The Fates Behind

He worshipped at the temple of Aphrodite.

Alkibiades had seen him a few times; in the evening, when all was quiet, offering small gifts to the goddess while he prayed. Theros, he believed his name was. He was a misthios of some renown – not as famous as the Eagle Bearer, but a legend quickly on the rise, and some of the locals had taken to calling him 'Theros the Mountain Flame'. A dark mercenary, raven-haired and stormy-eyed, a lean and nimble build that fit well in light armour. He had the same sharp jawline and stubbled chin as Alexios. Perhaps one day he would watch a fight for dominance between the two, but if so that day was far off. In the meantime the orator spent his evenings at the temple, admiring Theros while he performed his personal, semi-regular ritual to the goddess of love.

The man came that afternoon, earlier than usual, without even a glance at the hetaerae that tended the shrine and sat in the cooling shade of the trees. Alkibiades was near the front of the temple on a marble bench, where he was enjoying some wine as the hot sun set on another day. He noticed in the periphery of his vision that Theros was approaching, but did not react immediately. It was not often that a misthios came to see him without some price on his head; and he would rather not tempt fate on such a fine day.

"Alkibiades?" He said when he was close. The orator could not quite pinpoint his accent; not Athenian, that much was clear. He lifted his gaze and smiled at him. He noticed then that his eyes were odd colours; the left was a lighter shade of brown than the right, more of a hazel, though both seemed to pierce into his soul.

"The Mountain Flame," he replied. "Very rare for a man like yourself to approach me. Rarer than I would like."

"Rare for a man not to panic when I do."

"I assume you don't make the acquaintance of those you're about to kill. Though I would love to make your acquaintance. Perhaps when I've finished this wine?"

"I was told you have information about someone I need to find," Theros said. "The Eagle Bearer."

"I hope you aren't planning to kill him. He's quite a dear friend to me." The orator placed his chalice on a small silver platter beside him. He wondered for a moment if he would need to redirect Theros – perhaps mislead him to a quiet street in the slums and have him set upon by other mercenaries. That would have been a shame.

"No. I need to talk to him." Theros folded his arms as he spoke and half-turned from his companion, as if his words held more weight to them than the orator first thought. Alkibiades stood, his fingers on his chin, and perceived the man in front of him, enigmatic and unwilling to reveal more. The dying afternoon rays caressed Theros' sun-kissed complexion and almost obscured the faint scars that peppered one side of his neck.

"Alexios is a hard man to find," he mused, "and there's often a price in doing so. But he has a remarkable talent for appearing just when I need him to."

"I've spent a lot of drachmae getting here. If I need to part with more before this is done, then so be it."

"Business, business – too much of it will drain the fun out of life, misthios."

"I'll take my chances," he replied. "How soon can you send for the Eagle Bearer?"

"I told you – I don't send for him, he just…appears. Like a gift from the gods."

"A gift from the gods?" Theros' eyebrow rose and he looked sceptical, to which his companion offered a carefree chuckle and shook his blond locks.

"Once you see him in the flesh, Mountain Flame, I'm sure you'll agree with me."

"I doubt that. But very well. If it means he'll come quickly, I'll pray that we're blessed soon." Theros looked out at the sun as it dipped beneath the horizon. The amber flame reflected in his eyes and Alkibiades could see a certain pain in them – a pain far off and distant, but that burned and lingered deep in his soul.

"Where will you be, should he come?"

"In a small camp to the south," he pointed up at some of the mountains that rolled down to their fair and marble-cast city. "I'll set up there. It's a decent enough vantage point. I should be able to see whoever you send to fetch me before they reach the campsite."

"Not a fan of company, misthios?"

"Not a fan of people I don't know," he replied. "I'll be waiting, Alkibiades. Don't keep me waiting long."

Theros then departed for the temple itself, leaving the orator alone to ponder on his words, the tone of his voice and rigid posture of his back. Alkibiades had seen that sort of bearing before; had even held it himself, once. He had lost someone dear to him. Recently, perhaps, or instead someone so close that the loss had woven itself into the very core of his being, shaping him into the man he was now. The orator wondered if Alexios was somehow involved, and if he should warn him of Theros rather than arrange an audience between them. But he was quite intrigued to see just what the Mountain Flame wanted; and it had been a while since he had seen his friend.

