Spartan Run

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Blade was forced to make a snap decision. Would it be Rikki or the SEAL? As if there was much choice. As the top Warrior, he had to constantly regard the Family’s welfare as his paramount responsibility.

And since every Warrior was expendable, but the SEAL wasn’t, he had but one option.

Damn.

“Get in the van!” Blade instructed the bowman, then stepped to the doorway and shouted into the barracks. “Rikki! Can you hear me?”

There was no response.

“Leonidas has lost! We’ve got to leave!”

Still no reply.

Frustrated, Blade cupped his hands to his mouth. “We’ll be back! Count on it!” He scowled, and quickly reclaimed his other knife, then wiped both on his pants.

The retreating contingent was still 40 yards distant.

Casting a last glance at the barracks, Blade ran to the transport and took his seat. He slammed and locked the door, then gunned the engine and drove to the side street.

Teucer sat in the front passenger seat, his countenance glum. “I don’t like leaving Rikki behind.”

“Do you think I do?” Blade snapped.

“No, of course not. But what do we do now?”

“We keep the SEAL from falling into General Calchas’s hands and figure out a way to reach Rikki.”

“Why don’t we just mow Calchas and his men down?”

“You made the same suggestion before. Since when did you become so bloodthirsty?”

“I’m not, ordinarily. But we shouldn’t hold back any longer, not with Rikki’s life on the line.”

“General Leonidas requested that we not intervene. So we won’t.” Blade braked and stared at the Spartans sweeping across the field.

Despite being routed, Leonidas’s men were fighting as they retreated, covering their flanks and inflicting heavy losses on their overeager adversaries. Calchas’s men had broken their own phalanx to give chase, a mistake that was costing them dearly. Bodies littered the road and the grass, dozens of them, lying in pools of blood.

“We couldn’t help Leonidas now even if I wanted to,” Blade mentioned bitterly.

“Why not?”

“How would we know which Spartans are on our side?”

The bowman gazed at the conflict, his forehead furrowed. “Beats me. I never thought to ask. They all look alike in those helmets and red cloaks, but there must be a way to tell them apart.”

King Dercyllidas’s contingent reached the building and poured inside, fighting a rearguard action all the while.

Blade expected General Cakhas to order an all-out assault on the building, to crush the opposition while his forces enjoyed the initiative, but to his surprise Calchas’s troops began to pull back.

Teucer was equally perplexed. “What in the world is going on?”

“I don’t know,” Blade admitted. “But we shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Rikki is somewhere in the barracks, and as long as Calchas doesn’t try to overrun the Spartans inside, he should be safe.”

“You hope.”

The last of Dercyllidas’s troops retreated inside and the wide doors were slammed shut.

Outside, a stocky Spartan was organizing the victorious contingent into proper order, commanding them to fall in, his crimson coated sword waving in the air.

“That must be General Calchas,” Teucer guessed.

“What’s he up to now?” Blade wondered.

In practically no time at all General Calchas had his men formed into ranks and issued further instructions. A third of his men were deployed to the right, a third to the left, and they hastened in practiced order to do his bidding, aligning themselves in a row from north to south and linking up at the rear of the building, completely surrounding the structure.

“No one will be able to get in or out,” Teucer said bitterly. “Rikki is trapped in there.”

“We’ll find a way to rescue him.”

“We’d better,” Teucer replied, and smacked the dashboard in anger.

“First we’re captured, then we have to contend with a psycho, and now this. Nothing has gone right since we got here.”

“Which is par for the course,” Blade said. “Try and look at the bright side.”

“What bright side?”

“For whatever reason, Agesilaus’s men seem to be ignoring us.”

The bowman nodded at the Spartans. “Looks as if you spoke too soon.”

Blade looked and saw a dozen soldiers racing toward the SEAL. None, as far as he could tell, carried grenades or other explosives, but he drove toward the gravel road anyway, easily outdistancing them, and stopped at the junction.

“What’s the plan?” Teucer inquired.

“I wish I had one. We’ve been playing it by ear so far, letting the madman and his bodyguard make all the moves. I think it’s about time we turned the tables.”

“How?”

“We carry the fight to Agesilaus,” Blade proposed, staring at the barracks. “Rikki should be safe for the time being, a few hours at the least, which is more than enough for us to locate Agesilaus and kill him.”

“We’re going to drive off and leave Rikki?”

“Can’t be helped. Agesilaus is the key to the conflict. Without him, his bodyguards aren’t obligated by their oath of loyalty. His death will bring peace.”

“And how do you propose we take care of him? He’s not going to let us anywhere near his royal person,” Teucer said, emphasizing the last two words sarcastically.

“There has to be a way,” Blade stated. He cast an anxious glance at the barracks and the ring of soldiers encircling it, then took a right and headed toward the center of the city. If his scheme succeeded, scores of lives would be saved and Sparta’s admittance to the Freedom Federation was virtually assured. If he failed, not only would the Federation lose a potential ally, he’d likely lose one of his best friends.

There were few pedestrians in sight. The smoldering jeeps and the smashed motorcycles were still where they had been destroyed, and the eight dead members of the Spartan patrol still lay where they had fallen.

“Odd that no one has removed those bodies,” Teucer mentioned as they drove past.

“My guess would be that most everyone has taken shelter indoors for the time being. The average person wouldn’t want to be abroad in the midst of a civil war. Even the regular army troops and the secret police are staying out of the way.”

“Just so they stay out of our way.”

