Perseus: Excidium Troiae

Twenty-Five

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The prow of the small boat hit the sand with as little noise as possible. Perseus hopped out silently, landing with a thump on the sand. Behind him followed the two brothers, Deiphobus and Paris, far less subtle than he had been.

Getting to Lemnos had been tricky. They'd had to leave at night, under the cover of the darkness so the Achaeans did not suspect anything was amiss. But the journey had been a swift one—especially with the push he'd used his powers to give the boat, and in a matter of hours they had arrived at the small deserted island of Lemnos. The son of Poseidon turned to his two companions and said in a whisper, "Alright, you guys remember the plan?"

Deiphobus nodded, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Paris looked like he wanted to argue, but didn't say a word.

Perseus would have been okay with having just his brother as backup. Paris was a bit sceptical about their mission and needling him with questions. But Aeneas still hadn't woken up, and as efficient as Deiphobus was, this wasn't a one-man job. And as much as he disliked Priam's wayward son, he needed all the help he could get, especially since he didn't know which of the Kings the Achaeans had sent on this little expedition.

"Let's move in."

They darted up the dunes and into the cover of the trees. Helios had pleasantly offered to scout ahead earlier, and by the information he'd returned with, they knew where to find this Philoctetes and his magical arrows. Perseus hoped they had beaten the Greeks to the island, but he knew it was just wishful thinking. A fight was imminent, but he was pretty confident that their enemies wouldn't be escaping with those arrows that evening.

As silent as wraiths, they moved through the shadows and trees, dashing towards the centre of the island. The moon was absent tonight, and he knew it was because Apollo had asked his sister to take a break, only to allow their mission to go on in total darkness. The Achaeans would not know what had hit them. Finally, after what felt like hours of running, they emerged from the forest and on the outskirts of what seemed to be a small farm. Perseus quickly scanned their surroundings.

There was a mud hut a few yards away and a small lagoon right beside it. His guess had been right—they were on a farm, and he could see several vegetables and plants arranged in neat little rows and stacks around the hut. It seemed Philoctetes hadn't been idling about at all since the Achaeans had abandoned him all those years back. If the Fates were kind tonight, things would go as planned. Apollo had given him a brief history of good old Phil—he was some Greek King who had been left behind because he'd had a festering, smelly wound from a snake bite. It was a wonder he was still alive. But, hopefully, he'd still be injured, and killing him would not be much of a hassle.

He heard a shuffle at his right and turned to glare at Paris, who shifted and motioned to the hut with his head. Perseus followed his line of sight and they watched as three men walked out of the dark hut. He tried to identify them, but the darkness of the Island proved more of a hindrance in this endeavour. The men were arguing loudly, no doubt thinking they were alone on the island as they set about building a campfire.

Perseus strained to hear what words were being exchanged, a frown on his lips. The more he watched, the more something seemed off to him. None of the three figures were limping or crippled. They all walked...well, normally. In a matter of minutes, there was a roaring flame a distance from the hut. The men sat around it, and Perseus heard Deiphobus swear slightly as the orange glow of the campfire lighted up the faces.

Odysseus the Crafty and his trusty companion, King Diomedes of Thrace, were helping the other man set a skinned deer on a spit above the flames. The man had dark, roughish hair and the bushiest beard Perseus had ever seen. He was dressed in an assemblage of animal skins, with a quiver of arrows slung on his back and a bow around his torso. In a fluid movement, the man set the weapons on the ground beside a log. So, Philoctetes.