Eumaios and the Skunks (Part 3)
Following is the third segment of the four-part story "Eumaios and the Skunks," by author Michael O. Varhola. It takes place in Skirmisher Publishing LLC's "Swords of Kos" fantasy campaign setting, along with the novel Swords of Kos: Necropolis and the multi-author fantasy anthology Swords of Kos: Hekaton (and takes place in the year following the stories of the latter book). In this piece Eumaios makes a forced march across the rugged highlands of Kos so that he join the forces mustering against invaders from Titan-haunted Rhodes ...
Read Part 1 or Part 2 of "Eumaios and the Skunks"
Unfortunately, Eumaois did not have with him most of the gear he needed for battle, and so he had to return home before embarking on his journey. With that in mind, he quickly purchased some foodstuffs in the agora, stuffed them into his haversack, and headed back the way he had come just an hour before.
Eumaois made it home in good time, descended into his basement lodgings and uncovered a hidden aperture in the floor where he kept his military weapons and armor, and began to sort through it and select the items he would take with him. He quickly assembled a pile of such gear, and this included his crescent-shaped, hide-covered wicker shield, his pelte; a bag of two-dozen perfect sling bullets that he had collected in dry stream beds during his rambles; and his broad-bladed shortsword, the quintessential "sword of Kos" that was the weapon of choice for many of his countrymen. Items he left behind included the masterwork breastplate that he had stripped from the body of an Anatolian non-commissioned officer so many years before; he knew that he might appreciate it sometime in the coming days, but it was heavy and he had many miles to go and he believed that time was of the essence at this point.
The old warrior then stepped over to the small shrine he had erected in a niche in the wall, knelt before it on the fragment of carpet he had placed there, and said a prayer before the foot-tall bronze idol it contained.
"Lord Odysseus, watch over me in the coming days," he began. "Guide my footsteps quickly to the place I must go and there grant me fortune and your protection ... " Over the decades Eumaois had said plenty of prayers to Lady Athena for prowess in battle, had uttered any number of oaths in the name of Lord Ares, but it was to the demigod Odysseus and not to these greater gods that his heart was drawn; those lofty beings were certainly more powerful than the deified hero he called upon now, but they were also presumably somewhat further away and considerably busier. He felt that wily Odysseus was much more likely to heed his supplications, and he had prayed and made offerings to him ever since he had acquired the idol during a pilgrimage to Ithaca many years before.
His oblations completed, Eumaois grabbed a full wineskin, picked up the iron-headed javelin leaning against the wall near the stairs leading up out of the cellar, and climbed up into the ruined shell of the house above, where he closed and padlocked the trapdoor that secured his dwelling. As he filled a second skin with water from the cistern in his yard, he petted and made affectionate comments to the cats that were lurking about or that came to rub against him.
Rather than head back toward Kefalos again, Eumaois decided to eschew using the main road initially and to instead head northeastward, up over the range of craggy hills upon which his home was located, taking a tougher but more direct route toward his destination; it was already early afternoon, and he had perhaps twenty-five miles to go over terrain that would frequently be rough, and he wanted to make as good a use of his time as possible.
For somewhat more than three hours the aging warrior clambered up through the hills, moving over rugged saddles, through narrow ravines, and across grassy meadows and clearings; he had a good sense of the country here, and expected to pick up and make use of the network of ancient highways and rough farm roads that lay beyond the highlands once he had crossed over them. It was hard going, and he paused every hour or so for a breather and a sip of water. At one point, he realized he had stopped beside a fairy ring of purple-flowered cactuses that grew up between cracks in the darkened bedrock and noticed with a start that a trio of cloaked figures who might have been Elves were watching him from the shadows of a nearby grove; he raised an open hand in brief greeting and then, without waiting for a response, quickly moved on. Titanists were known to dwell in isolated hamlets throughout the interior of the island, and he did not know where the sympathies of these forest dwellers might lie or how they might respond to a lone soldier rushing to do battle with the worshippers of Helios.
