Funeral Games by Christian Cameron, Cameron Read Free Book Online Page B

‘You killed the girl. Then you fainted.’ Theron’s sword arm was red to the elbow.
    For the second time that day, Satyrus tried to get to his feet and threw up instead. He lay back and Theron gave him another mouthful of Philokles’ wine, while the Spartan collected horses and gear with Melitta.
    ‘Can you ride?’ he asked when he came back.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ Satyrus said. He was deeply ashamed.
    ‘Never mind sorry, boy. Can you ride?’ Philokles held his shoulders.
    Satyrus nodded and sat up slowly.
    Thalassa was bareback now. The arrow was gone from her rump.
    ‘We have a lot of horses now,’ Philokles said.
    ‘Ares,’ Satyrus said. ‘You killed them all?’
    ‘No,’ Philokles said. ‘Everyone helped.’
    Theron grinned, and then put his smile away as no one else seemed to think that winning the fight was something to be happy about.
    ‘There’ll be more, almost immediately. We have to get across the river,’ Philokles said. ‘All these people - they’re Upazan’s people. The man in the gold helmet had his badge, the antlers.’ He shook his head, clearly leaving some thought unspoken. ‘Get mounted.’
    Satyrus had never heard Philokles sound like this. He knew that it was because he had shown fear, had fainted. He got on to a dead man’s horse and hung his head, hot tears burning in his eyes.
    ‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
    ‘I’m sorry too, boy,’ Philokles said. ‘We’ll have to swim the river. Thalassa probably won’t make it.’
    Coenus gave a groan. He was tied roughly to a Sauromatae pony, and the red war paint was staining his chiton. ‘Leave me,’ he said.
    ‘Fuck that, you big Megaran snob,’ Philokles said. He put a gentle hand on Coenus’s shoulder.
    They were all mounted, and Philokles led them straight across the fields to the point. At the edge of the water, they could see all the way up the bluff to the town. Flames licked from above the wall, and there was fire in the gate like the mouth of a giant forge. There were men in armour up the hill, several stades away.
    More horsemen were coming.
    ‘Now or never,’ Philokles said. ‘Theron, can you swim?’
    Theron laughed and rode his steed recklessly into the river, which was four stades wide at its narrowest point. It was spring, and the current raced by them, as they were on the outward edge of the curve beneath the town where the river ran fastest.
    Satyrus might have hesitated, more afraid now of showing fear than of being afraid, but his horse followed its herd-leader and leaped into the muddy water. The animal bearing Coenus went in next, and in the time it took an eagle to catch a salmon, they were a line of heads swimming for their lives.
    Melitta swam like a Nereid, and Bion, though tired, kicked along beneath her. But Coenus struggled just to keep his head above water and his horse wasn’t much better. Without really thinking about the risks, Satyrus released his horse to make its own way and swam across the flow to Coenus, but he mistook the current, spun around and got kicked in the gut. In a heartbeat he was under the muddy brown water, sinking away from the noise, still exhaling. He got a fist tangled in something - hair - and suddenly his whole body jerked as he was towed forward. His eyes saw light and he pulled harder and his head came out of the water and he breathed - ahhh - and he was moving fast, his right hand wrapped in Thalassa’s mane. Her head was up, and despite her wounds and his weight she was powering through the water. He breathed again, choked and sprayed water and snot from his nose.
    Thalassa was turning, ignoring his struggles as she swam closer to Coenus. Coenus was coughing, his face out of the water but his horse sinking away under him.
    There were arrows falling from the sky. It took Satyrus a few heartbeats to realize that they were being shot at from the bank. He could hear a man shouting in the Sauromatae dialect for volunteers to go into the water and finish them off. He