by By The Sword
They were alone.
"Sleep well?" the messenger asked.
Nikos sat up and rubbed his eyes. "I guess so." He frowned. "But where's Hercules? And it's still night."
"Hercules is gone," Hermes told him. "And yes, it's still night."
"Gone?" Nikos scrambled to his feet. "Where gone? How gone? Why didn't he take me with him?"
Hermes passed the caduceus over the fire, which died instantly, leaving them in gentle moonlight.
"He has to save the world or something," he said, and chuckled. "You can help him by going home.
Your Lydia is waiting, remember?"
"Home? Lydia?"
Hermes frowned. ' 'Excuse me, but are we speaking the same language here?"
Nikos felt a touch of panic. "But 1 don't have any protection. I'll be attacked by raiders or bandits before I get halfway there. I'll be killed!"
"I know," Hermes said dryly. "You're not a fighter, you're an innkeeper."
"That's right." Nikos grabbed his cloak, took two steps toward the road, and stopped. He looked over his shoulder. "But you know, it would have been nice. Just once."
"Trust me," Hermes said. "It wouldn't have been. It never is." He shook himself, straightened his tunic, adjusted his belt, and held out one hand. "So, are you ready?"
"Ready? For what?"
Hermes rolled his eyes. "I hate to say this to a friend of Hercules, friend, but sometimes mortals can be truly dense." He waggled his hand until Nikos took it. "I'm taking you home, all right? 1 promised Hercules I'd see you there safely, and I will."
Nikos looked him over nervously. "That's wonderful. I guess. But—whoa!"
He looked down; he was flying. Or rather, he was holding desperately onto Hermes' hand while Hermes flew, all six wings beating the air furiously.
"Simple rules," Hermes explained, swinging them gently westward. "You hold on, you won't fall. You fall, I'm not going to catch you because I already have a bad back and it's killing me."
Nikos held on.
He closed his eyes, however, because he didn't think he could stand looking into the dark down there while knowing that the dark down there was, in fact, down there. He also didn't think hitting it during a fall would be any fun.
Nor was he comforted when he heard Hermes mutter, "Demigod or no demigod, if Hercules gets out of this one alive, it'll be a bloody miracle."
"Now this is the way it works," Hercules said. "When we get there, you'll tell the guards you and the other men were separated in the dark, you got lost, and found me wandering around. You captured me—"
Theo the Mangier snorted his disbelief.
Hercules agreed, although not too quickly to be insulting. "Okay, you're probably right. So tell them I captured you and demanded that you take me to Zorin. That way you won't get into any more trouble than you already are. Maybe it'll even help."
"You don't know Zorin."
At Hercules' insistence they moved across the plain at a steady trot, although to Theo's mind it was more of an all-out run-like-hell-and-don't-trip. He wasn't used to this kind of sustained physical effort, and he had told Hercules that at least a dozen times. Not that Hercules would listen. Oh, no. All h e wanted to do was get them both killed because of some ridiculous deadline or other which, if it passed, would cause all of them to die anyway.
So far, he hadn't been able to fathom what the deadline was.
On the other hand, the way things had worked out, he could already be dead anyway, so it didn't make much difference.
Getting out of the king's cell had been no problem.
From what his friends had told him, it never was.
That smug captain of the guard was on constant lookout for prisoners like him. Which was to say, one of Zorin's soldiers. When the capture was made, a few dinars changed hands here and there along the chain of jail-guard command, and in the middle of the night a few days later, prisoners vanished mysteriously, only to turn up safe and sound at the valley camp. Or wherever the raiders happened to be at the time of the mysterious disappearance.
He often wondered what King Arclin's people thought. So many went in, and hardly anyone came out; surely they didn't believe the belowground cells held that many prisoners.
On the other hand, they had him for a king, so he supposed anything could happen.
Twice he tried to tell Hercules that they didn't have to rush, the king's men wouldn't be after them, and twice the only answer was, "Don't slow down."
He didn't.
He didn't dare.
He didn't want that.. . that creature to come out of the night and pick him up again. That had been horrible. Terrifying. One moment he was hotfooting across the plain, admittedly lost and hoping he was heading in the right direction; the next moment he was flying, then falling, then sitting up to stare into the not very friendly eyes of the famous Hercules.
It was symbolic, so to speak, of his rotten luck.
As he had told Hercules, he wasn't really a raider. He was more of a guard, actually. Of cattle, to be honest. His job was to make sure the cattle didn't get away before they were eaten or turned into leather.
It was, he had always believed, a special kind of skill. Not everyone could do it. Half the time the new boys ran themselves ragged chasing a stupid cow, only to have it turn out to be a not so stupid bull. He had lost more men that way. It was a trial.
But one morning the great Zorin himself had come to the herd's corral and had asked if he had ever wished he were a raider. A fighter. A man of action. Out there with the boys, hacking and slashing.
Theo had been so taken aback, he had actually blurted, "Yes, sir, I sure have."
Next thing he knew he was leading a small raiding party on a town called Markan. The next thing he knew after that he was riding as a prisoner in a wagon to the jail. All because of Hercules.
