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Troy
‘Soaring Scimitar’
Part II
-The Palace of the golden Aries-
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“Did you get him?” Troy asked peeking out of the corner, part of the wall cracked and blackened from the fire that had started at the neighborhood after their initial assault. It had burned down seven houses on the road adjoined to Elur Sol’s walled palace east side. The city emptied from civilians there and only homeless, escaped slaves, stray animals and gladiators roaming it.
“Right at the ear,” Fluke replied slotting another lead shot in his sling.
“How did ye manage that?” An impressed Troy asked and Qathor shook his meaty fist right and left from across the street, either a new signal or a taunt to stop playing with their cocks and move out.
“Don’t know,” Fluke admitted and Veto cracked up dropping one of his twin axes with a bang on the sidewalk. Qathor cursed from across the street.
“What’s he doing?” Troy probed showing the grimacing comically Qathor the middle finger.
“Crawling back? Left the water flask. Nope, he stopped moving,” Fluke reported. “Want me to hit him again?”
“Why?” Troy grunted and peeked out to see for himself. The guard was laying in a pool of his own blood next to the marble fountain. The walls of the Palace twenty meters away looming tall.
“Are they getting out?” Veto asked after picking his axe up with an apologetic look to the gladiators waiting behind them in this small alley. While there were no gates on this side of the palace walls, a small hidden opening existed between two thick fig trees and a gathering of bushes sprouting at its base from where people had been coming in and out to get fresh water.
Weeks into the siege of Sol’s palace they still hadn’t managed to cut them off completely, with an avenue of supply existing at its north gates connecting it with the still resisting portions of Que Ki-La. They had squeezed the defenders a lot though and if Ballard’s plan works then it won’t matter.
“Not yet,” Troy replied. “But they have to look for him soon.”
“You want a spear?” Veto asked him and Troy glanced at the javelin carrying gladiators.
“I’m good.”
“A shield?”
“Nah, it’ll slow me down and have no lift carrying it,” Troy pushed his long hair back and tied them tight with a leather cord. “I get them busy and away from the door, but you’ll come right after to help me. Right?”
“Get the door,” Fluke agreed with a nod.
“No. I distract them and you dumb fucks run to support me,” Troy hissed and the fake part of the brick wall slid sideways creating an opening. He didn’t hear it but just saw the gap as Samir’s men were making another attack on the south gates of the large complex where the two right-angled towers stood and were making a lot of noise. It was a feint. A guard popped his head out of the bushes, glanced at the seemingly empty street and ruined buildings surrounding the small city square across from him and then signaled for his friends to come out as well.
The moment they stepped out of the trees and onto the cobblestone the palace guards would spot their dead friend.
Troy guessed he had about five seconds to reach them before they spotted him as well so he started running.
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“Hey!” The palace guard, a robe-wearing under a chainmail shirt keen-eyed man, cried a mere second into Troy’s sprint. His friends, three of them, heading for the dead guard or his flask, still looking the other way.
Troy redoubled his efforts with a gasp, sandaled feet thudding on the cobblestone, sword wielding arms pumping up and down energetically. He made two meters in that first initial stride, three on the next as the gladiator picked up momentum and four on the third as he leaped from his right leg.
“Rebels!” The guard elucidated with an even louder yell alerting the others just as Troy soared the remaining distance and connected with him three seconds into his run.
The man had raised a scimitar but Troy’s sudden mad dash had caught him unsure on what to do with it. So the gladiator crashed on the guard, left knee finding his solar plexus and Troy’s cock and balls a hard forehead, nevertheless shoving him back. They landed with a thud both men groaning for different reasons and a wild-eyed Troy, who didn’t have the time to attack as well, rolled over his fallen opponent and towards his friends.
The latter after watching the peculiar spectacle for a moment reacted to his acrobatics with colorful curses and drawing their weapons. Two of them carried spears over their backs and the third had a sword strapped on his waist. Neither had a helmet on nor did Troy for that matter but the gladiator had his swords out.
One of them that is as he’d lost the other getting smashed in the groin earlier. Still a blade in hand is better than nothing, Troy decided and stood on a knee to jump up but the guard he’d knocked down earlier grabbed at his other leg and stopped him.
