120

The Argive -- Chapters 116-120

*****

Chapter 116: New Territory

For the second time that year, Praxis found himself looking out on the rural mountains of central Arcadia with a plan to cross the treacherous landscape to reach the other side. It wasn't like the first time, when it was only him and Lysandra making the trek through semi-virgin territory.

This time, he had an army at his back, even if it was a bit of a stretch to call his ragged men an army.

Two days of hard marching had enabled them to reach the border between Messenia and Arcadia fairly quickly. The border was easy to spot--Messenia was relatively lush and fertile in comparison but it held nothing for them anymore. It was only by moving into Arcadia that they might find relative safety, at least for the time being.

Looking behind him, Praxis could almost see the central mountain where Messene laid, the origin of their journey. He knew that by now the Spartans had occupied the city, no doubt making themselves at home in the city of their last true enemy.

Now? Praxis was on his own, the only source of resistance to Spartan rule that existed on the entire peninsula.

And the army he kept with him was anything but impressive. They consisted of the survivors of the Battle of Messene which numbers wise were approximately three hundred. A majority of those men had been from the spear phalanx, both the group of one hundred that stayed with Praxis and the other hundred who attempted to reinforce the main battle line (and failed). The remaining hundred men were those that survived the battle and still wanted to keep fighting.

Even though their zeal couldn't be questioned, three hundred men were hardly anything to challenge the Spartans with, and so Praxis retreated eastward, looking to put as much distance between them.

For a man that was used to victory, retreat was a new specter, and one that left a foul taste in his mouth.

There was also something else that was taking some getting accustomed to.

"King Praxis," said Asterion, catching his attention. "Might we talk for a moment?"

Ever since the death of his father, the rest of the army wasted no time in acknowledging Praxis as their king and leader. It might not have bothered him so much if his first act as king wasn't leading them in retreat.

"My king, we are running low on food," said Asterion, as Agemon fell in nearby.

"How much food do we have left?" asked Praxis. "Enough to feed the army for how many days?"

"No more than two," said Asterion. "We must seek a new supply now, or simply take what we need. We won't be able to get across Arcadia without new provisions."

"We can't just take food from the farmers of this country," protested Agemon. "That's not right. We'd be no better off then the Spartans."

Asterion shrugged. "We do what we have to in order to survive. The other option is a lot more distasteful."

"Agemon is right," said Praxis. "Even if we wanted to, there's not much that we could obtain in this part of Arcadia anyway. We'll need another option, but we can't use that one."

"Then what will you want us to do, my king?" asked Asterion.

That was another part of leadership that Praxis was still getting used to. He was expected to have all the answers, and every decision ultimately came down to him. In the past, he'd expected the same out of his father, and even Damian when he was still alive, but being king meant he had the final say, even when he didn't know what to do.

"Let me think about it for a while," said Praxis. "I'll let you know as soon as I come up with something."

"We won't have long to decide," advised Asterion. "We must act quickly."

"I know," said Praxis, patting the other man on the shoulder. "I just need time. This is new to me too."

Both Asterion and Agemon seemed to take the answer reluctantly, which allowed Praxis the moment to escape. Was this what it was truly like to be king? To have the fate of everyone and everything riding on his shoulders?

Praxis found a small clearing on a nearby hill where he sat down to face the Arcadian landscape. Mostly he wanted to think about the situation, but he liked the quiet that came with the privacy of no one asking him what to do next. Praxis must have sat there for nearly thirty minutes before he heard the sound of footsteps behind him.

It was Phaedra who sat down next to him, not offering much in the way of a greeting. If there was one person in this army who knew what he was going through, it was certainly her. They sat together in silence for several minutes before Phaedra spoke.

"Are you doing all right?"

Praxis grunted and looked at her. "I'm fine, I guess. I'm just struggling with change."

"You and me both," she whispered.

"And you? Are you all right? I ought to be the one to be asking you that first, not the other way around."

Phaedra shrugged. "I miss him. I miss him a great deal."

Praxis sighed. "I do too."

