The chamber was larger than he’ d expected. Deeper too. Hercules found himself looking down on a bustling court scene, as busy and as baroque as any that he’d seen in his many travels. The scent that wafted up from the pit was thick and heavy, the air that carried it ringing with soft whistles, busy clicks and the skitter of jointed legs. The light was dim, cloaking the shiver of movement with restless shadows and an eerie glow. Ants were swarming everywhere, some carrying in food, some carrying out eggs. Soldiers moved among the many courtiers, helping themselves to provisions, organising and directing the dance of traffic, or just standing on guard. The chamber had been dug down to form a smooth bowl, in the middle of which nestled the queen. Actually, she nestled in all of it; her bloated body was little more than a vast, pulsing mound of flesh curled behind an ever hungry and demanding mouth. Armies of attendants were dancing around and over her, grooming, cleaning, feeding – and taking away the endless supply of eggs which were emerging from that rippling mass like a string of obscenely glistening pearls.

"Gods," he reacted, staring at the sight in open mouthed astonishment. He hadn’t really known what to expect, but this … The Queen was huge, as big as a full-grown dragon or a respectably sized sea serpent – and even more dangerous, since she was surrounded by a host of armed and dedicated defenders, any one of which was capable of tearing a man limb from limb.

"Impressive, huh?" Iolaus pitched his voice low, half whispering so as not to draw attention to their intrusion. Hercules nodded, still trying to make sense of what he was seeing. The images danced in front of his eyes and it was hard to tell how much of that was half glimpsed movement and how much was due to the poison which still lingered in his veins. "Timeon went very quite right about now," the hunter continued blithly, forcing his partner into a sideways step as an ant loomed up over the edge of the pit and strode past them, carrying an egg in its jaws.

I’m not surprised …

The boy was going to have nightmares about this place for years to come. Hercules suspected that – once this was all over - he wouldn’t be the only one. "You okay?" he murmured, recalling how his sword brother had been ensnared in Arachne’s web – and how the experience had haunted him for months afterwards. Iolaus threw him a startled look - and then broke into a wild grin.

"Me?" he queried with amusement. "I’m having the time of my life down here." The giggle he swallowed held a note of hysteria and he took a moment to recover his equilibrium. The grin lingered, echoing the way he always approached the challenges in his life. "Those are the pillars I was talking about," he said, nodding towards the far side of the shadow filled bowl. "You think you can handle them?"

Hercules looked where he was directed, trying to make out what lay ahead. It was clear that his partner was far from okay – but then neither was he, and there nothing either of them could do about it but grit their teeth and do what needed to be done. It had already been a long day; he suspected that the hunter was running on little more than sheer determination and adrenaline by now, calling on those inner reserves of strength to push away the terrors and push down the exhaustion until he had the time to acknowledge them both.

If only I had a little of my strength back …

His limbs felt like lead weights, and his whole body was shaking from the effort it had taken to get this far. The pillars Iolaus was talking about were little more than dark patches bisecting dimly lit space, but even so he could see the size and shape of the problem. Each one had to be three or four feet in diameter – something he could have demolished almost without thinking the day before. Now they loomed like insurmountable mountains, solid and secure against any onslaught he might be able to make.

"Yeah," he nodded, feigning a confidence he didn’t feel. "No problem, buddy. Just get me over there, and – I’ll do all the rest."

The smile that earned him was wry, but the eyes above it held both warmth and sympathetic affection. "Right," Iolaus acknowledged softly. "It’s this way …"

They skirted around the chamber, moving along the edge of the bowl and trying to stay out of the way of the traffic. The ants ignored them for the most part, with only one soldier being curious enough to investigate their cautious intrusion. Iolaus froze as it approached, and Hercules took the opportunity to catch what little breath he could, letting his weight rest on a supportive shoulder while the creature examined them both. He was ready – should events demand it – to find enough strength to push his partner out of the way, prepared to offer himself as a diversion the minute things turned ugly. But the warrior ant merely tasted their combined scent, nudged them imperiously away from the edge of the queen’s sanctuary, and then moved on, leaving both of them to heave a sigh of relief.

