The Mark of Athena (The Heroes of Olympus #3)(95)

Annabeth and Percy stood back-to-back, as they’d done many times before, their weapons drawn. Percy tried to summon the waves, hoping he could push the ships apart or even capsize the enemy vessel, but nothing happened. It almost felt like something was pushing against his will, wresting the sea from his control.

He raised Riptide, ready to fight, but they were hopelessly outnumbered. Several dozen warriors lowered their spears and made a ring around them, wisely keeping out of striking distance of Percy’s sword. The dolphin-men opened their snouts and made whistling, popping noises. Percy had never considered just how vicious dolphin teeth looked.

He tried to think. Maybe he could break out of the circle and destroy a few invaders, but not without the others skewering him and Annabeth.

At least the warriors didn’t seem interested in killing them immediately. They kept Percy and Annabeth contained while more of their comrades flooded belowdecks and secured the hull. Percy could hear them breaking down the cabin doors, scuffling with his friends. Even if the other demigods hadn’t been fast asleep, they wouldn’t have stood a chance against so many.

Leo was dragged across the deck, half-conscious and groaning, and dumped on a pile of ropes. Below, the sounds of fighting tapered off. Either the others had been subdued or…or Percy refused to think about it.

On one side of the ring of spears, the dolphin warriors parted to let someone through. He appeared to be fully human, but from the way the dolphins fell back before him, he was clearly the leader. He was dressed in Greek combat armor—sandals, kilt, and greaves, a breastplate decorated with elaborate sea monster designs—and everything he wore was gold. Even his sword, a Greek blade like Riptide, was gold instead of bronze.

The golden boy, Percy thought, remembering his dream. They’ll have to get past the golden boy.

What really made Percy nervous was the guy’s helmet. His visor was a full face mask fashioned like a gorgon’s head—curved tusks, horrible features pinched into a snarl, and golden snake hair curling around the face. Percy had met gorgons before. The likeness was good—a little too good for his taste.

Annabeth turned so she was shoulder to shoulder with Percy. He wanted to put his arm around her protectively, but he doubted she’d appreciate the gesture, and he didn’t want to give this golden guy any indication that Annabeth was his girlfriend. No sense giving the enemy more leverage than they already had.

“Who are you?” Percy demanded. “What do you want?”

The golden warrior chuckled. With a flick of his blade, faster than Percy could follow, he smacked Riptide out of Percy’s hand and sent it flying into the sea.

He might as well have thrown Percy’s lungs into the sea, because suddenly Percy couldn’t breathe. He’d never been disarmed so easily.

“Hello, brother.” The golden warrior’s voice was rich and velvety, with an exotic accent—Middle Eastern, maybe—that seemed vaguely familiar. “Always happy to rob a fellow son of Poseidon. I am Chrysaor, the Golden Sword. As for what I want…” He turned his metal mask toward Annabeth. “Well, that’s easy. I want everything you have.”

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.”