Gods and Warriors Read Online Free PDF Page B

Hylas. “I’m not questioning your father.”
    “Good,” Telamon said curtly.
    There was an angry silence. Telamon went to check the horses’ hooves for stones, and Hylas stayed where he was, by the stream. He knew his friend’s capacity to brood. Telamon would not be the first to break the silence. Hylas thought about showing him the bronze dagger; but then he’d have to explain about its being stolen, and hiding a dead stranger in a tomb, and Telamon would be horrified.
    Instead he called out to Telamon to lend him his knife. Without a word, Telamon chucked it over, and Hylas cut a strip from his tunic for a new bandage for his injured arm. He found some woundwort and chewed a few leaves for apoultice, then bound it in place with the bandage. Walking over to the chariot, he handed back the knife. Telamon took it, still without speaking.
    When the silence had gone on long enough, Hylas said, “So these are horses.”
    Telamon grunted.
    There weren’t any horses on the Mountain, and Hylas had only ever seen them at a distance. The one nearest him was a towering monster with a glossy chestnut hide and a mane as black as pine pitch. He made to stroke it, but it set back its ears and tried to bite.
    The other horse was friendlier, rubbing its nose against his chest and whiffling into his ear. Its great dark eyes were soft as plums, but the neck beneath his hand was solid muscle. “Are they yours?” he asked Telamon.
    “Not likely,” snorted Telamon. “They’re Father’s. I’m not allowed to take them out.”
    Hylas whistled. “Don’t tell me you
stole
them,” he said drily.
    Telamon flushed. “Borrowed.”
    Telamon was fiddling with his sealstone, as he sometimes did when he was thinking through a problem. “They’re not raiders, Hylas. They’re from the east, from the High Chieftain of Mycenae. And they’re not called ‘Crows.’ They’re a great clan: the House of Koronos. They have many warriors who fight for them. It’s only ignorant peasants who lump the clan and their warriors together, and call them all Crows.”
    Hylas gave him a sharp glance. “You seem to know a lot about them.”
    “I’m a Chieftain’s son,” retorted Telamon. “Of course I know something about them.”
    “Well, as far as I’m concerned, Crows are Crows. They killed Scram and they tried to kill me and Issi.”
    “I kn ow, but…” Telamon’s flush deepened. “My father—he has no quarrel with them.”
    Hylas stared at him. “No
quarrel
? With raiders who come on his land and hunt his people?”
    “Hylas…” Telamon hesitated. “He’s a Chieftain. That means he can’t always choose who he—who he has dealings with.”
    Hylas brushed that aside. “What about you?” he demanded. “Do you have ‘no quarrel’ with them?”
    Telamon knitted his brows. “I don’t
know
why they’re after Outsiders—but I’ll do my best to find out.” He looked Hylas straight in the eye. “I’m your friend,” he said distinctly. “We will find Issi. I will get you out of this. I swear it on my honor. Now shut up and let’s go.”
    Gathering the reins, he jumped into the chariot. The horses reared, and he struggled to calm them.
    “Do you know how to drive this?” said Hylas as he leaped in beside him.
    “Hold on tight,” muttered Telamon, “and keep your knees bent.”
    The horses sprang away, the chariot lurched, and Hylas nearly went flying.
    “I said hold on!” yelled Telamon.
    As they went rattling over the stones, the flimsy wicker frame bucked so violently that Hylas thought it was going to break apart. The rawhide webbing sagged alarmingly under his feet, and he had to narrow his eyes against the grit thrown up by the flying hooves. But the horses were
fast,
faster than anything he’d ever known. As the land rushed past, the hot wind streamed through his hair and he laughed aloud.
    Telamon threw him a glance and grinned.
    With a jolt, Hylas realized they were going the wrong way. Grabbing the reins,