Praxis looked down and began to fiddle with the ring on his finger, the same ring that had once belonged to his parents. In times like these, that ring and Phaedra were the only thing he had left of his father.

And he could surely use his advice right now. It wasn't that long ago that Praxis found out who he was, that Nicomedes of Messenia was really Evander, formerly of Argos. Praxis had a precious few weeks with his father before the end, not nearly enough time to really know the man or what caused him to be the way that he was.

Even with his flaws, Praxis found that he missed Nicomedes more than he had words to express.

"I've never been alone before," said Phaedra, hugging her knees with her arms. "And I never expected I'd be alone at this stage in my life, when I'm still young enough to need my parents."

"I wish I could say it gets easier with age," said Praxis. "But despite being a good six years older than you, I feel the exact same way. But there is one thing that makes this easier."

Phaedra looked over at him. "What's that?"

"We still have each other," replied Praxis. "As tough as things are, we still have one remaining link to family in each other. I'll take that over anything else."

Phaedra smiled and rested her head against his shoulder. "I'm glad I have you. Even before the battle, I was grateful just to have a brother. Now? I don't know what I'd do without you. That's why you can't do anything foolish in the upcoming days or weeks. I can't lose both him and you. You need to make sure you survive."

The smile slowly left Praxis' face, not because he didn't want to survive, but because he knew the odds they faced. "I don't know what I'm doing though, Phaedra. We're going east only because it's the only direction I know to go. Once we cross Arcadia though, what next? Where can we go that wouldn't be an exile? How will I feed everyone? I'm not prepared for being king, and I feel all that pressure on my shoulders."

"Father used to say the same thing at times," she replied. "That he felt unworthy of the power that came with being king. I think it's something that every king goes through. How do you know that you're making the right decisions?"

"Or when you're making the wrong one?" added Praxis.

"Your heart is in the right place," she said. "Even if we don't know the destination, I trust you to lead us. There's always going to be uncertainty no matter which path we take but you're more like him than you realize. You'll be a good king, Praxis. I just know it."

"Perhaps I should resign and let you be queen," he said playfully. "You sound much wiser than I'll ever be."

To his surprise, Phaedra shrugged. "It's always a possibility."

They laughed together, something they hadn't done since before the battle. Praxis put his arm around his sister as they looked out on the landscape, and for the first time in days, the future didn't feel so ominous.

*****

From a short distance away, Astara watched as Praxis sat there talking with his sister, Phaedra. She was still a good distance away, tending to a wounded man from the battle who had taken a sword thrust just above his knee. This retreat into Arcadia had made many of the able-bodied into impromptu doctors. The truth of the matter was that several had died already, and several more would still die on the journey.

Yet for the vast majority of them, the future was unclear. Where were they going and what would they do when they get there? Even for Astara, she was still unclear about her place here, not just with the army but with its king.

Despite her reconciliation with Praxis, Astara was still trying to figure out just how she fit in. It was different this time. When they were in Corinth, Praxis had no responsibilities and no other women. Now? He had the world on his shoulders and he had two other beautiful women that required his attention.

As the third addition to the group, Astara was finding it hard to determine her role, especially in regards to the other women. Lysandra was as friendly as they came, but Astara still felt like she had to tiptoe around her most times.

"How's he doing?"

Astara nearly jumped when she found that Lysandra had snuck up on her, standing just behind her and out of sight. It was a perfect example of the nerves she still felt when the stunning redhead was around.

"He's distressed," replied Astara finally after recovering her composure. "I can tell there's a lot on his mind."

"Phaedra being here is good for him though. He really needs all of us right now, but especially family. She is all he has left."

Lysandra gave her a smile and turned to leave, but Astara called out to her before she could do so.

"Praxis isn't the only one having trouble," said Astara, putting it out there bluntly. "I just don't seem to know how to... how to..."

"How to what?" asked Lysandra.

"Fit in?" she replied. "I mean with you and Zenais and Praxis. I'm very aware that I'm the newcomer here and in times like this, I just don't know my place. I don't feel like I have a solid relationship with you or Zenais yet. I really want to change that."