“GET THIS FUCK!” The local guard yelled at his friends from the ground and an affronted Troy went to hack at his face to free himself, almost chopping off his own leg when the man jolted away. He had to let go of Troy’s foot to do it though so the gladiator stepped aside to resume attacking the others.
As it habitually happens in messy scraps like these, in the meantime they had armed themselves proper.
“Cunt in mouth,” Troy spat and jerked his head left, the spear thrust scrapping the skin under his right ear and drawing blood. He grabbed at the shaft just under the blade and pulled hard, flicking his sword with the left hand to parry the second guard’s blade away. The guard with the spear, a fine goatee sprouting under his chin and eyes painted a lovely red shade, cursed losing his footing and let go of the weapon.
Troy flipped it in his hand and used the shaft to stop the third spear-armed guard from giving him a second arsehole across the one he already had. The sword-wielding officer, given his engraved metal shoulder pads, rushed him. The blade lashed out but found Troy’s and was deflected away. The officer made to attack him again but heard the clanging of metal on cobblestone between his legs and stooped to see what had happened.
Seeing a good part of his bloody severed arm there, the clean cut four fingers above the wrist still holding at his sword –the spraying gore stub another solid hint- the maimed officer gasped in shock. A mouth opening wide enough to show the gold fillings in a scream of mind-blowing agony that is until Troy shoved the spear’s steel point there and put a stop to it abruptly.
Troy left the spear in the officer’s face and twirled under a slash from the guard with the goatee, now armed with a scimitar. At the end of the pirouette he extended his blade out and split a carelessly protruding kneecap doubling the crying guard over. Troy lifted him back up with a knee below the chin, the fancy-painted man’s head snapping back violently and his neck breaking.
A gasp and he’d his second Kopis out of its sheath, just in time to block the third guard’s spear thrust crossing both his blades. Troy twisted the swords counterclockwise, the guard yanked the spear back to free it and got slashed across the chest and face by both blades when the gladiator snapped his arms forward.
Troy turned to see where the first guard he’d knocked down was but got hit below the left chest and was shoved back, the plate denting there and the spherical lead shot remaining stuck. He cursed hoarsely, his eyes blurring but spotted the local guard legging it towards the hidden door and rushed after him, his chest hurting with every stride and breath.
Even injured Troy was faster than the running away guard.
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“Keep it quiet! Anyone wants to open his fuckhole gets a mouthful of black phallus,” Qathor barked loud enough to raise the dead and lifted Troy up from the base of the wall he’d sunk down after cleaving the poor man a couple of times upside the head with both swords. “You’re hurt princess?”
Troy felt the pain coming from both his groin and his chest, but not in a good way.
“Suck… my cock,” Troy grunted blinking away the tears.
“Yer too wayward for me likes,” Qathor retorted.
“Shut the fuck up Qathor,” Troy grunted and turned to glare at the rest of the platoon. "Thanks for the fucking help assholes!”
“What are ye talking about? You needed no help mate!” Qathor guffawed, showing a lot of white teeth on his black face and slapped him on the shoulder pad hard. Troy grimaced in pain. “Yer the blasted Titan of Novesium!”
This shite is going to get me killed.
“Where’s Fluke?” Troy hissed and moved his left arm up and down to gauge at the damage. “Dumb fuck nearly took me out!”
“Apologies Troy,” Fluke said sadly behind several gladiators. “Don’t know what happened.”
“Now, don’t turn into a sore cunt,” Qathor admonished the scowling Troy. “We have a job to do.”
“The job was to find a way inside, which I fucking did!” Troy grunted and Qathor grabbed his shoulder to turn him around. The large Issir pointed an arm down the dark passage through the walls.
“The job is to flush them turds out,” Qathor started and everyone nodded eager to get it over with. Not as eager to help me earlier though, Troy thought sourly and Qathor continued a gleam in his eye. “Clean them pipes proper to shove our cocks in—”
“Alright that’s enough cleaning,” Troy cut him off mid-sentence. Every pep talk his friend offered in the years Troy knew him, ended with the colorful description of an orgy or something resembling it. “Get word to Samir and the others to keep the ruse going. We’ll give it a go.”