It was enough to make him wonder if Zorin hadn't planned it all along.
"Keep up," Hercules urged, his voice not quite so harsh now.
"I'm trying," Theo gasped. "Really, I'm trying."
Truth be told, he was too frightened not to. He had seen what Hercules could do, had seen the look on the man's face when Theo had confessed that the Mangier part of the Theo the Mangier name was his own invention. But what choice had he had? It would hardly do for the bards to tell the tale of how Markan had been taken by Theo the Cattle Chaser, now would it.
Eventually, however, he could no longer put one foot in front of the other. He stumbled, fell, and when he discovered he could barely kneel, much less stand, Hercules scooped him up as if he were a child and carried him to the base of a gnarled, split-trunk tree whose lower branches were so heavy they nearly scraped the ground.
Hercules lowered him so that his back was against the trunk, and rubbed his own shoulder thoughtfully while he stared eastward. The moon was low in the sky, its light faint and gray, but Theo had no doubt what the man was looking at. Not particularly liking the dark, he managed to start a small fire with his flint and some twigs. There wasn't much warmth, but at least there was light.
"I don't think this is going to work," he said at last.
Hercules nodded without turning around.
"They're going to kill me, you know." Theo plucked a handful of grass and began to shred it, tossing the pieces angrily over his shoulder. "He was probably going to do it anyway. He never wanted me to be part of the fighting army." He grabbed another handful. "He used me." He looked up. "To get at you."
Hercules nodded. "Maybe."
Theo's temper shortened. "And you're going there anyway? You want me dead that much?"
Hercules pushed a hand back through his hair and sat in front of him. "I don't want you dead at all, Theo."
"Oh, sure. That's why you're taking me back there."
"All I need," Hercules said, "is a way in. After that, you're on your own."
Theo didn't believe it.
"It's true," Hercules assured him. "All I need is to get in." He looked around, grabbe
d a stick, and used the side of his hand to clear the earth between them. Then he handed Theo the stick. "Draw me a map of the camp. Everything you can think of. Show me Zorin's headquarters."
It wasn't a request.
My luck, Theo thought miserably as he turned the stick over in his hand; my rotten luck.
Hercules watched the man sketch the camp's main points, pausing now and then to picture it in his mind-He said nothing beyond an occasional noise of encouragement, but he couldn't help thinking that should he make it through this, Hephaestos was going to owe him a truly huge debt.
And the more he thought about it, the angrier he grew.
It was as if, even without realizing it, everyone wanted to take advantage of him. Of his strength, and of his good nature.
And while he understood full well that he had chosen this life, and did not expect any reward for his deeds, it would be nice now and then if someone, anyone, would at least say "Please."
He almost laughed.
Theo glanced at him, puzzled.
Impatiently Hercules motioned him to continue, knowing it would be impossible to explain to the poor guy that he was not, after all, very good at feeling sorry for himself.
This wasn't the same as when he thought of his lost wife and children. This was . .. well, perhaps not unreasonable but certainly pretty dumb.
"And this," Theo said, stabbing the earth at the top of his map, "is Zorin's tent. Black, with flags on it.
Maybe a hundred and fifty paces from where the valley comes together in a V at the back. The walls are straight up," he added. "Not even a mountain goat could climb it."
Hercules studied the map for several minutes. It was crude, but there would only be one chance at this, and he needed all the information he could get.
He asked a few questions—the arrangement of living quarters, the mood of the men, the heaviest concentration of weapons, and what kind they were— which Theo, to his mild surprise, responded to without a second's hesitation. In fact, he offered so much information without prompting that Hercules couldn't help but be suspicious. True, the man by his own admission wasn't an army regular, and knew he had been used to draw Hercules into whatever Zorin and the king had in mind for this land, but he was still technically an enemy.
Hercules had no real way to know which part of this information was true, and which part was false enough to be deadly.
"Look," he said, "I need to—" and suddenly raised his head sharply.
Footsteps, and hushed voices.
Theo made to brush dirt over the fire, but Hercules stopped him. It was too late.
"Come on, swine," a harsh voice said loudly. "We know you're here. Show yourself, and we'll make it easy." A snigger. "Real easy."
Hercules spotted them—four men moving confidently along the faint trail he and Theo had used. Men in armor; men with weapons.
The king's men.
He glanced at Theo, who was still too exhausted to do much but try to push himself through the trunk to the other side. So much for the idea that the king never chased Zorin's so-called escaped raiders.
"Hey, a fire!"
Hercules eased back into the shadows.
The king's men stopped, the expression on their faces demonic, the metal on their armor seeming to glow a faint red. One of them ducked under a branch, and grinned.
"Well, well." His sword was drawn, and it was stained. "So you're going to make it easy."
A second soldier joined him.
Theo said, "Where are the others? My friends?"
The man's barking laugh was answer enough.
"Got lost, did you?" the second soldier said.
The first one whipped his sword back and forth lazily. "Get up, you swine. I don't like killing a man who won't at least stand on his own two feet."
"Good," Hercules said, sliding into the gap behind them. "Then we'll do it one at a time. Me first."
They spun around, but not fast enough.
