The Argive Ch. 041-045

"But why would he have to kill his own father to take over?" asked Lysander. "Xanthos was going to take the throne one day or another anyway. Why speed up the process and damn yourself in front of the gods?"

"Because for all his faults, Damian turned down the Spartan alliance," replied Praxis. "Damian told him there could be no garrison in Argos and that was the point that killed it. Even though he wanted to be with the Spartans more than anything, he knew he couldn't give them that. Xanthos gambled that if he gave them that last provision, they would help him take control of the city. And now it looks like they have."

"Not on our watch," said Theron, shaking his head. "The Elites are taking control of the gates, where the Spartans have been posted. Only the west gate is still in their possession, which we are still working on. We've also gotten word out to have the army assembled in the marketplace. Our hope is that when the Spartans get here, they'll find that the full army is in control of the city, and it'll make them think twice about attacking."

"That's good work," said Praxis, suitably relieved. "That's the best outcome we could hope for."

Lysander grinned. "We just tried to picture what you would do, and here we are."

That caused both Theron and Lysandra to roll their eyes. Lysander's worship of Praxis wasn't something that went unnoticed in most situations.

"We need to make sure the army keeps assembling in the marketplace but now that this gate is secure, we need to do one more thing," said Praxis.

"What's that?"

Praxis unsheathed his sword. "We need to take back the palace. And we need to kill Xanthos before it's too late."

*****

Praxis felt like he had no business leading this small but elite group toward the palace shortly after arriving in Argos. What he ought to be doing was getting patched up or resting, but he was at the forefront of the action instead. As much as his wound hurt, the sting to his pride hurt more.

Argos was in a terrible position, and if he didn't move quickly, the city would fall.

The fact that his main adversary now was his own stepbrother only made him angrier.

It was this anger that fueled his body, allowing him to discard the walking staff and push forward despite the pain.

Anger was the only motivation he needed.

Praxis and his small band of warriors arrived at the palace, only to find the Spartans maintaining a post near the main entrance. They were on high alert, their swords drawn as if they already knew what was happening.

"You know what to do," said Praxis to the rest of his group. "Take them all down!"

Those three words launched one of the deadliest fights of Praxis' life. The Spartans at the palace were the cream of the crop and they fought like possessed men. It wasn't the first time in his life that he'd fought Spartan warriors but Praxis' mobility was severely hampered by his wound. He found that he could barely dodge the blows before they connected with his body, and he took more damage than he would otherwise.

At one point, the Spartan warrior in front of him knocked Praxis off his feet with the weight of his shield. Praxis hit the ground with a garbled yell, sending pain shooting through his entire body. He looked up to find the Spartan raising his sword, ready for the killing blow.

It never arrived. Before the Spartan could bring his sword crashing down, the blow was blocked by none other than Theron, rushing to his rescue.

"I thought you could use a hand," said a grinning Theron, now engaging with the Spartan.

"Not a moment too soon," replied Praxis, trying to push to his feet. Around him, both Spartans and Elites were falling in equal numbers but Praxis certainly didn't expect what happened next.

Theron, despite being engaged with the Spartan in front of him, stepped on a loose rock in the street that set him off balance. In the process, he lost his footing temporarily, having to step too close to the Spartan.

It was a mistake that would cost him dearly. Seizing on his enemy's predicament, the Spartan lunged into a final attack that saw the sword stripped from Theron's hand.

Praxis winced when he heard the cry that erupted from Theron's mouth when the blade pierced his body.

In a flash, Praxis was back on his feet and ready to take over again. Seeing his friend fall to the street put a new fire in his stomach, and he launched the most devastating attack against the Spartan that he had left. His enemy, blinded by Praxis' speed, was forced backwards until he reached a corner, created by the palace walls. With nowhere to run, he was out of options.

"You will die, you Argive bastard," roared the Spartan at Praxis.

"You first," snapped Praxis, continuing the fight.

It took every amount of energy he had left to swing his shield against the Spartan's arm, causing enough force to make him drop his sword. Now defenseless, Praxis continued to work him with his shield, toying with the man like a cat would a mouse.

First, he ripped his shield from the Spartan's hand.

Then he repeatedly used his own shield to bash against the Spartan's head and body, which only served to disorient him further.

Lastly, once the Spartan had fallen, Praxis brought down the full force of his shield against the man's neck. It only took three mighty blows before the Spartan was decapitated, his head rolling harmlessly away.

When Praxis finally turned his attention away, he found the rest of the Elites huddled around a small group of dead.

Chief amongst them was Theron. Praxis' friend's eyes were already closed and his face was deathly pale.

He'd given his life to save Praxis'. And it was a sacrifice he would never forget.

