“What is the meaning of this?” He picked up a long trail of fishy-smelling kelp. It dangled in his fingers, dripping saltwater on his boots. The sea lay miles from here. A low moan drew his attention. Ares whirled around, scanning the city square. Where was everyone? Normally at midday, merchants littered the cobblestone. Only a few empty, broken carts lay on display, the pennants soggy and limp. The moan grew more insistent. Ares unsheathed his sword. Thank the gods he’d come in full armor. The hilt settled in his hands like an old friend. Hopefully he wasn’t too out of practice. He rounded the fountain. The stone representation of Athena stared down at him from ten feet above as if in warning. Panic rose up inside him. Where was his sister? A scraping sound came from the alley between the blacksmith and the baker. Ares approached carefully. A man with his head down, oily hair falling in front of his eyes, limped toward him.
