Chapter One
The bar he was in had a name, but Lugorix was too drunk to remember it. And right now he was intent on getting even drunker.
So far his plan was working.
Everything had gone blurry a while back. The other mercenaries, the assorted whores, the drinks being passed around like they were going out of style—all of it was starting to swirl around his head. And the bedlam taking place outside the bar had long since subsided as the party inside got ever louder.
Which didn't mean that news wasn't still reaching those within.
"He's across the Nile," said Matthias suddenly.
Lugorix turned blearily toward the smaller man who sat across the table from him. His best comrade in all the world, but right now he was just a fuzzy haze. Lugorix tried to focus on that grinning face, but found himself distracted instead by the patterns on the cloak that Matthias wore over his archer's armor. Lugorix wondered how he had never noticed that the cloth was made up of no less than three different shades of grey. He was starting to think there was actually a fourth when…
"Did you hear what I just said?"
"Heard you," replied Lugorix. Greek wasn't his strong point. "Didn't realize you needed a response."
"There is no response," said Matthias, his grin widening still further. "We're all fucked. So drink up."
"That's what I've been doing, friend."
The Dryad's Tits. That was the name of the bar. It wasn't one of the classier ones. The smell of sweat and puke mingled with the aroma of a particularly rancid roast mutton that only became remotely edible when one had downed several drinks. Lugorix and Matthias had been in the place for more than an hour, though it seemed like much longer than that. Various lowlifes—even on home-ground a scout had to have his contacts!—kept bringing Matthias news. But all the reports trended in the same direction. All orders had ceased. The city's commanders had fled, and the defenses of the Nile delta had collapsed. It was every man for himself now.
Problem was, there was nowhere to go.
"You say he's crossed the Nile?" asked the bartender.
"In several locations," replied Matthias. "Sliced the spine of Egypt, is what I'm hearing. Elephants and cavalry and Zeus only knows how much infantry—"
"Never mind all that," said the bartender. "What about him?"
And for a moment, the conversation immediately around Matthias faltered. Nothing too overt—just ears perking up here and there, keying on his response. Even through the haze of booze, Lugorix was feeling the same way too.
But Matthias only shook his head.
"No idea," he muttered. "But it can't be long now."
"He didn't spare any mercs in Asia," said someone. "No reason he should spare us now."
"So what the hell went wrong," said the bartender.
"Magick," said Lugorix suddenly.
"And gold," said Matthias. "Way too much of it. The whole Persian treasury's his to dispose of, right? Reckon everybody above the rank of captain got bought off. And the generals got top billing. They'll be living in villas on the Tigris for the rest of their lives."
"At least they sold out for a good price," said someone.
"Speaking of," said the bartender, "you guys owe me half a drachma for that latest round."
Matthias reached down beside the daggers along his belt, opened up a pouch—tossed coins onto the bar. "Better spend that quickly," he said.
"Not like I'm the one who's forfeit," said the bartender. Lugorix started laughing. The bartender glanced at him.
"What the hell's your problem, Gaul?"
"Not just my problem," said Lugorix. "Yours too. The Macks will burn this whole city to the ground. Same way they burnt the fleet."
"No," interjected Matthias. "Not the same way at all. Sacking this city is just going to be business as usual. The fleet, now that was the—"
"Magick," said the bartender.
Another quick pause in the conversation. Matthias glanced around at some of the watching faces.
"So what?" he asked. "You all know he's gained access to whole new types of sorcery. What's going on outside is proof of that."
"Can't fight magick," said the bartender.
"Sure you can," said Matthias. He started re-stringing his bow. "You just need sorcerers to do it. And all the ones we had to hold the Delta are either bribed or dead by now."
"Your arrows won't help you anymore," said Lugorix—a tad vindictively, but he was tired of Matthias acting like he knew it all. Especially when they were all waiting to sell their lives in one final stand. Which would probably occur on the roof of the bar, perhaps within the hour, and certainly before morning.
"Neither will your axe," replied Matthias evenly.
"Don't be so sure," said Lugorix, patting the axe, which he'd christened Skullseeker for reasons that were obvious enough to those who'd had the misfortune to face it. It was intended for two hands, though he was strong enough to wield it with one if he had to. The weapon was primitive but effective—its double-headed blade made entirely of stone, except for the bronze that lined its razor-sharp edge. He had a sword as well, but generally preferred the axe.
