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Chapter 18: A Wing and a Prayer

For the first time since she returned, Adara - now guard-less - could do what she pleased and go where she wished. She was hesitant for the first few days with her new freedom, but eventually worked up the courage to make her way to the royal family balcony to watch the battle.

Those on the balcony, including Priam, Hecuba, Andromache, Helen, and her parents, spoke very little, but that was fine with her. She kept vigilant watch over the fighting, eyes roaming across the battlefield, darting from soldier to soldier, never in one place for more than a second.

Every day, she watched in this fashion, and her parents noticed the attention she gave and exchanged worried glances. Helen noticed too, and she saw Adara's parents' faces. She walked over to her young friend and said quietly, "You might want to relax a little. Your parents are fretting."

Adara nodded, aware that her mother was most definitely reconsidering those guards, but she couldn't bring herself to lessen the intensity of her search.

Helen tried a new tactic. She whispered, "Do you see him?"

"No," Adara replied. She sighed, not sure if she was glad or upset that she couldn't find him. She decided she was more relieved than anything, and snapped out of her crazed search to look at Helen. They shared a smile, but something on the battlefield drew their attention.

The Greeks had stopped fighting. Each disengaged from his battle and fell back into rank, leaving many confused Trojans in the middle of the sand.

King Priam rose and hurried to the edge, looking at the scene. "What is-"

He was cut off by a loud and terrible war cry that seemed to resonate across the land. Even as thousands of feet thundered in a march, Adara heard the last of the echoes.

"Agamemnon," Helen breathed.

Adara nodded, knowing it was him as well. Only Agamemnon would call for that reckless charge, the same one he had tried and failed with weeks ago. Now, she thought, he probably assumed the archers were unprepared.

He was about to be sorely mistaken. Again.

As soon as the charging Greeks were within range, the arrows from the walls flew from their bows, arching before falling and sticking where they landed. Just as in the other charge, Greek soldiers fell fast, their ranks decimated.

Adara knew that if she were with the Myrmidons on the sand hill again, Achilles would be insulting Agamemnon's intelligence. Moron, Patroclus had said. Apparently not much had changed in the weeks since.

"Fall back in line!" At first it was just something she thought she would hear, something in her own head. But then, the shout came again, and she recognized the voice of Odysseus. She ran to the edge, not caring what her parents thought, and searched for him. Her eyes quickly found the short warrior, shouting orders and pushing men back in line, completely taking over Agamemnon's position. Adara shook her head as the King of Kings, just as pathetic as she remembered him to be, watched helplessly as his men fell and his plan failed. Again.

The thought of all those men dying because of Agamemnon's pride, ambition, and idiocy disgusted her. She turned away, trying to block the image she'd conjured of the Myrmidons being among the fallen.

That evening, Adara returned to her rooms after dining, but as soon as the sun had started to set, she left, heading for the secluded balcony. She walked quickly and quietly down the lesser used hallways to avoid being seen. After a fast glance around the corner, she hurried down one corridor, but stopped at the sound of many voices.

"The gods favor our cause!" one voice rang out in the midst of the tumult, bringing the other sounds to a hush. Adara inched closer, crouching unseen just beside the doorway. She recognized the voice as that of Polydorus, and couldn't help but pity him. She knew the gods sent them signs, but Hector was always cynical of the birds Polydorus seemed to rely upon so heavily. "After all these weeks, now is the time to destroy the Greek army!"

Words of agreement came from the crowd, and Adara grew worried. She hoped Hector was still as skeptical as ever.

"Their moral is battered," Glaucus, a commander, picked up where Polydorus left off when the talking subsided again. "Hit them now; hit them hard; they will run!" His voice rose with every sentence, and the words rallied the men in the room. Those mumbles of concurrence turned to shouts and yells.

Adara fidgeted in her position, thinking not of the whole Greek army, but of the few good men there were. She realized everyone had stopped talking again, and she refocused her attention.

"The Myrmidons did not fight today, as they have not fought in weeks." Hector's voice filled the hall, loud, strong, and clear. "The dissension among the Greeks is why we succeed on the battlefield, but if we attack their ships, we will unify them. If they decide to attack us, let them. Our walls can't be breached. We'll beat them back again." His words caused Adara to relax, but she wasn't sure what the men were murmuring now. "The Greeks underestimated us. We should not return the favor."

More talk followed his statement, and Adara prayed that someone saw the thinking behind it. But suddenly, the room fell completely silent.

"You are confident about the meaning of these omens?" King Priam asked. Adara shook her head to herself, not liking where she saw this going.

"Fifty days since the desecration of his temple, and Apollo is still angered." Polydorus replied with feeling. "The gods curse the Greeks."

There was a short silence that followed his words, but Adara's heart thundered in her chest for what felt like an eternity.

"Prepare the army," Priam commanded. Her heart plummeted into her stomach and froze there in a lump. "We attack at daybreak."

On the balcony, safely away from the war council, Adara paced along a stretch of stone. She didn't know what to do with her hands; she wrapped them around herself, folded them across her chest, ran them through her hair, and wrung them in frustration as her mind raced.

If the army attacked the Greek ships, the Myrmidons would fight, not for Agamemnon, but to protect their own lives and vessels. They would not be united, but Hector's idea was correct: Achilles would fight. Patroclus would fight.

She slammed her hand own on the stone, barely registering the pain. Of all the times for Priam not to listen to his son, he chose now. And only on the basis of bird signs. She sank to the ground, her back to the wall, not truly able to believe that Eudorus, or Odysseus, or Patroclus could be killed in a surprise attack, all because a bird tilted its wing.

"Adara?"

She looked up to see Helen approaching, worry seeming to add some age to her beautiful features. Adara rose. "Helen," she started, but her voice was too tired to go unnoticed. She sighed. "The Trojan army will attack at daybreak."

"How do you know?"

"I overheard the war council. King Priam has commanded the army to assault the ships. They'll attack everyone."

"Even the ones not fighting?" Helen had never gotten Adara's warrior's name, but knew he was a Myrmidon.

Adara scoffed. "That doesn't make a difference. They're not going to pick and choose who they want to fight. Everyone will attack, everyone will defend." She stared out at the dark sky and the fires from the Greek camps. For once, their warmth did not make her feel better; knowing he was down there only worried her more. Helen stood next to her, a supportive arm around her shoulders. "A lot of men are going to die tomorrow."

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