Timothy Boggs - Hercules Legendary Joureneys 03

by The Eye Of The Ram

  The trees were still widely spaced, their high branches filtering what little light there was into patches of lesser gloom that swayed and shifted as the wind touched the trees.

  He flexed his fingers as he moved on, much as a cat will twitch its tail.

  Birds called faintly.

  A growing tension in the air raised the hairs on the back of his neck.

  He scolded himself for not bringing someone with him; preferably an army, perhaps two.

  Maybe, he thought, this wasn't such a hot idea.

  It was one thing to tangle with Hera. Her motives were perfectly clear: she wanted him dead, and she didn't care what she did to accomplish it. Monsters and assassins were his stepmother's preferred modes of attack; nothing terribly subtle as far as she was concerned.

  He kind of missed that now.

  Dragar, on the other hand, was human. And humans were far too complicated. They liked intrigue and convoluted plots and manipulations of people who didn't know they were being manipulated; they liked wars that purported to be about one thing but were, in reality, about something else you never even thought of until it was, too late.

  It was as if they had seen how the gods worked and had decided that was too boring-Still, there was a lot to be said for boring.

  For one thing, it was boring.

  He stepped into a wide, deep clearing just as a rent in the clouds allowed afternoon sunlight through.

  He saw low weeds and virtually no grass; patches of bare earth that were a sickly pale brown.

  "It suits you," he said aloud.

  "Thank you," said Dragar, stepping out from behind a tree on the far side. "But you could have found a better place to die, don't you think?"

  He wore a long black robe, with a hood edged in silver that shimmered like fire. In his left hand was the staff.

  "Dying," said Hercules, "isn't part of the deal."

  "Deal, strongman? What deal?"

  "The deal that says I won't hurt you if you destroy that staff."

  Dragar laughed, a deep laugh that rolled through the woods like a deep winter's wind.

  Hercules shrugged without moving—it was a worth a shot, you never knew when a bad guy might suddenly wake up and repent.

  Not that it had ever happened.

  But you never knew until you tried.

  "Strongman," Dragar said, "you're being a pest. And I have things to do. Please leave me. At once."

  Hercules didn't move.

  Dragar scowled. "Didn't you hear me? I said leave! At once!"

  "I heard you. I'm not going anywhere."

  Dragar took a step toward him, his face creased with bewilderment. "But you have to."

  "No, I don't."

  "Yes, you do."

  "Do not."

  "Do so."

  Hercules sighed. Bad guys were bad enough, but stubborn bad guys were a pain in the ass. "Give it up, Dragar. You're not going to win."

  Dragar stared at the ram's head, shook the staff, stared at Hercules, and said, "You're supposed to do what 1 say, plus have a strong feeling that everything's going to work out in the end without you having to do a thing about it."

  Hercules nodded. "I know."

  "Then leave!"

  "Nope."

  He started across the clearing. Startled, Dragar backed up, his free hand tugging nervously at his goatee. "Do you have a name, strongman?"

  "You're the magician, you figure it out."

  Dragar lifted the staff over his head. "No time for games."

  Hercules smiled. "Exactly." He kept moving. "And it's Hercules, if you have to know."

  Dragar froze.

  Hercules smiled; at last something was going his way.

  Dragar smiled in turn, but it wasn't the smile of a man ready to yield.

  Damn, Hercules thought.

  "Hercules," Dragar said with a small shake of his head. "How terribly ... fitting."

  That made Hercules pause. "What do you mean?"

  Dragar cocked an eyebrow. ' 'That the first man to see the real power of the Eye will be a demigod."

  "Meaning what?"

  The smile vanished. "Meaning, Hercules, that demigods aren't immortal."

  18

  Hercules backed up slowly, hands out to show that he carried no weapons.

  Not that Dragar cared, or was willing to be sporting about it. He lowered the staff and held it in both hands, making sure that Hercules could see the silver face.

  So he could see the right eye open.