Hercules grabbed the first by sword wrist and belt, lifted him over his head and whirled, and tossed him easily into the others waiting back on the trail. Before the second had managed to reach for his weapon, Hercules lashed out a stiff arm, catching him squarely across the chest. The man grunted and went down, and didn't move.
Three quick strides took Hercules to the tangled pile. He reached down, grabbed two heads, and slammed them together. The only sound this time was the faint crack of two skulls.
The remaining soldier scrambled backward before Hercules could reach him. He staggered to his feet, breathing heavily, sword in hand.
"You're not one of Zorin's," he said, wiping blood from his mouth.
Hercules smiled. "Thank you."
The man growled and began to shift right, then left, keeping Hercules between himself and the fire, the sword constantly moving.
Hercules feinted a charge and dropped back just before the tip punctured his chest; another feint, another retreat.
The sword, constantly moving.
"My friend is behind you," Hercules said mildly.
For an answer the soldier drew a long dagger as well, but he didn't turn around; he didn't take the bait.
He lunged, stopping instantly when Hercules dodged sharply left, sword tip and dagger following him.
Another lunge, another stop.
They circled each other then, the only sounds the scuffling of their feet, the hiss of the sword as it lashed the air, the harsh rasp of the soldier's breath as he sought an opening, the creak of his leather.
Hercules kept his attention on the man's eyes, using his peripheral vision to keep track of the blades.
What he saw wasn't encouraging. The man knew exactly what he was doing, and knew he could keep this game up until his opponent lost patience, or grew tired, or grew too bold. He wouldn't be the one who would make the first move.
Hercules feinted; the soldier didn't even flinch.
Circling; always circling.
It wasn't long before Hercules felt a faint but unmistakable weariness in his limbs, a slowly increasing weight that threatened to blunt his reactions. Not because of this dance, but because he had had barely no sleep the night before, had suffered the long journey today, the run ... it was all catching up, and catching up fast.
The man appeared to sense it.
He smiled.
The sword dared him; the dagger taunted him.
And something large rose out of the dark behind him.
The soldier sensed the danger and started to turn, the sword whipping around ahead of him, stabbing into the darkness. There was a quiet grunt before a length of dead branch split in half across the soldier's skull and he went down where he stood, the sword spinning away into the dark, the dagger still in his hand.
Theo dropped the makeshift club as Hercules walked over.
"Is he dead?" the raider asked.
Hercules knelt beside the fallen man. "I don't know. Close enough, I would think."
"Good." Theo's voice sounded older, harder. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to get some rest"
"Not here," Hercules said.
"Wherever," Theo answered, and walked away-
Hercules waited patiently until he heard the man collapse again. He grinned, found him, and was about to pick him up when he heard a faint moan. Frowning, he knelt, inhaling sharply when he saw the sheen of sweat on the man's face, and the blood that seeped from his side into the earth.
"Not fast enough," Theo said, grimacing. When Hercules leaned closer, hands out to strip off his bloodstained clothes, Theo held a wrist. "No sense, Hercules. I've seen damage like this before." His eyes closed tightly, his lips pulled away from his teeth.
Helpless and angry, Hercules prepared himself to wait.
It didn't take that long.
Theo paled. His breathing caught, eased, caught again. "Basher," he whispered, trying to smile.
Hercules gripped his arm. "Yes."
"Much better than Cattle Chaser or Mangier."
"I
t suits you, friend."
Theo turned his head, young face old as pain made the flesh and muscles taut. "Really?"
Hercules nodded.
"Then .. . we're even. For what I did, I mean."
"Not quite," Hercules told him. "You saved my life."
Theo didn't answer.
He couldn't.
Hercules bowed his head for a moment, rubbed a weary hand across his face, and sighed. A look into the dark, then:
"A favor, Hades," he whispered to the night as he folded Theo's hands on his chest. "Treat him well.
He was no warrior. Except when he had to be. Treat him well, he deserves it."
Beyond the firelight, deep in the shadows, a shimmering dark much blacker than the night around it.
And a deep voice that answered gently: "I'll see to it, my friend. Don't worry."
Hercules knew himself to be a reasonably even-tempered man. He had his flashes of temper, of course, just like anyone else, but for the most part violent eruptions were not part of his nature, He did not like the lack of control they signified.
On those rare occasions when he became enraged, however, there was less an explosion than there was a deep-seated coldfire that deepened his voice and narrowed his eyes and made him more aware than ever of what his great strength could do.
He slept that night without dreams.
When he awoke, the coldfire was there. As much a part of him now as the flesh on his bones.
He walked toward the twin mountains along a narrow gritty trail that wound across the plain's increasingly uneven ground. Brush and thorned bushes took over much of the grass; small groves of wind-bent trees huddled like tiny islands along dried creek beds; the few birds he spotted flew in all directions but west.
He had no clear idea of exactly what he would do once he reached Zorin's hidden valley, but whatever it was, he vowed Zorin wouldn't like it very much. He also realized that he was probably being more than a little foolish. One man against an army, and a ruthless army at that. Maybe he ought to have a plan first.
Do this, do that, have this backup and that fallback.