It was late afternoon by the time Eumaios had descended from the hills and picked up the rough farm track that led him north toward the coast and to the larger roads that would take him eastward through the fertile plains of Kos and to the capital. The day had grown hot and he was parched but he had rested not long before and movement along the road was so much easier than what he had been dealing with in the hills that he decided to keep going for the time being. The country around here was still fairly wild but before long he caught a whiff of sea breeze and shortly came to a crossroads with a herm indicating that the seaside village of Mastihari lay to the north and that of Antimachia in the hills to the south. He could have gone to the former town and picked up the coast road but decided to just keep on the current track for now and, after having a few sips of water and rubbing the herm for luck, continued on his way.
Eumaios traveled now across a flatland where light woods were interspersed with fields and isolated farmsteads and hamlets; to his left, he periodically caught a glimpse of the sea some miles distant and to his right the ground rose into a rugged upland. Periodically he saw small groups of farmers in the distance.
The shadows were long on the dusty road when Eumaios saw movement ahead of him, and three figures shambled out of the woodline to either side of it a few dozen yards further along, apparently in response to his approach. He sensed that this trio boded no good intent and wondered if they were just bandits or perhaps raiders who had landed ahead of the Rhodian forces and who were scouting and marauding through the countryside. Eumaios could see that they were lightly armored and that one had a shortbow, another wielded a club, and the third bore a battleaxe. He quickly considered his options, figuring that if he turned to run he might very well be brought down with an arrow and then finished off in the road by the other two brigands. He could also stand his ground and, if the antagonists were not seasoned combatants and he projected confidence, he might be able to induce them to back down, but that seemed too much to hope for.
Eumaios charged and, as he did, energetically cast his iron-headed javelin at the bowman. The man staggered back in surprise, dropping his weapon, and, as he did, the javelin struck true, embedding itself beneath his collarbone. This was perhaps not a fatal wound but was enough to take the fight out of any but the most dedicated combatant; the brigand screamed in pain and fell to his knees, clutching at the javelin. Eumaios then whipped out his dagger and, as he dodged past the other two men, slashed menacingly at them. Surprised by his audacity, they staggered back, and he continued unmolested. He glanced back as he continued running up the road and could see the two unwounded men helping their companion and trying to remove the javelin from his shoulder; he hated to lose the weapon but expected when he reached the battlefield that the arsenals of Kos would have been opened and that barrels of javelins would be readily available for the light-armed troops.
By the time the sun went down, Eumaios had become somewhat numbed to his exertions and, as he was now on a good road and his way was well illuminated by a nearly-full moon, he decided to continue onward. Under normal circumstances he would have stopped and camped until dawn, rather than deal with the hazards associated with darkness, but as much as anything he was afraid he would be too stiff to go on at a decent pace in the morning and that he might end up being late to the battle. He did allow himself to stop at each crossroad herm that he passed and to briefly lean against it and doze, continuing onward when falling toward the ground caused him to snap awake. In this way he went on throughout the night, being more furtive and readying his arms when he heard strange noises in the darkness to one side or another.
By the time the sun rose ahead of him, Eumaios knew he was near the coastal village of Tigaki and in his forced nighttime march had traveled well over twenty miles. "If Pheidippides had paced himself half as well, he might have lived to celebrate the victory of his people," Eumaios thought to himself with a wry chuckle.
Eumaios took the next trail to the north and, as he began to pass small groups of farmers headed out to their fields, realized that he was limping. He was too exhausted to approach any of them for information but took a few minutes to stretch and rock back and forth on his hips until he felt the right one snap back into place with a painful pop. He could see now that his left knee was badly swollen and after exercising it a bit he bound it tightly with a bandage from his haversack and then moved on.
Before long the track led up over a low bluff and then, suddenly, he saw with a start that the coastal plain was laid out before him and that a great multitude of people were assembled upon it. Ahead of him and a little to his right he could see a number of warships, five of them, with white sails bearing huge yellow sun emblems. Most of these were small or medium coasters outfitted as multi-purpose military vessels, but one was a large troop ship, and from it a series of longboats were ferrying scores of men to the beach. More than a hundred troops had already formed up a few hundred yards inland, and Eumaios could see that they were heavy infantrymen who had golden suns painted upon their large round shields.
Read Part 4 of "Eumaios and the Skunks"
