‘You have to send word to the army, to Nikolas, son of Markos! Can you hear me?’ Dion’s voice rose in urgency. ‘Xanthos is under attack! You have to do it now!’
‘Eh?’ said one of the farmers, an old man with a pinched face. ‘Who are you?’
‘Dion, son of King Markos, the brother of the commander of that army down there. Do you hear me? Xanthos is under attack!’
The two farmers exchanged bemused glances.
‘How do we know you are who you say you are?’ the old man asked, while his younger companion scratched his head.
Dion thought furiously. He had a sudden idea, and ripped the silver chain from around his neck, with the trident of Silex bound by a circle of heavy metal.
‘Here,’ he said.
The old farmer came forward and took the silver necklace and amulet. His eyes widened, and Dion knew the thoughts that were going through his mind. He could sell it in the city for a great deal of money.
‘Show Nikolas this, he knows it’s mine. Do you understand? Do you think I would just give this to you if the need wasn’t urgent?’
‘Why don’t you give it to him yourself?’ the younger farmer spoke for the first time.
‘Because I have to get to Xanthos. Please,’ Dion said in frustration. ‘This is urgent. All of our lives could depend on it.’
The old farmer made a swift decision and then turned to his younger companion, handing him the necklace. ‘Troi, go! Run like the wind!’
The younger man nodded and started to run.
Dion leaped back into the saddle. He spurred the horse forward, leaning forward on its back, his brow furrowed as he hoped desperately that he would get to Xanthos in time.
Dion cut the journey to the pass down to hours. He knew the horse was weary to the core, and that if he kept up at this pace she would collapse beneath him, but with Nikolas in Phalesia and his family exposed to the sun king’s imminent attack he pushed harder than ever before.
The steep stone walls of the Gates of Annika went by in a blur. He exited the pass and emerged into the land of hills and forest that led down to Xanthos.
He rode recklessly on the downward slope, galloping where he should be walking carefully, holding the mare by her halter.
He tried to ignore what he was seeing as he plunged down the winding hillside, wheeling around groves of olive trees and sliding on rolling gravel. His jaw was set so tightly that it ached. He kicked his heels into his mount’s ribs again and again.
The city drew ever closer in his vision. He lost track of all time as the mare scrabbled down the treacherous terrain. The walls could now be seen as separate from the structures within. The Royal Palace rose from behind, surrounded by its own walls. Dion could now make out the Flower Terrace, facing the surrounding countryside, where his mother often went to be alone. It was her favorite place.
Five hundred paces from the city walls, Dion heard a snap like the crack of a whip as the mare’s leg broke.
He catapulted forward, flying through the air as he tucked in his shoulder to break his fall. Rolling and tumbling, he felt the hard ground battering his body until he finally came to a halt.
The mare screamed.
Dion shakily climbed to his feet, ignoring the cries of distress coming from the horse behind him. He looked up at the palace, distant, yet so clear in his vision that he felt he could reach out and touch it.
His family was out on the Flower Terrace, gazing out at the city and the surrounding hills, where they could be easily seen by anyone below.
He saw his father, readily recognizable in his purple toga. The gold circlet of his kingship no longer crowned the white curls on his scalp, but his equally white beard was just the way Dion remembered it, although it was now flecked with ugly splotches of red.
Beside King Markos was his queen, Thea, Dion’s mother, small in size compared to the towering king. Her black hair looked neatly combed. Her white silk chiton was stained with crimson.
Next in the line was Helena, Nikolas’s wife. Her blonde hair framed a face stretched wide in an expression of utmost agony.
All of their mouths were open in endless screams. Sharp wooden stakes jutted from their jaws.
They had all been impaled.
The horse screamed again.
The animal’s cry of pain shook Dion out of his trance, making him realize this wasn’t a nightmare, it was actually happening.
He now took in what he’d been seeing as he made the frantic descent. Ilean soldiers with yellow cloaks and triangular shields were rapidly assembling in front of the conquered city. Officers bawled orders as rank after rank formed up. Spears held in right hands, shields on their left, they prepared to march. An officer wearing a steel helmet crowned with a vertical spike pointed at the distant pass and called out.
The wounded horse moaned in agony.