The Argive Ch 121 125

The Argive -- Chapters 121-125

*****

Chapter 121: Good Ground

For the next two days, Praxis led Xanthos and his army on a chase around the eastern part of Arcadia. It was a chase that Xanthos was never going to win, with Praxis keeping his army moving at a brisk pace through all the daylight hours. In the process, they managed to stay a day's march ahead of Xanthos as they neared the border with Argos.

Praxis knew that eventually he would have to turn and fight but he wanted to make sure he found the best possible ground to work in his favor. Xanthos still had double the amount of men, and if Praxis picked a poor spot to make their stand, it just might turn into their

last

stand if they weren't careful.

It finally happened that he found the good ground he was seeking, ironically near the border. It was part of a plateau that was high in the mountains, one that had a commanding view over the surrounding countryside. The plateau itself only had two natural entrances--an east entrance that led toward Argos and a west entrance toward central Arcadia.

The plateau was lacking in any tree cover or other foliage, but it was relatively flat and protected on both the north and the southern sides by broken, rocky ground. It was longer on the east-west axis than it was on the north-south, which offered a natural bottleneck to any defending force. By positioning their men near the eastern entrance, Xanthos would only be able to get back to Argos by going

through

them. And with their warriors flushed with success after the Battle of Messene, Praxis expected they would be hasty in attempting an attack, eager to end the campaign and go home.

Praxis positioned the army across the plateau while putting the wounded and the families in the rear. He was scouting the position when he was joined by the three men who had become his most able lieutenants--Asterion, Agemon, and Mikon.

"You really think they'll attack us up here?" asked Mikon, squatting down to grab a pebble. He tossed it as far as he could off the southern face off the plateau. "I'm still not convinced they won't take any other path just to get around us."

"Maybe someone used to fighting in Arcadia," replied Praxis, shaking his head. "But not Xanthos. He'll go the path of least resistance, or so he thinks. It'll never occur to him to try to get around us."

"We should be careful not to underestimate him though," said Agemon. "I know he's your stepbrother and you don't have a high opinion of his worth, but he still outnumbers us two-to-one. He could still be formidable."

"If he does move to another path, then we can move too," replied Praxis. "I just don't think he will. I think he's going to see that phalanx lined up and he's going to rush to attack it."

"The phalanx maybe," said Mikon. "But what about the Band? We're not trained in that method of fighting, at least not yet. What purpose would you have for my men when the battle begins?"

It was a good question. Praxis intended to only use the spear phalanx against Xanthos but that would leave the fifty men of the Band without any role. He would love to use them as a scouting or harassing force but there just wasn't enough room up here in the mountains for them to maneuver.

It was at that moment that an idea struck him, coincidentally from watching Astara's brother Nico chase after a bird with a child's sling. He carefully loaded a small rock before taking aim and launching it at the bird. He missed by a foot, which caused him to grab another rock.

"Nico!" shouted Praxis. "Will you come here for a second?"

All the other men turned to watch the young boy trot over to them. When he arrived, Nico looked confused.

"Did I do something wrong, Praxis?" he asked, eyeing all of them suspiciously.

"Not at all," replied Praxis. "I was hoping I might see your sling though?"

"My sling?" asked the boy. "Sure, what do you need it for?"

Nico handed over the weapon, allowing Praxis to take a look at it. He grabbed a rock of his own from his feet and then tested it out. His shot resembled Nico's first shot, missing by a foot, but a smile started to grow on his face.

"This right here," said Praxis. "This is what I want the Band to use. You're going to be slingers for the upcoming fight. We can position you just behind the phalanx, where the ground starts to slope up. You'll have a commanding view of the battlefield and you'll also be safe from any reprisals."

"I like it," said Asterion. "They'll never see it coming."

"Hmm," grunted Mikon. "Well for our sake, I hope the men shoot better than you do, Praxis."

That caused a few laughs, but there was no serious resistance to the plan. It took several hours for the men to be outfitted with enough slings (many of which were requisitioned from the children who were in the rear).

Mikon's men made for natural slingers though. When asked about it, Mikon had an easy explanation why.

"Most of them have grown up in the wilds of Arcadia," he explained. "It's very likely that a sling was the first weapon they ever held. When you can't rely on farming for good, you have to rely on being a good shot more than anything else."

