Troy 02 - Shield of Thunder Read Free Page A

one great weakness. He was like an old warhorse, canny and cautious, but at the touch of the whip he would ride into fire. For Odysseus that whip was pride.
    He kissed both of her hands then turned and stomped down the beach and into the sea. The water was chest-high before he grabbed a rope and hauled himself up on board. Instantly the rowers took up a beat, and the old ship started to glide away. She saw him wave his arm, silhouetted against the rising sun.
    She had not told him of the gulls. He would only scoff. Seagulls were stupid birds, he would say. They have no place in prophecy.
    But she had dreamed of a colossal flock of gulls that blotted out the sun like a black wind rising, turning the midday sky to night.
    And that wind brought death and the end of worlds.
                      
    The young warrior Kalliades sat in the mouth of the cave, a dark cloak wrapped around his slim frame, his sword heavy in his hand. He scanned the arid hillside and the fields beyond. There was no one in sight. Glancing back into the gloom of the cave, he saw the injured woman lying on her side, her knees drawn up, the red cloak of Banokles covering her. She seemed to be sleeping.
    Bright moonlight speared through a break in the clouds. Kalliades could see her more clearly now. Her yellow hair was long, and her pale face was bruised and swollen, smeared with drying blood.
    The night breeze was cold, and Kalliades shivered. From the high cave he could see the distant sea, reflected stars glittering on the water. So far from home, he thought.
    The vivid red scar on his right cheek was itching, and he idly scratched it. The last of many wounds. In the quiet of the night he remembered the battles and the skirmishes that had seen sword and dagger blades pierce his flesh. Arrows and spears had cut him. Stones shot from slings had dazed him. A blow to the left shoulder from a club had left him with a joint that ached in the winter rains. At twenty-five he was a ten-year veteran and carried the scars to prove it.
    “I’m going to light a fire,” his huge comrade said, moving out of the shadows. In the moonlight Banokles’ blond hair and full beard shone like silver. Blood had spattered over his breastplate, dark spots on the bright bronze disks fastened to the heavy leather undershirt.
    Kalliades turned toward the powerful warrior. “A fire will be seen,” he said quietly. “They will come for us.”
    “They will come for us anyway. Might as well be now, while I’m still angry.”
    “You have no reason to be angry at them,” Kalliades pointed out wearily.
    “I’m not. I’m angry with
you.
The woman meant nothing to us.”
    “I know.”
    “And it’s not as if we saved her for long. There’s no way off this island. We’ll likely be dead by noon tomorrow.”
    “I know that, too.”
    Banokles said nothing more for a while. He moved alongside Kalliades and glared out at the night.
    “I thought you were going to light a fire,” Kalliades said.
    “Don’t have the patience,” Banokles grumbled, scratching at his thick beard. “Always end up cutting my fingers on the flints.” He shivered. “Cold for this time of year,” he added.
    “You wouldn’t be so cold if you hadn’t covered the woman who means nothing to us with your cloak. Go and gather some dead wood. I’ll start the fire.” Kalliades moved away from the cave mouth, took some dried bark from the pouch at his side, and shredded it. Then, with smooth strokes, he struck flint stones together, sending showers of sparks into the bark. It took some time, but finally a tiny plume of smoke showed. Dropping to his belly, Kalliades blew gentle breaths over the tinder. A flame sprang up. Banokles returned, dropping a pile of sticks and branches to the ground.
    “See anything?” Kalliades asked him.
    “No. They’ll come after sunrise, I expect.”
    The two young men sat in silence for a while, enjoying the warmth from the small fire.
    “So,” Banokles