That was close …

Their scented disguise appeared to be working though; nothing else loomed out of the dark to challenge them and they arrived at the base of the first pillar with further incident. Once there, Hercules was more than happy to let his weight slide from the support of his partner’s shoulder to the sturdier support of solid ground. He was quivering from head to toe, and it took enormous effort for him to just turn over and sit up, even with the lower buttress of the pillar to lean on while he did it. Iolaus had taken a step deeper into the dark, scouting the lie of the land; by the time he turned back, the son of Zeus had recovered enough equilibrium to make it look as if he’d chosen to sit there, rather than actually needing the pillar to prop him up.

The hunter probably wasn’t fooled for a moment, but he refrained from any direct comment. He hunkered down instead, so that their two heads were at an equal level. "Here," he said, pushing the hilt of his knife into shaky hands. "You’ll need this. Dig out a hollow on the other side of the pillar, so that when the water hits it’ll swirl round and scour it even deeper. This one and the next will probably do. If one goes, they’ll all go."

"Right," Hercules nodded, inwardly wondering if he could manage to excavate even one hole, let alone two. "Then what?"

Iolaus grinned.

"Then you start crawling for that tunnel over there – and you keep crawling, whether I catch up with you or not. If the water reaches you before I do, I won’t be coming – so don’t wait, okay? Just keep going. I told Timeon to get Theo to drop a rope down the exit tunnel. You’ll be able to use that to haul yourself up."

No, I won’t …

Did Iolaus seriously expect him to save himself and leave his partner behind to drown – or burn, or both? Even if he had the strength to escape the nest on his own, he wouldn’t dream of doing so until, or unless, there was no hope and no choices left. It was all academic anyway. He was still far too weak to crawl any distance, and there was no way he could hope to reach the exit on his own. No, they would go together, whichever way the Fates wove the threads. He just hoped they could destroy the menace of the ants on the way.

"Iolaus – " he began, but he was silenced by a determined hand.

"Uhuh," the hunter ordered firmly. "You got something to say to me, you save it for when we get out. And if we don’t – well," he shrugged, "it’ll keep for that boat trip across the Styx, right?"

Right …

Hercules nodded understandingly. All that talk about his not waiting was just talk. Iolaus knew the odds as well as he did. But they didn’t have time to argue each other’s worth, and there certainly wasn’t time to express all the things it had taken a lifetime to learn. If they got out, he’d have different things to say – and if they didn’t, then there would be forever to say the things that currently sat in his heart. Not that Charon would appreciate having to listen to them …

"What?" Iolaus questioned, catching the involuntary smile that his friend could not quite suppress.

"Oh," Hercules breathed airily, "I was just wondering what Charon would say if we turned up at his ferry – with a few of these guys in tow."

Oh, that would be something to see …

Iolaus had a broad grin plastered across his face as he edged his way back round the queen’s chamber and began the now familiar descent into the nursery cavern beyond. He could just picture the vexed look on Charon’s craggy features should he and his partner arrive at the ferry with an escort of giant ants; a look of wide eyed, total indignation, probably followed by an extremely angry protest at their lack of consideration where he was concerned - all the while poking irritatedly at slavering jaws with his pole and being utterly unfazed by the nature of his unexpected passengers. There was even a weird kind of comfort in the thought; he rather liked the ravaged faced ferryman of the dead, although he’d rather hoped he wouldn’t be remaking his acquaintance any time soon. Not on a professional basis, anyway.

Cross that bridge when we come to it …

He was aware that the odds were currently stacked against him, but that didn’t mean the outcome of the day was inevitable; his plan included getting out, and he had every intention of seeing it through if the Fates allowed. All the way through, no matter what.