  A silent voice told him that what he saw was impossible, while another suggested that it certainly was possible, because it wasn't magic, it was sorcery, and a third voice didn't give a fig about the difference because they were going to be sizzled if the big guy didn't move.

  "Behold the power of the Eye!" Dragar thundered.

  A thin beam of pulsing red light flared from the Eye and drew itself into a floating coil as if it were a serpent. Every few seconds sparks flashed to the ground, where they raised tiny puffs of white smoke.

  The end of the beam flattened and spread, and Hercules swore he could see fangs in there, and the deadened eyes of a cobra.

  At the edge of the clearing he tensed to run, his left hand braced against a thick-boled tree. Then he shook his head quickly, because he knew he wouldn't get two steps before that beam-snake struck him.

  "Wise, strongman, wise," Dragar said, as though reading his mind. "Better to die facing your enemy than in running away like a coward."

  "I don't plan on dying, Dragar."

  "Which of us really does?" Dragar set the butt of the staff on the ground by his right foot, but in such a deliberate way that Hercules guessed the beam's connection to the Ram was tenuous at best. "But in the scheme of things, it's inevitable, don't you agree?"

  Hercules had no time to respond.

  Dragar jerked his arm, and the red beam struck, snapping across the distance between them like the strike of a real snake.

  Hercules sprang behind the tree and turned to watch the beam-snake flare against a stubby bush-There was no sound, just a blinding red flash that made him raise an arm to protect his eyes. The light faded instantly, and there was nothing left but a column of smoke, and ash where the bush had been.

  "Oh, Hercules," Dragar called, "do you really think that tree will protect you?"

  The clearing glowed, and Hercules leapt again to his left, hitting the ground and somersaulting to his feet, then half-turning away as the large tree exploded silently halfway up and he was showered with glowing embers.

  This, he thought as he slapped the embers from his hair and clothing, is going to be a problem.

  Smoke caught by the wind billowed through the clearing, momentarily obscuring his position. He used the time to grab a rock from the ground and leap again to his left as a green snake struck the ground some five feet away.

  "Did 1 get you, strongman?"

  Hercules didn't answer.

  "Very wise," Dragar said mockingly. "Or lucky, I suppose."

  The smoke cleared.

  Dragar spotted him. "Ah. There you are, strongman." He turned the Eye toward him. "Behold!"

  "Behold yourself," Hercules said, and threw the rock as hard as he could.

  It missed the Ram, but it hit the sorcerer just below the right knee. He cried out and fell, using a desperate grip on the staff to prevent him from falling all the way.

  Hercules charged, picking up another, smaller, rock on the run.

  Dragar hissed in pain.

  Hercules threw the rock without breaking stride, bouncing it off the man's shoulder.

  Another painful cry, and Dragar's left arm dangled uselessly at his side-But the smile returned, and that almost stopped Hercules in the middle of his charge.

  "Behold," Dragar whispered, and with one hand he brought the Ram down to strike the ground.

  The earth rippled in a series of impossible waves, their undulation passing under Hercules like the low waves in a bay. But they were enough to th
row him off-balance, and he came down hard on one knee, coughing in the thick dust raised by the ripples.

  He ignored the brief pain.

  Dragar was less than fifteen feet away, still on his knee, only his grip on the staff keeping him from falling. Sweat shone on his face; the muscles of his neck bulged with the effort to keep him upright.

  Hercules swayed to his feet.

  "Not yet," Dragar said, and struck the ground again.

  Hercules thought he was ready, but the ripples spread left and right now, the trees groaning as they rose and fell with the motion, branches creaking, weaker ones snapping off and crashing to the ground.

  Which split open at his feet before he realized what had happened.

  Desperately he tried to keep one boot on either side of the gap. Below him there was nothing but darkness and roiling dust, and he couldn't hear the stones and rocks hit any kind of bottom when they fell.

  Dragar murmured something, and the dust became thick smoke, and in its depths Hercules could see the intermittent glow of fire.

  "If you jump," the sorcerer said, his voice taut with pain, "it'll be so much easier."