"I'm glad you're with us then," said Praxis with a chuckle. "And not with my stepbrother."

Mikon smirked. "Something tells me he wouldn't pay as well."

The slingers continued to practice for the rest of the evening, until it was time for the army to get some rest. By the start of the next morning, the scouts reported that Xanthos' army was finally approaching.

Praxis, Asterion, Agemon, and Mikon watched as the mixed army of Argives and Corinthians made their way across the plateau. They marched haphazardly, without a shred of discipline in their ranks. It was behavior that Praxis would have expected of the Corinthians but even the Argives seemed to be too lax.

"Without the Spartans, they're just a disorderly mob," noted Asterion. "I'm almost surprised that Nikandros let them go off on their own."

"He thinks he doesn't need them right now," replied Praxis. "We're the only force of resistance on the entire Peloponnese. He must believe that even Xanthos can wipe out our remaining forces."

"We're going to give them second thoughts," said Agemon as he then turned to face Praxis. "Ready to fight?"

Praxis nodded. "More than ready. Get the men into formation."

Once given the order, the phalanx sprung into action, tightening their ranks and spreading across the breadth of the plateau. They locked their shields with their neighbors and held their spears at their side, awaiting the inevitable charge from their enemies.

It didn't come. For the entire rest of the day, both armies were content to stare at each other, with no one making a move to begin the fighting. By the time it was getting dark, Praxis was starting to wonder about his stepbrother.

"I wonder why he hasn't attacked yet," he noted to Asterion. "I would have expected him to not think twice before sending the bulk of his forces at us."

"Maybe he heard about what we did to the Spartans at the Battle of Messene," said Asterion. "And he's not willing to die so easily."

"I think he's just getting cold feet," replied Praxis. "Wouldn't surprise me with the kind of man Xanthos is."

"What will we do then? All of our preparations involve being on the defensive. If he won't attack us on his own, then how do we get him to do so?"

"We'll just have to play to his weakness," said Praxis.

"Which one will that be?"

Praxis grinned at him. "We'll make him think our position is weaker than it actually appears."

That was easier said than done, and Praxis explained his line of thinking to the men for the next ten minutes before all questions were answered. When they separated, he had the thought that this could actually work but it only worked as long as they appealed to his stepbrother's lack of decency.

Which, in all honesty, shouldn't be that hard.

As Praxis made his way back to the rear lines, he found Astara coming to meet him.

"Nico is a little upset with you," said the beautiful brunette.

"Oh? Why is that?"

Astara smiled. "You took his sling. He's afraid he might not get it back after the men are done with it."

Praxis started to laugh. "You have my word that he'll get a replacement. Maybe even two replacements just to call it even."

Astara giggled and stepped into his arms. She put her head on his chest and looked out at the army on the other side of the plateau. Her easygoing attitude disappeared quickly.

"Xanthos is over there, isn't he?"

"He is," confirmed Praxis. "This fight has been a long time coming but he's finally here."

"He deserves to die," said Astara with a surprising amount of grit. "After everything he did, he deserves death more than anyone."

Astara craned her head to look at him. "Will you kill him for me? Will you avenge my family, Praxis? There's nothing I want more than to know that bastard has been robbed of his life. Especially after all the life he took for no reason."

Praxis looked down into Astara's resolute, blue eyes. In a way, it was a version of Astara he hadn't seen in months--the one that was certain about her intentions and the path in front of her. That Astara had disappeared when Xanthos killed her family, and she'd limped on ever since.

It was time to bring back the old Astara.

"I'll kill him," vowed Praxis. "I'll avenge your family."

Judging by the look on her face, she'd never heard any sweeter words than that.

*****

The king of Argos wasn't very happy that evening, especially as he looked across the plateau at his stepbrother's forces. At one point, he even spotted Praxis on the opposing side, no doubt trying to evaluate his forces while Xanthos was doing the same.

Xanthos had hopes of an easy victory against Praxis but those hopes were dashed now that they were on the eve of battle.

The problem was that Praxis just looked a little

too

strong. Xanthos had heard rumors about what his stepbrother had done during the previous battle, and he worried about walking into a trap, especially with their home being almost in sight.

