PRELUDE

“THE HORSE”

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Deep in the night, long after the cheerful cries of the masses that celebrated their ‘victory’ were exhausted and the sun had set over Troy, something else stirred. In the dark, in the shadows, it moved, unnoticed and underestimated—a monster beyond their comprehension, and a beast of ruin they could never hope to predict.

It was the tenth year of a war that seemed eternal… endlessly relentless and tireless, as if the gods refused to display even the most modest degree of mercy for them, but now this time of violence was finally nearing its end. If not for the calculating intelligence of one man, and his cleverness so great that it was rumored to be a gift from the divine, that end wouldn’t have been possible. The tactic conceived of this man’s mind was so great, and yet so horrible indeed, that it would forever be etched into myth and legend.

After the Trojan War, his deeds ranked among the greatest of the Greek heroes, for he was instrumental in bringing the Achaeans’ decade-long siege to a close, and his name would be uttered for millennia to come, never fading and never dying.

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“Odysseus.” A whisper carried his own name to him, the speaker’s tone hushed so as to not alert the Trojans of their presence, but admittedly that was of no concern. The vessel of Troy’s destruction housed them all, and was situated within the city’s walls already. Hours ago they brought it in of their own volition, unknowing of its danger.

To the man who called for him, whose features were obscured by darkness, Odysseus turned and responded with his palm; a signal to wait. At this hour, surely the Trojans rolled in their sleep. The past several hours were spent in tireless celebration, but it was wiser to not take chances when they could afford to instead be cautious.

He turned away from the man—Diomedes, judging by his voice that seemed to command respect—and he turned his attention to the great fortress of a city that lied outside. It was funny; for ten years they tried to siege Troy by force, and each time they failed to get past the Trojans’ mighty walls. In the end, all it took to bypass their enemies’ defenses was a single trick. Those great walls that blocked their way didn’t seem so tall now that he was looking at them from the inside.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

This night was a dark one, but despite how he felt at this current moment, Odysseus could still see the faded silhouette of those walls from within the sea of black that lay before his eyes. His view was slightly illuminated, he noticed, as he peered through a slit in the carapace; a few torches burned nearby, granting him vision. Along with them, he could see the shadows and bodies of several sleeping Trojans. On their sides and backs, or leaning against something, they neglected their duties without awareness of the danger that lurked in their ‘gift’ horse. Sheep, unaware of the wolves among them.

Just like we planned. They were located at some kind of temple; they assumed the horse was an offering to the gods, and so they brought it to a place of worship, just as he thought they would, where there would be very few guards. And those that were there were lost in a drunken stupor, convinced that their enemy fled.

Odysseus’s gaze returned to his allies who, unlike the Trojans, were restless in anticipation of their coming battle. “It’s time,” he said, his tone hushed, but his words held power all the same. There was no need to review; all that remained was action.

From the great wooden horse’s carapace they emerged, only thirty or so in number but greater in spirit. As silent as mice, they lowered themselves down with the rope they stored within, and one by one they touched the ground without a sound. Light-footed, they scattered at once. Each was charged with a different objective, but all were driven.

In quick succession, without as much as a shout, the sleeping guards were met with steel as the Greeks’ blades sank into their flesh. Those unfortunate enough to be awoken by the ambush choked on their own blood; with little resistance, they died.

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For a moment, he looked up at the horse. It wasn’t a masterpiece of sculpture by any means; it was cobbled together by soldiers over the course of three days, led by Epeius, with driftwood and whatever resources they could gather. He was a skilled carpenter, but even with the help he had, the short timeframe resulted in his creation being of rather rough quality. Even so, it was good enough to convince the Trojans.

In his hands, he clutched his helm. Putting it on, he grasped the hilt of his sword and the base of the round shield he wore on his back, and then he turned to address the others.

“You all know the mission,” Odysseus said. In front of him, his comrades—those who remained with him—were gathered. The others already left; they had their own goals. “Now, to the gate,” he commanded with an authority none could defy.

They slunk into the shadows as one; almost like a single being, they moved in tandem through the shadows of Troy with a single-minded focus: destroy their enemy. The rest of their forces sat outside Troy’s gate. There they waited for their allies to act, for only as a whole could they bring their enemies to the ground. With the combined total of all the armies of Achaea, victory was inevitable, and before the sun could rise…

Troy falls tonight. To end the war that lasted ten years, Odysseus declared thus.