Even if that included him having to pick Hercules up and carry him all the entire way to the surface.

He’ll be okay.

The self assurance sounded hollow, no matter how determinedly he made it. The short trip into the queen’s chamber had only served to highlight how badly the son of Zeus had been hurt; he’d been leaning on his partner the entire way, and had been pretty close to collapse by the time they’d reached the pillars. Iolaus was torn; torn between the need to protect his wounded sword brother and the desperate situation they had found themselves in. A piece of him wanted to turn round, pick up his friend and drag him back to the entrance tunnel, protests and arguments be damned – but the rest of him knew there was no time left for that. No time left for anything but a reckless plan that was probably going to cost both their lives.

"Nobody said this was going to be easy," he sighed, skirting a mass of squirming larva and squelching through the shallow pool which sat at the far end of the cavern. There was an overabundance of the huge fungi growing around its edges, along with an equal mass of the phosphorescent lichens; they formed a bizarre hedge, almost like a series of defensive barricades. He dodged slimy encrustations, ducked under looming obstacles and ascended a series of step like terraces which sagged ominously under his weight, finally arriving at the soft, mud streaked wall which marked the end of the ant’s extensive excavations. A slow oozing dampness coated the dark earth, moisture slowly gathering to cut narrow rivulets across its lichen stained surface. The air here was dank; uncomfortably warm, moist and filled with the reek of stagnant water and vegetable decay.

"Oh, yuk," the hunter registered, stepping forward - and into something that oozed slime. He sank almost to his boot tops and had to scrabble free again, his hands digging into the soft earth so that his fingers came back coated with clay. "Okay," he considered, clinging to the wall and taking a moment to recover his breath. "Mud I can cope with. Used to mud. Lots of mud." He paused to stare up at the curve of the wall above him, seeing more of the huge fungi clinging to its surface. Water dripped from the edges of the protuberant growths – some of which splash landed in his hair, phosphorescence and all. He sighed, accepting the inevitable. "Guess this is not my day for staying clean."

He’d left his knife with Hercules; he was reduced to digging with his bare hands and he set to with determination, scraping out handfuls of the thick clay and flinging them carelessly over his shoulder. It hardly mattered where they landed, as long as it wasn’t on a passing ant.

This shouldn’t take long …

It was just as well really. He was bone tired and his body was vociferously demanding sleep; every scoop was an effort and each fistful of mud felt as heavy as lead. He didn’t need to dig a huge hole – just one deep enough to weaken the wall. The pressure from the water would do all the rest. And when it did?

He’d find out if he had enough strength and energy left to outrun the entire lake …

It was harder work than he’d thought, pushing the knife into the hard packed earth and using it to pry away lumps large enough to matter. Either that, or he was weaker than he’d ever believed possible. Every movement took effort, even breathing; Hercules paced himself against the labouring of his heart, timing each jab and twist so that he could stop and struggle for air in between. Every pause was temptation, a siren call to rest his head against the rough surface of the pillar and close his eyes. To let it all drift away.

Have to keep going.

Iolaus was depending on him, wasn’t he? Somewhere, in the darkness beyond the bustle of the royal court, his best friend was busy risking his life to bring his plan to fruition. If the pillars didn’t collapse when the water arrived there was a good chance the queen might survive – and if the waters came and the hunter didn’t …

Hercules gritted his teeth and went on digging. He was prepared to die; he’d spent hours coming to terms with the possibility and the prospect no longer worried him the way it might have done the day before. He was even – strangely enough – at ease with the possibility that his partner might make to the banks of the Styx ahead of him. The pain of potential loss had somehow become a comforting assurance. We’ll go together, the way we promised.

Back to back.

Heroes …

Well, maybe it wouldn’t be quite back to back – but they were together, working as a team, each a vital part of the plan, each dependent on the other to see their part of it through. Which was why he went on scraping at the hard earth, despite the screaming protests of his limbs, despite the way the world danced in front of his eyes and the sweat pooled on his skin. He might be about to die – but he’d never be able to face eternity if he’d let Iolaus down while doing so.

