>>6337775>>6337817>24 vs 19 - Kleos wins the day once againBut your winged words miss the mark – whether it is your framing of the pact, or instead the unfamiliar words, you aren’t sure. The lines of Faibokranef’s face deepen, and his eyes grow shadowed in remembrance. You aren’t sure what to do – you’ve temporarily lost the man to his recollections, and you don’t know him well enough to prompt him rudely. In the gloom of the low-ceilinged Trachian stables, hunched forward together, you feel that you are huddled together in a cave – not the place for a grand bargain. Finally, the Aegyptian grimaces faintly, before speaking slowly, making an effort to be understood clearly:
“When the People of the Black Land compete, even brotherly bonds may not cross the chalk-dust…” You hide your disappointment well, keeping your face blank – the idiom is new to you, but the meaning is clear enough. Before you respond, the children outside begin to argue loudly. A single boy’s voice, hoarsely raised above the rest, splits the air confidently:
“No, no – you’re all <span class="mu-i">WRONG!</span>” - the other children fall into silence. The boy launches into a passionate screed – “Hippomedon cannot be beaten; he is the spear of Argos herself! He is a GIANT and the grandson of GIANTS! Are you all deaf, dumb and blind?! He carried that boar like it was a sack of flour!” Peering outside, you get a glimpse of the child through the stable window – a fattened Trachian child of ten summers, with hair so filthy you cannot guess the color, and a face that is even filthier. Your eyebrows raise when you see him cast a pair of wild punches at his peers (missing widely, you note), even as he yowls further –
“I don’t give a damn about the Theban and neither should you! I’ll bet my blade against any ten of yours that he wins it all!” he screeches, holding aloft a bone knife, one that he almost certainly stole from an older brother. A low chuckle from the Aegyptian interrupts your viewing – turning to him, he whistles softly in mock appreciation:
“I knew a man like you once, Prince. Pushed others to greatness; was great himself. Pushed others to foolishness – I among them…” he says, gesturing to the boy outside. He extends a hand to you, smiling with sad eyes, and you grasp it – mahogany baked under the hot sun. “So I will be foolish again, Prince. But on one condition – take me to Argos! Let me see your people!”
“Done,” you say simply, and the matter is concluded – you release his hand. You don’t linger – you leave the stables before the man can change his mind. Passing the children, stunned into silence by your presence, you catch the eye of the filthy boy, and say – “Cheer for me, young one – if I win the day, you will feast with us that night.” You stride onwards, but don’t fail to catch the feral joy flashing across his face – as well as the black envy of his peers.