"I'm so sorry, Praxis," said Lysandra, looking at the dead Theron.

Praxis could only shake his head. "So much death today. For no reason."

"Theron gave his life for Argos though. That has to count for something, right?"

"It certainly does," confirmed Praxis. "He was the bravest of men, and he was a great friend. He shouldn't have died like this. We've lost enough men today but only one more needs to die. The man that started this all."

"It sounds like you're talking about me, dear stepbrother."

All of their heads snapped in attention toward the entrance to the palace, where Xanthos was now standing. His eyes of fury were centered on Praxis and there were three Spartan soldiers standing in front of him.

Praxis stood up and raised his shield. "This ends now," he growled at his stepbrother before lunging in his direction.

Chapter 45: The Fall

Praxis had no sooner reached the wall of Spartans in front of his brother than they raised their shields, brushing aside his attack like he was nothing more than a child. At that point, Praxis realized how much of his strength he'd lost due to his wound.

If the Spartans were in the mood to avenge their dead brothers, they didn't show it. In fact, they seemed to be awaiting orders from Xanthos to do anything further.

"Pathetic," muttered Xanthos as he saw Praxis easily discarded. "You're supposed to be the best in the whole city and yet you get brushed aside so easily."

"Tell that to all the Spartans I've killed already today," quipped Praxis. "They would disagree with you... if they could still talk."

"You've made a mess of things already," replied Xanthos. "Once King Nikandros hears how many of his men had to die today just to secure Argos, he won't be pleased."

"Too bad for you then," said Praxis. "His wrath is going to come down squarely on your head. It couldn't come to someone more deserving."

"At least I'll still be alive. Speaking of which, you're supposed to be dead," replied Xanthos. "How are you still alive?"

"Hades wasn't ready for me yet. But it'll be ready for you, Xanthos. You're going there today."

Xanthos grunted. "I think not. My reign has just started. With the help of my Spartan allies, I've secured peace for Argos for all time."

"The only thing you've secured for Argos is a pair of chains," retorted Praxis. "You've willingly enslaved the city just so you could take over. I hated your father just as much as you do but I would never have killed him just to get a little more power."

"That's where you're wrong, Praxis. I never hated my father. As far as fathers go, he was decidedly average. But he did stand in my way. And his rule was leading the city to ruin. If I hadn't done what I did, the city would be attacked when the Spartan army arrived. It was either a few of us had to die, or all of us. I chose the path with less death in it. In a way, you can say I was very merciful for what I did. Xanthos the Merciful has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?"

"You've lost your damn mind," growled Praxis. "Not that you ever had much of one to begin with. You never acted like a man even when the situation called for it. You ran away from battle like a true coward. You have no right to rule Argos. You're not worthy."

Xanthos waved his hand dismissively. "Your words mean nothing to me now, Praxis. At this point, you're nothing but a distraction for me. By nightfall, you will be dead and I will still be king. Argos is mine and always will be."

"Not if I have anything to say about it," growled Praxis, readying his sword. "There's still a lot that can happen before the Spartans get here."

Before he could launch into another attack, they heard the sound of commotion a short distance away. Everyone's attention turned to the west, to the road that led to the main gate to the city.

And what Praxis and the rest of the Elites saw almost completely destroyed their spirits.

Moving six abreast was the cream of the Spartan army. Their ranks were deep and their shields glimmered in the afternoon sun.

There was almost a certain irony to it. Praxis was so close to ridding the city of their influence and just when it was in his grasp, it slipped away entirely. Argos was now living on borrowed time.

"Ah, earlier than expected," said Xanthos, a grin spreading onto his face. "The Spartan army is now here."

The Spartans continued to march with almost perfect discipline toward the palace. Suddenly, Praxis and his band of Elites were looking very exposed.

"Come on, we have to get out of here," urged Lysandra, grabbing Praxis by the arm. "We have to find the rest of the army!"

There was no resistance to that request, despite the fact that Praxis wanted to throw himself into the oncoming army. He knew he wouldn't last long against that kind of manpower. The remaining Elites started to melt away, slipping away from the palace and moving toward the marketplace, where the Argive army was still gathering.

Just behind them, they heard Xanthos let out a deafening roar.

"Leave none of them alive! Kill them all!"

It was now a race against the clock. The Spartan commanders unleashed their men, allowing them to spread out into the city. As fast as the Elites were moving, they soon found the Spartans on their tails.

"Move faster!" urged Lysander, holding the rear of the Elites as they raced through the city's streets.

They only reached the marketplace as the Spartans caught up to them. Suddenly, there was an entire group of Argives ready to back them up, the first arrivals of the army that was still in the process of mustering.

