The Mark of Athena (Heroes of Olympus Book 3) (Heroes Of Olympus Series)
The Mark of Athena: Chapter 30

Percy’s heart did jumping jacks while Chrysaor walked back and forth, inspecting them like prized cattle. A dozen of his dolphin-man warriors stayed in a ring around them, spears leveled at Percy’s chest, while dozens more ransacked the ship, banging and crashing around belowdecks. One carried a box of ambrosia up the stairs. Another carried an armful of ballista bolts and a crate of Greek fire.

“Careful with that!” Annabeth warned. “It’ll blow up both our ships.”

“Ha!” Chrysaor said. “We know all about Greek fire, girl. Don’t worry. We’ve been looting and pillaging ships on the Mare Nostrum for eons.”

“Your accent sounds familiar,” Percy said. “Have we met?”

“I haven’t had the pleasure.” Chrysaor’s golden gorgon mask snarled at him, though it was impossible to tell what his real expression might be underneath. “But I’ve heard all about you, Percy Jackson. Oh, yes, the young man who saved Olympus. And his faithful sidekick, Annabeth Chase.”

“I’m nobody’s sidekick,” Annabeth growled. “And, Percy, his accent sounds familiar because he sounds like his mother. We killed her in New Jersey.”

Percy frowned. “I’m pretty sure that accent isn’t New Jersey. Who’s his—? Oh.”

It all fell into place. Aunty Em’s Garden Gnome Emporium—the lair of Medusa. She’d talked with that same accent, at least until Percy had cut off her head.

“Medusa is your mom?” he asked. “Dude, that sucks for you.”

Judging from the sound in Chrysaor’s throat, he was now snarling under the mask, too.

“You are as arrogant as the first Perseus,” Chrysaor said. “But, yes, Percy Jackson. Poseidon was my father. Medusa was my mother. After Medusa was changed into a monster by that so-called goddess of wisdom…” The golden mask turned on Annabeth. “That would be your mother, I believe…Medusa’s two children were trapped inside her, unable to be born. When the original Perseus cut off Medusa’s head—”

“Two children sprang out,” Annabeth remembered. “Pegasus and you.”

Percy blinked. “So your brother is a winged horse. But you’re also my half brother, which means all the flying horses in the world are my…You know what? Let’s forget it.”

He’d learned years ago it was better not to dwell too much on who was related to whom on the godly side of things. After Tyson the Cyclops adopted him as a brother, Percy decided that that was about as far as he wanted to extend the family.

“But if you’re Medusa’s kid,” he said, “why haven’t I ever heard of you?”

Chrysaor sighed in exasperation. “When your brother is Pegasus, you get used to being forgotten. Oh, look, a winged horse! Does anyone care about me? No!” He raised the tip of his blade to Percy’s eyes. “But don’t underestimate me. My name means the Golden Sword for a reason.”

“Imperial gold?” Percy guessed.

“Bah! Enchanted gold, yes. Later on, the Romans called it Imperial gold, but I was the first to ever wield such a blade. I should have been the most famous hero of all time! Since the legend-tellers decided to ignore me, I became a villain instead. I resolved to put my heritage to use. As the son of Medusa, I would inspire terror. As the son of Poseidon, I would rule the seas!”

“You became a pirate,” Annabeth summed up.

Chrysaor spread his arms, which was fine with Percy since it got the sword point away from his eyes.

“The best pirate,” Chrysaor said. “I’ve sailed these waters for centuries, waylaying any demigods foolish enough to explore the Mare Nostrum. This is my territory now. And all you have is mine.”

One of the dolphin warriors dragged Coach Hedge up from below.

“Let me go, you tuna fish!” Hedge bellowed. He tried to kick the warrior, but his hoof clanged off his captor’s armor. Judging from the hoof-shaped prints in the dolphin’s breastplate and helmet, the coach had already made several attempts.

“Ah, a satyr,” Chrysaor mused. “A little old and stringy, but Cyclopes will pay well for a morsel like him. Chain him up.”

“I’m nobody’s goat meat!” Hedge protested.

“Gag him as well,” Chrysaor decided.

“Why you gilded little—” Hedge’s insult was cut short when the dolphin put a greasy wad of canvas in his mouth. Soon the coach was trussed like a rodeo calf and dumped with the other loot—crates of food, extra weapons, even the magical ice chest from the mess hall.

