The Pillars of Hercules Read online

  David Constantine

  Night Shade Books

  San Francisco

  The Pillars of Hercules © 2012 by David Constantine

  This edition of The Pillars of Hercules

  © 2012 by Night Shade Books

  Cover Illustration by Daren Bader

  Cover design by Claudia Noble

  Map illustration by Claudia Carlson

  Author photo by Brian De Groodt

  Interior layout and design by Amy Popovich

  Edited by Ross E. Lockhart

  All rights reserved

  First Edition

  ISBN: 978-1-59780-397-7

  E-ISBN: 978-1-59780-410-3

  Night Shade Books

  http://www.nightshadebooks.com

  For my parents

  Alexander the Great’s conquest of the Persian Empire took a mere five years, after which he turned West again. Athens, which had expected to enjoy her vast Mediterranean possessions while Alexander became embroiled in endless Eastern wars, was suddenly faced with a battle-tested Macedonian army. For even as Alexander declined to become mired in a perpetual campaign in Afghanistan, his sorcerer-spies were unearthing ancient magicks from beyond the Hindu Kush… magicks with which he intended to crush the Athenian Empire and rule the known world. It was to be the ultimate conflict, and it began when Alexander unleashed his full might on Athens’ most vulnerable province: Egypt.

  —Hieronymous of Cardia, The War of Athens and Macedonia

  Nine thousand was the sum of the years which had elapsed since the war which was said to have taken place between those who dwelt outside the Pillars of Hercules… commanded by the lords of Atlantis, an island greater in extent than Libya and Asia… and afterwards sunk by an earthquake the likes of which had never been seen…

  —Plato, The Dialogue of Critias

  Above all else, it was the uncovering of the secrets of the elder races that forever changed the destiny of the younger ones.

  —Aristotle, On Machinery and Magicks

  Chapter One

  The bar he was in had a name, but Lugorix was too drunk to remember it. And right now he was intent on getting even drunker.

  So far his plan was working.

  Everything had gone blurry a while back. The other mercenaries, the assorted whores, the drinks being passed around like they were going out of style—all of it was starting to swirl around his head. And the bedlam taking place outside the bar had long since subsided as the party inside got ever louder.

  Which didn’t mean that news wasn’t still reaching those within.

  “He’s across the Nile,” said Matthias suddenly.

  Lugorix turned blearily toward the smaller man who sat across the table from him. His best comrade in all the world, but right now he was just a fuzzy haze. Lugorix tried to focus on that grinning face, but found himself distracted instead by the patterns on the cloak that Matthias wore over his archer’s armor. Lugorix wondered how he had never noticed that the cloth was made up of no less than three different shades of grey. He was starting to think there was actually a fourth when…

  “Did you hear what I just said?”

  “Heard you,” replied Lugorix. Greek wasn’t his strong point. “Didn’t realize you needed a response.”

  “There is no response,” said Matthias, his grin widening still further. “We’re all fucked. So drink up.”

  “That’s what I’ve been doing, friend.”

  The Dryad’s Tits. That was the name of the bar. It wasn’t one of the classier ones. The smell of sweat and puke mingled with the aroma of a particularly rancid roast mutton that only became remotely edible when one had downed several drinks. Lugorix and Matthias had been in the place for more than an hour, though it seemed like much longer than that. Various lowlifes—even on home-ground a scout had to have his contacts!—kept bringing Matthias news. But all the reports trended in the same direction. All orders had ceased. The city’s commanders had fled, and the defenses of the Nile delta had collapsed. It was every man for himself now.

  Problem was, there was nowhere to go.

  “You say he’s crossed the Nile?” asked the bartender.

  “In several locations,” replied Matthias. “Sliced the spine of Egypt, is what I’m hearing. Elephants and cavalry and Zeus only knows how much infantry—”

  “Never mind all that,” said the bartender. “What about him?”

  And for a moment, the conversation immediately around Matthias faltered. Nothing too overt—just ears perking up here and there, keying on his response. Even through the haze of booze, Lugorix was feeling the same way too.

  But Matthias only shook his head.

  “No idea,” he muttered. “But it can’t be long now.”

  “He didn’t spare any mercs in Asia,” said someone. “No reason he should spare us now.”

  “So what the hell went wrong,” said the bartender.

  “Magick,” said Lugorix suddenly.

  “And gold,” said Matthias. “Way too much of it. The whole Persian treasury’s his to dispose of, right? Reckon everybody above the rank of captain got bought off. And the generals got top billing. They’ll be living in villas on the Tigris for the rest of their lives.”

  “At least they sold out for a good price,” said someone.

  “Speaking of,” said the bartender, “you guys owe me half a drachma for that latest round.”

  Matthias reached down beside the daggers along his belt, opened up a pouch—tossed coins onto the bar. “Better spend that quickly,” he said.

  “Not like I’m the one who’s forfeit,” said the bartender. Lugorix started laughing. The bartender glanced at him.

  “What the hell’s your problem, Gaul?”

  “Not just my problem,” said Lugorix. “Yours too. The Macks will burn this whole city to the ground. Same way they burnt the fleet.”

