Free Nobody's Prize by Esther Friesner Page A

during the voyage here to practice the hard-won swordsmanship I’d learned at home in Sparta.
    The first clang of my sword against the enemy’s blade rang out. The sound shivered through me and kindled an extraordinary transformation. All of my teacher’s lessons came back to me not as words, but as knowledge that I carried in my blood. I could do this! Whether or not I’d win, whether or not I’d survive, I could fight. My fate was in my hands alone. So this was why the
Argo
’s crew had thirsted for a fight! I attacked, shouting Ares’ name.
    My battle joy was short-lived. Iolaus seized the back of my tunic and yanked me back, stepping between me and the other fighter. He’d found his footing and his strength. The fortunes of the skirmish changed and ended with a single stab of Iolaus’s borrowed sword. My enemy made a hideous sound and crumpled.
    Iolaus turned to me, his face monstrous. “In the name of all the gods, Helen,
what are you doing here
?” He was so enraged he called me by my true name, but it was lost in the chaos of battle. “Get back to the ship now, or I swear by Zeus himself, I’ll drag you there by the hair!”
    I gave him a sour look. “You’ll need both hands free for that. Better give me that sword back first.” I nodded at the blade I’d brought him, the one that had saved his life.
    Iolaus wasn’t in the mood for inconvenient reminders. “I’ll thank you later, if you’re alive to hear it. Now get back to the ship before something else hap—”
    A fresh war cry from one of the remaining riders tore the air, loud and imperious enough to draw everyone’s attention. Spear in hand, horse dancing sideways along the tide line, the warrior shouted harsh foreign words. The unmistakable command made the others turn sharply away from battling the
Argo
’s crew and gallop back up the beach to where their comrades still circled that small rising column of smoke. I think there must have been thirty of them still mounted, but I had no time to count them before they were gone. They didn’t slow the horses’ pace when they leaned over to sweep dismounted fighters up behind them on their steeds. Some of the warriors who’d been unhorsed even managed to sling the bodies of their slain and wounded comrades up and across the horses’ backs before saving themselves.
    Our men gave chase, as if they had any real hope of overtaking horses. A few of the riders strung their bows and fired off hissing flights of arrows to discourage pursuit. I heard yelps of pain and much cursing, and I saw several men stop short as the darts sliced their flesh. Zetes fell, clutching his thigh. Soon the riders were nothing but a retreating tumult of flying hooves, sand, and stones, and those wild, hawklike war cries.
    “You’re safe. Thank the gods.” Milo appeared at my side, dripping wet, his face scratched and battered. With a shamefaced smile he added, “I fell off the ship.”
    “
Another
one who won’t obey me?” Iolaus growled. He turned his back on us and started up the strand, falling in with the rest of the Argonauts. We followed.
    As I walked, I wiped sweat from my eyes and viewed the aftermath of my first battle. Besides the warrior I’d fought and Iolaus had slain, there were seven colorfully clad bodies on the beach. The retreating riders hadn’t been able to reclaim all of their dead. We’d lost three of our own, an unexpectedly low price to pay for victory.
    We soon reached the place that the riders had been circling. Now that the chaos of combat was over and the dust settled, I could see that it was an altar, a heap of blood-streaked stones crowned by a small, brightly burning fire. Five more men lay sprawled around it, shields scattered, lifeless fingers still curled around the hilts of their swords. They were none of our crew.
    Behind the altar, a company of armed guards stood around an old man whose richly ornamented robes and heavy gold collar, rings, and diadem marked him for a king.