Read Online Nobody's Prize by Esther Friesner - Free Book Online Page B

attention. It told of the quest for the Golden Fleece, and how it came to nothing. When the monsters of a hundred unknown seas couldn’t sink the
Argo,
foolish quarrels did. The name of Prince Jason would be remembered forever.
    I watched closely, with growing admiration, as Orpheus made the crew understand that they were risking more than their lives with this dispute. Most of all, I watched Jason. I swear by all-seeing Apollo, I could tell the exact moment when he considered killing Orpheus and, the instant after that, when he realized he’d also have to kill every last man aboard the
Argo
if he didn’t want to return to Iolkos with a reputation for turning tail. What self-respecting city would have a coward for her king?
    His scowl vanished, replaced by a broad smile. I couldn’t help wondering if it was sincere or false. “Well sung, Orpheus!” he cried. “I’ve always said that a man needs a light heart before he goes into battle. We’ve all had our joke here, eh, Herakles?” He strode forward to slap the astonished hero on the back. “Now let’s give this ship wings. To Thrace, and to glory!” He pointed toward the shore.
    That’s a quick turnabout,
I thought.
And calling it all a joke? There’s a nimble-witted way to save one’s honor. A simpler man would confess that Orpheus’s words persuaded him to change his mind.
I wondered if Jason would ever do anything like that, or if he was someone who believed you could never admit you’d been wrong without also admitting you’d lost, you’d failed.
    On to Colchis
or
On to Thrace,
one of the two was a lie. Jason saw nothing wrong with deceiving his men as long as it saved his pride and let him hold on to his command of the
Argo.
I think I must have been the only one concerned about that, though. The men were too eager to obey Jason’s new command, to seize their roles as immortal heroes. They fell back to the oars, Orpheus again set the rowers’ beat, and the
Argo
flew arrow-straight to land.
             
    The fighting was strung out all along the shore, between the water and the small, brightly colored houses of those who made their living from the sea. It was thickest at a point two spear-casts north of where the
Argo
came sailing into the shallows. Our sharp-eared crewman was right: There
were
horses, impressive animals bearing warriors clothed in vivid, sleeveless tunics and ankle-length trousers. Flashes of red and blue and green showed beneath the armor covering their chests and shins. Their war cries were the shrill screams of birds of prey.
    Zetes and Kalais stood near enough for me to overhear one of them growl, “
Them
again,” and the other respond, “Thrice-cursed raiders.” Even without their words to confirm it, their grim faces told me that they recognized those mounted fighters and hated them.
    Smoke blew across the beach. The
Argo
was the only boat in the harbor that wasn’t aflame. The men didn’t want to waste time beaching the ship. I heard a loud splash as Prince Jason himself slung the stone anchor overboard; then he took up his sword and shield before jumping into the hip-deep water. His bare legs churned the water to foam as he raced toward the battle. If lying came easily to him, so did courage; I had to give him that.
    The other men didn’t lose a moment in following their captain’s example. As they began leaping over the sides to rush ashore, Iolaus paused long enough to order Milo and me to remain on board. “You’re not warriors yet,” he said. “You’re only weapons bearers with a long way to go before you’re ready for something like this.”
    “Hylas went,” I pointed out. He and Herakles were already halfway to where the fighting was most intense. A mob of riders swooped in circles around a core of armed men dressed much like our own Thracians. More smoke rose from within that defensive ring of swords, but it was too thin and pale to come from any great burning.
    “Hylas is experienced and can