It would be fair to say – almost without question – that Hercules would probably have been digging just as doggedly had he been alone in the dark and the outcome wholly dependant on his broad, if shaky, shoulders. The future of the mortal world would hinge on the life or death of the corpulent queen and her swarming entourage. But that wasn’t the thought which kept him going, which anchored his determination and delivered each feeble blow. The whistle and clatter of the ants formed a distant backdrop to the disjointed rhythm of his blows; the glimmer of phosphorescence danced and shimmered across his unfocused vision. None of that mattered. His mind and his heart were fixed on the image which sustained him; on what could well prove be the last ever time he saw his best friend alive.

Stripped half naked, his body painted with slime, his hair plastered with ooze and sweat, grinning at a ridiculous joke – and vanishing softly into the dark …

He’ll be back.

The hope which had sustained him when no hope had seemed possible still curled warmly around his soul. So what if the odds were impossible, the outcome inevitable and their chances of success unbelievably slim? Wasn’t that the way it always was? Challenge was something that had always fired their hearts, cemented their friendship and gave their lives purpose. In his weakened state, Hercules was beginning to appreciate just how tough that challenge could sometimes be – but he was also beginning to understand how that fuelled the need to surmount it, how a mortal man could choose to defy the gods, to defy fate, because that defiance defined him in away that mere existence never could.

Long angled legs scuttled past him in the dark and he froze, waiting for the ant to descend into the lower chamber so that he could resume his digging. The traffic on this side of the queen’s boudoir mostly consisted of fungi laden workers bringing in a constant supply of food, but once or twice a soldier ant had come by on patrol and it was always possible that – if they realised what he was trying to – the queen’s guardians might try to stop him.

He was almost done on this particular pillar anyway. A few more effort filled jabs with the knife produced a small but pleasing avalanche as his undercutting brought down more of the compacted soil. It left a curving hollow in the back of the column, just right for hungrily rising waters to gnaw away at.

That’s one …

He tucked the knife into his belt and began to crawl across to the second pillar, too weak and shaky to risk getting to his feet. The little strength he’d been able to recover while resting in the nursery cavern was almost completely exhausted now; his wounded shoulder throbbed and his stomach was churning, adding shivers of nausea to the ebb and flow of his dizzied senses. The distance he had to cover would have been no more than two or three strides in normal circumstances. It seemed to take forever.

Earth crumbled under his fingers as he scrabbled to lift himself up; the surface of the second pillar was softer than the first, and its coating slid away to reveal a core of small stones and sand. That made his job much easier – something he was extremely grateful for as he tugged the knife from his belt and set to work. The blade felt as heavy as lead in his trembling fingers.

A few perfunctory blows were enough to precipitate another avalanche. Hercules watched the stone and earth slide away, feeling as if his sense of the world were doing the exact same thing. He let his head tip forward, his forehead coming to rest against the dank earth. His eyes closed. The knife slid from between his fingers and landed with a soft thump on the freshly disturbed sand.

Just need to rest for a while …

A darkness that had nothing to do with the absence of light swirled at the edges of his senses. A soft, comforting darkness, filled with the promise of warmth and an easing of cares. He felt himself sinking into it, into a place where nothing mattered, where nothing demanded, where nothing lurked to hurt or threaten him. His body slid, unsupported, away from the towering pillar and tipped him, flat on his back, onto the cold, hard packed soil that formed the floor of the nest.

And that hurt.

Pain flared through his shoulder, instantly jabbing him back to consciousness. His eyes watered. His lungs dragged in air, creating a gasp of distress. Everything spun; vision, stomach, even the feel of the earth beneath him. He closed his eyes and fought for equilibrium, his teeth gritted against the unexpected flare of agony that had pulsed through him – and went on pulsing, washing back and forth across his senses like waves pounding against a beach.

