Timothy Boggs - Hercules Legendary Joureneys 01

by By The Sword

  Nikos howled and charged.

  Francus looked up, grinned, and stood.

  Nikos swung the club.

  Sinius shoved Dutricia into the well, still holding her by her wrist and laughing.

  Francus caught the club on its downward swing, wrenched it easily from Nikos' grip, and said with a mirthless laugh, "Die, toad."

  Bestor shrieked.

  Lydia shrieked.

  Dutricia shrieked, her voice echoing a little from within the well.

  Nikos wanted desperately to shriek, too, but Francus had one hand around his throat, squeezing mercilessly, while the other rose and fell as it measured the distance between the club and his skull.

  "Toad," Corsco whispered.

  Nikos could barely see. Most of his air was gone, the bright sun had begun to dim alarmingly, and all he could hear was the blood bellowing in his skull, Lydia bellowing on the bench, and, oddly, a man's amazingly calm voice say, "I'm trying to eat, do you mind?"

  Suddenly the innkeeper was free. His knees buckled instantly and he sprawled on the ground, shading his eyes just in time to see the man from the inn snatch the club out of Francus' hand and toss it away, take Francus by the tunic and toss him away, step over the bench, grab Sinius by the scruff and toss him away while, at the same time, grabbing Dutricia's arm and hauling her safely out of the well.

  It takes longer than that for a bird to blink.

  The square was silent.

  Finally Nikos pushed himself groaning to his hands and knees, glanced around fearfully, and gaped when he saw Francus lying motionless atop the wreckage of one of the inn's outside tables, Sinius lying motionless atop him. A faint cloud of dust drifted over their backs and heads.

  He looked at the stranger.

  The stranger smiled as he assisted the two shaken women to a bench, sat them down, whispered something, and turned. "Are you all right, innkeeper?"

  Nikos nodded mutely.

  One by one the villagers returned, whispering among themselves, trying and failing not to stare at the stranger who had saved their women.

  The man extended a hand and hauled Nikos effortlessly to his feet. Nikos nodded his thanks and dropped onto the bench beside Lydia, who immediately threw her arms around his neck and began to sob in relief. A moment later Bestor was on his other side, a trembling hand on his father's leg while he stared up at the man.

  "Wow," the boy said.

  "Thanks," the man answered.

  He was fairly handsome in a smoothly rugged sort of way, if, Nikos thought, you liked that sort of thing, which women tended to these days. Long light brown hair parted in the center and neatly brushed to the shoulders, nice eyes, a friendly smile, arms that bulged but didn't brag, a yellowish shirt open to expose a chest that bespoke strength but, like the arms, was too modest to brag. He even had a nose that fit the rest of his face.

  "I—" Nikos coughed and massaged his injured throat. "We owe you our lives, sir."

  ' 'You were doing just fine. I just kind of butted in, that's all."

  Nikos blushed at the polite lie even as Lydia stirred against him.

  "Mister?" Bestor tugged at the man's vest. "Can you show me how to do that?"

  The man's smile broadened. "I don't think so, son."

  "Your name," Nikos said hoarsely, abruptly remembering his manners. "To thank you properly, we really should know your name."

  This time it was the man's turn to appear uncomfortable. He shrugged one shoulder, scratched his neck, sighed.

  "Hercules," he said at last.

  Bestor gasped.

  Lydia and Dutricia gasped.

  Nikos gasped, but that was because his throat still hurt and Lydia's arms had tightened convulsively around his neck.

  Before he had a chance to say anything, however, Hercules turned to the boy and said, "So what's all this about bones in the forest?"

  Hercules stood at the edge of the forest and wondered just what he thought he was doing. Finding bones in places like this wasn't unusual. People died, animals died, and the natural process produced the obvious.

  It wasn't as if these people had never seen bones before.

  Yet the boy had been so upset, and the father so grateful for the assistance, that before he could stop himself he had promised he would take a look. After all, what harm could it do? Go in, find the bones, see the bones, return to the village, and tell them there was nothing strange going on.