It would be a welcome distraction from his usual schedule.

Alkibiades had no real method to contact the famous Eagle Bearer other than through rumour and word-of-mouth. It was not the most reliable system – he often wished Alexios had an itinerary of where he would be next – but it was usually enough to draw him out sooner or later.

This time, he came sooner.

It was another late afternoon when he arrived, after Alkibiades had just finished his supper and was starting to wonder how best to spend the night. The Eagle Bearer was equipped with new armour and a fine saddle on his horse, and though this interlude in his quest to reunite his family was not expected, he found himself thankful for the respite. The weight of the Greek world was a difficult burden to bear on one's shoulders.

Alkibiades lived in Perikles' house, where he spent much of his time either strategizing or 'entertaining'. Alexios was always marvelled at how luxurious it was. The fine silks and pillows in every corner; the marble and the fountain; there were even tapestries at regular intervals on the walls, and newer, more expensive artwork had been hung up since the last he had visited. He had never cared much for art. Perhaps the odd sculpture here and there, but he could not call himself a fan in the same vein as Phidias.

"Alexios!"

The misthios turned to the sound of Alkibiades' voice. He noted his oft-lackadaisical manner seemed somewhat more forced than usual, and greeted him with that in mind.

"Alkibiades," he said. "I heard you were looking for me. Is something wrong?"

"Not with me personally. I had a man approach me yesterday – a misthios, very handsome – and tell me he needed to speak to you. He's apparently spent a lot of drachmae to find out where you are."

"A misthios? Who? What could he want with me?"

"He didn't say. His name is Theros."

"The Mountain Flame?" Alexios sat down on one of the divans set up in front of a small sculpture of Eros. "I've heard of him. He set fire to those bandit camps in the mountains of Argolis."

"He's come a long way just for an audience. I would assume whatever he has to say is important."

"Or he could just want to kill me. More than a few mercenaries do."

"That could be the case," Alkibiades agreed, "but the situation didn't strike me as being that simple. It's best to meet with him, see what he has to say. If he tries to kill you, I've no doubt you can handle yourself."

Alexios lowered his head in thought. Theros was a newer misthios – he had heard his name only a few times, and information about him was scarce – so he was sceptical that this was not an attempt on his life. The head of the Eagle Bearer would propel his legend and ensure more expensive contracts from a wealthier elite of clients. But Alkibiades could read people well. If he thought this man meant him no harm, perhaps he was right.

"Fine, then," he said as he stood, putting his hands on his hips. "Where is he? I should see him as soon as possible."

"I don't think it's wise to fetch him yourself, Eagle Bearer. He's in a camp in the mountains and doesn't seem fond of surprise visitors. I'm sending my least favourite servant to tell him you've arrived."

"Then what do I do?" he questioned. "Sit on my hands until he comes?"

"Well," replied Alkibiades, "you could always talk to me."

It was late when Theros came to the door. Alexios and Alkibiades were deep in their cups at that point, so when he kicked open the door to the orator's room and rushed towards the Eagle Bearer, Alexios was not as quick to react as he normally was.

"Where is my son?!" he shouted while he grabbed Alexios' shirt. Alkibiades was on his feet, his thoughts slow and lethargic, and all he could do for a few seconds was stare at the scene in front of him. The thought to call the guards was far off and distant in his mind. He could see it only as a pinprick.

"Your what?" Alexios replied, to which he was thrown to the side against a nearby cabinet.

"My son!" Theros repeated. "My son, who you rescued in Argolis. Where is he?!"

"How would I know? I don't even know who your son is!" The mercenary was on his feet again, and a dull, throbbing pain bloomed in his midsection. He had hit the cabinet hard.

"He was the baby that priestess of Hera almost murdered!"

"I gave him to his mother!"

