The Ionia Sanction Read Free Page A

worms standing upright. The amphorae exuded the strong, pungent, salty fish sauce called garos, which the fishwives make from gutted intestines fermented in large vats with seawater. No doubt the cart carried empties to be refilled. Anyone buying fresh fish would want the popular sauce to go with it. The smell made me ravenous.
    The man under the hat was suspect. I leaned over and said to the driver, “ Kalimera . I wanted to ask you—” I knocked the sleeping man’s hat, which fell onto the seat and I jumped back.
    His hair was disappointingly dark. But he didn’t wake. His eyes stared, and his jaw hung slack, his tongue limp in his mouth. Across his throat was a dull red band, almost like a tight necklace, and there were claw marks in the flesh about it.
    I stared for one shocked moment, then looked to the driver. His cloak had a hood. With the sun rising at his back he was a faceless silhouette.
    I said, “ Kalimera, Araxes.”
    He replied, “And a good morning to you, dear fellow.” Araxes shoved. The dead man fell on me. I hit the ground with a corpse on top; the lifeless eyes stared into mine.
    “Gah!” I pushed him off.
    One of the guards grabbed Araxes’ left arm. In a blink, Araxes had pulled a knife with his right and driven it into the guard’s shoulder. The guard staggered back.
    The other guard tried to snatch the harness but failed when Araxes lashed out with his whip.
    The horse surged through the gateway, onto the road to Piraeus; the road that, according to my plan, Araxes would never reach.
    I had no backup plan. None at all.
    The unwounded guard grabbed his spear and ran into the middle of the road. It was a soldier’s spear, not a javelin, not weighted for throwing, but the cart had not gone far. Araxes’ back was crouched over, shrouded in his light leather cloak. The guard stood, legs apart. He considered his target for a heartbeat, hefted the spear, left arm pointing where he wanted to hit and eyes locked on the target, took three rapid steps forward and threw in a controlled arc, elbow firm. His right arm followed through. He kept his head up and his eyes never left the target.
    It was a beautiful throw. I saw at once it would make the distance.
    The spear arced across space, wobbling as it did, and passed over the shoulder of Araxes, so close I thought for a moment it would take him in the skull. But it passed him by, only the Gods know how, and landed, thwack, into the horse’s rump.
    The horse screamed. It half-reared, held by the harness, stumbled then recovered. The shaft flailed wildly. The wound opened to inflict even more pain.
    The spear fell from the fleshy hole and the cartwheels clattered over it. The horse whinnied and accelerated away.
    The guard beside me cursed. “I aimed for the man; all I did was scare the shit out of the animal!”

 
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But Sarpedon missed him with his bright spear, which smote the horse Pedasus on the right shoulder; and the horse shrieked aloud as he gasped forth his life … and the two warriors came together again in soul-devouring strife.
    We took off after the disappearing cart. The guard was as young as me and in tip-top condition. Between us we had a good chance of running down our prey.
    Araxes looked over his shoulder, probably in fear of another spear. Instead he saw us chasing. He clambered into the tray of the cart. The frightened horse stayed on the path, trapped between the Long Walls.
    Araxes picked up one of the empty amphorae and threw it.
    The amphora bounced with a hollow thud. It veered from side to side. At the last moment it went straight for the guard.
    He leaped, magnificent, strong as a deer. The guard came down safe and kept running as if nothing could stop him. Whoever this man was, he was a top athlete.
    Araxes threw another amphora.
    The guard jumped again, but this time the amphora ricocheted straight up into his knee. I heard a sharp crack. The guard went down screaming. He’d deserved better.
    It was up to me