The Argive Ch. 101-105

And hopefully the closer she got to Praxis.

"Are you looking forward to seeing him again?" asked Nico suddenly. "Are you excited?"

"Yes," she admitted. "Although I don't know what he'll do when he sees me. It makes me nervous."

"Especially because you're still married," said Nico bluntly, which made Astara scoff.

"I'm effectively divorced now," she corrected. "I never should have recognized Xanthos as my husband but it's one mistake I can fix. We have no bonds to each other anymore. I'm as single as can be."

"I'm sure Praxis will be happy to hear that. I noticed the way he looked at you back in Corinth."

Astara's cheeks turned red as she thought about all their moments alone. Could they even return to that time and the feelings they shared in Corinth? Or would their relationship always remain a thing of the past?

Astara hoped it could change. If she could undo one mistake, it would be to never let Praxis go. And she didn't intend to do that when she reached Messene.

It was getting steadily darker as they progressed toward the Messenian border. Astara was hopeful that they would run into another convoy but the road ahead was eerily quiet. It was too early for the caravans to be settling down for the night, and she contemplated holding in their position until another one caught up to them when she heard sounds from the overgrown bushes near the road.

"Stop right there, woman!"

At that moment, an entire gang of men sprang out from coverage on either side of the road. All the men were armed, and they quickly stopped the wagon in its tracks.

"Bandits!" growled Nico as he reached for his small dagger. Astara grabbed his hand, holding it steady. There was no way one boy with a knife would be any match for all of these men, especially as rough-looking as they were.

Finally, one of the leaders of the men stepped forward. He looked inside the contents of the wagon and then back at Astara.

"Quite a load of supplies you have in here!" he said, tapping the wagon for emphasis. "My men and I surely wouldn't mind helping you by lightening the load."

"We don't need any help from the likes of you," said Astara, trying to put on a brave face. That undoubtedly failed, as it only served to make the bandits laugh.

"Now, there's no need to be so hostile," replied the leader. "After all, you have plenty of things to share in that wagon. Why don't you just hand them over and we'll let you go on your way?"

"Over my dead body," shouted Nico, which caused the men to start laughing again.

"Look at this little Achilles," said the leader, pointing at Nico. "He'll be a fearsome one someday. When that day comes, you might want to come find us again. We'll have work for someone like you."

"I'm never going to be a thief," replied Nico, crossing his arms defiantly. "I'm going to be a warrior someday, just like my good friend, Praxis!"

Astara watched as the confidence went out of the leader's eyes. He wasn't the only one, as all the bandits soon looked at each other in confusion.

"Hold on a minute," said the leader with much less swagger. "Did you just say Praxis?"

"Yeah, I did," said Nico proudly. "Praxis of Argos, the best warrior in all of Greece."

The leader looked at Astara. "Do you people know Praxis?"

"What is it to you?" asked Astara.

"Just answer the question!"

"Yes, we know him, obviously," said Astara. "We're from Argos as well. We're going to find him in Messenia. He's a friend of mine."

The bandits looked at each other and they started to whisper to each other. Astara watched them carefully, wondering what had changed. They'd obviously heard of Praxis but was that a good thing? She was still trying to figure out how it changed the situation when the leader turned to face her.

And all hostility vanished.

"My name is Mikon," said the man. "We know Praxis of Argos as well. He was once our king."

"Your king?" repeated Astara, shocked. "Of what? Arcadia?"

"No, of our group. The King's Band!" said Mikon proudly. "And seeing as you're friends of his, we will escort you to the border. What is your name, girl?"

"Astara," she replied. "Also of Argos."

"It is nice to meet you, Astara of Argos," replied Mikon. "Now sit back with your family and let us take you to the border."

Mikon didn't wait for a response. He snapped his fingers at his men and the band of thieves turned into the most impromptu escort that Astara had ever seen.

"This way, men!" shouted Mikon. "Let's get these people to Praxis!"

It was the strangest thing that Astara had ever witnessed. And yet, while she was still baffled, Nico thought it was hysterical.

"What are you laughing at?" she asked, elbowing him in the side.

Nico grinned. "We're going to see Praxis! And they are going to take us right to him!"

As excited as he was, Astara had only mixed emotions. She was on a collision course with him now.

What would he do when they were reunited again?

Chapter 105: War March

Nikandros of Sparta was in awe when he looked upon his mighty army.

It had been more than ten days since he left Argos to link up with his army. Since then, the Spartan force had traveled north to Arcadia, where they met local forces from Argos, Corinth, Achaea, and Cynuria--all bound together for one purpose.

