Timothy Boggs - Hercules Legendary Joureneys 03

by The Eye Of The Ram

  "You could have fooled me," Flovi said, coming up behind him with Virgil and Aulma.

  "It was a warning, that's all. If I had died, that would have been a bonus."

  Salmoneus looked up at them all, panicked. "A warning?" he squeaked. "Just a warning?" He grabbed Hercules' legs and used them to haul himself to his feet. "Just a warning? About what? Is he trying to stop my show?"

  "I think," Hercules said, "he has more important things on his mind, Salmoneus. No offense."

  Salmoneus sputtered his renewed indignation, raised a fist to make a point, and yanked it down when a shadow passed over them and a hard wind made them squint.

  Agatra hovered overhead, wings flapping slowly. "If you don't take care of it," she said to Hercules, "I will." And she flew off toward the woods.

  "Why is she so mad at you?" Flovi asked, keeping his voice down.

  "She protects her own," Hercules explained. "Peyra's village is her family now. And trust me, Flovi, no one messes with a Harpy's family."

  They saw Peyra, alone in the seats, huddled against herself, staring at her knees. Even at this distance he could see the glimmer of tears on her face.

  Puzzled, the musician scratched through his hair. "But if Dragar can do ... you know ... she'll be killed."

  "Yes. She will."

  Flovi looked at him with a half smile. "You always get yourself into things like this?'

  Hercules shrugged. "Only with Salmoneus."

  "Hey," Salmoneus protested. "While you two are worried about a giant chicken—not to mention slandering my good name—you may have forgotten we were nearly dead here."

  Hercules held up a hand for silence, then walked away slowly, glancing once at the sky, once at the spot where he had flung the unnatural dog. He put his hands on his hips and half-closed his eyes; he rolled a pebble absently beneath his boot; he sniffed, he wiped his face, he turned back to the others and wished they wouldn't look at him like that.

  As if he knew all there was to know, and could solve all their problems with a snap of his fingers.

  They were frightened. * They had a right to be.

  He wasn't doing all that well himself, if he wanted to be honest; which he really didn't. The kind of power Dragar had shown them was nearly godlike in its scope. No man had a right to such knowledge, not to use it the way he feared Dragar would.

  He gave them an I'm on the job smile.

  They gave him grimaces that made him wince.

  Suddenly he snapped his fingers, they jumped, and he beckoned to Aulma. She hesitated, grabbed Virgil's arm, and dragged him over with her.

  "Dragar," he said, "still doesn't know who I am, does he?"

  "No, I'm pretty sure he doesn't."

  "So he probably thinks that spell is still working."

  She poked a strand of hair from her eyes and allowed him a small smile. "I guess you're right. He ... he acts the way he does—like he's not paying attention all the time—so people won't know what he's really like." She hugged herself and stood closer to Virgil. "He's cold, Hercules. Like winter sometimes. And he refuses to admit when he makes a mistake. As far as he's concerned, he doesn't make them. Period."

  And a more dangerous man for it, Hercules thought.

  ' 'All right, then. Now all I need is a reason. I need to know what he's up to."

  "My dinars," Salmoneus gasped in alarm, clutching his purse tightly.

  ' 'I doubt it, my friend. With what he seems to be able to do, I don't think money is of much use to him at all."

  Virgil cleared his throat. "I think that's why you should listen to Aulma, sir. I think she knows."

  Just after Dragar took her on as an assistant, Aulma told them, he came back from a walk in the wood carrying a large scroll. He refused to allow her to see it, even though he knew she couldn't read. That didn't bother her, not really; she was used to people treating her that way, and he was, otherwise, very kind to her.

  The next day he insisted they go to Sparta, where he spent the better part of a week visiting various silver- and goldsmiths. By the time he was done, the ram's head had been created. That, too, he refused to allow her to touch.

  That night there was a fire in his room, and when she ran in to see what had happened, he was standing amid a pile of ashes. He claimed he had accidentally set the scroll afire while testing a new trick, but she didn't believe him. He might act strange, but he was never careless.