"Bartender," said Matthais, "another round here."
"Man's final hours shouldn't just be about alcohol," Lugorix said.
"What else would you have them be about?" said Matthias.
"Women."
Matthias laughed. "Well, that's why we came to this bar. Couldn't help but notice you've been sucked off at least five times in the last hour."
Six, actually…but Lugorix wasn't going to quibble. This bar was easy pickings to begin with, and his long blond hair, fulsome beard and yard-wide chest made it even easier. That, and his trousers—something that no self-respecting Greek would wear, thereby making Lugorix the proud owner of a truly exotic fashion. No doubt about it, Greek women had a thing for barbarians. But as usual Matthias had misunderstood him—
"Not talking about my dick," said Lugorix. "Talking about yours."
"What about it? You so plastered you want a piece?"
"I'm saying you should get a piece. So far you've had nothing."
"Ah. That's because I'm saving myself."
"For what?"
"The right girl."
"Riiiight—" Lugorix turned as the door of the bar opened.
It was a woman, alright.
The oldest he'd ever seen.
She looked like she was native Egyptian, too—dark wizened skin and white hair that must have once been as black as her eyes. Now she scanned the room with those eyes, and all who regarded her looked away. It was as though with the crone's arrival, an apparition had stepped into the bar—a physical harbinger of the fate that awaited them all before the night was through. The only ones who weren't intimidated were far too drunk for common sense.
"That's your girl," said Lugorix, nudging Matthias.
"Shut up," hissed Matthias. But the woman's eyes had already turned in his direction—and gone wide with recognition.
"She's coming this way," whispered Lugorix.
"I can see that, idiot."
"You know her?"
"Not that I know of," said Matthias.
"Looks like she knows you."
"Will you shut the fuck up?"
The crone reached them. Lugorix realized she was wearing a headband of some kind—almost like a tiara, though bereft of jewels. She was toothless, too, and he was tempted to make some joke about how that might aid her in whatever she might do to Matthias. But then she looked directly at him, and all his alcohol-fueled levity vanished. Her eyes up close were the realest thing he'd seen all night—the realest thing he'd seen in years, the realest thing since that night in the Pyrenees on the eve of his banishment, when the shaman of the thunder-god Taranis had bid him look within the fire and behold his fate and in those fires he saw his future: the flames of burning Egypt, though it was only now that he remembered them. The woman reached out, stroked his beard. Chills shot up and down his spine, and he seemed to look down into abyss.
"Old mother," he said, "enough. Mercy. I beg you."
She stopped. Reached out to Matthias, ran a hand through the ringlets of his black hair. The gesture was almost playful, but the expression on her face was anything but.
"You're the ones," she said in accented Greek.
Matthias and Lugorix looked at one another.
"I'm sorry?" said Matthias.
"You heard me," she said. "My mistress needs you to come with me." The words echoed through Lugorix's skull in a way that made him realize that he and Matthias were the only ones who could hear this witch—for such was what Lugorix was now assuming this woman was. No one else was even paying attention anymore. The party had resumed around them. He felt his legs start to move of their own volition—felt himself get up. But Matthias seemed to be putting up more resistance.
"Why should we?" he asked.
"Because otherwise you'll die," said the woman.
"Ah," said Matthias. "We're going to do that anyway."
"True. Such is the fate of all mortals, no? But not necessarily this night, at the hands of Macedonian soldiers."
Lugorix was too far gone to even process this. Matthias mulled it over, then pulled on his linothorax cuirass and donned his helmet. Lugorix disdained both, but the two had long since agreed to disagree on the matter. The crone led them to the door, opened it on a sight that was anything but pretty.
The buildings of Alcibiadia towered all around them—a vast city on its way to becoming mausoleum. Flames licked from some of the upper windows. Screams were coming from all directions. But over all those screams, they could hear something far more chilling—a myriad voices of anger and rage, all fused into one, all of it far too close.
"The mob," said Lugorix.