  He glanced at the sky then, and sighed heavily, because "nothing strange going on" was not, by any stretch of the imagination, the way to describe what usually happened when he was around.

  "What's the matter?"

  Nikos stood beside him, his club in one hand.

  "Just thinking."

  The innkeeper, who had volunteered to accompany him, shifted nervously, and Hercules smiled to himself. Nikos was evidently a good father, and clearly a respected man of the village, who absolutely did not want to be here. The club twitched like a cat's tail, his gaze was unsteady, and a single "Boo!" would probably send him on a record-breaking footrace for home. On the other hand, after he'd been bested by those men, he had to prove to his son and the slender, fair-haired woman named Lydia that he was no coward.

  Hercules suspected they knew that already, from the way Nikos had dared take on the Corsco brothers on his own.

  It was the father who needed the convincing.

  Hercules knew that all too well.

  "Where is this clearing?"

  They had followed the main road that led out of Markan from the square, left it at an intersection, and continued across the grass toward the woods. Nikos pointed to a faint trail that wound around some high shrubs and saplings and then into the trees. ' 'In there somewhere. He said it's a little off the main path, marked by a big tree split in half by lightning." He squinted at the sun. ' 'Are you sure we have to do this?

  He won't know if we don't do it."

  "No, but we will," Hercules told him gently, and Nikos sighed at the truth of it.

  Fifteen minutes later they reached the woodland's main path, but despite the sparse underbrush, finding the tree and the clearing took them another hour.

  The only way they knew the clearing was the right one was the fact that they could see the bones.

  "Oh .. . my," Nikos said, the club swinging at his side, his weight shifting from one foot to the other-Hercules slowly walked the perimeter of the clearing, Nikos close behind, skittish and looking everywhere but at the skeletal remains. The foliage overhead kept the area in shifting shade, and the air was cool and smelled faintly of smoke.

  "At night," Hercules said, "you can probably see the village lights from the path."

  Nikos nodded; it was a fair assumption.

  Hercules pointed at the shallow fire pit, and the spit still straddling it. "Either they didn't want to be seen, or they didn't want to come into the village."

  "Bandits."

  "Maybe. Let's take a closer look."

  He returned to the spot where they had entered the clearing. Not five feet away was the first skeleton. Or what was left of it. It was sprawled on its back—a dusty skull with jaw agape, a shattered rib cage with one arm attached, and the pelvic bone, only the left leg remaining, and that only to the knee. By the way it was twisted, this must have been the pile the kids had fallen on.

  "Well," said Nikos carefully, "by the looks of them, gnawed and such, they've been here for quite a while. Probably a couple or so months." He scanned the clearing again, partially closing one eye in concentration. "Funny, though, that they haven't been found before this." He gestured vaguely toward the path behind the trail. "We're not exactly that far off the beaten track here."

  Hercules hunkered down with a short stick in his hand. He poked at the skeleton, disturbing the femur, frowning when the bone nearly vanished into dust; he poked at the ground around it, shifting blades of grass and dead leaves. Finally he said, "Look."

  "Bones," Nikos confirmed without moving.

&nb
sp; Hercules glanced up at him. "Closer, Nikos, closer."

  Reluctantly the innkeeper knelt beside him, not sure what he was supposed to see and his expression telling Hercules that whatever it was, he didn't want to see it anyway. Then his eyes widened a little.

  "They look burned."

  Hercules nodded, and pointed with the stick. "I don't know how long ago this happened; maybe you're right about the months, but..." He frowned, and rubbed a finger across his temple. "You can still see some ashes caught in the grass." Puzzled, he crossed to the second skeleton, this one larger and even less complete. A dagger lay a handsbreadth away. "The same here." He touched a rib with his boot, and it, too, crumbled to dust.

  Nikos licked his lips nervously. "Maybe their clothes caught from the fire there." He frowned. "They couldn't put it out and ..." He shuddered.