  Hercules was trapped. His legs were so far apart, he couldn't shift his weight quickly enough to attempt a leap for solid ground. On the other hand, he couldn't stay this way for long either—his legs were also beginning to quiver with the strain of holding him up in this unnatural position. He couldn't bend over, he couldn't straighten, he sure couldn't fly, and where, now that he thought about it, was that damn Harpy when he needed her?

  The earth groaned.

  The gap widened.

  Dragar was on his feet now, leaning heavily on the staff.

  "I like this," he said with a nod. "I may use it again."

  Heat rose from the chasm; writhing slips of smoke began to coil over the edges.

  The fire was brighter.

  "They'll find a way, you know," Hercules managed to say, his gaze flicking from the chasm to the sorcerer.

  Dragar frowned. "Who? To do what?"

  "To kill you."

  Dragar laughed silently. "Oh, I don't think so."

  Hercules swayed as the gap widened again. "But they will. You can't keep an enchantment on everyone, all the time. You're not that good."

  Dragar managed to look down his nose at him without moving his head. "Good enough for a start, Hercules. An army armed with magic doesn't need enchantments all the time."

  "You'll never be able to trust anyone."

  "So?"

  Hercules thought about that one and understood that the man was right: he didn't need to trust anyone, because his magic would do it for him. For those he needed to help run things, there were the spells; for those he didn't need, there was a one-way trip to the Underworld.

  If the man wasn't stopped, Hades was going to have his hands full.

  A cloud of smoke rose around Hercules, choking him, bringing stinging tears to his eyes.

  His left foot slipped, and he began to fall.

  Instantly he threw himself in that direction, blindly, striking the uneven chasm wall so hard the air whooshed from his lungs. But his hands caught the ragged lip, gripping it so tightly his fingers threatened to cramp. His legs flailed for a moment before finding tiny rock ledges to push on and slightly relieve the pressure on his arms.

  It wasn't perfect, but he was still alive.

  All he needed now was a couple of breaths, a couple of seconds, and he could haul himself up and out, no problem.

  The earth groaned.

  You, he told himself, should keep your big mouth shut.

  The gap began to close. In such jerky movement that he nearly lost his grip.

  Dragar laughed. "Had enough, strongman?" His voice dropped to a seductive whisper. "Just let go.

  That's all you have to do. Just let go, and you won't feel a thing."

  Hercules closed his eyes and concentrated.

  "Just let go, strongman. Just let go."

  Nothing existed but his hands and arms; all the strength he had was there; nothing else mattered.

  "Let go."

  He could feel the other side of the gap begin to press against his back.

  "Let go."

  One chance, and he took it:

  He flattened his hands against the ground and pushed as hard and as fast as he could, shooting himself out of the chasm just as an explosion of smoke and fire rose from below and mushroomed into the sky.

  The gap slammed shut.

  Dragar couldn't believe it.

  Hercules walked toward him on legs that barely paid attention to his commands. He was angry, he was hot, his arms burned, and if this half-baked sorcerer thought he was going to set up his own little kingdom and rule the world from it, he had another think coming.

  "Oh," Dragar said when he saw Hercules' expression.

  Hercules reached out a hand. "Give it to me"

  Dragar backed off. "Never!"

  "Then use it," he said, daring the magician.

  Dragar didn't understand, but he wasn't a complete idiot either. He sneered, the Eye opened, and a flare of orange fire spat from the silver ram.

  Hercules jerked up his arm, and the fire shattered harmlessly against the arm guard.

  Another flare, blocked just as easily.

  Dragar held the staff in both hands and spun it slowly, flinging a rainbow of fiery lances in all directions. Trees exploded, caught fire, split in half, were torn from the ground on roots that were aflame; charred gouges marred the earth; shrubs burned like torches.

  The arm guards blocked every attack that reached them.

  "You're not human!" Dragar wailed.

  Hercules waggled one hand. "Maybe, maybe not." He reached out and yanked the staff from the man's hands. "But you are, my friend, and now your power's mine."

