CITY OF THE GODS: FORGOTTEN (29 page)

A moment later, they had walked up the stairs and Kafele unlocked the blue door. His home consisted of a series of connected rooms, each separated by a rounded arch.
 
Many of the arches had burgundy fabric curtains hanging down in front of them to provide some privacy between the rooms. There was a kitchen with a brick hearth for cooking, a large main room with a couch and many pillows and short tables, a bedroom, and an office, with a desk and shelves for medical books and scrolls. Each room was meticulously tidy and clean. Everything looked like it was all placed quite purposely. The door through which they entered was the only way in or out.

Kafele gave Aavi a full tour of his home and they ended up back in the main room again. “Do you mind if I just lie down here, Kafele?” Aavi said, looking longingly at the couch. The day’s excitement, the long walk, and lack of food had finally taken their toll. She half collapsed onto the soft-cushions.
 

“That’s fine, but don’t fall asleep yet, Aavi. You need to eat and drink first.” Kafele left her. In a few moments he returned, pausing in the kitchen archway holding a wooden tray bearing bread, fruits, cheeses, and drinks. He saw her lying on the couch, motionless. “You are a sight to behold, so like your brethren,” he whispered to himself.
 

He placed the tray on the short alabaster table near the couch and then sat down next to Aavi, his medical training automatically kicking in as he gently tried to wake her. “Aavi? Come on, wake up. You need to eat.” Aavi slowly opened her eyes and saw Kafele gazing down at her. “Here, drink this.” Kafele handed her a glass of sweetened water. She took the glass and looked shyly around the room. She was still wary every time she woke up, for on most occasions she seemed to arise somewhere different or meet someone different than when she had closed her eyes. Kafele then took the glass away and offered Aavi a piece of bread with some cheese on it. “Now, eat something if you can. There’s more on the tray.
 
You can eat without help?” Kafele asked her somewhat sarcastically.

“Yes, I’ve figured how to eat most things now,” she said with some small pride as she chewed on some bread. “Oh, I like this!” she remarked as she tasted cheese for the first time.

“Good for you,” he replied with a bemused smirk on his face. Kafele got up and went over to a table on the other side of the room. “Eat and drink as much as you want. If you get tired, just lie back down and sleep for a bit.
 
I have to attend to some business, so I’ll be gone for a little while.” He walked over to the front door. “I’ll probably return before you wake back up though. I’m going to lock the door so no one can sneak in on you, all right?”

“All right. Thank you for the food.
 
You were right, I was hungry. Guess I’m still getting used to that feeling,” Aavi said as she pushed some more bread and cheese into her mouth. Kafele turned to leave. Aavi swallowed, feeling her throat press against the collar that still encircled her neck. She tried to call out to Kafele to ask him to take it off, but she could not get the words out quickly enough. He was gone.

D‘Molay sidestepped another pothole then turned to gauge the progress of Herikos, Kastor and the oxcart hauling the beast. The condition of the wide road had worsened as it neared the fortress. The rest of the caravan had fallen far behind D’Molay’s head start. Examining the cracks and loose chunks of stone at his feet, the tracker deduced that the roadbed was simply no match for the constant stream of armies and war machines that Ares spewed from his keep. The weight of such traffic had taken its toll. Apparently there were few road engineers in the service of the Greek god of war.

As he watched the cart jostle along, he took a swig from his water flask. D’Molay almost choked as the vehicle lurched, a wheel finding a deep rut. Thankfully, Herikos was a skilled teamster and he directed the oxen to perfectly compensate for the drop. The wagon bobbed from side to side as more dips and rises were crossed, reminding D’Molay of a ship at sea. Confident now that the beast would reach the fortress safely, he corked his flask and resumed his own march. He was soon close enough to see guards watching the caravan’s progress from several points along the high walls. He offered a friendly wave but received none in return.

When he reached the first of several gates to the dark stone complex, a priest and two soldiers were waiting for him. This was the first time he’d had any cause to visit Ares’ holdings. Unsure of this god’s protocol, D’Molay waited to be addressed.

“You are the tracker, I suppose,” the priest said by way of greeting. D’Molay studied him, watching as the man’s hand drifted to the butt of a dagger worn at his right hip. The weapon’s hilt was studded with gems, and its scabbard tooled with intricate designs. This did not lull D’Molay into assuming the piece was ceremonial, however. He fully expected the ornamentation hid a sharp and functional blade. Perhaps the guards were the ones there for show; this priest’s demeanor indicated he was willing and able to dispatch unwelcome visitors with his own hand. Sometimes the minions of gods were more dangerous than the deities themselves. D’Molay proceeded carefully and spoke humbly to the priest.

“Yes, I’m D’Molay, pressed into service by Eros and Zephyrus.” The slow removal of the priest’s hand from his dagger indicated that he was satisfied with the answer, one which surely confirmed facts he already knew. Nodding, he reached into a pocket and produced several large golden coins which he held out for the taking.

“Ares and Zeus are pleased with your work. You may go.”

The coins glittered temptingly, but D’Molay hesitated to take them. He couldn’t risk being summarily dismissed. He had to get into the fortress and study the beast and learn what connection it had to Aavi. The coins might give him that chance.

“What little I have done is not worthy of such a price,” D’Molay demurred, “but I would not insult the gods by refusing their gift. Therefore, I accept these coins, and ask that I may offer them immediately, through you, to the glory of Ares.”

The priests fingers snapped shut over the coins that had been waiting on his palm. A slight smile crossed his face as he recited a formal thank you. “Ares accepts your offering. May your enemies flee at your approach and the walls of cities give way at your trumpet.”

D’Molay bowed then turned away from the fortress, for all appearances taking his leave. But he wasn’t planning to go anywhere.