  Hercules shook his head. "No, I don't think so. If you look closely, you can see the grass is burned only around the bones. If the fire had caught them, they would have rolled around, or run, and we'd see the results. No, Nikos, these men died where they stood. And this was no campfire that did it. This was something much worse."

  "But what?"

  Hercules had no answer.

  He did, though, have a suspicion.

  "The way I see it," Nikos said eagerly as they broke from the forest and headed back to the village, "we have two choices here. The first is, whoever they were, they really pissed off the gods and they were zapped. The gods do that sometimes. Miss one lousy rite, use the wrong wine, and they fry you where you stand." An apprehensive glance at the setting sun. "Not that I'm actually complaining, of course. I wouldn't think of it. The gods are the gods after all." "Nikos ..."

  "Or they were struck by lightning, a freak occurrence, but not unheard of. Storms like that come through here quite often, as a matter of fact."

  "Nikos ..."

  "Or there's sorcery involved. You never know where you stand with a sorcerer, you know. I've heard they can have really nasty tempers. He could have hit them with some kind of fireball spell."

  "Nikos, look—"

  "Or they could have belonged to some very odd religious sect. I've heard about them, too. Maybe they were involved in a ritual that went wrong. Or—"

  Hercules grabbed his arm, barely able to contain a grin. "Nikos, I thought there were only two choices."

  The innkeeper shrugged helplessly.

  "It's okay," Hercules assured him with a light slap to his shoulder. "I've come up with a few theories of my own, and none of them makes very much sense either."

  Ahead they could see a line of people waiting anxiously at the square's open edge. Hercules noted for the first time the broken-down carts and small wagons drawn to either side of the opening, as if ready to be pulled together for some kind of protection.

  "Hercules?"

  "Yes?"

  Nikos scratched at his chin, his neck, pushed a hand back through his hair. "I know you're an important man, and I know you have important things to do, but—"

  "Nikos, I don't know what I can do about this. All we know is that two people have died."

  "Very mysteriously."

  Hercules agreed. "But that's all we know. And it doesn't seem to affect your village. There doesn't seem to be any danger."

  "A mystery of life, then?"

  "Could be."

  Nikos looked at him carefully. "Do you believe it?"

  Hercules didn't know if he would have lied or not. As it was, his answer was forestalled by a delighted shout as Bestor sprinted up the road toward them. Nikos waved, his chest a little larger, his stride a little longer, and before long they were surrounded by villagers who were clamoring with questions that had no real answers. This, however, did not really bother them. If fact, the mystery of the bones was soon enough replaced by an instant decision to declare a holiday that night in honor of their famous guest.

  Hercules could hardly refuse without seeming ungrateful.

  Not, he thought later, that he had any real place to

  go.

  Lying on a raised pallet in a tiny room above the inn, hands folded beneath his head, he listened to the preparations below in the square. On a low table beside the pallet a wick burned softly in its shimmering bed of oil. In the thatched roof outside the room's only window, birds were settling down for their evening's rest.

  Yet, despite the noise, it was a peaceful time, a time when, on more than one occasion now, he tended to dwell too much on the past.

  On the pain that never quite eased.

  Without question, his life was a good one. He traveled throughout the many kingdoms, doing his best to help those who needed help, whether it was a simple matter of gaining respite from bullies like the Corsco brothers, or the more complex task of gaining freedom from tyrants.

  Or, sometimes, freedom from the capricious tyranny of the gods.

  One in particular.

  He had good friends, exciting times, and seldom wanted for anything. On those rare occasions when he was in need, it wasn't long before the need was satisfied.

  Any man would be more than grateful for a destiny such as his.

  The problem was ... the curse was how this destiny had come to be his.

  The first strains of sprightly music rose into the night, accompanied by a hint of girlish laughter.

  His eyes closed, just for a second, but in that too brief moment he saw the distant face of Deianeira, his wife, and those of his children, Klonus, Aeson, and Ilea.

  Lost to him forever.

  When the moment was over, they were gone. Again.

