The Argive Ch. 111-115

It was a scene that was playing out all along the line. At first, Praxis thought he made the right decision by releasing half of the men but then something happened that caused him to second guess his decision.

And that thing just happened to be Zenais falling to the ground.

The first thing he heard was her shriek. She was fighting about five men away from him, and she was being pressed by an aggressive Spartan with a long reach. That reach meant he could get past her shield, which he did just as she screamed.

"Zenais!" yelled Praxis, finding himself moving to his left before he knew exactly what he was doing. It forced him to interrupt several ongoing battles between them, but Praxis was able to kill the attackers just based on his own fury at seeing Zenais fall.

One Spartan even managed to bring his sword down on top of Praxis' spear, cracking the shaft and making it worthless. For a split second, Praxis was undefended as he rushed to grab his sword but he used his shield offensively until the blade was in his hand.

"Time to die with your bitch!" yelled the Spartan just as he pulled back his sword to strike.

He never got the chance. Praxis whipped his blade upward and sliced directly through the Spartan's upper arm, severing the link completely. The Spartan screamed as his arm fell to the ground, and all he could do was stare at the bloody stump left.

Temporarily disabled, Praxis completed the movement with one thrust directly into the Spartan's gut, removing the threat permanently.

He reached Zenais just in time, and the ranks closed in front of him to offer some protection while he saw to her. He turned her body over, praying that she might still be alive.

When he saw her eyes staring back at him, he said a prayer of relief to Athena.

"You're still alive," he breathed. "Thank the gods."

"He got me though," said Zenais, pointing to her side. Praxis followed her hand to see a cut that had sliced through her cuirass, giving a nasty wound to her flesh.

"Can you stand?"

Zenais shook her head. "Not without help."

"Hold on then."

Praxis grabbed the blonde warrior and tossed her over his shoulder. He made his way to the rear ranks and sat her down, but not before leaving her some water.

"I'll come get you once the fighting is over," he promised. "Are you going to be okay?"

Zenais nodded quickly and pointed to the front. "Just go! And kill more of those bastards for me please!"

That was all the encouragement he needed. By the time he reached the front again, Praxis became like a wraith. There was no Spartan that was safe from him and just as soon as he arrived, there was a pile of dead all around him.

It turned out to be the last gasp of the Spartan force. They weren't able to penetrate the phalanx's defenses and now they were worn out and dispirited. The dead seemed to outnumber the living, and for the first time in Praxis' life, he watched the Spartans pull back and start to retreat.

It unleashed a stream of celebration from the Messenian lines. Their small force, in an untested and discounted formation, was able to hold back a much larger Spartan contingent and prevent them from attacking their main army from the rear. If there was ever proof needed about the potency of the spear phalanx, this battle certainly proved it.

But their victory was only applicable to this part of the battlefield. Somewhere to the south, the main effort was still going on. And just as quickly as their celebration started, it ended once they redeployed to join the rest of the army and saw the remains of them retreating once they hit the road.

"What happened?" asked Praxis, seeing many broken, dirty, and bloody Messenians retreating toward the city. "Is the battle over?"

One Messenian looked at him with dead eyes. "The Spartans have broken through our center. Our army has been destroyed."

Chapter 115: Rout

Praxis still wasn't sure if he really heard that correctly. The army had been destroyed? How?

But he didn't even need to ask the question once he saw the broken remains streaming back to Messene just as quickly as they could. Their demeanor was the exact opposite of the victorious band at his back.

They were beaten--truly and utterly.

Praxis grabbed the cuirass of the man in front of him. "Where is King Nicomedes? Have you seen him? Is he alive?"

The Messene shrugged his shoulders. "I do not know. The last I saw him, he was charging into a group of Spartans. I don't know if he's alive or dead."

Praxis was moving again before the man had finished speaking. He went up to the next warrior, one that was so bloody that Praxis didn't understand how he was still standing.

"King Nicomedes? Have you seen him? Where is he?"

That man couldn't answer him either, nor could the next five. Praxis heard every explanation in the book but no one seemed to know where he was at this moment. Just ahead of them, Praxis heard the victorious howls of the Spartan army, and he knew it wouldn't be long before they were at this position.

Time was of the essence. Praxis whipped around to find Asterion and Agemon not far away.

"Grab Zenais and the rest of the men and make for Messene with all possible speed," ordered Praxis. "I'm going to find my father."