> Arik Sartak had ordered reinforcements from Rin An Pur and several classes of Jang-Lu fresh recruits along four small mercenary companies gathered for a march towards the caravan town of Lu-Kela. Prince Nout rescinded his order not wanting to throw young recruits against seasoned gladiators and urged his former classmate in the military academy of Chariot Birth to defend the bridge. Sartak tried to, but his spread out inside the city troops weren’t enough and he had to use his Jang-Lu inside Que Ki-La to block the gladiators advance in the narrow streets.
>
> The demoralized starving local survivors of the battle of the plains were routing easily. Having to rotate the soldiers in Que Ki-La with those guarding the river and the Lake lowered the quality of his troops even more and he had to use archers or lighter units for a guard’s job in the end to hold the rear.
>
> The men going inside the city were subjected to starving rations and disease which led to the defenders having less ready to fight soldiers with each passing week despite raising almost two thousand from the local population. As a matter of fact due to the fear of illness spreading, the reserve camp built outside Que Ki-La had to be kept apart on the south side of the river, half an hour away from the one Rin An-Pur’s stream of reinforcements were using as a staging area beyond the bridge.
>
> Sir Emerson, who had received around seven hundred men from Lord Phon-Iv Sopat, had sent Qathor and Troy inside the city also rotating the Chiliad around. The two Chiliad leaders gathered their men near the port they had managed to take over two weeks prior with an attack at its weakened south wall and then entered the city leaving the south flank to the mercenaries.
>
> The rest of the Chiliad marched following the east banks of Clear Lake, through a less dense part of the woods and assaulted Ari Sartak’s guarding force routing them over the bridge. They reached the reserve camp and torched it killing a huge number of men stationed there. Some of them had to escape anyway they could and jumped in the river or the lake but few made it across.
>
> The Small River and the nearby Clear Lake were a known old-crocodile infested areas.
>
> The defenders launched a counter attack out of the city’s north gates but the well-rested gladiators mauled their badly-coordinated attack. Many panicked civilians had joined in their ranks in a frantic attempt to escape the doomed city and got in Elur Sol’s army’s way.
>
> Sartak, who was at the horse archers’ camp (as it was called) beyond the Small River Bridge during the attack, rode back and realized in horror the city had been cut off along a good portion of the troops he’d managed to rescue in the Dates Plantation more than a month back.
>
> He considered attacking from the west edges of the massive fig forest sprouting around the lake and use the open ground to surprise Lord Phon’s expansive camp raised there, but he woefully lacked in heavy cavalry in order to break through and the slaver-guards (or caravan guards) employed by the Sopat were an experienced multi-purpose force very difficult to rattle with arrows and slow-marching low-quality light infantry.
>
> They faced horselords in the field after all for a living and Lord Sopat’s camp had ballooned to over three thousand men in the month following his arrival as every willing to hold a spear man was smelling blood and imminent heavy-plunder and picked the winning side.
>
> In the battle of purses despite Sol’s considerable wealth and position, Phon-Iv was winning giving men the easier task along sacks of coin.
>
> Running out of time Sartak halted the attack giving up the bridge and messaged Lord Sol to break out of the city with every man able or talk terms. Elur Sol countered ordering Sartak to attack and break him out of the pocket or face the humiliation of losing a member of the Khan’s Council and a major city of close to a hundred and fifty thousand souls.
>
> A pressured Sartak did attack across the bridge and was repelled easily by the Chiliad. He would try again and again in the days that followed (although sources state he only made probing efforts and not really committing his force. Since the general is a political figure and martyr it’s difficult to discern truth from fiction here).
>
> Sir Emerson realizing he could maintain control of the bridge without danger after the third day, turned the bulk of the Chiliad around intending to assault the north gates and enter the city from that direction as well. The late time of the day didn’t allow him to go ahead with it immediately and by the time he could, the situation had changed.