  And he, as always, as cursed as always, was still alive.

  He sat up quickly, scowling as he swung his legs over the pallet's side, angry at the brief sting of self-pity that tormented him at such times. He knew full well that he could not change the past. The present was good, and there was always the future.

  Still, in his solitude, there was the pain.

  There was always the pain.

  A timid knock on the door caused him to raise his head.

  "Come in, I won't bite."

  It was Lydia's sister, Dutricia, with a small tray in her hand. On it was a plate of steaming meat, some bread, and a goblet. "Nikos thought you might like something," she said shyly. She was a lovely woman, with long black hair and large black eyes. Her dress was simple, hemmed and stitched in bright colors, and around her shoulders she wore an emerald shawl.

  He smiled. "I thought there was a feast."

  She set the tray on the table. "From the looks of it, I think you'll be too busy. A lot of people will want to hear stories of the great Hercules. You'll probably not have a chance to grab more than a bite or two the whole evening. By the time it's over, you'll be starving."

  He laughed as he agreed.

  "Besides," she added, "I wanted the chance to thank you in person for what you did for me out there."

  "They weren't so tough," he said modestly. "Nikos could have—"

  "No." She reached down to touch his arm. "You're very kind, Hercules, but you know that's not true."

  He realized then that her shawl had somehow slipped from her shoulders. He also realized that her shoulders were bare. It didn't take more than a moment to note that bare shoulders tended to indicate a neckline that... he wasn't sure of the proper word, but plunged seemed to fit fairly well in this case.

  He looked into her eyes, and the eyes that looked back were not only grateful, they were dangerous.

  "Uh..." He snatched the bread from the tray, thanked her with a look, and took as large a bite as he could without choking himself.

  She sat beside him, a finger tracing the bulge of his biceps to the top of his thick leather arm guard. "I made it myself, you know."

  He blinked. "The bread?"

  "The dress."

  "Lovely." He took another bite. "You're very good."

  "Oh yes." Her left eyebrow arched. "So I'm told."

  The finger reached the back of his hand, her nail light
ly scratching the depressions between each knuckle. One by one.

  The music grew a little louder.

  Hercules took another bite of bread.

  Dutricia leaned closer.

  Plunged, he decided, was wrong; and plummet was barely adequate.

  "You know," she whispered, "sometimes—"

  The music stopped in midnote.

  And Bestor charged into the room, hiccuped, gasped "Raiders!"—and ran out again.

  Hercules leaped from the pallet, stopped at the door when Dutricia yelped, and turned just in time to see her slip to the floor. He ran back, helped her up, apologized, and ran out again, following the boy down the dark stairs to the inn below.

  The room was empty.

  He hurried outside and stopped again.

  The square was lighted by a score of torches lashed to high poles. Long tables had been placed around the perimeter and were already laden with food and drink. But the party was over before it had begun.

  Nikos, club in one hand, stood on the lip of the well, shouting instructions to at least two dozen lightly armed men. The carts and wagons had already been drawn across the gap. A handful of women were filling buckets with water in anticipation of fire, and Lydia was well into the task of rounding up loose children and herding them into the streets toward home. The urchins, this time, didn't mind obeying.

  Hercules trotted over to the well and tapped Nikos on the leg.

  "Raiders?"

  "We're doomed!" a man cried from the shadows.

  Nikos directed six archers to the roofs on either side of the gap closed by the carts. "Zorin, I'm afraid,"

  he said gravely.

  "Zorin?"

  Nikos stared. "What, you've never heard of him?"

  Hercules shook his head.

  For several months, the innkeeper explained quickly, a band of raiders—nay, a veritable army of raiders—led by a mysterious man named Zorin had been roaming the kingdom and its neighbors despite King Arclin's best efforts to stop them. Stories of death and destruction, stolen livestock and kidnapped women, were staples around hearth and bar. And fairly effective for keeping problem kids in line. Although Markan had thus far been spared Zorin's wrath, most people believed it wouldn't be long before they too were hit.