  “No,” interjected Matthias. “Not the same way at all. Sacking this city is just going to be business as usual. The fleet, now that was the—”

  “Magick,” said the bartender.

  Another quick pause in the conversation. Matthias glanced around at some of the watching faces.

  “So what?” he asked. “You all know he’s gained access to whole new types of sorcery. What’s going on outside is proof of that.”

  “Can’t fight magick,” said the bartender.

  “Sure you can,” said Matthias. He started re-stringing his bow. “You just need sorcerers to do it. And all the ones we had to hold the Delta are either bribed or dead by now.”

  “Your arrows won’t help you anymore,” said Lugorix—a tad vindictively, but he was tired of Matthias acting like he knew it all. Especially when they were all waiting to sell their lives in one final stand. Which would probably occur on the roof of the bar, perhaps within the hour, and certainly before morning.

  “Neither will your axe,” replied Matthias evenly.

  “Don’t be so sure,” said Lugorix, patting the axe, which he’d christened Skullseeker for reasons that were obvious enough to those who’d had the misfortune to face it. It was intended for two hands, though he was strong enough to wield it with one if he had to. The weapon was primitive but effective—its double-headed blade made entirely of stone, except for the bronze that lined its razor-sharp edge. He had a sword as well, but generally preferred the axe.

  “Bartender,” said Matthais, “another round here.”

  “Man’s final hours shouldn’t just be about alcohol,” Lugorix said.

  “What else would you have them be about?” said Matthias.

  “Women.”

  Matthias laughed. “Well, that’s why we came to this bar. Couldn’t help but notice you’ve been sucked off
at least five times in the last hour.”

  Six, actually…but Lugorix wasn’t going to quibble. This bar was easy pickings to begin with, and his long blond hair, fulsome beard and yard-wide chest made it even easier. That, and his trousers—something that no self-respecting Greek would wear, thereby making Lugorix the proud owner of a truly exotic fashion. No doubt about it, Greek women had a thing for barbarians. But as usual Matthias had misunderstood him—

  “Not talking about my dick,” said Lugorix. “Talking about yours.”

  “What about it? You so plastered you want a piece?”

  “I’m saying you should get a piece. So far you’ve had nothing.”

  “Ah. That’s because I’m saving myself.”

  “For what?”

  “The right girl.”

  “Riiiight—” Lugorix turned as the door of the bar opened.

  It was a woman, alright.

  The oldest he’d ever seen.

  She looked like she was native Egyptian, too—dark wizened skin and white hair that must have once been as black as her eyes. Now she scanned the room with those eyes, and all who regarded her looked away. It was as though with the crone’s arrival, an apparition had stepped into the bar—a physical harbinger of the fate that awaited them all before the night was through. The only ones who weren’t intimidated were far too drunk for common sense.

  “That’s your girl,” said Lugorix, nudging Matthias.

  “Shut up,” hissed Matthias. But the woman’s eyes had already turned in his direction—and gone wide with recognition.

  “She’s coming this way,” whispered Lugorix.

  “I can see that, idiot.”

  “You know her?”

  “Not that I know of,” said Matthias.

  “Looks like she knows you.”

  “Will you shut the fuck up?”

  The crone reached them. Lugorix realized she was wearing a headband of some kind—almost like a tiara, though bereft of jewels. She was toothless, too, and he was tempted to make some joke about how that might aid her in whatever she might do to Matthias. But then she looked directly at him, and all his alcohol-fueled levity vanished. Her eyes up close were the realest thing he’d seen all night—the realest thing he’d seen in years, the realest thing since that night in the Pyrenees on the eve of his banishment, when the shaman of the thunder-god Taranis had bid him look within the fire and behold his fate and in those fires he saw his future: the flames of burning Egypt, though it was only now that he remembered them. The woman reached out, stroked his beard. Chills shot up and down his spine, and he seemed to look down into abyss.

  “Old mother,” he said, “enough. Mercy. I beg you.”

  She stopped. Reached out to Matthias, ran a hand through the ringlets of his black hair. The gesture was almost playful, but the expression on her face was anything but.

  “You’re the ones,” she said in accented Greek.

  Matthias and Lugorix looked at one another.

  “I’m sorry?” said Matthias.

  “You heard me,” she said. “My mistress needs you to come with me.” The words echoed through Lugorix’s skull in a way that made him realize that he and Matthias were the only ones who could hear this witch—for such was what Lugorix was now assuming this woman was. No one else was even paying attention anymore. The party had resumed around them. He felt his legs start to move of their own volition—felt himself get up. But Matthias seemed to be putting up more resistance.

  “Why should we?” he asked.

  “Because otherwise you’ll die,” said the woman.

  “Ah,” said Matthias. “We’re going to do that anyway.”

  “True. Such is the fate of all mortals, no? But not necessarily this night, at the hands of Macedonian soldiers.”

  Lugorix was too far gone to even process this. Matthias mulled it over, then pulled on his linothorax cuirass and donned his helmet. Lugorix disdained both, but the two had long since agreed to disagree on the matter. The crone led them to the door, opened it on a sight that was anything but pretty.