Xanthos wasn't the only one that had lost his nerve. Krantor had as well, especially on a much more noticeable scale.

It all started when they had located Praxis' force. Krantor's thirst for blood knew no bounds, and judging by the way he boasted, he was going to be the one to personally lead the charge against the enemy force (as absurd as that was).

But his enthusiasm was greatly tempered by the time they caught up to Praxis' army. Starting that morning, Krantor couldn't be seen without a group of ten personal bodyguards around him at all times. What made it even more suspect was the way he looked at the enemy force like it could attack him at any moment. The tyrant stuttered every time talk came about of attacking and now he was starting to tell those closest to him that it might be better to go around Praxis than through him.

The entire charade made Xanthos shake his head. It was no way to fight a war, and Krantor had no business being anywhere near a battlefield.

At least his loss of bravado allowed one promising outcome. Xanthos was in near total control of the force, Corinthians included. There would be no split command when the time to attack finally came.

If it ever came.

Both armies were content to stare at each other for the remaining daylight hours. Even in the morning, there were no obvious moves for war, and Xanthos was beginning to wonder if maybe Krantor was right. Maybe it was best to divert around his stepbrother?

Just as Xanthos was thinking about giving the order, he was hailed by his men who were near the front.

"King Xanthos! The enemy is sending men forward. They wish to meet with you!"

Chapter 122: Goading the Fool

It was late in the morning when Praxis, Asterion, Agemon, and Mikon left the security of their lines and made for the middle ground between their forces and the army of Xanthos. It marked the end of a nearly twenty-four hour period with no movement on either side, as both armies seemed unwilling to strike the first blow.

For Praxis, their success hinged on being able to fight a defensive battle against his brother, but he couldn't do that with Xanthos sitting on his haunches. He needed to goad the other man into attacking, and he knew just how he was going to do that.

The group stopped when they reached the midway point between the two forces. They were accompanied by a small group of ten warriors, just enough to guarantee their personal safety in the case that Xanthos tried anything.

Praxis didn't suspect that he would. Xanthos just wasn't creative enough to come up with something so clever.

Praxis' suspicions proved to be correct when Xanthos finally appeared a few minutes later, emerging from his lines like a child who was uncertain of his way. Just behind him, an even more cautious figure (if that was possible) came following in Xanthos' footsteps, and together the two men approached the meeting place while flanked by their own warriors.

"He looks like he might shit himself," noted Agemon to Praxis quietly. "

That's

your stepbrother?"

"We don't share any of the same blood," said Praxis with a tight grin.

Agemon snorted. "That couldn't be more obvious."

"But we're going to have to try to find a way to make him think he'll wipe the floor with us," replied Praxis. "We need to appeal to his pride."

"Assuming that he has any," said Agemon.

Praxis was still struggling to contain his smirk when Xanthos arrived. His stepbrother looked just like Praxis remembered, with the only noticeable difference the addition of a crown atop his head. Despite the regalia of the throne, he still looked like that same troubled man that Praxis grew up with--the one whose skin he'd saved countless times in battle.

And he was clear that as soon as they were face to face, he was tense.

"It's good to see you, stepbrother," said Praxis, nodding his head. "It's been too long."

Xanthos had no time for any pleasant words.

"Why did you call this meeting?" asked Xanthos, skipping the greeting. "What purpose could you have for this talk?"

"We've been staring at each other for the past day," said Praxis, shrugging his shoulders. "I thought it would be beneficial if we had some words with each other."

"The only words that I'll have from you is that you surrender," said Xanthos, all bravado with no bite. "King Nikandros has grown tired of your thirst for blood. The Peloponnese needs to be at peace."

"If peace was his true calling, he wouldn't have conquered Messene, Corinth, or Argos," replied Praxis.

"He rid those cities of their trouble-makers," argued Xanthos. "You were chief among them. As we can all see, Nikandros was right after all. Here you are again about to spark another fight."

"It was not my army that chased down yours, Xanthos. You are the aggressor here, just like your patron has been with every battle in the course of the last year. All we desire is a place that we can live freely without having to bow to Spartan whims."

"You have not earned that right," challenged Xanthos. "You fought against the Spartans numerous times. The only way peace is possible is with your death. King Nikandros will have nothing less, and I'm here to ensure that his will is fulfilled."

