Warrior Rising (39 page)

Odysseus refilled his goblet, using his actions as an excuse not to meet her gaze. “I think you know what happened today, Great Goddess. Achilles believes Patroklos to be dead. He has given himself over completely to the berserker. The princess, who told me today her real name is Katrina, tried to reach Achilles and she was
rescued
”—he pronounced the word sarcastically—“by Hector and his Trojans, and then Achilles cut down Hector. He is currently desecrating the prince's body.”

Athena had gone very still. “You're angry at me.”

He did meet her gaze then. “I thought you loved me.”

Odysseus saw the jolt of surprise his words caused the goddess to feel as she snapped an immediate response. “I do love you!”

“If you loved me you would not have lied to me.”

Athena didn't speak, but Odysseus saw the truth in her eyes. He'd been right. She'd known.

“Were all the goddesses in on the joke you played on Achilles, or was it just Venus and you?”

“It wasn't a joke,” Athena said, gray eyes flashing in anger. “It should have worked—it should have ended the war.”

“It might have worked if you had told me! Had I known I could have protected him!” Odysseus shouted, all his pent-up emotions finally exploding. “Am I worth so little to you that you do not trust me at all?”

“So little!” Athena began, then when her words caused the ground beneath them to shake and the sides of the tent to quiver dangerously, she drew a deep, calming breath and began again. “You are the only mortal man I have ever loved. Every day I live in fear of your mortality because I know that I must eventually surrender to Fate and lose you.”

“But am I truly a man to you—with a heart and soul and mind worthy of respect—or am I simply your favorite plaything?” he asked bitterly.

Her fair face flushed. “How can you say such a thing after what we have known together?”

“I say it because all mortals know the capriciousness of the gods.”

“Not me. I do not take human lovers on whim. I do not take any lover on whim. I thought you knew that—I thought you knew me better than that.”

“I thought I did, too.” He sounded defeated, and his wide shoulders slumped. “But you did not trust me with your confidence.”

And then Athena, Goddess of War and Wisdom, shocked him utterly. She met his gaze and said, “I was wrong. Forgive me. I should not have lied to you.”

“Athena, I—” He paused, struggling with joy so overwhelming that it clogged his throat and choked his words.

The gray-eyed goddess came to him and lay her head on his shoulder. “My Odysseus,” she murmured.

Odysseus held his goddess and forgave her. And then, while she lay beside him, Athena told Odysseus everything about Katrina, Achilles, Venus and Hera, and for the first time the Goddess of War discussed battle plans
with
a mortal, rather than commanding a mortal to obey her whim.

And Odysseus's heart soared.

Kat was so nervous her legs were wobbly. When the black of night had just begun to be relieved by a hint of gray, she poured the sleeping potion into a clay pottery jug half full of red wine, grabbed two goblets from a bedside dresser and left her room.

It was a mourning palace—a palace of muffled tears and melancholy silence. The halls were deserted, lit only dimly by an occasional wall sconce. Unimpeded, Kat wandered, doing her best to keep heading in what she thought was the right direction. Her sense of direction had always been pretty good, but she was starting to believe she'd never find the way to the niche in the wall when she turned a corner and saw a simply dressed middle-aged woman coming out of a side room.

“My lady, are you well? Is there something I can get for you?” the servant asked, bobbing a quick curtsey and looking worried.

“I'm lost,” Kat blurted. She'd rehearsed in her head how she would react to the many different circumstances she could get herself into that night, and she'd opted to stick as close to the truth as possible, deciding it would cut down on mistakes, if not babbling. “I know it's silly, but I've gotten confused. It—it must be because I haven't had enough sleep since . . .” Kat let her voice fade, finding it easy to look upset and scared and completely disoriented.

“Oh, my lady! Of course you're not yourself. Let me take you back to your chamber.”

“Could you lead me to the warriors who are watching over the gates instead?”

“The gate warriors? I don't understand, Princess.”

