Olympus: It's Not Just a Game

Chapter 34

The Spartan army streamed through the darkness of the dungeons, racing, single-file, through all the twisted corridors that Nancy had braved. The savage dwarves that inhabited its depths crept back into its labyrinths, not daring to face the swift, fierce stream of Spartans. The first soldiers reached the top of the dungeon just in time. A phalanx of Athenians had finally discovered Wheeler, and he was battling grimly, defending his small antechamber against all comers. A mound of bodies lay at his feet. He wielded a captured Athenian sword in one hand, and an Athenian spear in the other.

Then, suddenly, the Spartans burst out behind him, and carried the battle out into the palace. Bold battle cries turned to frightened shrieks as the Athenians discovered the Spartans in their midst. It was hand-to-hand combat throughout the whole palace. Squads of Spartans spread out in every direction, and as they broke out into the city, they disabled the massive war machines that had given the Athenians their edge. Catapult horses were hamstrung by swift swords, and when, at last, the Spartans reached the main gates, the battle was essentially over. The soldiers outside raced in to join their brethren.

Lord Peter was having a bad day. His war machines had been handily defeating those pesky Spartans until they suddenly erupted from the bowels of his own palace. When the first reports came to him that they were boiling up out of his dungeons, he could not believe it. How could they have discovered the tunnel? He raced to the battlements and stared out into the darkness. Sure enough, there were the dim shapes of the enemy out by the secret entrance beyond the wall. Somehow, his security had been breached.

His mood was not improved by the wizard who kept trailing after him. Under normal circumstances, Peter was far too proud to let even defeat disturb him. But this wizard's ceaseless complaining was getting on his nerves.

Finally, he snapped. "Would you kindly put a sock in it? I'd rather be defeated by the Spartans than listen to your carping." They were holed up in the last tower untaken by the enemy.

"I don't care about your city," the magician snarled, "but do you see that girl down there?" He pointed at Nancy, racing toward them behind a column of Spartan soldiers. "If you lose her to that boy Karl, you can kiss Olympus goodbye!"

Lord Peter looked at him shrewdly. "That wouldn't bother me a bit," he muttered, "as you should well know! But I have no intention of letting Karl snatch my prize away from me."

"Great," ReMora answered, relieved. "What do you plan to do?"

"I haven't the faintest idea," Peter responded. "My sword has its limits."

"My magic doesn't," the wizard answered. "Do you want my help to take her back?"

"Help?" Peter echoed, haughtily. "I don't ask for help."

ReMora gnashed his teeth in frustration. "Would you consider a tactical alliance, then? My magic plus your skill?"

"A tactical alliance," Peter mused. "Yes, I suppose I could stoop to that."

"Stoop, then!" the wizard cried, and his hands writhed as he began the incantation. His arms wove strange sinuous shapes through the air, and sparks flew from his fingertips. A dreadful transformation began. Lord Peter's mouth opened to protest, but a forked tongue flickered out. His eyes grew enormous, and became pools of fire even as his neck lengthened out beyond all recognition. The tower room in which they stood could not contain him. Marble blocks burst loose and toppled into the square below as his form crushed up against the walls.