It was just the backup they needed. The sound of metal on metal erupted across the city as fighting renewed in earnest on a much larger scale. Spartans were now pouring into the marketplace but they were being met by the warriors of Argos in free melee. Even with the reinforcements, Praxis quickly figured out they wouldn't stand a chance.

The bulk of the Spartan army was inside the city, and the Argive army still hadn't mustered to its full numbers. That meant the Spartans were almost guaranteed to take over the city in enough time. The main question was how long could they keep offering resistance?

Praxis and his people found themselves pushed back on all fronts. No matter how many Spartans they killed, they were pushed closer to the city's gates. As the fighting spread out, it was no longer groups of Spartans against groups of Argives but rather singular combat--the style of fighting that Praxis relished.

Even with his wounds, he still gave better than he got. The Spartans were accomplished fighters but they couldn't match Praxis' fury. They fell in droves, littering the fine streets of the city they attempted to take by subterfuge.

Despite his best attempts though, the Argives were still losing. Members of the regular army and the Elites were falling at alarming rates. At one point, they managed to fortify a small square into a makeshift defensive position, but it only gave them temporary breathing room.

"We can't stay in the city for much longer," said Lysander, his shield and sword covered in blood. "Eventually they're going to push us right out the damn gate!"

"Lysander is right, Praxis," added Lysandra. "We can't keep fighting them. This is a losing battle."

"We can't give up the city!" yelled Praxis. "What you're saying is that we surrender Argos to the Spartans. I can't let that happen!"

"It's already happened! Look at us," said Lysandra. "We're only clinging to the one portion of the city that the Spartans don't control. We've lost, Praxis. It's time for us to recognize that."

"Never," spat Praxis.

He didn't let her say another word. Two Spartan warriors happened upon his position and Praxis went after them quickly. What he didn't see was another group of Spartans that hit the other side of the square shortly after. The strength of their vigor, when coupled with the exhaustion of the Argives, proved to be the tipping point.

The Spartans easily shattered the defensive position, descending on those remaining Argives with their full fury.

The situation couldn't have gotten any worse until it did. Praxis had no sooner killed the two warriors in front of him than he heard the scream.

Lysandra's scream.

He turned quickly only to find her being dragged away by two Spartans who weren't at all concerned with the fighting. No doubt to them, the fighting had already been won, and now was the time to take the spoils.

"Praxis, help me!" she screamed, being dragged by her hair. "Please help!"

Praxis moved on instinct alone. He cut a path through any Spartan stupid enough to get in his way but he wasn't alone.

Lysander was moving as well, desperately trying to save his sister from a fate worse than death. Lysander had a good ten feet head start and he was taking the brunt of Spartan damage. Praxis was almost able to close the distance between them when he saw a Spartan shield collide against Lysander's head.

The blow brought the young man to his knees.

"Lysander, hold on!" roared Praxis, increasing his speed.

He never arrived in time. The Spartan in front of Lysander thrust forward with his sword.

Lysander didn't make a single sound as the blade entered his chest.

"No, Lysander!" cried Lysandra, witnessing the entire ordeal.

Even though his wound was still agonizing, Praxis found the last reserves of his strength. He launched himself into a headlong jog against the Spartan that just killed Lysander. Praxis caught him off balance with a half-jump that resulted in his blade slipping through the soft flesh just below the man's collarbone.

Praxis jerked his sword for good measure, sending blood spraying out of the man's severed neck. He wouldn't be long for this world, but neither would Lysandra if Praxis didn't hurry.

Lysandra screamed again as she fought to free herself but the Spartans were too strong. And now they were getting further away.

Night was quickly falling and he was running out of time. Praxis quickly dispatched another man that had gotten in his way before stepping over the bodies of several fallen, many of them Argives. Finally, he reached the two that were dragging him away.

"Would you look at that?" sneered one of the Spartans, jerking Lysandra's hair. "I think we found the boyfriend."

"What a pity," retorted the other Spartan. "She's going to have to watch her boyfriend die right in front of her."

"The only ones dying tonight are you two," growled Praxis.

The first Spartan actually laughed and pointed to the blood on Praxis' chiton. "I don't think so. You're only a few breaths away from death anyway. If not by my sword, then your wound will do it."

Praxis looked down, seeing his fear confirmed. His wound was bleeding again, soaking the contents of his clothing.

He didn't have much time. If he didn't get Lysandra now, he wouldn't be able to save her before he died.

"Last chance," warned Praxis, tightening his grip on his sword. "Let her go."

The first Spartan shook his head. "If you want her, come and take her."

Praxis swallowed heavily. "Here I come."

With those three words, he launched his final attack.