Read Online Legacy of Blood by Michael Ford - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Michael Ford
Ads: Link
can catch a boat across the water there. Itâll be no slower, though youâll need money for the ferrymen.â
âThank you,â said Lysander.
âWhy not hop on board the wagon? Iâm only going as far as the junction to Elis, but you can ride untilthen,â said the stranger. Lysander looked at his dirtstained clothes, and the new scrapes down his arms. He didnât deserve help.
âI prefer to make my own way,â he said.
âWith an attitude like that, you belong at Sparta.â The merchant chuckled to himself and, with a crack of his whip, the wagon pulled away, leaving Lysander alone once more.
He passed a junction, at the lower end of a rocky gorge. A small shrine to Zeus, no more than a cairn of rocks marked with the Godâs name, stood at the crossroads. Shards of pottery painted with votive messages stood around the base, and Lysander inspected one. âKamelos, son of Korinth, prays for the Thunder-Godâs Blessings in the javelin at Olympia.â
This must be the route to Elis
, Lysander realised. The Olympic Games were held every four years in that region. He wondered if Kamelosâ prayers had been answered. He had always doubted the Gods, despite his motherâs warnings. What had they ever done for her, or him? She had died young from the coughing sickness, brought on by long hours tending the Spartansâ crops. Lysander swallowed back the sorrow that tightened in his throat. No, now he had to trust the Gods; there was no one else left to turn to.
Lysander placed the tablet back carefully. But as he straightened up he felt the hairs stiffen on the back of his neck as a scream sliced through the air.
Chapter 6
Breaking into a run, Lysander darted off the path and climbed, hand over hand, up the ravine. He had to get to a higher vantage point.
He didnât have to go far. Below, some two hundred paces distant, were three men. One was seated on a horse, and the other two were rifling through a leather bag.
But his eye was drawn by the young woman who stood between the men, loosely holding the reins of her horse. She must have been sixteen or seventeen, with red hair. Lysander had never seen anyone with such flaming locks before. She screamed again.
âGet away from me, sons of Dis,â she shouted.
Lysander edged along the top of the ridge in a crouch, keeping out of sight. One of the men, small and wiry with a narrow face like a weasel, approached the girl and said something. She slapped him across the face. The sound echoed off the rocks like a whipcrack. The man staggered backwards, but his long-hairedfriend shoved the woman.
She fell to the ground. âCowards!â she spat, as she pushed her hair back out of her face.
The man whoâd pushed her jumped into her horseâs saddle, and tightened the reins.
Lysander reached for his sling. He was directly above now, maybe fifty paces away. Too far to hit a man accurately, and besides, there were three of them, all armed with daggers and maybe worse.
But perhaps I donât need to fight them all.
The third man, wearing a thick leather belt, climbed off his horse and stood over the girl.
Lysander slipped a sizeable pebble into the pouch of his sling, and began to swing it above his head.
Weasel-face grabbed the girlâs legs, holding them together while the man on the girlâs horse looped a rope. She struggled, beating her attackers with her fists, but they laughed as her hands bounced uselessly off their bodies.
Lysander released the sling and the pebble shot out. It fizzed through the air and smacked into the rump of the girlâs horse. It gave a terrified whinny and reared, kicking the man wearing the belt in the neck. The rider cried out as he was hurled off the horseâs back, landing heavily among the rocks. Weasel-face received a kick in the jaw and stumbled to one side. The robbersâ abandoned horse gave a whicker of fear and cantered off down the dusty
âThank you,â said Lysander.
âWhy not hop on board the wagon? Iâm only going as far as the junction to Elis, but you can ride untilthen,â said the stranger. Lysander looked at his dirtstained clothes, and the new scrapes down his arms. He didnât deserve help.
âI prefer to make my own way,â he said.
âWith an attitude like that, you belong at Sparta.â The merchant chuckled to himself and, with a crack of his whip, the wagon pulled away, leaving Lysander alone once more.
He passed a junction, at the lower end of a rocky gorge. A small shrine to Zeus, no more than a cairn of rocks marked with the Godâs name, stood at the crossroads. Shards of pottery painted with votive messages stood around the base, and Lysander inspected one. âKamelos, son of Korinth, prays for the Thunder-Godâs Blessings in the javelin at Olympia.â
This must be the route to Elis
, Lysander realised. The Olympic Games were held every four years in that region. He wondered if Kamelosâ prayers had been answered. He had always doubted the Gods, despite his motherâs warnings. What had they ever done for her, or him? She had died young from the coughing sickness, brought on by long hours tending the Spartansâ crops. Lysander swallowed back the sorrow that tightened in his throat. No, now he had to trust the Gods; there was no one else left to turn to.
Lysander placed the tablet back carefully. But as he straightened up he felt the hairs stiffen on the back of his neck as a scream sliced through the air.
Chapter 6
Breaking into a run, Lysander darted off the path and climbed, hand over hand, up the ravine. He had to get to a higher vantage point.
He didnât have to go far. Below, some two hundred paces distant, were three men. One was seated on a horse, and the other two were rifling through a leather bag.
But his eye was drawn by the young woman who stood between the men, loosely holding the reins of her horse. She must have been sixteen or seventeen, with red hair. Lysander had never seen anyone with such flaming locks before. She screamed again.
âGet away from me, sons of Dis,â she shouted.
Lysander edged along the top of the ridge in a crouch, keeping out of sight. One of the men, small and wiry with a narrow face like a weasel, approached the girl and said something. She slapped him across the face. The sound echoed off the rocks like a whipcrack. The man staggered backwards, but his long-hairedfriend shoved the woman.
She fell to the ground. âCowards!â she spat, as she pushed her hair back out of her face.
The man whoâd pushed her jumped into her horseâs saddle, and tightened the reins.
Lysander reached for his sling. He was directly above now, maybe fifty paces away. Too far to hit a man accurately, and besides, there were three of them, all armed with daggers and maybe worse.
But perhaps I donât need to fight them all.
The third man, wearing a thick leather belt, climbed off his horse and stood over the girl.
Lysander slipped a sizeable pebble into the pouch of his sling, and began to swing it above his head.
Weasel-face grabbed the girlâs legs, holding them together while the man on the girlâs horse looped a rope. She struggled, beating her attackers with her fists, but they laughed as her hands bounced uselessly off their bodies.
Lysander released the sling and the pebble shot out. It fizzed through the air and smacked into the rump of the girlâs horse. It gave a terrified whinny and reared, kicking the man wearing the belt in the neck. The rider cried out as he was hurled off the horseâs back, landing heavily among the rocks. Weasel-face received a kick in the jaw and stumbled to one side. The robbersâ abandoned horse gave a whicker of fear and cantered off down the dusty
Similar Books
