing a devastating series of attacks against his left side, culminating in a hacking thrust that severed his leg just below the knee.

The brigand screamed as he fell to the ground, clutching his wounded knee. Ordinarily, Praxis would let nature take its course but it was something about his intentions with Astara that spurred his next course.

He took his sword and jammed it into the brigand's stomach, twisting the blade once it was inside.

The brigand died almost instantaneously.

Wiping his blade clean on the grass, Praxis returned to find Astara huddled behind a nearby tree, clutching one of the blades of the dead brigands.

"Are you okay?" he asked her. "Are you hurt?"

She shook her head, but to which question, he did not know.

"Come on, let's get you back to your family."

She let herself be led by him, but by the time they reached the main caravan again, the situation had changed.

Most of the brigands had melted away, and those that remained were being mopped up. A new arrival at the scene had sent several of his guards to track down any of the men without the good sense to flee.

And it quickly became apparent just who the newcomer was.

"Astara! Astara!" he yelled, seeing her emerge from the forest alongside Praxis.

"Father!"

She ran quickly into his arms, hugging him tightly as he looked at Praxis, no doubt trying to decide if he was friend or foe.

Luckily, Astara's mother called out to him to rejoin their group, making the necessary introductions to her father and her older brother, who had caught up at just the right time.

"You're the stepson of King Damian then?" asked Astara's father. "Perhaps you might want to tell him about this fight today. Brigands used to never venture this close to the road in this part of Argolis. Not until your father took over and removed the men who used to guard the road. It's his fault that this even happened today."

"I don't disagree with you," replied Praxis. "My stepfather has made many decisions that I don't agree with, this being one of them. Yet, he is not inclined to listen to me. He always thinks he knows what's best for his family and for Argos."

Astara's father grunted. "Pride and arrogance are often a man's downfall. I hope the same cannot be said for your father."

He had a point, one that Praxis wasn't about to argue. Though he looked at Praxis warily, he still allowed Praxis to continue on with their caravan, especially since it was his actions that saved Astara.

Not long after the fight, the group settled down for the night, picking a flat clearing that offered plenty of security for the caravan. Many of the men were set up on watch that night, but the overwhelming opinion was that the brigands wouldn't dare attack again.

Not after they'd lost so many men attacking the first time in ideal conditions.

That evening, Praxis sat around the fire with Astara and her family. More specifically, he sat with Astara and Nico, her youngest brother, who was in awe at watching Praxis fight that afternoon.

"Will you teach me how to fight like you someday?" asked Nico, brandishing a small sword that his father had given him. "Those brigands didn't stand a chance today, not with how quickly you moved. How do you move so fast?"

"I don't know," replied Praxis, smiling at Astara in the process. "I was just born this way. I've always been fast."

Nico made an imaginary lunge. "Well, hopefully you can teach me how to be fast too. Then I can be the best warrior in Argos someday as well. Maybe tough enough to fight some Spartans!"

"All right, Nico, that's enough," said Astara as she gestured to the wagon. "Go get some sleep. It's late."

Nico went reluctantly (only after making Praxis promise to teach him some moves), leaving Astara alone with Praxis for the moment.

"I'm sorry about my brother," she said, turning her attention to him. "He's young and he means well but he can be a little annoying at times."

Praxis chuckled. "I think that's the nature of siblings unfortunately. They always seem to know how to get under your skin."

"You have younger siblings as well?"

"Not from my mother, but I have a younger stepbrother, Ariston. He can be a handful. Let's just say that I like him much better than my other stepbrother, Xanthos."

Astara stiffened at the mention of Xanthos' name. She looked toward the wagon, checking on her father's whereabouts before she replied.

"I don't like that man," she whispered, looking at the fire. "I don't like him one bit."

"So obviously you've met him, I take it?" joked Praxis.

Astara didn't laugh. "Oh, I've met him all right. And I pray to Hera that I never have to associate with him again. The problem with that is my father."

Again, Astara looked at the wagon to make sure what she was saying was kept private.

"My father thinks about the family before everything else. He thinks that a betrothal to your family, in the form of Xanthos, will enhance our reputation. I'm told that King Damian and your stepbrother are in agreement to that, which makes my situation even worse."

Astara started to rub her shoulders with her own hands. "I don't like the way that he looks at me. He doesn't look at me like a man would look at a potential wife. He leers at me, like he wants to parade me around the city so that everyone knows what he has."

"You probably get that attention a lot," said Praxis, forcing Astara to give him an alarmed look. "I only meant that you're very attractive, Astara. I'm sure most of the men in Argos look at you because they can't help themselves."

"That's very kind of you to say that," she said, a hint of a smile on her lips. "But it's been very obvious to me that I'll never be allowed to marry a man that I want. I'm just another pawn to my father, as are my siblings. Any man that I'm given to will only strengthen our family, nothing more. It's not the best way to live life."

"I agree with you," replied Praxis. "Nobody wants to believe they're not in charge of picking their own fate. Especially someone like you."

"What do you mean someone like me?"

"I just meant someone so beautiful like you," said Praxis, finding his inner strength to utter the words. "You could have any man that you like. It's a shame that you won't get a choice in the matter."

A range of emotions appeared on Astara's face at that moment. The first one that he saw was secret satisfaction--an appreciation for the compliment and for him for giving it. The second emotion was fear as she looked back at the wagon. Finally, Praxis saw surrender in her eyes, as if she'd accepted she had no say in her fate.

Astara sighed loudly and looked into the fire. After a minute of silence, she looked over at Praxis. "I bet you can say the same thing too."

"What's that?"

She smiled at him--a beautiful sight that nearly stopped his heart. "About having any woman you want. I've heard the stories about you in battle. I'm sure you have no shortage of women willing to occupy your bed."

For some reason, Praxis' thoughts turned to Lysandra at that statement, mostly because she was the last woman that he'd had. It was a funny thing to admit to himself that he liked both Lysandra and Astara, even though the women were vastly different. Lysandra was more passionate. She felt her emotions and let them guide her on whatever path they set out for her. She was also bolder, and Praxis suspected that Lysandra would never let anyone tell her who she could and couldn't see.

It wasn't a slight against Astara. She seemed more on the thinking side when it came to personalities, not that it was a bad thing. There was a softness about her that Praxis found comforting but even still, he saw the stirrings of rebellion against her father for the life that she wanted to live.

Praxis was still analyzing both women when he realized that he never answered her question.