“You can’t do this!” Annabeth shouted.

Chrysaor’s laughter reverberated inside his gold face mask. Percy wondered if he was horribly disfigured under there, or if his gaze could petrify people the way his mother’s could.

“I can do anything I want,” Chrysaor said. “My warriors have been trained to perfection. They are vicious, cutthroat—”

“Dolphins,” Percy noted.

Chrysaor shrugged. “Yes. So? They had some bad luck a few millennia ago, kidnapped the wrong person. Some of their crew got turned completely into dolphins. Others went mad. But these…these survived as hybrid creatures. When I found them under the sea and offered them a new life, they became my loyal crew. They fear nothing!”

One of the warriors chattered at him nervously.

“Yes, yes,” Chrysaor growled. “They fear one thing, but it hardly matters. He’s not here.”

An idea began tickling at the base of Percy’s skull. Before he could pursue it, more dolphin warriors climbed the stairs, hauling up the rest of his friends. Jason was unconscious. Judging from the new bruises on his face, he’d tried to fight. Hazel and Piper were bound hand and foot. Piper had a gag in her mouth, so apparently the dolphins had discovered she could charmspeak. Frank was the only one missing, though two of the dolphins had bee stings covering their faces.

Could Frank actually turn into a swarm of bees? Percy hoped so. If he was free aboard the ship somewhere, that could be an advantage, assuming Percy could figure out how to communicate with him.

“Excellent!” Chrysaor gloated. He directed his warriors to dump Jason by the crossbows. Then he examined the girls like they were Christmas presents, which made Percy grit his teeth.

“The boy is no use to me,” Chrysaor said. “But we have an understanding with the witch Circe. She will buy the women—either as slaves or trainees, depending on their skill. But not you, lovely Annabeth.”

Annabeth recoiled. “You are not taking me anywhere.”

Percy’s hand crept to his pocket. His pen had appeared back in his jeans. He only needed a moment’s distraction to draw his sword. Maybe if he could take down Chrysaor quickly, his crew would panic.

He wished he knew something about Chrysaor’s weaknesses. Usually Annabeth provided him with information like that, but apparently Chrysaor didn’t have any legends, so they were both in the dark.

The golden warrior tutted. “Oh, sadly, Annabeth, you will not be staying with me. I would love that. But you and your friend Percy are spoken for. A certain goddess is paying a high bounty for your capture—alive, if possible, though she didn’t say you had to be unharmed.”

At that moment, Piper caused the disturbance they needed. She wailed so loudly it could be heard through her gag. Then she fainted against the nearest guard, knocking him over. Hazel got the idea and crumpled to the deck, kicking her legs and thrashing like she was having a fit.

Percy drew Riptide and lashed out. The blade should have gone straight through Chrysaor’s neck, but the golden warrior was unbelievably fast. He dodged and parried as the dolphin warriors backed up, guarding the other captives while giving their captain room to battle. They chattered and squeaked, egging him on, and Percy got the sinking suspicion the crew was used to this sort of entertainment. They didn’t feel their leader was in any sort of danger.

Percy hadn’t crossed swords with an opponent like this since…well, since he’d battled the war god Ares. Chrysaor was that good. Many of Percy’s powers had gotten stronger over the years, but now, too late, Percy realized that swordplay wasn’t one of them.

He was rusty—at least against an adversary like Chrysaor.

They battled back and forth, thrusting and parrying. Without meaning to, Percy heard the voice of Luke Castellan, his first sword-fighting mentor at Camp Half-Blood, throwing out suggestions. But it didn’t help.

The golden gorgon mask was too unnerving. The warm fog, the slick deck boards, the chattering of the warriors—none of it helped. And in the corner of his eye, Percy could see one of the dolphin-men holding a knife at Annabeth’s throat in case she tried anything tricky.

He feinted and thrust at Chrysaor’s gut, but Chrysaor anticipated the move. He knocked Percy’s sword out of his hand again, and once more Riptide flew into the sea.

Chrysaor laughed easily. He wasn’t even winded. He pressed the tip of his golden sword against Percy’s sternum.

“A good try,” said the pirate. “But now you’ll be chained and transported to Gaea’s minions. They are quite eager to spill your blood and wake the goddess.”