They were brave words but empty ones. Despite all of his bluster, it wasn't hard to see that Xanthos lacked confidence in the men at his disposal. Even the new tyrant of Corinth seemed to be shaking at this very moment, something that wasn't just off-putting to Praxis.

"I recognize you," said Agemon, pointing his finger at Krantor. "You're the son of Harmonius. You're the butcher's boy, the one that used to run errands in the marketplace in Corinth."

Krantor turned white at being identified. "I'm the rightful r-ruler of Corinth. You will show me some respect, you dog!"

The incident would have been humorous if there wasn't so much at stake. At that point, Praxis sensed a real danger about having this meeting. It wasn't about the threat in front of him but it was that they were there to build up Xanthos' confidence so that he attacked them.

If anything, the opposite was happening. Xanthos seemed more reluctant by the minute. If things didn't change soon, he could see them losing their opportunity.

"I'd like to talk to my stepbrother in private," said Praxis, looking at his own people. "I need to talk with him--a talk between family."

Xanthos' eyes went narrow in suspicion, and he seemed not agreeable to the suggestion until Praxis mentioned he could bring two bodyguards with him. Even once he was flanked by two impressive warriors, Xanthos still looked anxious when Praxis pulled him aside.

"What is the purpose of this?" demanded Xanthos. "Why did you pull me away from my men?"

"Because at the end of the day, you and I are still family," said Praxis. "And we shouldn't be having this discussion let alone this battle. I want there to be peace between us."

Xanthos snorted. "If you want peace, then you need to surrender. Nikandros will not accept anything less."

"Nor can I accept those terms, not from those men," said Praxis, feigning weakness. "They will not let me disband what's left of this force. This army is in the hands of trouble-makers, like you said, but it's not from me. I don't wish to continue fighting anymore."

Xanthos gave him an odd look. "Strange sentiments from someone at the nominal head of this army."

"Nominal is the key word there, stepbrother. My control is delicate at best. What these men don't seem to understand is that they cannot possibly hope to stand up to the might of Sparta. Maybe at one time it was possible, when there were multiple cities that could resist Nikandros, but that time has long since passed. It's a fool's fight to continue to resist him."

"Why are you saying this?" asked Xanthos. "Why would you dare to admit that to me?"

"Because I'm hoping you have it in your heart not to attack your stepbrother," said Praxis. "We grew up in the same family, the same household. We've had our differences but at the end of the day, those familial ties will bond us for life. I have no desire to fight you. I wouldn't be able to win even if I did."

Xanthos showed signs of interest for the first time in the conversation. "You wouldn't?"

"Gods, no," said Praxis, letting out a nervous laugh. "You outnumber me two-to-one. Those are terrible odds."

"You survived those odds during the Battle of Messene though."

"When we had food and the reliance of the rest of the force there to bail us out if we got into trouble," said Praxis. "We have neither now. The army is starving and nearly mutinous as a result. If you attacked us now, you would scatter us completely. All I'm asking, no pleading, of you is that you let us escape from the Peloponnese. I don't wish to trouble Nikandros anymore. We'll make for some faraway land like Thessaly or perhaps even Macedon, a great distance from Nikandros' reach. But I need you to let us go. I'm asking you, stepbrother, that you not destroy this last bond between us. Please."

Xanthos assumed a look in his eye that Praxis had seen many times before--hubris. In the space of mere minutes, he'd gone from a timid and anxious king to one that now saw an easy victory in front of him. Familial bonds meant nothing to a man like Xanthos, a man who'd willingly killed his father in order to take his place.

It was just the confidence boost that Xanthos needed to contemplate attacking after all.

"Nikandros wouldn't allow such discussion," said Xanthos, now feigning a magnanimity of his own. "He would want you dead. If I let you escape, he isn't liable to act kindly toward me."

"You can fake my death if you want," said Praxis. "Either way, I have no desire to oppose Nikandros anymore. He's won, clearly. I'll change my name and go north as long as you let me go. The world will never hear of Praxis of Argos again, and Nikandros will shower you with praise at being the man behind my downfall. I just need your word, stepbrother. Your word that you will let us go."