The short story “Troy Cycle” by Dar Mavison is now available as part of Sandals and Sodomy, a Dreamspinner Press Anthology.
Troy Cycle by Dar Mavison
When the gods abandoned men during the battle of Troy, the greatest of those men – Hector, Odysseus, Paris, Achilles – schemed to end the war. Amongst themselves they waged war both vicious and tender in a desperate attempt to achieve peace, a peace that for some would only be found in death, leaving others to discover it in new life. But none would ever be forgotten by the other three.
This anthology also includes stories by D. G. Parker, John Simpson, Remmy Duchene, Connie Bailey and Ariel Tachna.
Click here to purchase this collection online as an e-book or in paperback.
Read an excerpt from “Troy Cycle” below:
…Hector had tried to teach Paris strength and composure in times of trial. Hector’s beloved voice ran through Paris’s head, commanding him to scrutinize his assets and liabilities and identify his most effective weapons.
None. He had no weapons. He was trussed and unarmed, but even unbound and in possession of a hundred swords he could never hope to overpower the great Achilles. His freedom lay on another route.
He had his beauty. Beauty was a curse in the business of war, but this was not war; this was negotiation, and Achilles thought him pretty. He should be able to use that to his advantage. He had his position. Achilles was still calling him ‘prince’, even if his voice held more scorn than respect. He had his voice. It had served him well in the past. He could try to talk his way out of this.
“Do you know how you came to be here?” Achilles asked as he hauled Paris up to sitting.
Paris opened his mouth to speak, but could only cough dryly.
So, he did not have his voice after all.
Achilles retrieved a goblet from the other side of the curtain, and after a sip of wine Paris was ready to try again. “I know not how I came to be here,” he said in as noble a manner as possible. “I must assume it is due to the munificence of King Odysseus.”
Achilles chuckled. “That must be a fancy Trojan word for ‘greed’.” Achilles leaned over Paris and untied the rope from his waist.
Achilles’s scent flooded the air, earthy and metallic, the scent of a man who knows war. It was almost overwhelming. “Mark me, little prince, Odysseus will profit from this somehow. No one gets the better of the king of Ithaca, no matter what honey drips from his pretty tongue.”
Paris was dismayed. Sycophancy would not work; he would have to use other tactics. He was determined to turn his helplessness to his advantage. He coughed and leaned toward the held out cup again. He drank enough to soothe his throat and let the rest wet his lips, spill over and trickle down his chin and throat. He tried to catch the overflow with his tongue, and was satisfied to see Achilles’s eyes track the movement. He licked his lips and heard a faint intake of breath.
Not so helpless after all…
Click here to purchase this collection online as an e-book or in paperback.