The destruction of Messene.

And it was an incredible army. Nikandros didn't care much for the rabble put together by the other satellite cities but his Spartans were certainly impressive. Their shields glimmered in the sunlight and their swords looked ready to plunge into their enemies.

Nikandros also looked forward to the idea that it might be the last campaign he would fight on the Peloponnese. With the Messenians defeated, there was nothing stopping him from being the dominant force on the peninsula, unassailable to any threats.

One more campaign was all that stood between him and eternal glory.

At least if others didn't fuck it up first.

This was most aptly demonstrated when Xanthos of Argos came calling on him just minutes later.

"My king, I humbly ask for your help," said Xanthos, bowing his head more like a slave instead of a king.

"What do you need this time, Xanthos?" asked an annoyed Nikandros.

"My men are short on shields," replied Xanthos. "We brought what we could from the city but I'm still missing a shield for every second man."

"Horn of Hades, Xanthos, your men would be missing their cocks if the gods hadn't seen fit to attach it to their balls," growled Nikandros.

Xanthos bowed his head again. "I'm sorry, my king. My city is dealing with limited resources."

"Limited resources," mocked Nikandros. "And yet, Sparta has more than enough shields to outfit her army and her allies, despite being two-thirds the size of Argos. How do you explain that, Xanthos?"

Xanthos looked clueless. "I can't explain that, my king. The gods have surely blessed Sparta."

Nikandros scoffed at him. "Blessed us indeed. They blessed us with such imbeciles for allies. How many shields do you need?"

"Approximately two hundred."

"Fine, see my man Pindar. He'll get you extra shields. But I want you to paint over the sign of Sparta on those shields, do you understand? I don't want anyone to think your rabble are Spartan warriors."

Xanthos nodded all too quickly. "Understood, my king. Thank you!"

Nikandros stormed away without saying another word. If war taught him anything, it was that he could never be too surprised by the ineptitude of his allies. Marching to battle without your shield was something that would never occur in Sparta.

For Nikandros, it demonstrated just why the Peloponnese needed them. Someone had to rule with a firm hand, so why shouldn't it be the best warriors in all of Greece? After all, it was evident by the way Spartans trained. They trained harder and longer than any other people, being deadly proficient in skills with their swords.

Why shouldn't this new order come from the end of their swords?

A full twenty-four hours later, Nikandros and the rest of the army were prepared to march. The Argive component had freshly-painted shields, removing any traces of their Spartan origin. The rest of the force fell in behind them, creating a long train of grim-faced warriors marching into the western sun.

As could be expected, Nikandros took his place at the very head of that force. It wouldn't take them very long to reach Messene from this distance, and he looked forward to his next visit with Nicomedes.

He also looked forward to removing his head from the rest of his body.

*****

Messene had certainly taken on a different quality ever since Praxis found out the truth about his father.

It had been over a week since that fateful night when they decided to bury the hatchet, and it was even starting to feel like Messene was a second home to him. Nicomedes was determined to make up for lost time and Praxis hardly spent any time away from his father. They bonded over training, they ate most of their meals together (with Lysandra, Zenais, and Phaedra all coming together as one family), and Nicomedes also told Praxis more stories about his early life.

In that time, Praxis found that the anger and resentment had largely melted away. One look in his father's eyes was enough to put such trivial matters behind him, especially when learning bits of the family's history.

"See this ring?" asked Nicomedes one morning, right before they went to train. "Your mother gave this to me when we married."

He handed the ring to Praxis, who held it aloft with his hand. "It's heavy."

"It has in it the weight of many lost obligations," replied Nicomedes. "I didn't feel right wearing it after I left, but I always kept it. It reminded me of her and of you. I want you to have it."

"Why's that?" asked Praxis. "Don't you want to keep it?"

"I'm not worthy of it," said Nicomedes, shaking his head. "But it's a link back to your mother. I think you ought to keep it. Besides, I won't always be around. I'd feel better if it was put into your hands now."

At that moment, Praxis understood what he was getting at. With the Spartans on their way, Nicomedes was already thinking about loss. This was his way of passing along those important heirlooms that would mean something to someone else besides himself.

"I'll keep it with me then," promised Praxis. "It'll be my reminder of where I came from."

That made him happy, and Nicomedes put his hand on Praxis' shoulder. "If I come across anything else, I'll make sure to give it to you too. Now come on, we have an army to train."