The crone nodded. She led them through alleys and back roads, keeping to the south of Canopus Way, where it sounded like a full-on riot was in progress. Most of the street-lamps had been broken, but that was all to the good. Especially since the moon and flames were making things a little too bright for comfort. Lugorix carried Skullseeker, and Matthias had nocked an arrow, but the crone was clearly intent on avoiding trouble. They heard the breaking of pottery a few streets away as looters found some intact shopfronts.
"And the Macedonians haven't even arrived yet," said Matthias.
"They will soon," said the crone.
Stairs, ramps, sloped gardens—Lugorix could see they were climbing into the city-heights now. The aristocratic district, though there didn't seem to be that many aristocrats left. Everyone had fled or else they were hiding. Lugorix looked at the houses and mansions as they passed—wondered at how many secrets they'd held, how many lives they'd concealed behind their walls—how many they still concealed. In the months since the Athenian recruiters at Massilia had offered him gold in exchange for his axe, he'd seen more of the world then he'd ever dreamt existed. But ultimately he was sworn to return to his village. Honor demanded it. He couldn't end his journey here. He hoped against hope this crone really did have a way out of this mess. They were leaving the houses of the wealthy behind now, entering one of the many hilled parks that dotted this section of the city. For the next few minutes they followed the crone through tree-decked trails, climbing ever further. Until—
"Taranis save us," said Lugorix.
Straight between two trees, they could look out across the entirety of the portside city. All of Alcibiadia had been plunged into total chaos—the mob was pouring across the ramps and through the plazas. But that was nothing compared to what was happening out to sea.
"The fleet," breathed Matthias.
"You knew this was happening," said the crone. "Why act so surprised now you see it?"
"We only heard about it," said Lugorix.
"Hadn't intended to lay eyes on it," said Matthias.
But neither of them could turn away. At least two hundred Athenian warships were burning out there, dots of fire sprinkled through the night, all the way out to the Mediterranean's horizon. And the flame atop the colossus that was Pharos Lighthouse was sufficiently bright as to potentially obscure other stricken boats, still closer.
"How the hell did he do it?" said Lugorix.
"That's how," replied Matthias—gesturing at one of the nearer ships. As they watched, jets of flame gouted across it, broadening from out of a narrow stream, flung by a source almost immediately adjacent to the boat.
"Sneak attack," said a voice.
They whirled.
A woman had stepped out of the shadows. She was tall and willowy—taller than Matthias, though Lugorix still loomed over her. Dark as her skin was, the skin immediately under her pale green eyes was even darker from exhaustion. The nose beneath that was delicate, poised above a strange half-smile. With a start, Lugorix realized how young she was—that she couldn't be past her late teens. But her expression held a wisdom beyond her years.
"Incendiary weapon," she said in perfect Greek. "Devised by Alexander's sorcerers. His mechanists found a way to contain it, project it through bronze tubes. Not that far, but they made good use of it all the same. Some of the Macedonians crept up on the fleet using fishing skiffs, but I'll wager his forces hit most of those ships from points along the shore. To which the admiral had hewn a little too closely."
"He was paid off," said Matthias.
"Of course," said the girl. "Same way the Macedonians were able to infiltrate the docks in the first place. Everyone's been bought. And now Alexander's bearing down on the city founded by the man who gave Athens her empire a century ago."
"So where do we fit in?" said Matthias.
"You don't," said the crone.
"None of us do," added the girl. "That's why we need to leave this place."
"I hope you're not looking for us to provide you with the means of exit."
The girl shook her head. "All that's required are your swords."
"I'm sorry?" said Matthias.
"You're the ones I've seen in visions," cackled the crone. "True of spirit. Blessed of the whore Fortune. Uncorrupted by the stink of Alexander's gold."
"The man didn't offer us any gold," said Lugorix.
"Because we weren't worth it," said Matthias dryly. Then, to the women—"So what are you offering us?"
"A way out of this city," the girl replied. She glanced at the crone: "They're not too swift, are they?"
"What do you expect," replied the crone. "They're men."
"You really can get us out of here?" said Matthias.
"Told you we had a path that'd preserve your lives," said the crone, and she sounded as gone as Lugorix was starting to feel. "You run escort duty for my lady. You follow our lead as we steer clear of this deathtrap. All you need to do is kill anyone who gets in our way."
"Who's going to do that?" said Lugorix.