"The same mother who gave him to Chrysis in the first place!" Theros' voice was enraged, loud enough to wake the dead, and Alkibiades wondered if the guards had heard but thought it part of his 'entertainment'. "She's as insane as the Followers of Ares. She would sacrifice him on the altar if someone told her it was the will of the gods!"

"What does this have to do with me?!"

Theros pulled out his blade. "You let him go with her."

Just as Alexios made to unsheathe his own weapon, Alkibiades made a move that he would consider later quite uncharacteristic of him. He stepped forward and raised his hands for peace, and the action caught both men's attention enough to dull the heat of the situation.

"I would rather not have my floors covered in my favourite misthios' blood," he said. "There's far too many happy memories here to have it ruined. Come, let's speak like Athenians, not barbarians."

"I'm not Athenian," Theros replied.

"But you've come far to find Alexios. Why waste all that time to kill him?"

"I…" he started, then sighed. The Eagle Bearer noticed, in that split second, that his eyes were mismatched. He wondered if it was the wine that had made him miss that detail.

Theros sheathed his blade and moved to the middle of the room. He started to rub his hands together, as if it helped him order his thoughts, and shut his eyes to the men before him. A pregnant silence filled the air. Alexios did not move to lower his own sword.

"His name is Leander." He told them. "His mother and I…He was an accident. Too much wine, not enough sense. I tried to be with her, but she was crazed. Religious to the point of fanaticism. I decided that, when our child was born, I would take him far from her – far from Elis, so that I could raise him peacefully. But he was born sick. He couldn't breathe properly. I could hear him when he slept, trying desperately to fill his lungs. It was the worst sound I will ever hear.

"We argued. She wanted him to be seen by the priests of Asklepios, and I wanted to take him to the healer Hippocrates. But I made a mistake. Told her I would take him from her and she would never see him again. So she stabbed me and ran off with him."

Alexios slipped his blade in his sheath. "You didn't head straight to Argolis?"

"She had stabbed me, Eagle Bearer. It was a week before I was fit enough to ride a horse again, and by that point Chrysis had…She had…"

"But Alexios saved your son," Alkibiades pointed out. "Did you intend to spear him for the trouble?"

"It was the heat of the moment. And he didn't save him. As long as he's in the hands of that madwoman, Leander is in danger."

"From where I stood, the arms of his mother were better than the heat of the flame." Alexios told him.

"Yes," Theros said, then more quietly, looking at the finger he was worrying, "Yes."

"Has she been seen elsewhere?"

"I followed a trail for a while – stories of a baby with mismatched eyes, on the path towards Euboea. But when I went there, they had moved on. The trail went cold, and I decided I needed to find you."

"I have no idea where your son or your lover went," the Eagle Bearer informed him. He now leant against the cabinet he had been thrown against, his arms crossed and his mind suddenly sobered.

"Ex-lover."

"Ex-lover," he amended. "I'm sorry, Theros. That time in Argolis was the only time I saw them."

"I thought that would be the case," he said. "I didn't come here to hear where they went. I came here to ask for your help in finding them."

"What?" he replied.

"If not for you, Leander would have burned alive. But you handed him off to Nefeli, and so you must help me find him. He isn't safe."

Alexios paused and looked away from his companions for a moment. He had his own problems to deal with – the Cult, his sister, the continued search for his mother – but Theros' words had struck him. He felt, even if it was irrational, that he was partly responsible for Leander's dangerous situation.

"I know what it's like to have someone taken from you for someone else's fanaticism," he said as he stood. "I'll help you, Theros, if only to make sure one more child isn't ripped from their parent's arms. But where would we go? The trail is cold. We have no leads."

"Korinthia," he replied. Alexios' eyebrow rose. "Her mother is buried there. If Nefeli felt she needed guidance, she would have gone to the temples nearby to pray. It's not a lead so much as a theory, but it's worth it to find Leander."

The Eagle Bearer sighed and shook his head. "Fine, then. I'll have my horse prepared for dawn. We'll meet at the gates. And Theros?"

The mercenary paused and looked at him as he moved towards the door.

"Don't pull a sword on me again. I've a feeling it would end badly for both of us."