Page 138 of Eryx

Little did he know that I had prayed to the gods many times during the last four years. Before each battle, I’d prayed for strength. For courage. And when the fighting had turned in the enemy’s favor, I had looked at Axios on the battlefield, seeing him covered in sweat and blood, and prayed he’d live to see another day.

Grant me one more day with him,I had asked of them. Always one more day. One more kiss.

“Let us visit Nikias,” I said, facing Axios as we stood beneath the shade of a tall oak tree. “He should be training his herd.”

Nikias had been given the position of teaching boys in theagoge, and Leonidas, as well as Acamas, were among the ones in his group. He didn’t need the use of his leg in order to teach combat techniques and prepare the youths for life as Spartiates.

“Very well,” Axios said, turning to walk the path toward the training field. “It will be nice to see Leo. He becomes stronger each time I see him.”

When we reached the field, Nikias was shouting orders to the boys, who were fighting one on one. Leo and Acamas fought each other, both boys nearly equal in size. As Axios watched them train, a faraway look appeared in his eyes. I wondered if he was remembering our time in theagoge.

We’ve come far since then.

“Do not surrender!” Haden yelled, pacing the edge of the field, his gaze fixated on his son. “Good! Stand strong.”

He came to watch their training as often as he could and had even helped Nikias with some of the drills. Though Leonidas was his son, Haden never went easy on him. Our closest companion knew the horrors of war and that only the strongest men survived. If anything, he pushed Leo harder because of it.

“King Cleombrotus and his army have returned,” Theon said, after nearing us. His leg had healed over the months, leaving nothing but a scar.

Quill closely followed him, appearing uneasy. “Do you believe we’ll be sent to war again soon?”

“I know not,” I said, stepping away from the fence and facing the city.

The other king had led another Spartan force while we’d been on campaign with King Agesilaus earlier that year. Their prompt return did not bode well. A gut feeling told me they’d been unsuccessful.

When we heard the news later that afternoon, it was even worse than I’d imagined.

King Cleombrotus and his army had been stopped while trying to cross the Cithaeron range. The pass had normally been kept open when Sparta had control of Thespiae, but since Thebes eliminated the Spartan garrison there, the range had been defended by Theban and Athenian soldiers, who had sprung an attack. Over forty Spartans were killed before the king retreated.

“We are losing this war,” Axios said, as we moved along the dirt path the following midday. “How many more of our men need to die before it ends?”

“As many as it takes.”

He snapped his head toward me. “You do not mean that.”

“I do.” I avoided his gaze, knowing that my mind and heart battled each other. My heart said the war was fruitless, that a treaty of peace needed to be signed. But my mind refused to budge from a warrior’s conviction. “Fighting and dying for our home is the greatest honor.”

“And what of love?” He stopped to stare at me, forcing me to finally look at him. “Brotherhood? Why must we die to be honorable? What good is honor to the dead?”

Before I could respond, a horse neighing broke through the quiet and I glanced at the field to our left. A brown mare ran along the fence, her dark mane drifting behind her.

“Xiphos?” I whispered in disbelief. A white scar marked her flank, probably caused by a sword during battle, but she appeared healthy and strong.

Axios grabbed my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “She must’ve returned with the army. Shall we go see her?”

I nodded and we walked over. At first, she refused to let us near her. It had been over four years since I’d seen her, as she had traveled with several armies, and she didn’t remember me. But after a minute or so, she approached and nudged my shoulder with her head.

I tangled my fingers in her mane and pressed my face against her neck. We had both been to war and survived it. Like me, I was certain she had scars no one else could see. Scars that lingered in the mind and only surfaced in nightmares.

Later, Axios and I walked home. The summer air clung to my chest and the heaviness of it made me long for cool autumn breezes. Once inside, we lit a candle and lay down in our bed, holding each other closely.

“Ery?” Axios asked, his voice raspy from the sleep trying to take hold of him. His eyes were closed. “Is honor worth your life?”

“Yes,” I said without hesitation. “A man’s honor is everything.”

“Is it worth mine?” he asked, softer.

The question gave me pause. He was asking whether I’d choose his life over my loyalty to Sparta.