  He was never the same again.

  He grew more distant, more suspicious of other people, and more anxious about his act. As soon as he heard about Salmoneus, he rushed to join the troupe, even though he admitted they would probably make more money on their own.

  The first night, in a place called Brethan, he passed out in the middle of the town square. She thought he had died. When he recovered an hour later, he was more excited than she'd ever seen him. It happened again in Immanus. And again in Hyanth.

  He called it a "tingling."

  She hadn't felt a thing.

  But each time it happened, he had the ram's head with him; and after each incident, he would lock himself in his room for hours, refusing all food and water, all attempts at communication. She heard muttering and chanting, nothing more.

  She saw an eerie green glow beneath the door.

  And after each of these strange session, something strange would happen.

  Each time more frightening than the last.

  "He ..." Aulma clasped her hands at her mouth and shook her head. "After that first time in Brethan, he didn't talk to me for two days. Then he started saying weird things, like, would I like to have as many slaves as I want, and wouldn't it be fun to watch this village or that disappear into the ground.

  "He scared me so much, I didn't dare run away. I wanted to, but I couldn't. Besides, in the beginning, 1

  thought he was kidding.

  ' 'Then he came here, to this arena. Alone. When he came out, he looked as if he had seen a ghost, and he told me that it was all over. He had it all, and now he was ready."

  With a trembling finger she pointed at the thickening clouds. "He did that. He made the ground move.

  He turned that poor man into that frog. A test, he called it. A game.

  "He wants to be in charge, Hercules. He wants everyone to bow to him. And if you won't be his slave, he'll kill you.

  "He doesn't care which you choose. That's the really frightening part—he doesn't care which."

  Hercules watched helplessly as Aulma burst into silent tears, turning to Virgil for the comfort of his arms.

  Virgil, for his part, looked too terrified to breathe.

  Salmoneus took a step toward the nearest exit, and changed his mind; he pointed at Flovi, opened his mouth to say something, and changed his mind; he took another step toward the exit, gave everyone a wan smile, took another step, threw up his hands and sighed.

  "We can't go, can we?" he said to Hercules.

  "I wish we could."

  "He's a kind of sorcerer now, isn't he?"

  Hercules nodded solemnly.

  "He's going to fry us, right?"

  "Not if I can help it."

  "But what can you do?" Flovi asked. "You saw what he did to that poor dog."

  "We could pray to the gods," Virgil suggested.

  Hercules looked over to Peyra, still weeping in her seat. "No, that might take too long. Besides, they might not be in the mood."

  Salmoneus looked around in a panic. "Well, we can't just go on, business as usual."

  Suddenly Hercules grinned. "You know . . . maybe we can."

  They followed his gaze to Peyra, who was no longer alone. The duck had regained consciousness, and had waddled over to her, laying its head in her lap. She stroked its back gently, and for the first time that day she actually smiled.

  "I don't get it," Salmoneus said.

  Hercules tapped his temple with a finger. "I'm not sure I do either, my friend, but this is what you're going to do."

  "Run?" Salmoneus asked hopeful
ly.

  "The show."

  "You're kidding."

  "This place is where it begins," Hercules reminded him. "The beginning of whatever Dragar has in mind. Conquering the world, enslaving us all, whatever sickness has taken him." He jabbed a finger at the man's chest. "You are going to put on the best show you've ever done. You're going to make this a night to remember."

  "He conquers the world, I'll remember that pretty good, too," Salmoneus grumbled.

  Hercules laughed. "A long show, Salmoneus. I'm going to need time."

  "For what?"

  "Do you really want to know?"

  Salmoneus almost said yes, but changed his mind and shook his head.

  Flovi tugged at his mustache. "And here I thought I'd be able to find out what the mystery of this place is for me, for my destiny."

  "You will," Hercules assured him.

  "So will I still be alive to enjoy it?"