>
> Inside the city, Troy and Qathor managed to penetrate Sol’s Palace during the last week of summer (sources also cite treachery) through an opening in the eight-meter high brick walls. Once inside, they headed for the large castle-shaped complex taking advantage of the defenders being preoccupied elsewhere. While they must have faced stiff resistance, Troy’s force punched through all the way to Lord Sol’s headquarters, a massive three-domed palace and sacked it. Lord Baryal of Palar who was defending the gates of the Palace saw and heard the brawl coming behind his back and rushed there to save Lord Sol. When Samir’s roaming archers realized no one was firing back at them from the walls but for the sentries at the towers, they signaled the lurking infantry and went for the gates.
Troy cleared an internal floral table putting a hand on it, the scent of the purple blossomed orchids mixing with that of spilt blood. He landed on the marble tiles of the garden, jumped immediately over a slain slave girl and hurled his sword at the masquerading fleeing eunuch that had cleaved Veto’s face off. The front-curved blade screamed across the palace’s interior garden and smacked the nibble eunuch between the shoulder blades. He screamed in an effeminate voice, the short slave-girl dress he wore adding to the illusion, along the long oiled and shaved legs –Troy had to give him that he looked great in that dress- and plunged on the small stairs head first.
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He cracked his skull open and bloody brains splashed out covering the stairs leading to the harem as far as the wall. Troy reached for his second sword breathing heavy and tried to orientate himself. Loud screams and curses were coming from inside the building and outside of it, along the sounds of fighting.
“Veto ain’t talking,” Fluke said sadly approaching on a bad leg. He got speared through the thigh earlier and everyone thought him a goner but Luthos be willing the blade had missed the artery. So lucky Fluke had bandaged it with a slave’s bloody yellow tunic and followed after them. Whether the blood was there before or it was all his a bet Troy wasn’t willing to take.
Talk with what? Troy wondered and grimaced.
Veto was missing the front part of his skull.
“Stay close,” he told the gladiator instead. “Stick to the sword.”
He moved ahead after retrieving his own blade, paused for a moment to clean some of the gore on the arched gilded entrance’s silk drapes and then entered the lavish female quarters. The carnage inside shocking. Troy took another step and stopped again, his sandals dipped in the blood pooling near the entrance. It created a small river coming from the pile of slain bodies near the painted a foul red pond at the center of the room, the light coming from the open ceiling making the colors appear even more striking.
At least twenty people were laying butchered inside the opulent hall, half of them palace guards or officials and the rest slaves.
“Why kill the women?” Fluke asked him hoarsely and Troy glanced at him frustrated with the scene.
He then walked near the slain corpses and checked for survivors. One of the women had a silver knife in her hand still, the blood turning cold and sticky but plentiful. She sliced her own neck. Why ye did that lass? The younger girl next to her having the same gaping wound on her small neck.
“They killed themselves,” Troy rustled and got up staring at the rich but ruined surroundings. “Noble women facing slavery,” he turned his head away from the gruesome sight and spat down, mouth bitter. “Ironically they couldn’t bear it.”
“Or rape,” Fluke noted the female screams coming from inside the Sol’s harem chilling.
“Find Qathor,” Troy ordered hoarsely and sheathed one of his swords over his back. “Tell him that’s enough. Let Ballard sort out this mess.”
“Might be nothing left to sort out by then Troy,” Fluke pointed out surprisingly lucid after all the butchering he’d taken part off.
Troy had kept a clear head going after real targets. Then again, he thought glancing at the entrance and the stairs where the pretty eunuch had fallen. You can never be certain either way.
War is far uglier a business than fighting in the arena.
Troy started down a corridor towards the kitchens where the worst of the screaming was coming from without replying to Fluke’s query.
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“I get to take the girl,” Rabbis was saying, a half-Issir half-Cofol gladiator that had come with Thalion’s group a couple of weeks back. Balfor a Cofol wearing the armour of the Chiliad not likening the deal.
“The woman is too mature for my taste Rabbis. Your unit is outside the walls. Better return there and leave the spoils for those—”
“Balfor!” Troy barked cutting him off and walked inside the large hall leading to the Palace kitchens. “We’re not here to pick up slaves!”
“Hah you heard the champion,” Rabbis guffawed greedily. A large man, taller than Troy but nowhere near in as good a shape. Few people come even close, Troy admitted modestly to himself and pushed his chest out. The older woman, a Lorian of about forty years, turned her head to stare at him hopefully. Her daughter, the two females were strikingly similar in skin and hair color, turned her blond head as well surprisingly sober considering their predicament.