"Wait!" replied Agemon. "I'm going with you!"

"No, stay with Zenais and get everyone you can out of that city," said Praxis. "The Spartans will be there before nightfall, and you alone know what kind of vengeance they will unleash. Get the innocents out while we still have time!"

At least Agemon didn't fight him on that. Praxis watched as Agemon, Asterion, and Zenais, alongside the rest of the spear phalanx, joined their comrades on the road back to Messene. Later on, there would be time for them to regroup and test their options.

For right now though, Praxis had to find his father. He rushed forward, ignoring the mass of retreating warriors in an effort to reach the battlefield. When he arrived, he found a horrifying sight.

The battlefield looked just like it did in his vision with Athena. The dead were everywhere, and it wasn't hard to tell that the majority of them lying on the ground were Messenian judging by the patterns on their shields. Across the field, the Spartans seemed to be in no hurry to chase after the retreating Messenians, and Praxis had to guess that they were just as exhausted as he was from fighting the battle.

It meant he had a temporary reprieve to find his father before the Spartans got to him.

But where to even start? There were just so many dead that it would take hours to comb through all the remains.

He wasn't sure why he did it, but something told him to search near the point where the ground was the highest, not far from the road. It was also the point where he met Athena in his vision, and it seemed the goddess was pushing him ever closer to it. When he arrived, Praxis looked at the surrounding dead, seeing none that bore any resemblance to Nicomedes.

He was just about to give up when he heard something, something that sounded like a cough.

Frantically, Praxis began to scour the bodies looking for the source. And when he finally found him, it wasn't hard to see why Praxis hadn't recognized him the first time.

Nicomedes had a deep cut across his face. It started on his cheek and cut across his nose and then down to end near the start of his jaw. Blood matted the rest of his hair and judging by the position of his body, it wasn't the only wound he'd suffered that day.

"My son," coughed Nicomedes as his eyes latched onto Praxis. "You've found me."

"Father," croaked Praxis, looking all over his wounds. "Thank the gods you're still alive."

"Maybe for now," said Nicomedes. "But not for much longer. The Spartans destroyed us. There were just too many of them for us to stop."

"It's okay," said Praxis. "Come on, we have to get you out of here."

"No, just leave me," said Nicomedes, waving one hand. "My time is done. I'm not long for the world. I've done all that I can."

"I'm not leaving you here," said Praxis. "Not like this."

"You might not have much choice," replied Nicomedes.

To emphasize his point, Praxis soon heard a horn from the Spartan side of the field. The men who'd been resting after the battle now rose to their feet. It didn't take Praxis long to figure out that they were forming up and that they would soon be marching on the city.

"I'm not leaving you on the field like this," vowed Praxis. "Even if I have to carry you back to Messene myself."

With those words, Praxis reached down to grab his father's side, undoing his cuirass so that he was as light as possible. Once that was secured, Praxis hoisted the older man upward. Nicomedes groaned in pain until Praxis could get him settled against his shoulder. Turning toward the city, Praxis took the first step away from the battlefield.

It was one of the hardest things he'd ever done in his life. Nicomedes was not light by any stretch of the imagination, and Praxis was still terribly drained from fighting the battle. Yet, he knew that if he didn't do this, it meant abandoning his father to an awful fate, and that was something he wasn't willing to do.

"Praxis, save yourself," said his father as his feeble fist pounded on his shoulder. "I'm already dead."

"Not yet," growled Praxis as he took another step.

They moved slowly, agonizingly slowly back to Messene but Praxis didn't have to carry him by himself the entire way. Soon enough, he ran into another group of broken warriors, who volunteered to help him shoulder the burden. Praxis suspected that they only made the offer to save face, so that their king wouldn't see them retreat, but that was neither here nor now. He was just thankful for the help.

It took them nearly an hour to reach Messene, and they found the city in a state of flux. Messenians were streaming out of the western gate, trying to put as much distance between themselves and the soon-to-be-arriving Spartans as they could. Going to the palace would be futile, as Praxis suspected the woman had already left. The best he could hope for was to link up with them outside the city's walls.

"So much panic," wept Nicomedes as he saw his frightened citizens. "And for what? Just so a Spartan king can add another land to his belt? Like a notch on the shaft of his spear?"