"Who isn't," said the girl.
"And who exactly are you?" asked Matthias.
"My name's Barsine," said the girl. She gestured toward the crone: "This is my servant, Damitra."
"Barsine," said Lugorix. "That's Persian, no?"
"One more reason we're on the same side," said Barsine. "It's time to move."
The other side of the park bordered one of the aqueducts, the hill sloping down to where a bit of judicious scrambling allowed them to climb into the channel in that structure's upper-tier. Water sloshed up to their knees, pumped up from the Nile to keep the gardens of the rich in bloom—Lugorix could only imagine at what expense. Barsine began to lead the way.
"Wait a second," said Matthias.
She turned. "Yes?"
"You're going downriver. Deeper into the city."
"So?
"So I thought you were trying to get us out of here."
"I know what I'm doing."
"Doesn't look it."
Her face reddened. "Don't question my orders."
"You're giving us orders?"
Lugorix realized this was going nowhere. He looked at Barsine. "You want us to run escort, this is the wrong way to do it."
"Meaning what?" asked Barsine.
"This isn't a proper formation. I'll take the lead, Matthias brings up the rear. The two of you in the middle."
"The Gaul speaks wisdom," said the crone. "His friend, not so much."
Matthias blanched. "I'm just trying to understand—"
"You heard the lady," said Lugorix. Matthias threw up his hands, admitting defeat. He mock-bowed to Barsine. She didn't smile.
"We need to make haste," she said.
They did just that, moving out across the city. Below them the shouting was getting louder, the screams more frequent. Smoke drifted past as more fires kept breaking out. Occasionally the aqueduct they were on intersected with others; each time, Barsine gave directions unhesitatingly, always taking them further downhill. Lugorix realized that his suggestion for their deployment had a big disadvantage—he couldn't ask Matthias what the hell they'd gotten themselves into. The cool night air outside the tavern had made him feel more sober; but now that he was moving across the city's roof, it seemed that all the alcohol had rushed back into his brain. He figured that was as much a function of the weirdness of the situation as anything. And the way Matthias had looked at Barsine made him uneasy. He knew his friend well enough to know that the man's arguments were really just a means of flirting. But these women had enough of a hold on them without Matthias playing into their hands. A Persian noble, accompanied by her very own witch… Lugorix knew when he was out of his element, and sneaking over an aqueduct in a stricken city with that kind of company certainly qualified.
As they neared the place where aqueduct became tunnel, the noise around them rose up a notch in intensity. The screams increased in number; the shouting got louder, was interspersed with the galloping of hooves—and the clash of steel on steel, as well as commands bellowed in a Greek dialect so harsh it was barely Greek…
"They're here," whispered the crone.
"Macedonians," muttered Barsine. For just a moment, Lugorix realized how scared she was—how much of a façade she was putting up. She was practically running now, slipping and sliding through the water, and everybody was keeping pace. The sack of the city was beginning all around them. Lugorix wondered if anyone was still alive back at the Dryad's Tits. Presumably they were selling their lives dearly. Not like they had a choice. The Macedonian soldiers clearly had orders for slaughter, and they were carrying out their instructions with alacrity. And high above the city—
"Look at the Pharos," said Matthias.
He might have saved his breath. It was impossible to miss. The fire atop Pharos Lighthouse had suddenly blossomed toward inferno—perhaps triggered by Alexander's sorcerers, perhaps the function of his sabotage of the fuel within the lighthouse. But someone had obviously managed to coat the upper portion with incendiary, and now that substance was blazing into full fury with a light that sent ghastly shadows roiling across the top of the aqueduct. The four of them splashed onward, picking up the pace still further. The water was getting deeper, and from the smell of the tunnel just ahead, they were crossing into the city's sewers. Lugorix led the way inside—and slowed down almost immediately, holding out his arms to stop the rest of them in their headlong flight.
"We need light," he said.
"Damitra," replied Barsine.
"M'lady," said the crone. There was the sound of her pulling aside cloth—fumbling for something—and then a dim bluish glow suffused the rocky walls around them, radiating outward from an amulet the crone was holding. Lugorix was impressed.
But then he felt the ground shift beneath his feet.