She looked a mature fourteen.
“No slaves Rabbis,” Troy rustled. “We’re gladiators, Bohor’s lot is camping with the Sopat.”
“Wasn’t looking for slaves,” Rabbis grunted measuring Troy up and down. He’d a large sword on his back and a custom cleaver on his waist. “But payment.”
“Plenty of coin and gold about,” Troy retorted and flipped the sword in his hand, the blade making a full circle. Once, twice afore he stopped to add. “Glory as well if yer looking for a good death.”
Rabbis smacked his lips and eyed the scowling Balfor. “We could take him,” he offered and the Chiliad gladiator scoffed at his words.
“I ain’t dying in a blasted kitchen,” Balfor grunted and walked away.
“Fucking cunt,” Rabbis taunted at his back and glanced at Troy.
“Can I take the woman?”
“I’ll go with him,” she offered looking at Troy, probably fearing he’d lose the duel. “Take Kelly.”
Troy licked his lips, cracked his neck once right and then left to get the full impact and then replied cockily.
“Dear, let me answer his query first,” he told her a little affronted at her lack of faith. “What was I saying? Ah, Rabbis go suck a mule’s cock. Mind the teeth because they have quite the kick. Leave the women. The answer is no in case you didn’t get the gist of it.”
Rabbis stepped back a deep flush darkening his tanned face even more, thought about his life after attacking Troy, saw nothing in that future and shagging his broad shoulders walked away under the famed gladiator’s taunting stare.
“I’m Mirka good sir, we owe you our lives,” the woman said and prostrated herself to his feet. Her cook’s tunic showing plenty of pearly-white skin and a good handful of round tit. The nipple on it fat and dark pink.
Good grief! Them are some mature thick mounds worthy of sucking and resting onto. Troy blinked, his lips pursed not expecting the goodness hidden under the plain-looking woman’s garbs and then caught the pretty daughter watching him ogling at her mother and had to clear his throat annoyed.
“I’m not looking… eh, for any reward Mirka,” he croaked almost making a blunder there.
“She wasn’t offering,” Kelly snapped in Jelin Common and Troy gave her a glare afore replying frustrated.
“Then you’re both fools for this chance you’ll never have again!”
Kelly raised a blond brow on her cute freckled face at his outburst. “You’re the rebel leader then? The champion of the Pits?” She asked curious.
“You’re half right.”
“Which half?” Kelly taunted and her mother snapped at her getting up on her feet.
“Kelly!”
“The arena part,” Troy replied through his teeth.
“Hmm. I’m not impressed,” the teenage girl decided puckering her mouth.
“Apologies for her,” Mirka said quickly. “She’s had a rough life.”
“Where are you from?” Troy asked too tired with the annoying teenager. Their accent wasn’t that of one learning the language in the Peninsula.
“Raoz. Rida that is,” Mirka replied confirming his suspicion. “We made it out through the good lord’s grace, but we got betrayed by our own soon after and ended up in Baryal’s hands.”
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Qathor had just come from the facing south gates of the Palace, Samir of Ani Ta-Ne following after him with a large group of Horse Archers on foot. The level of carnage inside the palace shocking as by the time they realized the defenders had routed or lost the fight most of them were dead. It ain’t easy to calm the blood down for people prepared to be thrown in the arena to fight for their lives, even if they have been trained for a year on tactics.
Most of the tactics also involving killing people a different way.
“Anyone left still breathing?” Troy asked his friend and Qathor grimaced.
“Not at the gates. What you got there?”
“A couple of slaves,” Troy replied with a glance at the two women. More women and slaves had been found inside the buildings and were brought out in the yard.
“How many did you lose?” Qathor asked.
“Don’t know for sure. Six? Eight? Veto gave up the ghost,” Troy replied as he’d checked on the gladiator on his return.
“Spear?”
“Cleaver to the face. A fucking slave dressed as a girl,” Troy grimaced his eyes on Samir examining the miserable prisoners.
