and set out toward the Parthenon.
“They come, they’re coming!” A woman on the roof of a nearby temple shrieked the warning, then scrambled down a rickety ladder to the sacristy’s front door. An undead archer fired from among Kratos’s pursuers. The shaft pinned the woman to the wood frame, which caught fire as the arrow exploded.
Kratos ducked and shifted aside when he heard a furious flapping of wings that he knew all too well, but he was not this harpy’s target. The foul beast swooped down to pluck at a woman running with a child in her arms. The harpy grabbed the child and carried it aloft. The woman screamed and threw rocks, but the harpy soared upward to hundreds of feet. Then it let the child drop.
“Noooo!” Kratos raged. He took a step and reached out, as if he could keep the child safe. He couldn’t. A vision of his beloved daughter filled his eyes-and then blood replaced the vision. Again.
The woman frantically tried to catch her infant, racing toward it with arms outstretched, only to see her child’s brains dashed out on the rubble of another temple. The harpy swooped low again, this time clawing at the woman. She fought off the flying monster but tripped on a broken flagstone.
Kratos raced forward and then leaped with all his prodigious strength. His fingers slipped away from the harpy’s wing but caught a taloned foot. The harpy screeched in rage and fought to break free. Rage at the child’s death lent Kratos the raw determination to clutch down hard enough to drag the harpy from the sky. The hideous creature crashed to the ground, only feet from where the child had perished.
A twist, a turn, and Kratos worked up to where he could smash his fist into the harpy’s face. He continued to pummel the monster until only pulp remained. Panting, he held the scrawny neck in his grip, then cast the corpse away so its foul blood would not mingle with that of the fallen child.
“Help me, help me!” the bereft woman called to Kratos. “A trapdoor inside. Safety. Sanctuary is yours if you will help me!” The harpies had seen the fate of their companion and converged, thinking the woman was the easiest victim to slay.
Kratos let his revulsion for what crimes the harpies committed decide the matter for him. Swinging the Blades of Chaos, he charged. The first stroke took off a pinion. The second severed a clawed foot. A double swipe of his blades removed one harpy’s head from its birdlike sloping shoulders. “Go,” he said to the woman. “Find your refuge.”
The woman did not plead with him to join her. Another harpy screeched as it swooped like a falcon. Kratos sprang into the air, hurling himself and his blades at the creature, but he was just too far away to reach it.
The woman took the full strike on her back.
Vicious claws opened bloody gashes, and then the harpy beat downward with its wings and plucked the woman’s spine from her body. What remained fell lifeless to the ground.
Kratos ran, jumped onto an overturned crate, and launched himself through the air in a burst of furious attack. One blade sheared through the harpy’s face, from her mouth to her ear. The second blade sliced through her breastbone almost without resistance, opening its monstrous heart to spew black blood across the streets below. Man and harpy fell heavily to the ground. Kratos rolled free, jerked the chains around his forearms, and brought the Blades of Chaos whistling back to hand.
“There! There he is! Kill him! Kill him for Lord Ares!”
Charging toward him were a dozen Minotaurs, followed by six Cyclopes and half a hundred undead legionnaires-and behind them were still more. They choked the road; he could never fight his way clear.
It appeared his quest was about to end in a sudden and bloody failure.
He drew his blades. He was Spartan.
Just because he could not win was no reason to quit.
TEN
ATHENA STARED DOWN into the broad scrying pool below the throne of Zeus. A few ripples crossed it, but these came from the gusts swirling through Olympus. With a gesture, Athena stilled the waters so that they became clear as the sky. She bent forward to get a better view as Kratos unleashed Medusa’s Gaze.
“Your mortal fights well.”
Athena looked up. Her father had willed himself once more onto his throne, where he now leaned forward, peering intently into the pool. Could it be that Zeus showed the faintest hint of satisfaction?
Even Athena could not read the face of the Lord of Olympus for certain, but she dared hope.
She moved to one side, the better to keep one eye on the pool while she tried to fully decipher his expression. “I did not realize you were following the battle.”
“Slaughter,” Zeus said, “is mightily diverting. It has been many years since we’ve had such fine wanton destruction.”
“Ares brings it to my beloved city,” Athena said, a catch in her voice. “But Kratos’s savagery comes from Ares. He is what my brother has made of him.”
“He may be a bit more than that,” the Lord of Olympus murmured. “You know, the sack of Athens is shaping up to be an epic poem-you should ask Apollo to compose an ode, perhaps. Commemorate the occasion. Doesn’t have to be anything so elaborate as Homer’s tale of Troy-after all, Troy stood against all of Greece for ten years. Athens hasn’t lasted ten days. Nonetheless, many of your soldiers are managing to die heroically. And then there’s your Kratos.”
The Skyfather pointed to the scrying pool, which reflected Kratos’s battle against a flight of harpies. “His furious quest for vengeance-one tiny mortal against the God of War? Very nice. Really. I couldn’t have done it better myself.”
“High praise, my lord father-perhaps the highest I have ever received.” She didn’t let it go to her head, because Zeus, premier among the other Olympians, was a deep planner. Athena wondered at his interest now and if he worked his own subtle plans.
Whatever the machinations, her Kratos played a prominent role.
“I am gratified you are taking such an interest in the struggle, Father. Would it be too bold for me to ask if your interest arises from the struggle itself?”
“My dear daughter, this is not about you. It had better not be. This is only your mortal against Ares’s mob of horrors raked from the dregs of Hades. That Kratos has survived so far makes this a bit more interesting than certain gods had been expecting.”
“Do you favor Kratos?”
Zeus turned pensive, running fingers through the wisps of his cloud beard. Athena tried to read the thoughts behind his eyes and could not. She caught her breath when her father spoke, his words slow and obviously carefully chosen.
“My son shows increasing disrespect, and that distresses me. He kills your worshippers in Athens, but that is to be expected.”
Athena started to point out that Ares also singled out Zeus’s worshippers, destroying the Skyfather’s temples and corrupting sacrifices to win his favor, but she saw that he already understood this.
“Ares’s hubris grows with every victory. Do what you can to support Kratos if your mortal can bring about a greater humility by thwarting Ares.”
“My brother cannot be stopped in this fashion,” Athena said, immediately regretting her words. Her passion betrayed her true intentions. “Not directly. Everyone on Olympus knows my support for the valiant when they face impossible odds. Seldom do they win-poor old Leonidas at Thermopylae, betrayed at the last-but when they triumph… Well, even the Lord of Olympus knows how to honor a hero.
“So, would you see Kratos win? What are you suggesting?”
“I suggest nothing,” Athena said. “I suggest nothing more than that Kratos can use divine help in his struggle.”
“I will not openly oppose Ares, no matter how impudent he has become.” Zeus stroked his beard more fiercely now, lightning bolts dancing through the clouds and leaping from finger to finger. Athena tried to read her father’s mood and could not. But she hoped when he spoke next.
“It has always been worrisome to me that the oracles know what I, Lord of Olympus, cannot see with all my
