Gods and Warriors (6 page)

They reached a stream overhung by giant reeds, and Telamon hauled the horses to a halt to let them drink. He and Hylas jumped down. Telamon slumped on a rock,
groaning and kneading his shoulders. Even on the ground, Hylas still felt the swaying of the chariot. The reeds were three times the height of a man and gave good cover, but he didn’t like them. He pictured black warriors creeping up on him unawares.

Telamon took a calfhide bag from the chariot and tossed him a chunk of dried sheep’s liver and a cowhorn flask with a wooden stopper.

“What’s this?” said Hylas.

“Walnut juice. Your hair, Hylas. No one has yellow hair, you stand out like a beacon. You’ve got to look like everyone else or you’ll be caught.”

After gulping his meat, Hylas smeared the walnut juice on his hair, and it turned from the color of wet sand to a streaky dark brown.

“Better,” said Telamon. He went to spy out the land, while Hylas stayed with the horses.

The friendly one was called Smoke; the vicious one was Jinx. Smoke stood quietly with one hind hoof tilted, but Jinx snorted and tossed his head. He wasn’t as beautiful as Smoke—he had a bony nose and angry eyes—but Hylas guessed he was cleverer. It made sense to be angry. He probably hated having to pull a chariot.

Hylas told him so, and Jinx swiveled his ears to listen, then tried to bite his hand. Hylas grinned. “Trust no one. Clever horse.”

Just then, both horses pricked their ears and uttered piercing whinnies.

Answering whinnies in the distance.

Telamon came crashing through the reeds. “It’s them!” he panted. “Quick! There’s a trail up ahead!”

Hylas jumped into the chariot and reached down to give Telamon a hand up, but to his astonishment his friend tossed him the provisions and thrust the reins at him. “Go south,” he told Hylas. “Follow the river and find a boat—”

“
What?
But you’re coming too!”

“I’ll head them off in the wrong direction, then go over the pass and meet you the other side—”

“Telamon, I’m not leaving you!”

“You’ve got to, it’s your only chance!”

“I don’t care!”

“They’re not after me, they’re after you! Now
go
!”

T
he horses were unbelievably strong. It was all Hylas could do to hang on to the reins and stay in the chariot.

A glance over his shoulder told him this wasn’t going to work: He was trailing a cloud of dust a blind man could have followed. Then he saw a fork up ahead. The track on the right was wide enough to take the chariot, but the one on the left was narrow and plunged into reeds; he guessed it led to the river.

Tugging at the reins with all his might, he yanked the horses’ heads to one side and brought them to a squealing halt, then leaped down and started frantically unhitching Jinx. Jinx stamped and tried to bite, but somehow Hylas got him free of the yoke without tangling up the reins. That left Smoke hitched to the chariot. A slap on the rump sent him thundering down the wider trail with the chariot bouncing behind him. With luck the Crows would follow its dust, and only discover the trick when it was too late.

Hylas scrambled onto Jinx’s back, and the horse
was so startled he shot off at a gallop. Hylas had ridden donkeys before, but never a horse—and Jinx
hated
being ridden. Clutching fistfuls of mane, Hylas clung on grimly. Reeds whipped his face and his food sack thumped against his back. Jinx tried to scrape him off under a willow. Hylas ducked, bashing his cheek on the horse’s bony withers.

After a battle that went on forever, Jinx jolted to a halt and refused to go on. With a snarl, Hylas slid off and hauled him down the riverbank to drink.

The reeds made a stifling green tunnel, and the rasp of the crickets was so loud that if the Crows came after him he’d never hear them. He was worried about Telamon.
I’ll head them off in the wrong direction…
How would he manage that without getting killed?

Watching Jinx munch giant fennel, Hylas realized he was ravenous. He’d left Telamon’s provisions in the chariot, but he still had his food sack. Grabbing olives and a hunk of cheese, he ate some and offered a bit to Jinx. The horse flattened his ears and bared his teeth.

His flanks were dark with sweat and crisscrossed with fine black scars. Hylas had scars too, from Neleos’ beatings. “Poor Jinx,” he said.

Jinx shot him a wary look.

Hylas put the cheese and a couple of olives on the ground. Jinx snuffled up the olives and stamped on the cheese.

Hylas moved to stroke the steaming neck. “You’re not so bad, are you? You just don’t like being beaten.”

Jinx reared, lashing out with his front hooves. Hylas jumped out of the way—the reins whipped through his hands—and Jinx went crashing off into the reeds.

Hylas raced after him, but Jinx was gone.

First Issi and Scram, then that dog, then Telamon, and now Jinx. Some malevolent spirit didn’t want him to have any friends.

“Well then, all
right,
” he muttered. “I’ll go it alone.”

All day he followed the river down through the foothills. He quickly came to loathe the reeds. They were full of secret rustlings, and they wouldn’t let him see where he was going—or what was in front.

Then he reached a gap, and that was worse.