"Gnnh," he grunted, driven to a need to scream, to express his frustration and protest the abuse he endured. A soft, enquiring whistle answered him, dropping from somewhere just over his head.

His eyes jerked open. There was an ant, leaning over him, its feathered antennae exploring the slime covered contours of his body. Moisture was dripping from its jaws, which were firmly clamped around what looked like a hunk of meat. Cow, Hercules registered abstractedly, spotting scraps of tell-tale black and white hide clinging to the gory lump. The ant whistled again nudging at him curiously. He hastily pushed himself away and scrabbled up onto his knees, using the pillar behind him for support. It brought him eye to eye with the insect, which tilted its head and studied him warily.

"I don’t remember calling room service," Hercules muttered, clinging to the earthen pillar and groping for the knife, just in case. There wouldn’t be much he could do with it, but just having it made him feel a whole lot better. He wondered what had caught the creature’s attention. He was sweating heavily; perhaps his own scent was beginning to override his purloined disguise.

The ant let the meat drop, its jaws widening as it leaned forward; Hercules shuffled back, trying to use the damaged pillar as a makeshift shield. He was shivering with effort, his senses dancing and his whole body protesting every move, every breath. He tightened his grip on the knife and stared defiantly at the creature as it loomed closer. If it decided to attack, he’d probably be dead in seconds.

In some ways, that might even turn out to be a relief …

The ground suddenly quivered under him; a faint, trembling vibration shuddered through the entire nest, sending dust and debris tumbling from his hasty excavations. An unexpected gust of wind rushed past him, ruffling his hair and tugging at his torn jerkin. The ant jerked back, its head going up and its antenna flailing in alarm. A high pitched, panicked whistle rose from the busy chamber behind them, quickly joined by other piercing notes as the whole place went into a state of alarm. The ant scuttled off, summoned to defend its queen, and Hercules took a moment to rest his head against the earth, heaving a decided sigh of relief.

Only a moment; the soft rumbling came again, a tangible sensation that ran under his hand and up through his knees. The wind picked up, gaining noticeable strength. More ants hastened past, drawn from the side chambers and the excavations. He took a deep breath and carefully turned himself round, looking out into the queen’s chamber and trying to make sense of what was going on.

Chaos surrounded the corpulent monarch. Warrior ants were herding the workers back and forth without clear direction. Ants had snatched up eggs and were busy running around in circles as they tried to take them to safety in the lower chambers, only to be pushed back again by the soldiers. The queen herself was stirring, her huge bulk rippling with alarm and disquiet. Some of the ants were trying to help her, pushing under her swollen body and beginning to lift.

Gods, Hercules registered, realising he was watching the impact of panic. They knew their queen was under threat, but - as yet – had no idea of what that threat might be. He had a pretty good idea – and his eyes were fixed on the far side of the chamber, waiting to see what emerged from the shadows. He didn’t have to wait long.

A figure appeared, racing up the far slope, hurtling past the agitated ants and dodging the soldiers as they moved to intercept it. A ghostly, ghastly figure, wreathed in luminescence and trailing glowing sparks. For one horrified moment, Hercules thought he was seeing his partner’s ghost – and then realised that the light was simply more of the phosphorescent lichen, which now painted the hunter practically from head to toe.

Iolaus flew past the pillars on the far side of the chamber, his hair streaming behind him and his limbs flailing with desperate speed. He didn’t turn when he reached the top of the bank but went on running, leaping out across the gap and flying over the heads of innumerable ants, all of whom turned to watch him pass. He landed squarely on the queen’s bloated back, stumbled briefly, then picked himself up and went on running, right along her glistening abdomen. The queen began to keen in distress, practically shrieking her disquiet, while warrior ants surged in from the chamber’s rim, drawn by the imperious demand for action but clearly unsure of what they should do to answer it.

