The Lost Throne

72

Allison saw the Spartan before anyone else. He burst from the trees, twenty feet away from her. His shield was in one hand, his sword in the other. Since her gun was still tucked in her belt, she did the only thing she could think of. She screamed as loudly as she could.

Payne whirled in her direction and spotted the Spartan who was sprinting at them. Unable to pull his gun in time, Payne stepped in front of Allison and lowered his shoulder, hoping to duck under the Spartan’s shield. A moment before impact, Payne arched his back as if he was going to tackle him. But instead of wrapping his arms, he thrust his shoulders upward, slamming the tree branch that he still held into his opponent’s legs. The force, coupled with the Spartan’s momentum, launched the soldier high into the air and over the edge of the ridge.

Jones, who had heard Allison’s scream, was on full alert when the Spartan took flight. Like a superhero out of control, the Spartan crashed into a nearby tree and landed roughly on the ground as his helmet bounced down the hill.

But Jones showed no sympathy for him.

He stood over him and ended his life with a bullet between the eyes.

Meanwhile, on the ridge above, the other two Spartans charged into battle. Both of them had learned from the hoplite’s mistake, so they approached quickly yet under control. Shields in front of them, swords ready to strike, prepared to fight to the death.

Ready for a challenge, Apollo went after Payne. During the past few minutes, he had watched Payne and knew he was their leader. They were roughly the same size and build, and both of them moved with dexterity. The main difference was in their training.

Apollo had learned his skills from the greatest warrior culture of all time.

His opponent had not.

In Apollo’s mind, the outcome was all but decided.

Before Payne could recover from the previous assault, Apollo was upon him. Using his shield as a battering ram, he launched himself into Payne, knocking him onto his back. Payne skidded to a halt a few feet short of the chasm. A second later, Apollo was above him, swinging his sword as hard as he could. Somehow, through it all, Payne had held on to the tree limb. It was sturdy and knotted with age. He lifted it above his chest just in time to stop the path of the blade.

A mighty thump echoed through the night as the wood splintered from the force.

The unexpected block left the Spartan off balance. His weight was leaning forward, and his stride was too wide. Payne spotted the flaw and quickly took advantage. With a sweep of his feet, he knocked Apollo to the ground and rolled on top of him. The limb that had once been whole was now in two pieces. Payne dropped one and used the other like a crazed drummer. Time after time, he pounded on his opponent’s head and face, trying to beat him to death.

But the Spartan’s helmet held firm.

Though he was dazed, years of training told Apollo what to do. With all his strength, he used his hips to thrust upward, bucking Payne into the air. The maneuver worked better than he could have imagined. The slope of the hill coupled with the edge of the ridge cost Payne his advantage. One moment he was pummeling the Spartan, the next he was tumbling down the chasm, losing chunks of skin as he bounced between the narrow rocks.

With a loud thud, Payne hit the ground below.

Andropoulos reached down to help him, but his hand was pushed away.

Payne simply said, “That son of a bitch!”

Then, riding a burst of rage, he scurried back up the chasm.

Ready for round two.

Dial had his own battle to worry about. He had turned toward Allison when she screamed, which had allowed the other Spartan to slip in behind him.

Sword raised high, the Spartan was set to strike when Dial heard the clanging of armor. Instinctively, he dropped to his knees as the Spartan’s blade whizzed overhead. Momentum carried the warrior forward, but he remained balanced and under control. Planting his front foot and turning, he put himself into position to swing again.

Dial lifted his gun and got off a single shot that was deflected by the Spartan’s shield. A moment later he used his shield as a weapon, slamming it against the side of Dial’s head.

Stunned by the blow, Dial slumped to the ground.

Blood oozed from a gash on his cheek as he tried to regain his senses.

But the Spartan wouldn’t allow it. Even in the darkness, he recognized the dazed look in his opponent’s eyes. He knew it was time to finish him off.

With that in mind, the Spartan lifted his sword and prepared to strike.

After knocking Payne down the chasm, Apollo grinned in triumph. His opponent had been a worthy adversary, but like all the others before him, he had been vanquished.

Rising to his feet, Apollo searched the ridge for his next victim.

Only one person was not engaged in battle.

The woman.

The thought of fighting her disgusted him. His ancestors never had to deal with women on the battlefield, since they were all forced to stay at home. In his mind, they were good for only one thing: breeding. That had always been the Spartans’ stance on women. Mothers were loved. Wives were tolerated. And girls were a wasted opportunity to have had a son.

Still, in this day and age of modern weaponry, he knew women could be dangerous. They could pull a trigger just as easily as a man. Therefore, she couldn’t be overlooked.

She would be treated like all the others.

She would have to be killed at once.

Dial was dazed from the blow to his head, but somehow his instincts took over.

As the Spartan raised his sword, Dial raised his gun and fired two quick shots, just over the top of the shield. The first bullet hit the Spartan in his collarbone, shattering it with a sickening snap. The next one struck him right in the mouth. Teeth cracked like crushed ice and embedded themselves in the lining of his throat as the bullet tore through the back of his neck.

This wasn’t the movies, so the Spartan didn’t fly ten feet backward and die quietly.

Instead, he slumped forward on top of Dial, pinning him to the ground. The whole time the Spartan was spitting and gurgling and trying to breathe, and Dial was trapped underneath.

For the next twelve seconds, he listened to the man choking on his own blood until Dial was able to squirm away. Once he did, he fired his weapon again and ended the Spartan’s life.

Allison watched in horror as Payne tumbled down the chasm. A moment earlier, he had stepped in front of her and saved her from the muscular Spartan.

Now he was gone, she was alone, and Apollo was closing in.

Things did not look promising.

The last time she had fired a gun was at a summer carnival. And it hadn’t even been a real gun. It had been an air rifle in one of those stupid games where the goal was to win a prize.

Other than that, she had no experience with weapons.

She just didn’t like them. In fact, she hated the damn things.

But in this situation, she realized her gun was her new best friend.

Grabbing it from her belt, she pointed it at Apollo, who crouched low in the darkness. He held his shield in front of him, giving her nothing to aim at. All she could see was the tip of his sword and the red plume of horsehair that stood above his helmet.

Still, she knew she shouldn’t wait for him to get any closer.

So Allison pulled the trigger.

The gun roared, and when it did, it jerked wildly in her hand. The bullet sailed high and wide, nowhere near her target — a common mistake for an amateur.

Undaunted, she squeezed the trigger a second time but with a similar result.

She wasn’t even close.

Apollo smirked at her incompetence and raised his sword behind him.

With a mighty swing, he used the broadside of his blade to knock the weapon from her hand. Metal hit metal with a loud clang, and the gun bounced harmlessly to the ground.

“Stupid whore,” he growled in Laconian.

Then he lifted his sword again.

Payne scurried up the chasm like a wild animal. Blood dripping, muscles straining, fueled by pure adrenaline. His friends were in danger, and that was unacceptable.

At the top of the ridge, he glanced to his right and realized Dial was safe.

Spinning quickly, he searched for Allison and saw Apollo primed to strike. The Spartan leader was positioned perfectly. His shield protected everything from his knees to his nose. His helmet covered his head, and his greaves guarded his shins. The only gaps in his armor were the slits for his eyes and the sandals on his feet.

For Payne, it was a simple decision. He took the easiest shot available.

Aiming low, he fired three times at Apollo’s feet. The first round missed in the darkness, but the second and third shots hit their targets. The muscular Spartan refused to scream as he fell to the ground in agony. When he did, his shield dipped ever so slightly, and Payne took full advantage.

He steadied his weapon and squeezed the trigger with one thought in mind.

This Spartan needed to die.