Author's Note: Welcome to my first story! The tale was many months in the making, and I wanted to publish this to solicit feedback. As the description indicates, this is a full length genie story of twelve chapters with an ending. I took a lot of inspiration from the "Brolly-universe" when creating my genie, but added a few flourishes of my own. This first chapter is merely the prologue, and can be skipped if one desires. I decided to write this chapter as homage to historical non-fiction. Many of the names here were real people, yet the story is mine. I really hope you enjoy, and thank you for taking the time to join me on this ride!
-CJ McCormick
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Prologue 401 BC
"Great King, are we not a little exposed in this current position?"
"Papak, don't be an old woman! We need to ensure my dear brother can see the size of our vast force and tremble at its might."
The rest of the entourage around the Great King began to laugh on cue at the courtier, taking advantage of his insult by the Great King. The scorned adviser, Papak, put his head down, never daring to question twice the leader of entire Persian Empire.
Or should he say, the soon to be ruler of the entire Persian Empire. For his commander, the leader of this vast army, a man affectionately known to later history as Cyrus the Younger had, at this moment, the title of mere usurper to the throne. The legitimate king of the Empire, Cyrus' older brother Artaxerxes II, was encamped a little more than a mile from their current spot, hugging the safety of the Euphrates river deep in the heart of the land called by later men Mesopotamia. Only by squinting his eyes could Papak make out the great standard of Persia flapping in the breeze near the enemy camp.
One might wonder how it had come to this: how two great armies, led by brothers sharing the same blood, could find themselves occupying the same battlefield where only one could be victorious. It was a question that Papak had found himself gnawing at frequently, especially given the stakes of this expedition. Of course, there weren't many who doubted that Cyrus would be the victor of this contest. Anyone who had been in his presence could see that he was destined to be the ruler of the world, so apparent were his virtues, intelligence, daring, and courage.
Papak hazarded a glance over to the man he acknowledges as Great King. Cyrus the Younger wore a curious smile, like one who was in on a secret still hidden from everyone else. With one hand gently stroking his long, dark beard, he surveyed the land between his small entourage and his brother's camp. Papak had seen this look before, and knew he was creating his plan for the morning, when battle would begin. As far as plans went, Cyrus had never led him astray. The second son of the late Great King Darius II, Cyrus demonstrated clear intelligence and skill from a young age. The Little Wolf, as they called him in his father's court, for the wolfish smile he would give after peppering a target with arrows, or from demonstrating his superior horsemanship, Cyrus would have made a fine Great King, had he not been born second in line for the throne. That was the only avenue of life where Cyrus did not rank first, a privilege only given to Darius' first son, Artaxerxes.
Papak had known Artaxerxes when he was just a boy as well, having spent the majority of his forty-four years in service to the Great Kings of Persia. He could still remember the day, almost twenty years prior, when young Cyrus has bested his brother in spear training, and how the father Darius looked on so proudly at his warrior son. No doubt Darius had hoped for Artaxerxes to be the wise and peaceful ruler, while his brother Cyrus would wield the spear and shield in defense of the Empire. It is a blessing he could not see where those carefully laid plans have fallen on this battlefield. After tomorrow, one of his sons would pass forever from this world. Papak's bet hedged that it would not be Cyrus.
"Papak, halt the soldiers on that high ground on this side of the river. We will prepare camp here tonight. Summon Clearchus, and have him meet at my tent at sundown with his unit commanders."
"As you wish, Great King," Papak replied, before turning his horse and setting off in the direction of countless men and dust. The army of Cyrus spread out for miles, marching along with their spears, wicker shields, and protective clothing. Men from every corner of the Persian Empire were represented. From great Phrygian cavalry, to Babylonian spearmen, to Median shieldbearers, this diverse army met and assembled for one purpose: to institute a new order within the Empire.
It was neither Mede, nor Babylonian, nor Phrygian that Papak sought at that moment though. He was looking for the other contingent of the great army, those sporting the circular bronze shields and metal breastplates, and fighting in the hoplite style. Proud men, who had twice thrown back the might of the Persian Empire, and now fought as mercenaries, seeking death or glory in the service of mere coin. They were the men of the city-states of Greece, and no more proud or effective warriors existed elsewhere in the world.
Such a proud and noble lineage could only hope to be led by one who shared and gloried in all that was Greek, and leading their column was where Papak found their commander, Clearchus, a Spartan general who's prowess had no equal.
"Clearchus, you are summoned," Papak stated, riding up to formidable Spartan. Like most of his countrymen, Clearchus had no use for a horse, even as the commander of his mighty warriors. Spartans held the view that even the leader of an army should march with his troops.