“I heard that the two men guarding the, uh, levers that open the gates”—Kat mentally crossed her fingers, hoping that she wasn't saying anything too wrong—“were key to my rescue.” The servant's face was still an utter question mark, so Kat did the only thing she could think to do. She burst into tears. “I have to thank them! Hector would want me to. It's just all so terrible.” Kat sobbed.

“Oh, Princess! Please don't cry. You're home now, my lady. All will be well.” The servant reached out hesitantly, as if she wanted to take Kat into her arms, but wasn't sure she dared.

“Will you lead me to the gate warriors, please?”

“Of course, Princess. You're tired and overwrought, and you've simply gotten yourself turned around. You'll see—the gate room isn't far from here. You were almost there.”

Keeping up a steady stream of soothing chatter, the servant led Kat around a turn in the hall, down a fork to the right and then stopped before a narrow archway. A door was open to a stone catwalk on which was built the wooden platform and the niche carved into the Trojan wall. Just as she had seen from her balcony, one warrior was positioned on guard on the platform, and another stood between the chain and the levers.

Kat sniffled and smiled. “Thank you.”

“Shall I wait for you, my lady, and be certain you find your way back to your chamber?”

“No. Thank you, but no. You were right. I'd just gotten confused and upset. I know where I am now.”

“Very good, my lady.” The woman curtseyed, gave her one more worried look, and then retraced the path they had just taken, disappearing around the bend in the hallway.

Kat wiped her eyes with her sleeve, put on her best damsel-in-distress face, and went out onto the catwalk.

Both warriors snapped to attention. Neither of them spoke. Kat cleared her throat, pitching her voice to sound as young as possible.

“Hello. I came to thank the two of you.”

She saw twin flickers of confusion in the men's eyes.

“For saving me from—” She broke off and began to sob.

The men's confusion turned to panic.

“Princess Polyxena, there is no need. We did not—”

“Oh, but you did! You saved me! I could still be there, with the Greeks, in that horrible camp where they . . .” Kat dissolved into unintelligible blubbering.

Both men looked helpless and rather pale.

“Princess,” said the warrior who had been standing in the niche, but who had now joined the other warrior on the platform. “You are safe now. Our sacred walls will always protect you from the Greeks—you have our oaths on that.”

Feeling like the biggest ass in the known universe, Kat smiled innocent adoration at them through her tears. “Thank you, darlings,” she said, sounding weirdly like Venus. Then, for the coup de grace, she finished with, “I brought you wine from my own chamber.” Kat handed them each a goblet and quickly poured a generous splash of wine for both. “To Trojan warriors!” She shouted tearfully, raising her fist in the air.

The men glanced at each other. Kat could almost see their emotional shrugs. Then they repeated, “To Trojan warriors!” and upended the goblets.

“I feel so much better now,” Kat babbled. “Here, have some more.” She'd just begun to lift the jug to the first man's goblet when a look of shock widened his eyes. Kat glanced at the other man. His brow was furrowed, as if he had a question he'd like to ask, but had forgotten what it was. Then both men swayed, and with surprisingly little sound, fell backward as if a giant hand had smacked them. Kat bent over them only long enough to see that they were snoring peacefully, then she retrieved one of their swords from where it had clattered on the platform between them. As she gripped the hilt Kat was surprised at how heavy it was, and was glad of the weight in her hand. Maybe it would help keep her trembling under control. She approached the levers and peered out of the long, narrow window onto the battlefield.

The night had gone from coal to slate, and with the gloaming had come Thetis's fog. It drifted across the battlefield like waves of mist, lapping against the olive grove, then, unhindered, poured out into the blood-crusted emptiness that surrounded the walls of Troy. It was dreamlike in its otherworldly beauty, but for whom the dream would morph into a nightmare was yet to be seen.

Kat saw shapes moving within the fog, darkness against darkness—spectral forms that could be mist, men or madness, and before it all was the creature who had been Achilles, and was now the ultimate expression of nightmare.