Praxis put the ring on his finger, and he found the fit was just right. With one last look at it, he followed Nicomedes down to the training ground, where the army was once again preparing to meet their enemy.

At least they were showing signs of great progress. After so much time spent in the blazing Greek heat, these men were looking like hardened veterans of many campaigns. Not surprisingly, the spear phalanx under Asterion showed the most amount of progress.

Their numbers had also increased greatly. Asterion had boasted of over two hundred warriors in the group now, a remarkable addition to their earlier numbers.

"How did you get so many men interested in joining?" asked Praxis when they were reviewing the numbers. "Has word gotten out about Zenais? Are they trying to catch a glimpse of her?"

Asterion started to laugh. "Not quite. I don't doubt that some of them enjoy looking at her but most of the men respect her, especially once she put some of the best fighters on their asses. No, I'm of the opinion that success breeds envy."

"What do you mean by that?" asked Praxis. "You think the other men are seeing your success?"

Asterion nodded. "The phalanx comes together like they've been doing it for years. Whenever I give the command, they launch forward with their attacks. They jealously guard the flank of their comrade beside them. They are well-trained, and I think the other men see what an advantage it could be on the battlefield. I've stopped having to put people into it for punishment because I have so many volunteers."

That seemed to be true enough as Praxis looked over those nearby members of the phalanx. When their numbers were first increased, it was a ragged bunch of miscreants who joined the core adherents to the formation. Those miscreants had either fallen away or became true believers in the process.

In the end, those two hundred warriors made up the deadliest formation in all of Greece.

"I'm looking forward to seeing how we fare on the battlefield," said Praxis. "I think the Spartans are never going to see you coming."

"They will see us coming all right," boasted Asterion while wearing a grin. "By that time, it'll be too late."

Praxis laughed at that and continued with the training. By early evening, it was time to return to the palace. Lysandra had come down an hour earlier to watch the rest of the training, and it was a hopeful Praxis that returned to the city with both women.

For the first time, he thought they just might be able to stand up to the Spartans.

Winning against them would change everything.

*****

"Nico! Watch out!"

The young boy scarcely heard the voice of his sister, especially once the merchant glared down at him from the reins of his wagon. A half second later and Nico would have been run over by the Messenian trader, and judging by the look on his face, he wouldn't have cared one bit.

"Stupid boy, get out of here," growled the merchant, waving his hand.

Nico glared at him as he made his way back to his sister.

"Is everyone in Messene so rude?" he asked. "Or was he just having a bad day?"

Astara gave him a motherly look. "Try to be more careful next time. I'm not trying to lose any more siblings. Understand?"

Nico let out an exasperated sigh. "Yes, Astara."

"Good, now remember to keep looking," she said, gazing around the crowded street.

"I know, I know," he repeated. "You've said that like thirty times now. I never stopped looking for Praxis. He has to be here somewhere."

Astara smiled as her anxiety went up another notch. They'd only just arrived in Messene that morning, after getting the escort from the King's Band almost to the outskirts of the city. That had certainly been unexpected, especially hearing that Praxis had been their king for a short while. Apparently the Band had been banned from entering the city, which was why they left her when they did but Astara found that she was as grateful for their appearance as she was shocked by their change of heart.

It was as she was crossing to another street, deep in thought, that her eyes fell on a face that she hadn't seen in months. Astara's breath caught in her throat as she looked at Praxis, who was moving the other way and hadn't noticed her presence.

He still looked just as rugged and attractive as he did all those nights back in Corinth. Astara wanted to take a running leap into his arms, but it was seeing the two women with him that stopped her right in her tracks.

Not just any women either. Two completelygorgeous women. One with lustrous red hair that was hanging onto his left side while a stunning blonde hung onto his right. Judging by the way Praxis was holding them close, they were obviously lovers.

At that moment, Astara had never felt so stupid. Of course it was idiotic to think that he wouldn't have moved on after their failed relationship but it never occurred to her that she might have a rival, or rivals, for his affections.

Beautiful rivals at that.

Astara felt utterly hopeless. Had she really come all the way out here for nothing? There was no way she was going to break up a happy relationship just because of some distant memories. Astara watched them go all the way to the city's palace before they closed the door, which seemingly closed on her heart as well.

"Astara?" asked Nico from her side. "Is something wrong?"

Choking back the tears, she shook her head. "That's enough searching for tonight. Let's find a place to sleep."

Nico wasn't so easily fooled. He tugged on her dress. "Astara?"

The words never came out. She never felt so hopeless.