  Dragar's eyes opened wide in shock. "You wouldn't dare." The eyes narrowed. "You can't." The eyes widened again. "You don't know how." The eyes narrowed. ' 'You're not the type."

  "You're making yourself dizzy," Hercules said.

  Dragar passed a hand over his eyes. "I know."

  Hercules examined the staff and ram, shook his head, and said, "Let's go. There are some people back in Phyphe who want to talk to you."

  Dragar pressed his hands against his chest. "Are you going to hit me?"

  "Are you going to come quietly?"

  "By the gods, of course not!"

  "Then I'm going to have to hit you."

  That smile returned, sly and mocking. "Not if I hit you first."

  Hercules had to admit, it was kind of admirable that the man didn't know when to quit. It was stupid, too, but Dragar was too dumb to realize it.

  "You want to hit me, give it a try."

  "Okay." Dragar stood as straight as he could, but he kept his hands at his chest.

  Hercules had a bad feeling. Could Dragar do his magic without the ram? He checked the Eye; it was closed.

  He checked Dragar, who hadn't moved.

  He had a sudden, and thoroughly unpleasant, feeling that he ought to check behind him.

  He did.

  Aulma belted him with a club, and he went down like a felled tree.

  19

  There were no voices, no whispered concerns for his health, no pleas for him to recover in time to save whatever it was he was supposed to save.

  There was, however, a splitting headache.

  He groaned, opened his eyes, and stared into the puzzled gaze of a dark brown rabbit, whose twitching nose and exposed sharp teeth suggested an internal debate between the vegetarian it was born to be and the carnivore whose diet wasn't quite as boring and which he maybe ought to give a try.

  "Beat it," Hercules muttered.

  The rabbit did.

  His eyes closed again, and he waited impatiently for the throbbing to subside, and the inner voice to shut up—the one that told him what an idiot he was for thinking a man like Dragar wouldn't have a minion or two lurking about, just in case. Even if the minion
, as in Aulma's case, had a glassy stare that suggested a spell had been cast to keep her under control.

  Gingerly cradling the back of his head with a palm, he rolled onto his back and stared at the sky.

  The clouds had thickened; the light had dimmed.

  As he sat up, he braced himself for pain and was pleased that when it came, it wasn't as bad as he had feared. Aulma had hit him a good one, but it had been a glancing blow, most of the force of which had been taken by his shoulder. Which was why, he figured, his shoulder hurt so much.

  At least there was no blood.

  After some testing and sharp intakes of breath, he made it to his feet, checking his balance along the way. Once he was sure he wouldn't fall, he headed unsteadily for the road, struggling against the urge to run, a sure way to end up on his back again.

  At the edge of the woods his head cleared, his limbs had decided to hang around and work for a while, and he figured that maybe this had worked out for the best. Although he doubted Dragar thought him dead, it was entirely possible that the sorcerer believed Hercules was at least out of commission long enough for him to do whatever had to be done to begin his campaign.

  It was about the only advantage he had.

  It was also one he hadn't the slightest idea how to use.

  The plan he had hinted to Salmoneus about dealt with taking care of Dragar before the man had a chance to do anything.

  The new plan, which didn't make any more sense than the old one, dealt with taking care of Dragar before he had a chance to do anything. Admittedly the two sounded identical, but he was positive there was a significant, subtle difference, and he was equally positive that he'd recognize it as soon as he saw it.

  Long strides took him quickly across the field to the road. It was deserted now, and as he entered Phyphe, so were the streets he passed. Shutters were closed, doors were barred, and he heard nothing but his own breathing, and the thud of his boots on the hard-packed dirt.

  He was halfway to the arena before he remembered Agatra's threat: if he didn't do something about Dragar, she would.

  But he didn't think she had any idea what the man was really capable of.

  Swell, he thought; she'll try to kill him, she'll get her feathers burned off, and with my luck, Hades will stick her with me in the Underworld, and I'll never hear the end of it.