Lysandra gave her a queer smile. "Is that all? You're worried about that?"

Astara nodded. "I've already lost Praxis once. I fear it happening for a second time, and I know that keeping a good relationship with you two will be as important as keeping one with him. I just want to get to know you both better."

Lysandra thought about that for a moment before she replied. "I'll never say no to a friend. It amazes me even now how my relationship with Zenais has deepened into a firm relationship. Did you know in the beginning that she just wanted to fuck me and run?"

Astara smiled. "I didn't know that but it doesn't surprise me with what I know of Zenais."

"No, I wouldn't think it would," laughed Lysandra. "But these things take time. Zenais and I didn't become best friends overnight, and I know that we won't either but it doesn't mean we can't put the effort in. Maybe we can start with something relatively small?"

"What did you have in mind?"

Lysandra grinned. "Well, I've only met your family that one time but I don't really know them too well. Maybe we can spend some time with them? Let me get to know them?"

It was the best answer Astara could hope for.

"Yeah, yeah, that sounds great."

Chapter 117: Recovery

It wasn't much longer after dark that Praxis left his sister to check on the wounded. His stomach was growling as a result of how little food they actually had, but Praxis wasn't about to requisition any for himself. He would make do with the bare minimum for as long as he could if that meant that someone else could eat when they needed to.

Being without enough food wasn't that hard to get used to, and by that time, he barely noticed it. Instead, he took solace in how far some of the wounded had come, many of whom were now expected to live.

There was one wounded warrior that seemed to get his attention more than most. Zenais was in relatively good shape, with only the deep cut to her side as the only physical evidence of the battle, but it seemed her psyche seemed to be the most affected by the wound.

"Coming to check on you," said Praxis, once he sat down next to the beautiful blonde. "How do you feel today?"

"I've been better," said Zenais with a throaty grunt.

There was no doubt about that. She'd given similar answers in the days since the battle, and Praxis couldn't tell what the issue was. Was she this disappointed about losing the fight? Or was it something deeper?

"You've been like a different person ever since that battle," noted Praxis. "Talk to me about what's going on. Why are you being like this?"

Zenais shook her head. "I'm not being any different."

Praxis snorted. "You and I both know that's not true. You're like a ghost of your former self and I don't know why. I know that no one wanted to lose that battle, myself included, but you can't let it affect you like this. We're still alive, aren't we? We will be able to fight again someday."

"That's not the reason I'm upset," she admitted, lowering her eyes in embarrassment. She took several deep breaths in the process before coming out with it.

"I'm angry that I was wounded."

Praxis blinked several times. Did he really hear that correctly?

"Wounded? You're that upset about being wounded?"

Zenais nodded quickly, finding the topic deeply uncomfortable. "All my life, I've been a gifted fighter. When I was still a teenager, I used to be able to disarm boys my age and older. There was never a chance that someone was able to get a lucky strike and make me draw blood. Until now."

"Everyone gets wounded eventually," said Praxis. "Especially when you're fighting as much as we do."

"Well, I don't," said Zenais, glaring at him with prideful eyes. "At least, I didn't. I hate the way this makes me feel, like I'm helpless. Like I should have been left to die on the battlefield with the others."

"I would have never left you behind," said Praxis firmly. "You saw what I did when I heard you scream. I ran across half the line just to get to you."

Praxis expected that she might be grateful for that but she scoffed instead.

"And it made me feel weak in the process. Like I shouldn't have been there in the first place."

"Do you really think that's the case?"

Zenais took a long time to answer that question. When she did, the answer surprised him.

"I've always known that I was different from most women. I'm not the dainty type, the kind that gets easily scared of war or something simple like bugs. I was always meant for more, or so I always believed."

"And you can still believe that," said Praxis. "You were meant to be on the battlefield. I see it, and those around us do too. You have the heart of a warrior."

As disappointed as she was, Zenais couldn't help but let a small smile shine through upon hearing that.

"I still want to be a warrior, but I don't want anyone in this army to think less of me. Not for falling in battle. Not for being wounded. And especially not for requiring a rescue from you."