  "Sure," Hercules promised, and pulled Salmoneus to one side. He gave three instructions: that the show be big, noisy, and above all, long; that Dragar, no matter what, be the last act; and, more importantly, that nothing happen to Peyra until he returned.

  "I'm counting on you," he said gravely. "Don't screw it up."

  Surprisingly Salmoneus didn't look hurt. "For a change?'

  "I didn't say that."

  "You were thinking it."

  "It was tempting."

  Salmoneus smiled and shook his head before his expression grew somber. "I won't screw it up, Hercules. By the all the gods, I swear it."

  Hercules nodded. And grinned. "Sure you will"

  Salmoneus didn't know whether to laugh or throw a punch, and so said, "For gods' sake, then, please get back before Flovi sings, or I'm ruined."

  "I will," Hercules answered, and prayed it wouldn't prove to be a lie.

  17

  Dragar wasn't in his room, and no one at the inn knew where he had gone.

  Not that Hercules had expected anything else. That would have been too easy: sitting down with the man, making sure the conquering and enslaving was what he had in mind, and then doing something about it.

  He walked slowly along the narrow street, sidestepping carts and horses, watching repairs being made, listening to people talk about the "shift" the night before, and about the big show at the arena. Apparently Virgil and his help had already begun to make their way through town, announcing the special performances, at special prices, with extra special appearances by extra special people.

  Hercules had a feeling the place would be packed.

  A stop at a fruit vendor's stall told him Dragar had passed by only a few minutes before, muttering to himself and paying no attention to the bustle around him.

  Another stop, this time at a blacksmith's, made it clear the magician was on his way out of town.

  Hercules had to force himself not to run. Which he probably couldn't have done even if he wanted to, which he did, since he was stopped every few yards by someone who recognized the Red Power Beast and wanted to know if he could really bend iron bars with his ears.

  Virgil, it appeared, was laying it on a little thick.

  By the time he arrived at Phyphe's north exit, too much time had passed. Dragar was long gone. The road, while not crowded, was busy, as travelers rode and walked into town; by the bits of conversation he overheard, he deduced that most of them were here to do some business, then attend the show.

  "Packed," he decided, was undoubtedly an understatement.

  He walked on, keeping to the verge as Phyphe slipped away behind him, doing his best not to give in to anxiety, or the unpleasant feeling that he was headed in the wrong direction.

  Here was mostly open land that rolled gently to the horizon. Mostly farms, he reckoned, and probably a few scattered estates of the area's most wealthy families. A few lonely trees. A creek.

  But still no sign of Dragar.

  Frustration made him impatient. He walked, ran a few steps, walked again, and glared at the sky, where the overcast had finally coalesced into thick clouds streaked with white and gray. A slow, damp wind pushed through the high grass. A flock of crows circled in the distance.

  Crazy, he thought; this is crazy. If I keep this up, I'll end up in Sparta.

  Maybe he would have to wait until tonight after all.

  With a grunt of disgust he turned around, and grunted again when he saw it: several hundred yards away on his right, across an unused field, was an arm of the forest that marched to Phyphe from the south. He had been so intent on following the road that he hadn't noticed it before, almost indistinguish-able from the gloom where the land met the horizon.

  Without hesitation he ran into the long grass, pacing himself and hoping he wasn't making a mistake.

  If he was, he would never get back in time.

  Virgil slumped against the wall of a shop that sold jars and plates and decorative copper shields.

  He was exhausted, and his vision had grown a little blurry.

  He and the local band had split up as soon as Hercules left the arena, each of them instructed to spread the word of the benefit performance to as many people as they could. With Aulma unwilling to leave his side, he decided that the taverns and inns were good places to start, because the news would spread more quickly there, but he hadn't counted on how many inns and taverns there were in a little place like this.

  But at least he hadn't run into Olivia.

  That would have killed him.

  And if that didn't kill him, Aulma would, before Olivia could.

  Wouldn't you know it, he thought as he panted; a guy goes for years without a single woman paying any attention to him, then suddenly there are two.