  The buildings of Alcibiadia towered all around them—a vast city on its way to becoming mausoleum. Flames licked from some of the upper windows. Screams were coming from all directions. But over all those screams, they could hear something far more chilling—a myriad voices of anger and rage, all fused into one, all of it far too close.

  “The mob,” said Lugorix.

  The crone nodded. She led them through alleys and back roads, keeping to the south of Canopus Way, where it sounded like a full-on riot was in progress. Most of the street-lamps had been broken, but that was all to the good. Especially since the moon and flames were making things a little too bright for comfort. Lugorix carried Skullseeker, and Matthias had nocked an arrow, but the crone was clearly intent on avoiding trouble. They heard the breaking of pottery a few streets away as looters found some intact shopfronts.

  “And the Macedonians haven’t even arrived yet,” said Matthias.

  “They will soon,” said the crone.

  Stairs, ramps, sloped gardens—Lugorix could see they were climbing into the city-heights now. The aristocratic district, though there didn’t seem to be that many aristocrats left. Everyone had fled or else they were hiding. Lugorix looked at the houses and mansions as they passed—wondered at how many secrets they’d held, how many lives they’d concealed behind their walls—how many they still concealed. In the months since the Athenian recruiters at Massilia had offered him gold in exchange for his axe, he’d seen more of the world then he’d ever dreamt existed. But ultimately he was sworn to return to his village. Honor demanded it. He couldn’t end his journey here. He hoped against hope this crone really did have a way out of this mess. They were leaving the houses of the wealthy behind now, entering one of the many hilled parks that dotted this section of the city. For the next few minutes they followed the crone through tree-decked trails, climbing ever further. Until—

  “Taranis save us,” said Lugorix.

  Straight between two trees, they could look out across the entirety of the portside city. All of Alcibiadia had been plunged into total chaos—the mob was pouring across the ramps and through the plazas. But that was nothing compared to what was happening out to sea.

  “The fleet,” breathed Matthias.

  “You knew this was happening,” said the crone. “Why act so surprised now you see it?”

  “We only heard about it,” said Lugorix.

  “Hadn’t intended to lay eyes on it,” said Matthias.

  But neither of them could turn away. At least two hundred Athenian warships were burning out there, dots of fire sprinkled through the night, all the way out to the Mediterranean’s horizon. And the flame atop the colossus that was Pharos Lighthouse was sufficiently bright as to potentially obscure other stricken boats, still closer.

  “How the hell did he do it?” said Lugorix.

  “That’s how,” replied Matthias—gesturing at one of the nearer ships. As they watched, jets of flame gouted across it, broadening from out of a narrow stream, flung by a source almost immediately adjacent to the boat.

  “Sneak attack,” said a voice.

  They whirled.

  A woman had stepped out of the shadows. She was tall and willowy—taller than Matthias, though Lugorix still loomed over her. Dark as her skin was, the skin immediately under her pale green eyes was even darker from exhaustion. The nose beneath that was delicate, poised above a strange half-smile. With a start, Lugorix realized how young she was—that she couldn’t be past her late teens. But her expression held a wisdom beyond her years.

  “Incendiary weapon,” she said in perfect Greek. “Devised by Alexander’s sorcerers. His mechanists found a way to contain it, project it through bronze tubes. Not that far, but they made good use of it all the same. Some of the Macedonians crept up on the fleet using fishing skiffs, but I’ll wager his forces hit most of those ships from points along the shore. To which the admiral had hewn a little too clo
sely.”

  “He was paid off,” said Matthias.

  “Of course,” said the girl. “Same way the Macedonians were able to infiltrate the docks in the first place. Everyone’s been bought. And now Alexander’s bearing down on the city founded by the man who gave Athens her empire a century ago.”

  “So where do we fit in?” said Matthias.

  “You don’t,” said the crone.

  “None of us do,” added the girl. “That’s why we need to leave this place.”

  “I hope you’re not looking for us to provide you with the means of exit.”

  The girl shook her head. “All that’s required are your swords.”

  “I’m sorry?” said Matthias.

  “You’re the ones I’ve seen in visions,” cackled the crone. “True of spirit. Blessed of the whore Fortune. Uncorrupted by the stink of Alexander’s gold.”

  “The man didn’t offer us any gold,” said Lugorix.

  “Because we weren’t worth it,” said Matthias dryly. Then, to the women—“So what are you offering us?”

  “A way out of this city,” the girl replied. She glanced at the crone: “They’re not too swift, are they?”

  “What do you expect,” replied the crone. “They’re men.”

  “You really can get us out of here?” said Matthias.

  “Told you we had a path that’d preserve your lives,” said the crone, and she sounded as gone as Lugorix was starting to feel. “You run escort duty for my lady. You follow our lead as we steer clear of this deathtrap. All you need to do is kill anyone who gets in our way.”

  “Who’s going to do that?” said Lugorix.

  “Who isn’t,” said the girl.

  “And who exactly are you?” asked Matthias.

  “My name’s Barsine,” said the girl. She gestured toward the crone: “This is my servant, Damitra.”

  “Barsine,” said Lugorix. “That’s Persian, no?”

  “One more reason we’re on the same side,” said Barsine. “It’s time to move.”