“Aah, Balfor told me you—”
“Fuck him. He was looking to take them,” Troy retorted cutting him off. Balfor was in Qathor’s platoon.
Qathor nodded and looked at Mirka and Kelly.
“They don’t look like much,” Qathor said finally.
“You don’t look like much either,” Kelly hissed and Qathor raised his white brows impressed.
“I take it back,” he replied with a grin.
“You!” Samir grunted interrupting them pointing at one of the slaves. “Step forward!”
An older injured Cofol slave limped out of the group. He’d short cut greying hair and wrinkled unkempt bloody robes.
“Better intervene,” Qathor whispered to Troy. “There’s news spreading of a great carnage in Ta-Ne and them boys are out for blood.”
“What’s your name?” Samir asked brusquely.
“Sibilus,” the man said.
“That’s Lord Baryal’s sigil on the robes,” Samir grunted.
“I was his slave,” Sibilus replied and Troy glanced at the others, but no one was really looking at him. The prisoners gathered from many places inside the large palace.
“Where’s Baryal?” Samir asked soberly.
“He’s dead.”
“What about Lord Sol?”
“Killed. Near the gates.”
“His wife?” Samir asked and Troy intervened.
“I came from the harem. His wife and daughter are dead also,” he told Samir and Sibilus flinched in shock and clenched his fists tight. Troy caught him out of the corner of his eye but said nothing.
“Curse him,” Samir grunted and turned to his men. “Find their bodies. Bring them here.”
“Samir we don’t have time for this shite,” Qathor admonished him.
“He’s not Baryal’s slave,” Kelly said stepping forward and Troy glared at her frustrated.
Samir turned to look at the young girl. “How do you know?”
“I served him for four years. Slept in his bed for three of them,” Kelly replied solemnly and Troy recoiled.
“She’s in shock,” Sibilus protested unconvincingly.
“Samir,” Troy hissed. “We were tasked with a job. Ballard is expecting us!”
“Fine,” the Horse Archer leader decided and turned to his men. “Get the bodies. Strip them, we’ll drag them behind our horses on our way out and leave them for the dogs.”
Fuck’s sake, Troy cursed and eyed the gawking in rage old man. Much thinner than he remembered him from the arena games. No makeup or jewelry and wearing a slave’s robe. Don’t do it, he urged him.
But Lord Sol couldn’t keep up the charade for much longer.
“Shame on you Samir of Ani Ta-Ne,” he grumbled and then regaining some of his composure the old treasurer demanded. “Leave them be!”
Samir stared at him in disbelief at first but then he realized who was in front of him.
“That’s a phallus up the nostril,” a bewildered Qathor cursed and crossed his beefy arms over his chest. Troy moved to stop the furious Samir from attacking Lord Sol but a gladiator stepped in front of him and bumped him away.
“Apologies great champion.”
Rabbis showed him a fake repentant smile, Troy unsheathed his sword in the blink of an eye and slashed at the grinning gladiator, just as Samir stabbed a curved dagger in Lord Sol’s chest not even two meters away.
Troy’s blade caught Rabbis on the left side of his nose and plunged deep in his skull cracking the bone. A yank and the blade came out, left eye popping and spraying murky gore about, the dark blood pouring down the ghastly wound. Rabbis shuddered once and then collapsed down in a heap when his legs gave. Dead as old mutton.
“Allgods darn it buddy,” Qathor gasped seeing the slain gladiator. Troy grunted and moved to help Sol but it was too late. “Troy!” Qathor barked on his back as he advanced on the scowling Samir shaking, bloody sword in hand. “Stand down brother!”
“Mista Savar!” Fluke was heard yelling and a livid Troy paused still facing a cleaning his dagger sober Samir and his men. The Horse Archers leader returned his stare and hearing the sound of hooves approaching shifted his eyes towards the distant gates of the palace complex.
“You’ll pay for this,” Troy warned him and Samir shook his head bitterly and pointed at the bloody corpse of Rabbis.
“I had family in Ta-Ne,” Samir told him hoarsely. “And a reason to hate Sol. He got what he deserved. What’s your excuse for taking his life champion of the arena?”