"I can assure you that no one in this army thinks less of you, Zenais. I bet most are willing to sympathize. You fought well in the battle and the Spartans managed to draw blood. But you still managed to survive to fight another day. There's no shame in that."

Zenais turned her vulnerable eyes toward him. "You don't think less of me?"

"Not a chance," replied Praxis. "I think you're being too hard on yourself."

"I just don't want to be weak," said Zenais, kicking a rock with her feet. "And I don't want to be thought of as weak either. Especially by you."

Praxis couldn't help but chuckle as he put his arm around her. "I don't think less of you at all. I certainly don't think you're weak. You're one of the strongest women I've ever met but no one is perfect in battle, especially me. I have more scars than I ever thought I would have, with a story behind every one."

At that point, Praxis touched her side, where her wound was still healing. "That's all this will be one day, just a story about how you fought the Spartans and stopped them."

Zenais rested her head against his shoulder. "I never expected that we would come away from the battle and live, not against the Spartans. I have to wonder what will happen the next time we face them. Because there's going to be a next time, isn't there?"

Praxis swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. "There definitely will be. I don't know when or where, but I can't allow this situation to persist. I won't allow the Spartans total dominance of the Peloponnese, not while I still live. Horn of Hades, we will fight them again."

He almost expected that statement to frighten her but Zenais seemed to be heartened by it even if her confidence hadn't completely recovered.

"I'll give them a better showing next time," she vowed. "And I'll make you proud of me when we fight them again."

Praxis smirked and kissed her lightly. "I'm already proud of you. I know you'll kill a great number of them when the time comes."

But what he didn't know was the outcome. How could he hope to fight the entire Spartan army and win? With such little numbers?

Even if the entire army had Zenais' zeal for combat, there were still too many questions that needed to be answered.

The most important was how to gain victory when they were entirely outnumbered?

Praxis just hoped he would figure out the answer to that question sooner rather than later. Before the Spartans hunted them down and removed the last spark of freedom represented by his army.

Before it was too late.

*****

"You're sure about this? His body wasn't with the others? I need to be certain!"

"I'm certain, King Xanthos. I would recognize your stepbrother anywhere. He wasn't with the dead."

Xanthos swore under his breath. It was two days after the great Spartan victory that saw the Messenians defeated and their city occupied. For his part, Xanthos and the rest of the Argives under his command had been busy combing the battlefield, trying to identify the dead. They were still looking for Nicomedes of Messene, who had reportedly fallen but wasn't with the rest of his dead.

Xanthos had another, more personal reason to search the dead. He knew that Praxis was with Nicomedes at the time of the battle, and he wanted to know whether his stepbrother had perished in the fighting. He dedicated all the men under his command to finding Praxis' body but so far the search had yielded no results.

It seemed that Praxis had gotten away after all. And that was enough to ruin Xanthos' day.

He moved quickly once he was sure of his destination, and it didn't take him long to arrive in Messene, where King Nikandros had settled into the former palace of Nicomedes. As soon as Xanthos stepped foot in the building, he saw nothing but filth. The palace had been looted of all its personal effects. Nicomedes hadn't just been killed but he'd been robbed too. Broken wine jugs littered the floor as did anything else that wasn't attached to the walls.

It was the last final insult to the king who'd defied Nikandros for so long.

Xanthos found Nikandros in the middle of napping. Despite it being into the early afternoon, the Spartan king was sharing a bed with two local Messenian girls, one of whom had great large tits that were covered in red splotches--evidence of the king's attention.

One of the guards nudged Nikandros awake, and upon seeing Xanthos, he scowled.

"Horn of Hades, why are you interrupting my slumber?" snapped Nikandros. "Can't you see I'm busy?"

"My king, my men have been searching the battlefield," replied Xanthos, getting to the point quickly. "My stepbrother Praxis wasn't with the dead. We believe he's escaped the battle."

Nikandros waved his hand. "What is it to me? I'm the master of the entire Peloponnese. Why should I care if one man escapes?"