His father wasn't wrong. None of this blood needed to be shed today, nor did these lives have to be uprooted. It became very clear to Praxis at this point that the Peloponnese would never know peace as long as Nikandros was alive. For any amount of normalcy to return to their lands, they would have to kill the Spartan king.

But how could he do that, especially when the king stood at the pinnacle of his power?

It was a question still on Praxis' mind as they made their way out of the western gate and soon ran into familiar faces.

"Praxis! Over here!"

Praxis saw the familiar face of Lysandra, and she was jumping up and down to get his attention. With her was Astara and her family, as well as Zenais and Phaedra. Not far away were Asterion, Agemon, and the remnants of the spear phalanx.

All of them looked at Praxis and then to the disfigured king that was being carried just behind him.

"Father!" shouted Phaedra as she rushed to close the distance. "Oh gods, no!"

Praxis had the men set Nicomedes on the ground as Phaedra fell to her knees and grabbed her father's hand. "Father, what happened to you? You're hurt! You're so very hurt!"

Nicomedes nodded. "I'm sorry, Phaedra. I did everything I could today but I just couldn't beat them. I've failed. I've failed all of you today."

"No! You haven't done anything wrong," said Phaedra as she started to cry. She took his hand and held it against her cheek. "Father, you can't die."

"I don't have much time left," said Nicomedes before he started coughing again. He covered his mouth to do so but Praxis noticed when he pulled it away, his hand had specks of blood on it.

Phaedra put her head against his chest, sobbing while Nicomedes held her with his other arm.

"It's going to be all right," said Nicomedes. "You have family now. You have your brother. But I need you two to remember what I said yesterday. Get as far away from Messene as possible. The city will fall and neither of you can be here when it does."

Phaedra looked up at him. "Where will we go? Where in Greece can we go that the Spartans won't reach us?"

"I don't know now," said Nicomedes before coughing again. "But I know you'll figure out somewhere safe to go. You have to, Phaedra. Promise me that you'll get out of the way of the Spartans."

Phaedra nodded quickly. "I promise, Father."

Nicomedes exhaled loudly and then his gaze turned to Praxis. "Please take care of her for me. You're the only person she has now."

"She's my sister," said Praxis proudly. "I won't let anything happen to her."

"Thank the gods," whispered Nicomedes as he soon clutched Praxis' hand. "I know I haven't been the best father to you. I know you deserved better. But I want you to know one of the highlights of my life was getting to see the man you've become. You've made me incredibly proud, Praxis. I love you, my son."

The lump in Praxis' throat grew bigger still. "I love you too, Father. I will make you proud one day. I will avenge this defeat and I will destroy Nikandros. One day, I will make you very proud."

Nicomedes' eyes filled with tears. "You already have made me proud, son. You already have."

Those just happened to be the last words of Nicomedes of Messenia. The king took one last breath before his chest fell, never to rise again. Both Praxis and Phaedra held the dead man's chest as long as they could, even as all semblance of time seemed to disappear.

It wasn't fair. It just wasn't right that his father had to be ripped away from him now, after spending so long searching for him. Not to mention, their cause was in shambles, and the Spartans appeared victorious on all levels.

What could they possibly do now?

At that moment, Praxis realized that everyone was now looking at him. Asterion and Phaedra, Agemon and Cora, even Lysandra and Astara. These people needed leadership. They needed guidance.

And with Nicomedes now dead, that leadership now fell on his shoulders.

"My king," Asterion said to Praxis, reflecting the new reality of the situation. "What shall we do? The horns of the Spartans are getting closer!"

Sure enough, Praxis could hear them in the distance. It wouldn't be long until they fell on Messene, and the only thing that mattered now was saving as many lives as possible.

Praxis made the only decision that made sense.

"We get away while we can," he said, standing up. "We'll bring my father's body with us so we can give him a proper sendoff later. For now, we must retreat, but we are not defeated. We might have lost today, but we will become strong again--strong enough to challenge Nikandros and win. For now, we must preserve ourselves, and we will travel to the east. But we must go now and we must move quickly."

Praxis expected them to hesitate but they did nothing of the sort. As soon as the words were out, they all started moving back to the road, while members of the phalanx grabbed his father's body to take with him.

What was left of the army started to move toward the coast, and though their prospects had dimmed considerably, they hadn't extinguished.

One way or another, Praxis would find a way to strike back against the Spartans.

Tomorrow would be a new day.