Trojan Slave (Book 1)

Chapter 33

Chapter 33

Alexios could not take much more. He had been cramped in the huge wooden monstrosity for hours. The heat was almost unbearable at times, making the air hard to breathe. For all the size the giant beast had, there was little to no movement space because of the amount of warriors within. Sword points pricked him, armour grated, men became irritable. However for Alexios it was the smell that was the worst.

There was a stench of unwashed bodies, sweat from men fearing the task ahead, and from the other sharp scents, he was very sure that some of the warriors had not managed to hold whatever was in their bowls. His nose scrunched, and yet breathing through his mouth was ultimately worse as he could almost taste the scents on the air.

It took him back to moments in his childhood, how he had become the man he was today. He had naturally taken the role, as his father was in charge of gathering information for the elite guard he was in and Alexios had been a nimble child. He had been sent at a young age to hide in plain sight and crawl in spaces no one else could. He had to learn quickly to run fast, to become a shadow within a shadow, and to learn who he could trust. It had also helped create a network of information he was now in control of and made him a hot commodity for many in power.

It was his ability to blend in with both crowds and dark corners which had gotten him a place abroad this death trap. He felt he was more likely to fall through the bottom to his death than actually following through with the plan.

Taking a deep breath he and instantly regretting it, he tried to block out the sounds around him to tell whether there was any outside noise left. The movement of the wooden horse had meant he had a few bruises in places he did not even want to think of at that moment. The screaming and cheering crowd had seemed to last a lifetime. But now he could not hear a thing.

Had they finally called the futile celebration to an end?

It was not long before a ripple went through the warriors. The signal must have been given. It was not long before a hint of cleaner air hit him and the space around him gradually became wider as warriors rappelled down from the belly of the beast. It seemed to take a lifetime, and yet no time at all. Taking a moment to centre his mind, he took hold of the rough thick rope and swung himself over the edge into thin air. The rush was something he always looked forward to, the feeling of suspension between solid ground and the ledge he took off from.

As his body weight was finally taken by the rope, he palms burned as he slipped down further than he had intended. Moving quickly and silently, he ignored the pain as he made his way to solid ground once more. By the time his feet were firmly planted beneath him and he held his blade in hand, the majority of the poor souls had been dispatched already to await the boatman. They were those who had either nowhere else to sleep except in the square or had slept where they fell after too much liquor.

The first blood had been spilt. It was the beginning of the end now. And he had a role to play. Leaving the killing of innocents to the others, he found a small passage and filtered down it, moving silently and becoming one with the darkness. He was swallowed whole and becoming a phantom. He did not exist at that moment. He was a being with a purpose. He did not feel. He did not think. He just reacted.

His mind stored images he knew he would revisit later. The children sleeping in the street, barely skin and bone. They survived through sheer will alone. But after this night, especially with some of the warriors he knew, they would not survive to see the next dawn. Whether that would be a blessing to them or not was not his place to say. But he would not be the one to ever make that decision for them. He had seen too many innocents become victims to those seeking power. He would not stoop to that level.