Troy 03 - Fall of Kings Read Free

mist, did he see the huge ship out in the bay with its twin banks of oars and a billowing white sail emblazoned with a rearing black horse. Rage and frustration ripped through the Mykene king. Though he had never seen the vessel, he knew its name. All who sailed the Great Green knew the name of
that
ship. It was the
Xanthos,
the flagship of Helikaon the Burner.
    Down at the shore sailors had scrambled from the decks of their ships and were trying to launch them. It was no easy task, for they were closely packed. One galley almost made it. But as the crew climbed aboard, two missiles struck it. Fire arrows lit the sky, curving up from the
Xanthos
and then down onto decks slick with
nephthar.
The galley began to burn. Crewmen, their clothes ablaze, leaped into the sea.
    Agamemnon watched in impotent fury as more fireballs rained down on his fleet, fierce flames flowing over dry timbers and seeping down into the holds. The easterly wind fanned the fires, which leaped from ship to ship. Terrified of the inferno, the Mykene sailors fled back toward the hills.
    The
Xanthos
moved slowly across the bay, clay balls of
nephthar
striking vessel after vessel, fire arrows slicing through the air behind them. A score of Mykene ships and some forty of the barges were on fire now, the flames rising high into the air.
    Out on the bay the moon emerged from behind the clouds, shining upon the Death Ship. A warrior in armor of bronze climbed to the prow and stood gazing at the devastation he had caused. Then he raised his arm. Banks of oars dipped into the water, and the
Xanthos
swung away toward the open sea.
    A white figure scurried past Agamemnon. The skinny girl had crawled from the altar and was running away into the hills. No one tried to stop her.



CHAPTER ONE

    FAREWELL TO THE QUEEN
    Helikaon stood at the stern of the
Xanthos,
staring back at the burning fleet. He felt no satisfaction as the flames lit the night sky. Removing his helm of bronze, he leaned against the stern rail and turned his gaze toward the east. Fires also were burning in the distant fortress of Dardanos, and the
Xanthos
headed slowly back toward them.
    The breeze was cool upon his face as he stood alone. No one approached him. Even the sailor at the great steering oar kept his gaze firmly fixed to the east. The eighty oars of the great vessel slid rhythmically into the night-dark water, the sound as regular as a heartbeat.
    Halysia was dead. The queen of Dardania was dead. His wife was dead.
    And his heart was a ruin.
    He and Gershom had climbed the steep cliff to where her body lay, little Dex snuggled up beside her, the black stallion waiting close by. Helikaon had run to her, kneeling and lifting her into his arms. There had been a savage wound in her side, and the ground around her had been slick with blood. Her head had flopped back, her golden hair hanging loose.
    Dex had cried out, “Papa!” and he had hugged the three-year-old to him. “We must be very quiet,” Dex whispered. “Sun Woman is sleeping.” Gershom lifted the boy into his arms.
    “We jumped over it,” Dex said excitedly, pointing to the chasm and the burned bridge. “We ran away from the bad men.”
    Helikaon cradled Halysia to him. Her eyes opened then, and she smiled up at him. “I knew…you would come,” she said.
    “I am here. Rest. We will get you back to the palace and staunch your wounds.”
    Her face was pale. “I am so tired,” she told him, and his vision misted as tears formed.
    “I love you,” he whispered.
    She sighed then. “Such a…sweet lie,” she said.
    She spoke no more, nor ever would, and he knelt there, holding her close.
    Across the chasm the sounds of battle grew closer. He did not look up. Hektor and the Trojan Horse had driven the Mykene along the defile toward Parnio’s Folly, and there the enemy had made its last stand.
    But Helikaon did not care. He stroked his fingers through Halysia’s golden hair and looked down into her dead eyes. Other men