The New Adventures of Patroklos and Pyrrha

By Matthias Glenn

Chapter Three: The Shield maiden and the Giant

(September 18th, 1610, Istanbul, Ottoman Empire)

He laid by her side as the doctors tended to her wounds. They laid Pyrrha on a bed in their 'hospital', next to dozens of other injured and dying men whom Tira was responsible for. The medics poured water down Pyrrha's throat, saying that even if she was fading in and out of consciousness, she still needed to be hydrated. They sewed up wounds that she had sustained while she was unconscious, and gave her concoctions of herbs and spices when she wasn't. They may have come and gone throughout the night, but Patroklos stayed there.

It was about the afternoon when Patroklos was woken. His spirit wanted to stay up all night and day for her, but even he needed rest, too. After what appeared to be a sleep lasting forever, but was in truth an hour, he opened his eyes and saw his aunt, Cassandra Alexander.

Patroklos had often heard of her through what his mother and father said about her. She was in their opinion a free spirit, who could never be anchored down. She was adventurous, master-less and free. But in another side, his mother often remarked how caring, sincere, and defensive she was to the people she loved. Sophitia recounted the numerous times she would rush from her little cottage in Athens to wherever she needed her, and without question, her sword would be drawn, ready to fight. Cassandra even tagged along on quests Sophitia would rather go on alone. But that's just the kind of person Cassandra was. For her, no one got left behind, according to Patroklos's father.

He was perplexed by her, in a way. How could this rose of a woman, short and slender frame, blonde hair, green eyes, and pale skin, be seen by her foes as "intimidating" or "not to be crossed"? But nevertheless he was happy to see her again.

"How is she?" Cassandra asked.

"The doctors say she's going to be fine. She should be awake and ready to fight by tomorrow."

"That's good to hear. Seeing as the Vizier of Sultan Ahmed's court is trying to get us kicked out early."

"Is he being impatient?"

"He's afraid." Cassandra shook her head. "And he wants us to speak with him before we go."

"When?" Patroklos raised his head.

"Now. Come on." She started to walk off. "The quicker we talk to him, the quicker we can leave him to worry."

He walked next to his aunt, looking around at all of the men on their beds. Some looked like they were going to make it. Others had sheets over their faces, and loved ones being comforted by complete strangers. This was a sad day, despite the fact that Patroklos felt like he had a family again. Some others had lost theirs.

The two of them were about to enter the tent when all of a sudden, Patroklos felt Cassandra. She had embraced him, holding her close to him. He decided to return the favor, and hugged her, too. She sniffed a bit, perhaps holding back tears. Such a strange outburst from someone he thought was as cold as stone.

"I saw very young men back there." She whispered in his ear. She was fighting the urge to cry, and Patroklos could hear it. "I forget sometimes that that could've been me. That almost was Pyrrha. That could've been you."

She kissed him on his forehead. "I love you, and I'm sorry I wasn't there for you as much as I should've been."

Patroklos smiled, perhaps for the first time this whole week. "You were there for us last night, when we really needed you. Be not ashamed of the past, for neither of us can change that. Let's just focus on being a good family now."

She stopped hugging him, but still put her hands on his shoulders. She looked him in his eyes, while Patroklos could see the tears receding in her. "You're right. I've already lost two family members. I'm not giving up any more freely."

"That's the spirit."

Cassandra, with her spirit returned, opened the curtains to the Vizier's tent. Patroklos followed her in, and was stunned at the subtlety of it. He was almost expecting a tent as magnificent as the palace. But he guessed some things had to give in time of emergency. All that occupied the tent was a bed to lie down in, and a table with a detailed map of the known world. The Vizier, Al Daqhira only looked up from it to notice Cassandra and Patroklos.

"The Sultan thanks the two of you for your service." He said, a thick Arabic accent heavy on his tongue. "He, however, is wary of his enemies, and would rather the two of you make haste."

"So, basically, a hello, and a goodbye?" Cassandra crossed her arms.

"The king," he said, moving back to the table of war. His long robe followed him, and made the man seem more like a cobra than he perhaps wanted to. "If you can sympathize, is a busy man, with potential threats attempting to knock him down. He has given you his best horses, and supplies to last you a trip to the Mediterranean and back."

"The sea? We're not going to the sea." Cassandra said, confused.

"The Sultan's trade is being interrupted by the undead pirate. Supplies cannot come in as frequently as we'd like. If we allow the menace-"

"Cervantes can wait." Cassandra interrupted.

"Cer- who?"

"Cervantes. That's the name of the pirate you guys were talking about. Just trust me on that one."

"Right. Cervantes." He paused, perhaps committing it to memory. Patroklos was waiting for a time to speak. But it just seemed mostly a conversation between the two of them. "Well, Cervantes represents an immediate threat that must be dealt with."

"Not quite. The last we've heard from him, he was off of the coast of Spain. He's probably landing to spend all of his plunder."

Cassandra looked at the map, and Patroklos saw as well as her that the seven threats Sultan Ahmed were marked out by miniature statues of their likenesses. Cassandra's hand glided over the statue of Cervantes.

"Meanwhile, there is a threat that I know isn't going to stop for a break. And it's him." She pointed at a statue that was somewhere in Iraq. It was a tall hulking beast with an axe. Patroklos had seen him before, and was hoping to never run into him again. He mouthed out his name slowly.

"Astaroth."

"The giant? Are you sure of his intentions?"

"He's not some troll in the woods anymore. Once he realized that people started to worship him, he's going to use his cult to confirm his godhood."

"And how do you think he's going to carry that out, hm?" the Vizier crossed his arms.

While Cassandra frowned, she admitted that "That's the part that confuses me. How is he going to prove himself superior? As not just some god, but the supreme god?"

Patroklos kept looking at the map. He scanned over it. He looked at the depiction of Astaroth. He looked at the current kingdom of the Ottoman Empire. He looked at the statue again. He finally asked himself. "If I wanted to be a god, how would I go about making people believe it?"

"And that is the problem with your plan, shield maiden." Al Daqhira decided to keep talking while Patroklos had a hand to his chin.

"Wait. You wouldn't have to prove yourself a god…."

"I know he's a threat to the Sultan." Cassandra retorted.

"It is natural to be scared of a big, giant myth."

"… if you destroyed and desecrated the other ones."

"He's not a myth. Not to me. Not to India. Not even to some of the Sultan's men."

"I'm going to at least need a motive before we send the Soul Edge and Soul Calibur to chase a legend in the desert."

"And why go for temples and shrine along the way… when there's a holy city full of them?" Patroklos's face must've lit up, because he suddenly said.

"Jerusalem."

The two bickering elders looked at him as he said it. Patroklos made himself clearer.

"Astaroth is going to go for Jerusalem. He's going to take the Holy City for himself, and make himself a god-king over it."

"How do you… know this again?" Cassandra leaned in.

"It's what I would do. If I wanted to be a god, I would destroy the images of the other gods in my way."

"The boy makes a good point, I assume." The Vizier crossed his arms. "After all, that particular city has always been a thorn in the Sultan's side."

"A thorn?"

"Ruling that city is like standing in a sandstorm. Nonetheless, we need it to remain ours."

The Vizier paced back and forth, contemplating the options he had. "If what you two are saying is true, then perhaps going after Astaroth is the right choice. We can spare a few ships of gold. But what we cannot lose is the city of many people's faiths."

He finally seceded, letting Cassandra and Patroklos cut their own paths.

"When Pyrrha is well, depart from this city. I believe the three of you have a giant to slay."