At first he thought it was some byproduct of the crone's magick. But then he realized that what he was standing on was alive—and twisting with a suddenness that sent him flying. From the corner of his eyes he saw a gigantic pair of jaws rising from the water, snapping straight at Barsine—who was knocked out of the way by Matthias.
"Crocodile," he yelled.
"I noticed," said the crone. She thrust her amulet at the thrashing reptile. There was a flash as the glow went white-hot, followed by a sizzling. Lugorix smelt burnt flesh, but the beast seemed unphased. It leapt at the crone, but she dodged aside with a surprising nimbleness. Lugorix raised Skullseeker, and brought it down in a sweeping arc onto the creature's neck. If he was hoping for a decapitation, he was disappointed—the axe made it a few inches in and then stuck fast beneath the hardened scales—but Lugorix used the purchase to leap onto the back of the crocodile, holding on and trying to work the axe deeper while the animal bucked and writhed in a frantic effort to throw him off. Matthias had his bow out—
"Close-quarters," snarled Lugorix.
Matthias nodded, tossing the bow back over his shoulder and drawing his xiphos short-sword as he raced in at the crocodile, somehow dodging past its teeth and slotting the blade straight through the roof of its mouth. The beast convulsed, but Lugorix held on, barely avoiding being smashed into the tunnel ceiling while his axe finally started to hit paydirt. Blood gouted up at him as he cut into the animal's brain—he leapt off as it flopped over and went into further convulsions. Matthias turned to Barsine, who was standing as though petrified.
"Are you alright?" he asked.
"I'm fine," she said in a tone of voice that made his question sound like an insult.
"Wait," said Lugorix as the animal's death-throes ceased.
"Wait for what?" asked Damitra.
"No noise," he said, gesturing at the tunnel mouth.
Sure enough, most of the noise in the immediate vicinity outside had died away. They looked at one another.
"Probably because we just made so much of it," hissed Barsine.
"There," said Lugorix—pointing back at the tunnel mouth, as a Macedonian soldier scrambled over the side of the aqueduct and into view.
"Get him," said Barsine.
"On it," said Matthias—there was a twang as an arrow leapt from his bow, shot through the air, and smacked straight through the soldier's face. He fell without a sound into the water.
"There'll be more of them," said Matthias as he nocked another arrow. Sure enough, even as they waded deeper into the tunnel they could hear a hue and cry being raised behind them. The shouting sounded like it was at least an entire squad, the Macedonians in hot pursuit of the four fugitives racing into what was evidently a whole labyrinth of sewers. At the behest of Barsine, they turned left, then right, then left again. Damitra had dimmed her amulet to the point where it was just barely visible.
"I hope you know where you're going," said Matthias.
"Just stay alert for more crocs," said Barsine.
Lugorix was working on it, but he was somewhat distracted by the Macedonians behind them. Their yells and shouts echoed through the catacombs, and it was impossible to tell whether or not they were gaining.
"Lugorix," said Matthias.
Lugorix turned—realized that the others had stopped. Barsine and Damitra were studying a section of the wall while Matthias studied Barsine.
"What are you doing?" said Lugorix.
"Quiet," said Barsine.
"And keep an eye out," said Damitra. She fumbled her hands along the wall.
"It's right here, somewhere," said Barsine. The shouting was coming closer, along with torchlight…
"They're coming this way," said Matthias.
"I didn't hire you for your tactical analysis," said Barsine.
"Didn't realize you'd hired me," said Matthias.
"Can we talk about this later?" said Lugorix.
"Both of you shut up," said Barsine. She twisted something in the stone. A section of the wall slide aside.
"Gods preserve us," said Matthias.
"We need to do that ourselves," said Barsine. She scrambled through. Everybody followed, to find themselves in a narrow passage. Barsine shut the slab behind them while Damitra re-intensified the glow. They heard the muffled shouting of the Macedonians somewhere behind them. Barsine led the way forward, leaving them all trying to keep up in more ways than one.
"Where in Hades are we?" asked Lugorix.
"Near the harbor," replied Barsine.
"Wouldn't we rather be at the harbor?" said Matthias. "That's where the boats are, right?"
"They've all been burnt to the waterline by now," said Barsine. She opened another door, looked out at the room beyond.
"Except that one," she added.