The hunter kept moving, his eyes fixed on the route ahead – fixed, in fact, on the alarmed gaze of his partner, who was watching his progress with open mouthed astonishment. An arm jabbed forward with furious command. "Go!" Iolaus was yelling. "Go, go go!" He ducked under the looming jaws of a warrior ant, then vaulted over the back of a worker without a moment’s pause, dodging through the crowd as if death himself were at his heels.

Perhaps he was.

Hercules pulled himself together with a decided effort, suddenly recalling the likely reason for his friend’s haste. The soft rumbling hadn’t gone away. If anything, it was becoming more pronounced. If Iolaus had done what he’d planned, then that subtle vibration would be the herald of a furious flood – and there wouldn’t be much time to escape its onslaught. He didn’t want to move for several reasons; they included the prospect of his simply falling flat on his face after a few steps, but that wasn’t what made him hesitate. His partner was nearly half way across the chamber, but the warriors were swarming in, covering their queen with defensive determination. The headlong flight had become a dance; Iolaus was swerving through a slalom of angled legs, slashing jaws and poison tipped abdomens. If he slipped or miss-stepped, he’d plummet straight to the floor of the chamber, where he was just as likely to be crushed by the writhing body of the queen as he was to be ripped apart by the agitated ants.

"Go!" The yell barely pierced the cacophony of trills and whistles, but its note of anxious terror struck through to its hearer’s soul. It was the final impetus Hercules needed. He heaved himself to his feet, thrust the knife into his belt and staggered away, heading for the tunnel which he’d been told was the way out. Every step was agony, both to his weary body and his pounding heart. He felt as if he were abandoning his friend – but he knew that to stay would put them both in danger. The more ground he covered now, the better.

The tunnel mouth yawned ahead of him like a gaping mouth. His vision was blurred and his chest was heaving as he lurched forward. He’d never imagined that such a short journey could cost so much – but he gritted his teeth and aimed himself in the right direction, ignoring the pain and trying to ignore the protests of his body. What he couldn’t ignore was the traffic.

Ants had begun swarming out of the tunnels, pulled towards the queen’s chamber by the sounds of her distress. They paid no attention to his staggering progress in the opposite direction, and he was buffetted and bashed by a seemingly endless stream of hardened bodies, their haste turning what should have been a simple journey into a nightmare. He was pushed aside, pushed back, and pushed over; the ants simply stampeded over him, adding another layer of bruises to his abused frame. A lesser man might have given up there and then, but Hercules was made of sterner stuff. Lacking the strength to do anything else, he began to crawl, rolling from side to side in a vain attempt to avoid the impact of chitin armoured feet. His world became one of cold earth, confusion and pain. Everything danced, nothing focused, and he kept on crawling, dragging himself forward inch by painful inch.

Can’t give up now, he told himself stubbornly. Won’t …

He was so intent on his progress, so determined to reach his goal, that he nearly fought away the hands that suddenly seized hold of him, the arms that slid around him and heaved him up. Nearly. The warmth of human skin and the sudden, unmistakable presence that belonged with it managed to penetrate his befuddled senses, turning the perception of assault into one of assistance. He made himself go limp, surrendering to the necessity of being lifted, of having to be slung over muscular shoulders as if he were the carcass of a deer being brought back from the hunt. There was no time for gentleness; he was picked up with a muttered apology, heaved into place and carried away, his body screaming at the continued abuse and his heart pounding with a heady mix of relief and fear.

Somewhere, deep in his soul, he wanted to cry out, to refuse the gift he was being given. Put me down, he wanted to say. Save yourself. You’ll never make it with me to burden you … But he had no strength to voice his protest, and – even he had – he knew it would simply be a waste of precious energy. Iolaus would no more leave him behind than he would were the situation reversed. We go together, he’d said, and meant it.

Hercules closed his eyes and endured the moment, breathing a soft and silent prayer of thanks to whichever god had blessed him with such a stubborn, hard headed, and utterly reckless best friend.