The farther they traveled, the fewer people there were. By the time they came to the center of Sparta, the city a ghost town.

“This is spooky,” the bowman said.

Blade nodded in agreement and focused on the Royal’s. Not a single guard was in evidence. Even the square was deserted. He stopped just outside it and scanned in all directions.

“If King Agesilaus is in the palace, why aren’t there any guards?”

Teucer queried.

“They could be inside.” Blade drove the transport to the base of the steps, parked, and palmed the keys.

“I still don’t see anyone.”

“There must be someone home,” Blade said, glancing at the spot where they had fought the guards. “All the bodies are gone.” He cautiously opened his door.

“Am I going with you this time?”

“No.”

“Are you sure it’s wise?”

“No, but we can’t risk both of us being captured or worse. You stay with the SEAL until I get back. If I’m not back in half an hour, take the SEAL

and go bail Rikki out of the jam he’s in.”

“All by my lonesome?”

Blade’s expression hardened. “If I don’t make it back, then all agreements are off. Use the full firepower of the van if you have to, but save Rikki.”

The bowman nodded. “All right. But you know I’ve only had a few driving lessons. I’m liable to wreck the SEAL.”

Smiling, Blade handed over the keys. “Take care.”

“May the Spirit be with you.”

Slipping out, Blade depressed the lock and closed the door. He crouched alongside the front fender, scrutinizing the colonnades, then dashed up to the huge door. Suspicion flared when he found the door slightly ajar. His every instinct told him to turn around and get out of there, but he disregarded the feeling and pushed. Ever so slowly, and without making the slightest sound, the door swung inward.

Blade tentatively stepped into the great hall. Once again there were no Spartans. Had the entire palace been evacuated? He moved toward the audience chamber. He went by several closed doors and eventually came to an open one. A sideways look riveted him in place.

Lying in two rows within the room, their red cloaks used to cover their bodies, were the Spartans who had been slain during the fight outside.

What about their weapons? He entered and lifted the cloak of the first corpse to discover an empty scabbard hanging from the man’s belt.

Too bad.

He could use a submachine gun, preferably his Commando.

Blade let the cloak fall and turned to leave, his eyes straying to the left wall, to the rack in the corner, and he smiled.

Bingo!

The rack contained M-16’s, UZIs, and assorted other automatics. He went over and inspected the collection, and was disappointed to find the Commando and Rikki’s AR-15 weren’t among them. Selecting an M-16, he checked the magazine, which turned out to be empty, then noticed a drawer under the rack. A quick tug exposed enough ammunition to start a war, and he picked up a box of 5.56-mm bullets. Working swiftly, he inserted 20 into the magazine, cocked the rifle, put the selector on safe, and slid the magazine back into the feedway until he heard a distinct click.

Voices suddenly sounded outside.

Blade quickly pulled the charging handle all the way to the back and released it, then flicked the selector to semi. He moved to the doorway and stood to the left of the jamb, listening.

“—be mad as hell because we’re so late.”

“It couldn’t be helped.”

“Try telling him that.”

The Warrior estimated the speakers were drawing close position. He waited, hearing their footsteps, and they walked past he slid from concealment and trained the M-16 on the backs of two Spartans. “Hold it!” he ordered. “Drop your swords!”

Both men whirled, their shock almost instantly controlled and replaced by reserved defiance. They reluctantly obeyed.

“Who are you?” one of them demanded.

“I’ll ask the questions,” Blade growled. “Are you two with King Agesilaus’s bodyguard?”

“No,” answered the first man. “We’re not with either wait. I’m Major Xanthus.” His green eyes narrowed. “And you, if I’m not mistaken, are the outsider named Blade, the one who appeared before the kings earlier today.”

“Yes. Little did I know I’d become embroiled in a power struggle. Whose side are you on?”

“Neither,” Xanthus answered. “The issue will be settled by our two monarchs.”

Blade looked from one to the other. “If only I could trust you.”

“We won’t try to harm you,” Major Xanthus said. “Not unless you interfere in the confrontation between our kings,” the other one stated.

Blade studied the man, who stood a shade over six feet and sported a full brown beard tinged with steaks of gray. “And who might you be?”

“My name is unimportant, but my advice is critical. You mustn’t interfere or you’ll lose important support from many who believe Sparta should join your Federation.”

“You know about that?”

“All Sparta knows about the offer.”

“Surely you know that if Agesilaus wins, Sparta won’t be able to join.”

The bearded man nodded. “Sparta’s fate is in the hands of God.”

“We have a saying at my Home: Never presume to rely on the Spirit to do that which you’re too lazy to do yourself. Relying on God is all well and good, but don’t expect Him to do your work for you.”

“But that’s my point. The struggle is Sparta’s problem and will be decided by Spartans.”

Blade sighed. “I wish I could afford to stand by and do nothing, but I can’t.”

“Why not?” the bearded man inquired.

“I take it you haven’t heard the news. General Leonidas led his troops against General Calchas’s men, and Leonidas came out on the losing end.

Right this minute Calchas has the barracks where King Dercyllidas is being tended completely surrounded. It’s only a matter of time before General Calchas mounts an assault on the building.”

The officers exchanged startled glances.

“Leonidas lost!” exclaimed Major Xanthus.

“Are you certain of this information?” asked the bearded man.

“I was there,” Blade informed them grimly, and was about to elaborate when he saw the major look past his shoulder. From behind Blade came a harsh shout.

“You there. Don’t move or we’ll shoot!”