Free Birth of a Warrior by Michael Ford

for joy.
    â€˜I’m alive!’ he shouted. ‘I’m alive!’ His voice echoed in the still morning air.
    Lysander stood and shook the loose snow from his clothes, just as the sun winked over the horizon, and began to warm his stiff and aching limbs. The sky was bursting with light, and everything was peaceful, covered in a pristine layer. He looked around him to try to find his bearings. The path, if there was one, was invisible. But neither could he see the cliff edge he’d been so worried about. Below, trees were weighed down with snow. He couldn’t wait to climb down. What would Demaratos say when he saw him again? Would Agesilaus be angry? Lysander didn’t care. His laughter echoed off the mountainside.
    He began to crunch down the slope, the crisp new snow creaking under each footstep. Gradually the blood flowed back into his feet. A screech from above made him turn to the sky. A solitary eagle hung in the air, spreading its wings. Lysander had never been so close to the Gods. The eagle tilted and wheeled away, disappearing from view around the mountain’s shoulder.
    Lysander ran, half stumbling down the mountainside. As he entered the treeline, he grabbed low branches to slow his descent. Snow showered down on him but now Lysander no longer cared.
    The eagle had reappeared, circling overhead as though guiding him down from the slopes.
    â€˜Are you following me?’ Lysander shouted jubilantly.
    As the snow became sparser on the ground, the familiar path came once again into view. Picking his way among the trees and rocks, his strength sapped away again. His legs were weak, and he struggled to keep moving. But the exhilaration of his survival gave his tired limbs the extra push they needed.
    Agesilaus would not be expecting to see him again, of that he was sure. Whether the delirious vision of his father was real or not, Lysander knew that something had given him the will to make it through the night. Lysander paused and craned his neck back to look up at the clear blue sky, scored with the faintest wisps of cloud. The eagle circled the air. Then, with a cry of farewell, the huge bird caught an eddy of air that carried him back up the mountain. Lysander raised his hands to shield his eyes against the morning sun and watched the bird’s departure. His mountain friend had gone. But as Lysander turned back towards camp, he didn’t feel alone.
    â€˜I faced death and I survived,’ Lysander said to himself. Then he threw his arms wide to embrace the new day. ‘I made it!’ he cried.

CHAPTER 8
    As Lysander rounded the edge of the camp, Agesilaus was sharpening the end of a makeshift spear with a piece of flint. A twig snapped under Lysander’s foot and Agesilaus leapt to his feet, brandishing the weapon, his lips parted in surprise.
    â€˜Who’s there?’ he shouted. Lysander paused and waited while Agesilaus registered that the attacker was the boy he’d left to his death in the mountains. He clenched his mouth closed and the hard look returned to his green eyes.
    â€˜You’re back,’ he said, lowering the spear. His tone held the hint of interrogation.
    â€˜I slept in a shallow grave,’ said Lysander.
    Demaratos wandered out of the cave. He rushed forward and clapped Lysander on the back.
    â€˜You made it!’ he said. ‘Agesilaus said you were sure to die!’
    â€˜Well, I didn’t,’ said Lysander, fixing the older boy with a stare.
    â€˜I trust you spent a snug night?’ Agesilaus sneered.
    â€˜Yes,’ replied Lysander. ‘It was hard to build a shelter in the snow, but I did it.’
    â€˜Maybe you’re not as useless as your tutor said. Anyway, you’re back in time to see Demaratos complete his trial,’ said Agesilaus. ‘There’s a herd of goats living further down the hill. I’ve seen their droppings. Demaratos is going to catch us some breakfast, using his bare