Troy grimaced, his knuckles turning white on the handle of his Kopis and Qathor’s hand landed heavy on his shoulder.
“It’s done,” his friend whispered. “Let Ballard handle this.”
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“We need your men to provide support Samir,” a tired Ballard rustled after he climbed down from the saddle. “There are soldiers barricaded at the northeastern neighborhood. It’s either that or you ride to Palar to scout for the enemy.”
“What enemy?”
Ballard stared at him solemnly.
“I’ll look for the leopard,” Samir decided.
“Ballard,” Troy said but he stopped him with an austere glare.
“The slaves can go,” he told Samir next and eyed the group of fifty scared men and women bunched up near the entrance of the palace. “Your shackles are broken,” Ballard continued hoarsely. “Leave through the south gates and head into the forest or wherever you think it’s safer. If you put in the effort you’ll stay free and breathing. May Luthos guide you out of the sea of struggles and unto gentler shores. Move swiftly and keep yer heads low.”
“He killed Lord Sol,” Troy grunted and pointed at the blank-eyed dead treasurer.
Ballard nodded glumly, black eyes staying at the old Lord’s bloodied body briefly. The golden ram slain at the stairs of his palace. He could have left but he didn’t, Troy thought. “His family?” Ballard asked answering him the why.
Troy shook his head negatively and about ten archers came out of the palace carrying the slain corpses he’d left inside near the pond.
Ballard turned to the gladiators that had come with him. “See they are buried together. There, at the flower beds next to the entrance. It’s a good spot,” he added and stared at the scowling Samir. “Lad I gave ye an order. Do I have to repeat it?”
Samir grimaced, glanced at the corpse of Elur Sol once more and then clicked his tongue to get his men moving.
“What about them?” One of the Cofols asked him pointing at the mother and her daughters.
“Leave them,” Samir grunted. “You heard Mista Savar.”
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“Come,” Ballard told him the moment the archers had left to return to their horses.
“You’ve taken the bridge?” Troy asked following after him.
“Your assault gave us the city’s north gates as well,” Ballard replied walking inside the palace. “How did you do it?”
Troy shrugged his shoulders. “My plan was to run fast and catch them before they retreated behind the hidden door,” he admitted. “It was a good tip but I had nothing planned after that. They panicked.”
“We cut the city in two,” Ballard said and paused to stare at the large hall leading to Lord Sol’s private headquarters. He touched a calloused hand on a gilded column. “That’s gold.”
“There’s enough loot in here to retire in Valeria,” Troy agreed and stooped to pick up a sack filled with plunder someone had discarded. Probably too laden to carry it. “Lots of lads have turned rich overnight.”
“Nout has sacked Ta-Ne,” Ballard said taking an engraved silver goblet from the sack to examine it. Tossed it back a moment later. “Burned the port and killed Lord Letakin. Being rich ain’t going to spare anyone.”
“Not a good month for the Lords of the Peninsula,” Troy commented.
“He wasn’t there himself,” Ballard informed him. “He made another landing near Rihtur, broken through and is heading here.”
“How soon?” Troy asked.
“Difficult to say. We’ll know more on the morrow,” he paused and glanced back at the two females still waiting in the yard. “Who are they?”
“Just a couple of slaves sort of serving in the kitchen among other things,” Troy replied. “From Rida.”
Ballard nodded. “Phon wants Bohor to lead his men,” he said. “March down the road to retake Rihtur.”
“What do you think?”
“We have to deal with the Prince. Slaying underlings, lords and womenfolk never won any wars that I know off.”
“What about Thalion? Can he manage it?”
“The cities will either fight or die like Ta-Ne,” Ballard retorted harshly. “We can’t run up and down the Peninsula like headless chicken. He’ll come here because losing Que Ki-La is not an option for him. Lukela is a week away on good flat road and then it’s the Rin An-Pur valleys. The Prince will never allow the capital to be threatened. He has no choice.”
“Right,” Troy gulped down uneasily. “That’s a good thing for us?”
“I reckon it is favorable to know where yer enemy is heading,” Ballard said, paused to stare at the lavish walls of Sol’s sacked palace and added gravely. “But that’s exactly what the Lord of Coin probably thought.”
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