More screeching harpies swarmed around him. His blades met monstrous flesh more than once, but their talons tore at his skin from all sides.
When he finally wiped the harpy gore from his eyes, he saw injured harpies scuttling along the temple floor. Ichor continued to stream from their wounds as they used their leathery wings to drag themselves along. When one saw him watching, she screeched at him again and they all clacked jagged teeth in a fierce challenge.
Kratos took one last swipe across his eyes, then moved in for the kill.
“Kratos!”
Terror in the Oracle’s voice brought Kratos whirling back toward the statue of Athena. Two harpies held the Oracle in their filthy talons. He leaped for them, blades at the ready. He had seen too well how swiftly even a single harpy could slaughter a mortal-the haunting memory of the child being dashed against Athenian cobblestones caused bile to rise-but they seemed to have some other plan for their captive.
They beat at the air with their wings, wrenching the woman from the ground. Powerful claws sank into the Oracle’s shoulders. The harpies screeched with evil glee and took wing, the Oracle dangling from their punishing talons.
“Kratos!” she called, her voice going faint from despair. “Kratos, save me!”
Kratos leaped with all his might, but another harpy had timed his spring and slammed down onto his back like a falcon taking a rabbit. He spun with a snarl, and a single cut with the Blades of Chaos took one wing and the top of its head. Not yet understanding it had been mortally wounded, the screeching monster raked at him furiously with her claws. A second flurry from the blades sent those claws to the temple floor, lacking the arms to which they had been attached.
But even that single second of distraction had proven too costly.
Before he could gather himself to spring again, the harpies carrying the Oracle flapped powerfully and disappeared through the hole blasted in the temple roof, and all their sisters followed. Kratos watched helplessly as the creatures and their prey disappeared into the murky clouds of night.
Alone in the temple, Kratos turned to the blank-faced statue of Athena and spread his hands.
He did not pray to the gods, he cursed them. Then he formed a plan to rescue the Oracle.
THIRTEEN
INSPIRATION FROM THE GODDESS did not appear to be forthcoming. Kratos would have to come up with a plan of his own. As usual.
He peered through the smoldering gap in the temple ceiling, trying to catch sight of the harpies and the Oracle. No luck.
He ran outside and circled the temple, thinking furiously. How could he rescue the holy woman if he did find her aloft? Zeus’s Thunderbolt would fry the Oracle along with the harpies. Medusa’s Gaze might work, but using it would involve being in a position to catch the Oracle as she fell. The probability that she might be falling attached to a pair of solid stone harpies-or that she might be turned to stone herself-did not increase the plan’s attraction. To use Poseidon’s Rage, he’d have to practically catch the fleeing she-raptors with his own hands-and if he got his hands on them, he’d hardly need magic to do what needed to be done.
A bow, he thought, wistfully remembering the fine strong bow he’d been given by the dying Athenian at the gap in the Long Wall. A bow and two arrows.
Two would be all he’d need, to injure, to weaken, to shoot from the sky.
Desperately searching the sky, he was slow to register a scraping sound at the side of the temple. Kratos rounded the side of the building and saw a freshly dug grave. He drew back as a flurry of dirt sailed from the hole. He advanced cautiously, unsure what was happening. When a hand appeared over the rocky edge, Kratos spun and drew the Blades of Chaos, instantly ready for a fight. Grunting, mumbling to himself, an elderly man in ragged, filthy clothing dragged his withered carcass up to the grave’s edge. He blinked at Kratos with age-dimmed eyes, then tossed a shovel onto the ground near the pile of dirt and placed his hands flat, trying to pull himself out. He failed.
“You gonna help an old man or just stand there gawking?”
Kratos could only stare. How could any mortal-let alone an ancient man-have dug a grave in such rocky ground?
“Come on,” the old man snapped. “What, the Ghost of Sparta is afraid of me? Can’t you see I’m older than the dust from a Titan’s beard?”
Kratos released the blades and took the man’s hand. The old fellow seemed not to weigh anything at all. “You know me?”
“Of course I do. You have the blades, the skin as pale as the moon! You are the one, indeed. Perhaps Athens will survive, at that!” The gravedigger laughed. “But be careful. Don’t want you dying before I’m done with this grave.”
“A grave, in the middle of a battle? Who will occupy it, old man?”
“You will, my son!” The gravedigger looked Kratos over, from his sandals to the top of his shaved head. “Oh, I’ve got a lot of digging to do, indeed. All will be revealed in good time. And when all appears to be lost, Kratos, I will be there to help.”
“The Oracle,” Kratos said. “Have you seen her? She was taken by harpies.”
“Oh, sure enough, I saw her.” The gravedigger picked up his shovel and stabbed its blade into the earth beside the grave with surprising energy. “Many a thing I could tell you ’bout her, if I had half a mind,” he said.
If the desiccated old coot did have half a mind, this conversation would already be over. “All I need to know is where they’re taking her.”
The ancient gravedigger turned toward the Ghost of Sparta, and all suggestion of senility drained from his voice. His eyes burned with the fires of Athens below.
“Well, where d’you think harpies’d be takin’ her?” the old man said scornfully. “Don’t you know the first thing about harpies?”
“I know how to kill them.”
“That’s the last thing about harpies, boy! First thing is, they like to eat where they kill. Second thing is… they roost up high!”
The ancient gravedigger threw back his head, laughing while Kratos stared, anger growing. Then the old man fell silent, turned, and looked upward to the sundered temple roof. Kratos heard the screech of a harpy and the scream of a woman in pain…
Blades found his hands, and Kratos charged back in to the temple. His sandal slipped on a pool of blood and he skidded across the floor, one knee sliding through gore on the cold marble. High above the temple floor, only a level or two below the topmost reach of the temple, the harpies appeared to be having some kind of disagreement-as though one of them wanted to carry the Oracle off to some secure dining area, where they could enjoy themselves without the fear of being rudely interrupted by the Blades of Chaos, while the other seemed to have decided to forgo the formalities and just eat the Oracle here.
The Oracle fought back with all her human strength and will, hammering at the monsters with her fists and prying at the powerful talons sunk into her shoulders. As the harpies fought back and forth, the Oracle’s blood trailed down her breasts and flanks and dripped from the ends of her toes. Her struggles began to weaken.
Kratos dropped the blades and let them return to their sheaths on his back. His only weapon effective at this range was the thunderbolt, which would fry all three of them when it hit… unless he missed. It seemed unlikely. On the other hand, it might be worth his trouble to just go ahead and miss after all-but in a useful fashion.
Again he gathered solid lightning in his right hand, and he cast the bolt a span or two high, close enough that it startled both harpies, then struck the balcony just above them. The thunderbolt blasted out huge chunks of white marble that slammed down into the harpies, who seemingly decided that this particular meal was turning out to be more dangerous than they’d anticipated. They stifled their squabble, let go of the Oracle, and beat their wings as hard as they could, angling for cover. A swift appraisal of the rate of the Oracle’s fall told Kratos he had time for one last shot-and lightning from below blew both harpies into smoking gobbets of flesh.