He hadn't left the battlefield. He'd driven the horses all night, around and around the walls of Troy dragging the prince's body, halting only when they fell to their knees and could go on no longer. Then he'd demanded a new team. Automedon had brought fresh horses, and he'd continued his grisly, monotonous journey. Kat knew, because she'd watched from her window all night. She'd felt like she had to. Someone who cared about Achilles, someone who believed in him, needed to keep watch over him.

Kat put her hands on the levers, closed her eyes and pulled them down.

The sound of the massive chains coming alive was jarringly loud in the guilty silence. She kept her eyes trained on the ghostly shapes she'd glimpsed within the mist and soon she was sure she could make out the distinctive figure of Odysseus leading them closer and closer to the slowly opening walls. Even hidden by the magical fog, he had a light that seemed to surround him that had to be evidence of Athena's favor. Kat whispered a prayer to the goddess while she stared out at Odysseus.
He's a good man, and he loves you very much. Try to keep him safe, Athena.

And then there was a shout below Kat. At the street level of the gate a man noticed the massive walls opening, even though there was no sight of the Trojan army mounted and ready to take to the field.

Kat hastily ran back to the door that opened to the catwalk and closed it, dropping a bar into place to secure it. Then she pulled the sleeping warriors inside the niche and pressed herself against the inner wall, trying to be inconspicuous, but the shouting got louder and louder as the gates, Sisyphus-like, pushed themselves relentlessly outward. Kat could see that already three men abreast could enter through the gates.

“Close them! Fool! No one has ordered the gates open until midday!” came the command from a powerful voice below her.

Kat shut them all out of her mind and counted slowly to ten: “One—Mississippi, two—Mississippi, three—Mississippi, four— Mississippi . . .” When she finally got to ten—Mississippi, men were pounding on the door to the catwalk.

Kat glanced down at the gates. Myrmidons, led by a shining Odysseus, were plunging into the city. Satisfied, Kat lifted the sword over her head with both hands, and then she brought it down with all her force, smashing it into the system of gears and chains and balances that the city had so meticulously refined over several hundred years. With a scream that sounded like a mad woman, the chain locked into place, and the wide open gates came to a groaning halt.

Now all that was left was Achilles and the final battle for his soul.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

The door to the catwalk burst open. Kat had positioned herself between the bodies of the two sleeping warriors. At the first sight of the men, she drew a tremendous breath and let loose the most ear-shattering girl scream she could conjure. Then she rolled her eyeballs up in her head and fell down in a faint worthy of Scarlett O'Hara.

She continued to play possum as a warrior lifted her and carried her from the room amid much discussion of what could have possibly happened—the general consensus of which was that there must be divine mischief afoot. Kat slitted her eyes and peeked over the warrior's shoulder to see the other men milling impotently around the broken gears.

Halfway to her chamber Kat roused. “What has happened?” she asked faintly. Then she gasped and began to struggle. “Put me down! Where are you taking me?”

The warrior put her down as if she'd caught on fire. “Princess, you were found in the gate room. You and the warriors were unconscious.”

“The gate room?” Kat looked hysterically around, letting her eyes fill with tears. “What are you talking about?” Noise from the battle that was raging in the city drifted up to them. Kat clutched at her throat, looking like she was going to faint again. “What is that sound?”

“Princess, the gate was opened. The city has been breeched.”

Kat let out a shriek and swayed dramatically.

“Princess, let me take you—”

“No! You have to go help them keep the Greeks from the palace! Go! I'll find my father.” When he hesitated she added, “Hurry!” turned and whirled away down the hall. Thankfully he didn't follow her.

Kat's heart hurt as she made her way, playing the hysterical princess, from the palace. It was easier than she imagined it would be. Chaos ruled. There was mass panic. Women screamed, darting hysterically into and then out of the streets when they glimpsed Greek warriors. The women needn't have worried, at least not at that moment. The Greeks were too busy engaging in bloody pockets of fighting with desperate Trojans to bother with the raping part of raping and pillaging. The stones of the city streets were slick with blood. Fire colored the dawn, turning the world scarlet.