Clearchus squinted, his eyes narrowly searching for Papak's while blocking out the desert sun.
"For what?" Clearchus responded, his laconic response causing the eyes of several surrounding Greeks to look at their interaction.
"The Great King wishes to make camp for the night. Here, close to that small rise near the river," replied Papak, pointing to the area that Cyrus had outlined earlier. "He also wishes for you to meet at his tent at sundown."
Clearchus nodded, and then removed his helmet, revealing a generous mane of dark hair that came down to his shoulders. It was Spartan custom for men to wear their hair long and lustrous, and his was no exception. "I will have my men start the camp. Tell his Excellency to expect me at the desired time," replied Clearchus, before turning his head to the man closest to him. "Hiero! Xenophon! Prepare to camp for the night."
Satisfied that his orders would be followed, Papak went next to guide the Greeks to the exact spot, issuing orders for the construction of camp for the night. By the looks of the setting sun, they would only have an hour, or two at most, to construct camp before darkness would descend. He supervised the creation of the basic defenses of camp while most of the men set about their various tasks, from erecting the tents, to the preparation of rations for the evening.
Right as the sun was about to dip below the western sky, Clearchus approached as well, giving a curt nod to Papak to indicate his readiness.
"This way," replied Papak, beginning to walk over to the Great King's grand pavilion. "We will meet with Ariaeus as well." Ariaeus was the commander of the Persian contingent of the Great King's army.
"Eh? So we will join battle tomorrow then?" Clearchus asked, a hopeful inflection within his voice and a smile forming on his grizzled face.
Spartans
, thought Papak, while rolling his eyes, "That may be Cyrus' intention. Or perhaps our might will convince his brother to quit while he still has his life."
"We can hope not. The men are ready for a fight. It would be a pity to have them march all the way from Greece for a surrender," replied Clearchus, grimly.
Papak didn't respond, and continued to lead the way over to the tent. Outside, the guards from Cyrus' hastily formed Immortals unit gave entry to those deemed important enough to approach the Great King. Once inside, Papak saw a familiar face that gave welcome right away.
"Ah, Papak, there you are," replied Ariaeus, a small smile forming on his face. The Persian commander cast his hand out to grasp Papak's. "Is the Greek dog here as well?"
"You can call him Clearchus," Papak corrected. "And he is on our side, for now. I would choose your words wisely, lest he find a reason to run you through."
Ariaeus spit on the ground before letting out a hearty chuckle, "I will take my chances in front of the Greek dogs. Besides, today they may be our allies. But tomorrow? Who knows?"
"That's the kind of talk that might get you killed, you old fool," replied Papak, with a hint of a grin beginning to form on his face.
"There is not a man alive that can kill the great warrior, Ariaeus," he chuckled, pointing out the long scar that ran from his ear down to his neck, the result of a spear thrust that came too close.
Papak could not help but laugh, having known Ariaeus for many years, and being well used to his brand of humor.
"So, are the rumors true? Will we offer battle tomorrow?" Ariaeus pressed.
"You sound like the Greek dog," replied Papak, "So eager to see blood spilled?"
"More like so eager to go back home to my comfortable bed and my whores," retorted Ariaeus. "Might as well get this over with."
"Wait here. Let me see if the Great King is ready to see you both," said Papak, pushing forward through the tent flaps into Cyrus' personal chamber. Few men alive were allowed this far into the personal chambers of the king, as evident by the amount of guards that Papak had to pass. As he winded around the last corner, an unmistakable sound began to form: the sound of flesh upon flesh.
The sounds grew louder as Papak crossed the last threshold into Cyrus' personal quarters, only to be greeted by a now familiar sight: Cyrus himself, nude as the day he was born, standing proud and erect and watching two of his concubines servicing his member. The slurping sounds came mostly from one girl, a young thing that couldn't have been a day over twenty with dark hair, as she worked the shaft. Her hands squeezed at the base, while her tongue carefully jutted out to taste the skin underneath.
The other girl, a fiery redhead that could only have been from the northern tribal lands across the Caucasus mountains had her mouth carefully formed around the tip, and taking several inches into her suctioning mouth. Both girls seemed to work in tandem, taking extra special care of the Great King's cock, and servicing him in the best way they knew how. It was almost like they had done this together in the past, although Papak knew that the redhead was a recent addition.
"Ah, Papak, right on time," came the sudden voice from Cyrus. Papak startled, tearing his eyes away from the girls and facing his king. "You don't mind if I finish, do you?"
"Not at all, Great King," replied Papak, struggling to keep eye contact with the king. The girls barely noticed his presence, continuing with their work.