“Kastor!” D’Molay hailed as he met the approaching cart. “A hand up, if you please!” Kastor grinned, leaning over to extend his arm to D’Molay, who pulled himself up into the slow-moving vehicle.

“Changed your mind, have you?” the Greek asked with a laugh. “Since we’ve come all this way without being eaten, it seems safe now, eh?” Kastor scooted over a bit toward Herikos, giving D’Molay plenty of room to sit beside them. D’Molay settled in, leaning against the back of the seat. It was so hard and splintery he immediately tilted forward again. Propping himself comfortably with his forearms on his thighs, D’Molay cocked his head to address Kastor.

“I decided not to let my fear rob me of a chance to see the inside of Ares’ Fortress,” he said. “Think of the look in the eyes of my future sons when I tell them I was in the halls of your great god of war.”

Kastor slung a consoling arm around D’Molay’s shoulders. “Any boy would be impressed,” he agreed. “But I’m sorry to tell you they won’t let you in. You’re not Greek, and even worse, you’re not a soldier.”

“Sadly true,” D’Molay responded in a cheerful tone which belied any disappointment. “But I’m the friend of the brave captain who caught the Great Beast. Surely that counts for something.”

Kastor removed his arm from around D’Molay and tapped his own knee thoughtfully. “Of course, of course,” he muttered, not wanting to give any hint that he had doubts about his own importance or authority. Next to him, Herikos scoffed.

“Three dinars say that they keep him out.”

“Are you betting against your captain?” Kastor demanded to know in a friendly bluster. “Shine your coins now, Herikos. If the priest will let your smelly cows in, he will certainly admit my brave companion D’Molay.” D’Molay smiled as the oxen’s tails flicked as if responding to Kastor’s insult. His plan to use Kastor’s pride as a gate key was working. Now it was just a matter of how impressed the priest was with his somewhat disguised bribe.

As it turned out, there was less drama at the gate than D’Molay anticipated. When the wagon finally rolled up to the guards, Kastor gave a hearty speech about his ‘comrade in arms’ deserving to see the interior of the fortress. The priest, one hand in his pocket - no doubt caressing the golden coins - merely waved them as he stared at the beast. Herikos sighed and dug three dinars out of his belt.

Kastor took his winnings with a grin, elbowing D’Molay. “There, you see! A captain’s friendship is worth the world.”

“It is, it is,” D’Molay agreed.

Several more gates of heavy iron swung open before them as they arrived in an expansive, well-trampled lot that ran up against the massive base of the tower itself. Off to one side, men with pikes were practicing their attack technique against a squad of clockwork mannequins with multiple arms, each hand bearing a sword or shield. A water boy who was hurrying with a bucket and ladle to refresh them paused to gape at the beast on the cart. His slacking was immediately reprimanded by another temple official, who slapped him soundly round the ear and sent him running. D’Molay noted that although this dignitary wore no gems or fine robes, it was clear from the way he ceaselessly surveyed the yard that he had his finger on the pulse of everything that was going on there.

“Panos,” Kastor said, the man’s name dripping from his lips as if the saying of it left a bad taste. Herikos slowed the oxen to a stop as his captain and Panos glared at one another. Panos wore soldier’s gear, but it was different than the trappings of Kastor and Herikos. D’Molay guessed that Panos belonged to an elite unit connected to the fortress. The tension between Kastor and Panos was obvious even to an outsider such as himself. D’Molay raised an eyebrow and looked toward Herikos for an explanation of the men’s mutual enmity. For his part, Herikos looked like he was bursting with a story, but clearly this was not the time to tell it. He shrugged his shoulders in response to D’Molay’s uplifted brow.

“And how is it that you’re not dead, Kastor?” Panos smirked.

“Clearly Ares favors us,” Herikos interjected before Kastor could sting Panos with his own retort. Panos snorted disdainfully before striding toward the back of the wagon to take a look at their delivery. His departure allowed Kastor to vent some of his anger. Under his breath, he expressed his willingness to lose Ares’ favor by severing certain bits of Panos and inserting them into other bits of Panos, a plan for which Herikos prodded him sharply in the ribs with his elbow. “Don’t give him reason to have you punished again,” he warned.

As Kastor growled and Herikos whispered more calming words, D’Molay craned around in his seat to see what Panos was doing. “Shouldn’t we get the beast under lock and key?” he called back to this new gatekeeper. “This creature might heal quickly and overcome the power of the nets. Where is its prison?”

“Right here,” Panos said cryptically. He moved quickly away from the wagon as he raised a fist in signal to an unseen force. In response, four heavy black arrows flew toward the wagon from the distant top of the tower. D’Molay flinched as each one thudded heavily into the ground at four corner points around the party. He watched the silver feathered fletching of the arrow to his right disappear within a thick plume of magical smoke that began to pour from within its shaft. The smoke from all four arrows soon surrounded the wagon and the men guarding it.

“What is this?” Kastor roared as the columns of smoke quickly fragmented into thinner tendrils. The wisps knit together with supernatural speed, interlocking to form a cage. Kastor leaped down from the wagon and rushed the barrier, but it was too late for escape. The other men hurried to test other sections of the wall with the same result. Herikos just frowned worriedly from the driver’s seat.

“Where is Ares?” Kastor shouted, reaching through the bars in futile hope of wringing Panos’s neck.

“Ares is away. Pressing war business in the west,” Panos said casually from the safe side of the barrier. “But he did leave orders that the beast be nourished until his return. Feel free to work out who gets eaten among yourselves.” Ignoring the furious and fearful protests of the trapped men, Panos walked off, disappearing into the tower.

“I can’t believe he’s done this,” Herikos said, the dull tone of his voice evidence of his shock.