The Sun was a bloody, burning globe, sinking behind the black mountains. The triple fangs of Mount Lykas were terrifyingly far away. Hylas thought of the trails he’d wandered with Issi and Scram, and the Ancestor Peak, which he and Telamon had dared each other to climb. Above the peaks the sky was an ominous gray, and he caught a growl of thunder. The Sky Father was grinding the clouds together to make a storm. Hylas pictured Issi in the wind and the rain.

Until now, he hadn’t even thought he
liked
her that much; she was just his annoying little sister, always asking questions and getting in the way. For the first time ever, he missed her.

On the lower slopes of Mount Lykas, he made out a tiny red flicker. Was that Lapithos, and were they lighting
the beacons? Was Telamon safe in his father’s stronghold? Or were the Crows burning it to the ground?

Suddenly Hylas had a terrible feeling that he would never see Issi or Telamon again.

“
Stealing
my chariot!” roared Telamon’s father. “
Laming
my horses! Haven’t I got enough trouble without you making it worse?”

Telamon leaned against the wall to keep from falling over. He was exhausted, and he knew he was in for a beating: His father was gripping his oxhide whip. Telamon only hoped he could take it without making a sound.

But even worse was the fact that his father had discovered that he’d been friends with Hylas behind his back. One of his shepherds had glimpsed them in the chariot.

“
Lying
to me,” growled his father, pacing like an angry lion. “Lying for
years
! Was this
honorable
?”

“No,” muttered Telamon.

“Then why?”

Telamon took a breath. “He’s my friend.”

“He’s an Outsider and a thief!”

“But—
why
are they after Outsiders? It’s not right!”

“Don’t you tell me what’s not right!” exploded his father. “Just tell me where he went!”

Telamon raised his chin. “I—I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Won’t.”

The Chieftain gave him a searching look. Then he threw
up his hands. Telamon watched him prowl to the far wall and fling himself onto his green marble seat. On either side of it, painted lions greeted him with silent roars.

Apart from Telamon and his father, the great hall of Lapithos was deserted. It smelled of stale incense and rage. Even the mice in the rafters had fallen silent. Now and then the slap of sandals echoed in the courtyard, but no one dared come any closer. Thestor was a kindly man who rarely raised his voice. When he did, it meant something.

Telamon stood facing his father across the huge round central hearth: a throbbing sea of embers two paces wide, guarded by four massive pillars carved with black and yellow zigzags, like angry wasps.

The fire had been burning for generations without ever being allowed to die. The hearth was ringed with a circle of painted flames, and when he was little, Telamon had loved to crawl around it while Thestor sat drinking with his men, and the women in the upper chamber chatted over their weaving, and the big dogs lazily thumped their tails.

He’d loved the floor too, and he’d explored every one of its red and green patterns that warded off evil spirits. Those patterns now whirled sickeningly before his eyes.

“Someone get the boy a stool before he passes out,” bellowed Thestor.

A slave scuttled in, set one before Telamon, and fled.

Proudly, he ignored it. “I did what I had to do,” he said.

His father glared at him.

But it was true. He
had
helped Hylas escape and he
had
decoyed the warriors away. He’d even recovered the chariot—what was left of it—along with poor Smoke, whom he’d found standing forlornly under a tamarisk tree with a stone in his hoof. Jinx was still missing. Telamon hoped this meant that Hylas was on his way to the Sea.

“Why are they after Outsiders?” he said again.

“Why is he your friend?” his father flung back. “Does he matter more than your own kin?”

“Of course not!”

“Then why?”

Telamon bit his lip. Perhaps it was because he and Hylas were so different. He himself could brood for days over an insult, but Hylas simply didn’t care what anyone thought of him; why should he, when they looked down on him anyway? Hylas was ruthless and self-reliant, two qualities that Telamon secretly feared he lacked. And Hylas had no father to live up to.

But it was impossible to explain any of this to Thestor.

Telamon watched the Chieftain put his forearms on his knees and rub his hands over his face. His scarlet tunic was covered in dust, and he looked tired and careworn.

Telamon felt a flash of love for him, and a twinge of anger at Hylas for coming between them. Hylas was his friend, but he would never understand that being the Chieftain’s son meant you were torn between friendship and blood.

Hylas knew nothing of Telamon’s world. He’d never
seen painted walls where the Ancestors speared boars and conquered enemies. He’d never seen doors studded with bronze, or marble cups, or gold. He’d never even seen stairs, or a bath. And he had no idea that when Telamon was with him, he only ever brought his second-best knife, because his bronze one would have been showing off.

His father was scowling and tugging at his beard. “Things are worse than you know,” he said suddenly. Then he heaved a sigh. “If you’re a peasant, you can live your whole life without ever going out of earshot of your village; but we can’t, Telamon. We’re leaders.” His scowl deepened. “For years I’ve kept Lykonia separate from what’s been happening in the rest of Akea. But now this. I can’t keep us apart any longer.”

“What do you mean?” said Telamon.

His father met his eyes for a moment, then glanced away.

Telamon felt a stab of alarm. He’d seen something in his father’s eyes that he’d never seen there before. Fear.