Read Online Hades Daughter by Sara Douglass - Free Book Online Page B

grim.
    “There is darkness—an evil—crawling down the Acheron towards Mesopotama,” he said. “But I cannot…I cannot see what.”
    Hicetaon muttered something about the uselessness of seers whose eyes had clouded with age, but Brutus ignored him.
    “Membricus?” he said, very gently, moving to stand close to the man.
    “Brutus,” Membricus said, “Brutus…are you sure that you can handle the Game, if it does stir?”
    Brutus took a deep breath. “Are you still so caught in the grip of your vision? Membricus, it is pointless to talk of the Game. Ariadne destroyed it, along with most of our world, and all of our hopes.”
    Membricus’ eyes moved deliberately to Brutus’ golden bands.
    “Damn it, Membricus. There is not a single Mistress of the Labyrinth left. These bands mean nothing without a Mistress.”
    “And yet you said that those bands were sympathetic to—”
    “Enough!” Brutus snapped. He found himself curiously annoyed with Membricus and his continualprattle about the Game. It was somehow…intrusive. Almost sacrilegious.
    “And if you are going to rebuild Troy to even half its former glory,” Membricus went on, “you will need the Game to—”
    “Enough!”
    Membricus shrugged, and looked away, and for a long minute no one spoke.
    Hicetaon, whose eyes had been flitting between Brutus and Membricus during this exchange, finally broke the silence. “Brutus, are you trained in the Game? Are you a Kingman? ”
    Brutus sighed, and looked away.
    Hicetaon raised his eyebrows at Membricus.
    “Brutus is the son of Silvius, son of Ascanius, son of Aeneas, who was the son of Aphrodite,” Membricus finally said softly. “Brutus is of the line of gods and of kings, and he wears the kingship bands of Troy. Yes, Hicetaon, Brutus is trained in the Game. He is a Kingman. How could he not be?”
    Hicetaon looked back to Brutus, and inclined his head in a gesture of the deepest respect. “Then I fear not, whatever shadows lurk above Mesopotama,” he said. “Do you, Membricus?”
    Brutus, who had been looking at the city in the distance, now turned his head very deliberately toward Membricus.
    “I always fear,” the old man snarled. “That’s what seers do best.”
    Brutus grunted, half in laughter, half in derision. “Enough talk of this Game. It only distracts me. Beyond lies Mesopotama, and in it lie the people who will populate Troia Nova. Come, we need to talk of their rescue before we lose ourselves in talk of legend.”
    “The Game is not legend,” Membricus whispered, but Brutus ignored him.
    “Now, old men,” he said, “are you up for the journey down?”
    Once returned to his three warships moored in the shallow inlet some twelve miles north of the Acheron and Mesopotama, Brutus hesitated just long enough before sitting down to his evening meal to send two of his warriors, disguised as labourers, to Mesopotama.
    “Find the man who speaks for the slaves and tell him, whosoever he might be, of who I am. Tell him that I would speak with him. Tell him that I have come to lead his and mine into Troy.”

C HAPTER S EVEN
    T he response took just over one day, the two soldiers finally returning in the hour after the sun had fully risen to where Brutus’ three warships lay at anchor. Both were still dressed in the dusty garb of labourers, but looked well rested and fed; patently they had met with good hospitality. “Well?” said Brutus, who sat with Membricus and two of his senior officers, Idaeus and Hicetaon, on the aft deck of his lead ship. Below them, in the belly of the open ship, men sat on the rowing benches, cleaning and oiling weapons against the constant depredations of the sea.
    “We have a return message, my lord. You are to travel this evening to Mesopotama itself, where you will meet in the residence of Assaracus, who dwells in the highest house against the northern wall.”
    “The highest house?” Brutus said, raising his eyebrows. Obviously, this was no slave