  He leaned over, hands braced on his knees, and waited for his lungs to catch up.

  He wasn't sure exactly what was going on, even with all that weird stuff Aulma had told them, but he had a strong feeling it was worse than his admittedly feeble imagination could manage.

  "Aulma," he said, swallowing hard, "when this is over, do you think you could stand leaving show business?"

  He laughed shortly. Now that was a particularly stupid question considering what Dragar had gone to her.

  "So what do you think?"

  She didn't answer.

  He took one more deep breath and straightened, rested his hands on his hips, and grinned sheepishly. "1

  don't want you to get the wrong idea, though. 1 mean, I'm not really asking you to do anything—"

  "You drunk?"

  That wasn't Aulma.

  He blinked, turned his head, and saw a tall man in a plain robe staring at him oddly. "No, I am not drunk."

  The shopkeeper scratched through his skimpy beard. "Then who are you talking to?"

  Virgil pointed. "Aulma."

  "Aulma who?"

  Virgil looked.

  Aulma was gone.

  "Aulma?" He stepped into the crowded street. "Aulma?"

  "Drunk," the shopkeeper muttered and returned inside.

  Virgil forgot about the announcements; he had to find the woman he was pretty sure he was in love with before something happened to her.

  "Aulma!" he called. "Aulma!"

  Salmoneus paced back and forth outside the arena.

  Although he had every confidence in Hercules, he still couldn't help feeling that Vaudalville was dead.

  Even if Dragar was defeated ... even when Dragar was defeated, word would spread, no town or village would risk the vaudalvillian jinx, and he'd be left with a dozen chests of clothes he wouldn't be caught dead in. Except maybe the purple thing with the gold trim and the glittery stuff on the hem.

  His fingers brushed across his paunch. His stomach growled, demanding food, but he didn't dare eat because he didn't think his nerves would let him keep it all down.

  A footstep made him jump.

  "Sorry," Peyra whispered.

  "It's all right." He smiled with more confidence than he felt. "I'm just rehearsing." He tapped his temple. "In here."

/>   At her side the large white duck quacked softly.

  "No," Salmoneus said. "I do not know where the Harpy is."

  The duck sighed and wandered away.

  Peyra gasped. "You speak duck?"

  Salmoneus gave her a look. "Lucky guess."

  Tenderly she lifted her husband from his pouch and stroked his back with one finger. The frog didn't move. "I know how he feels."

  Salmoneus looked at the frog, looked at the duck, looked at the sky, and thought, This isn't a jinx, it's a curse, right? You're getting back at me for that air-sandal thing, aren't you?

  "Salmoneus?"

  "Yes?"

  "Are we going to be all right?"

  He nodded without hesitation. "Hercules promised. And no matter how it looks, he never goes back on a promise."

  She looked at his hands. "Then how come your fingers are crossed?"

  "Insurance."

  "What's that?"

  I don't know, he thought, but it damn well better work.

  It was the arena, Hercules thought as he ran across the empty field; it was the overwhelming surge of power that he had felt.

  He knew that here and there throughout the many lands he had traveled there were places marked by certain mystical properties. He had no idea why this was so, and none of the gods he knew had ever explained it. Of course, they didn't have to; they were gods.

  He had also believed that no human could ever tap this energy, but that was obviously untrue.

  Dragar had.

  If Aulma was right, the answer must have been in the scroll the man had found. It had told him how to take that power for his own.

  The power he had concentrated in the head of the silver ram.

  Hercules slowed as he approached the trees, wondering why it was that the good guys never found stuff like that. It would certainly, for example, make his life a whole lot easier, and he wouldn't have to work up such a big sweat taking care of the bad guys.

  Bad guys who could enchant demigods, however briefly, were never any fun. Especially for the good guys.

  He saw the first sign of passage then, grass that had been trampled recently and was just now beginning to recover. He followed the faint trail until he spotted a narrow path that led deeper into the woodland.