"Timeon?"

Hercules had made his way down to the stream and followed it for a little way, looking for signs that the boy might have been there. He hadn't spotted anything obvious, and he'd found himself wondering if he might have been better off waiting for Iolaus to catch up with him. His friend had a far sharper eye when it came to matters of tracking and woodcraft; those old hunter's tricks of his, coupled with an unquestionable natural ability, gave him an edge that Hercules had come to more than appreciate over the years. Not that he doubted his own skills - just that he knew that this was one of the few things that Iolaus was better at doing than he was - and that it was highly possible that the hunter might have picked up on something he'd missed.

He’d stumbled on what had to be the boy's favourite place to play - a hidden, sheltered spot where the roots of a old, gnarled oak tree dipped into the stream and the rushes on either side rose up to imitate a man made fortification. There'd been rope dangling from the tree branches, and a makeshift platform lashed together above it. Not a true tree house, but still a construction sturdy enough to declare ownership of the spot. Both the platform and the space beneath it had been empty, and the signs suggested that no-one had been there so far that day.

Hercules called anyway, just in case the boy was within hearing distance. No-one answered his shout and after a moment he turned and began to backtrack up the slope, following what looked like a recently made path into the fields above the stream. The air was warmer away from the watercourse, and once beyond the shelter of the trees he found himself back in the full brightness of the midday sun. The breeze carried the soft dry scents of growing grain - along with the barest hint of something decidedly rank.

"Timeon?" he called again, this time with a hit of alarm in his voice. He picked up his pace and jogged warily alongside the low hedge and bank that separated field from meadow, looking around worriedly as he went. The scent slowly grew stronger, until it was strong enough to recognise. It was the scent of a recent - and violent - death.

Gods …

Hercules vaulted over the hedge and broke into a run, inwardly praying that he didn't find what he feared he might.

At least nobody's screaming …

That wasn’t entirely reassuring; silence suggested a situation beyond help. There'd been too many times in his life when he'd arrived too late; times when he'd cursed the fates and the rest of his family for letting loose the myriad of evils that roamed the world. Monsters - whether they were magical, natural, or even human monsters - killed people. They did it for food, or for sport; because they were angry or had been ordered to; and sometimes they did it just because they could. The worst of them killed for pleasure, and the worst of those took their time doing it.

"Timeon!"

He arrived at a scene of carnage; the dismembered body of a large cow lay sprawled in the middle of a patch of crushed and bloodstained meadow grass. Flies were buzzing eagerly over the distorted corpse and the air was suddenly thick with that rank and unmistakable scent. Along with something else …

Hercules stalked guardedly around the edge of the scene, flattening more of the waist high grasses as he did so. The odour of spilled blood and ripped guts was tainted by another, unfamiliar smell. It was sharp and oddly sweet, like poor wine or old vinegar and here at least, it was strong enough to mask some of the rankness of the animal's death. Nothing moved around the corpse - other than the shifting cloud of flies - nor did there seem to be any sign of the missing boy, so he took a cautious step closer, trying to fathom the cause of the beast's death.

Nearly half of the cow was missing. He took another step and stared down at the butchery, measuring the strength that would have been needed to rip away the back leg and tear off both of the front ones. The corpse seemed to have been brutally gutted; the abdomen had been torn open and he was staring at an empty chest cavity.

Now what …?

He frowned at the carnage, crouching down to warily examine the torn edges. Who ever - or whatever - had done this, had left very little evidence of how. A serpent or something of that ilk would have crushed and suffocated the beast, not torn it apart - yet there were no claw or teeth marks, such as he might have expected from a dragon, a chimera or a manticore. It looked as if the cow's throat had been cut, and very cleanly too. Clean enough for the work of human hands, wielding a blade - except a human butcher would then have used the same blade to quarter the meat, not ripped it apart so savagely.

An odd sound caught his attention; a high pitched, vibrating note that seemed to come from everywhere at once. He lifted his head and listened, feeling a decided sense of unease creep over him. There was something out there, in the grass. Something that skittered across the ground and made only a whisper of sound doing so.

Hercules rose slowly to his feet, every sense on full alert. That sweet, astringent scent drifted in on the breeze, swirling around him, pricking in his eyes and at the back of his throat. He caught a shiver of movement out of the corner of his eye and spun to confront it. All he saw was a ripple of disturbed grass where the creature had been.

Whatever it is, he realised warily, it's got a lot of legs …

He hurriedly flicked through a catalogue of monstrosity in his minds eye, considering - and rejecting - a number of possible candidates. Most of the really nasty monsters he'd confronted in the past had been of Echidna's breeding - ponderous, scaled and serpentine. This thing was quick and lacked obvious bulk; it moved with the minimum of sound and it did so on long angular limbs that left very little impression of their passing. He thought of quick limbed lizards, with whip like tails. He thought of long dead things, bundles of bones moving at the behest of some sorcerous will.

He thought of Arachne - and he shuddered.

Is there one - or more than one?

He couldn't tell. That high pitched note rolled in from everywhere, setting his teeth on edge. It had no obvious source and it was impossible to isolate the judder of movement that disturbed the grass from the rippling of the wind. Hercules turned on his heel, panning the area with a slow and deliberate consideration. The sense of menace was practically tangible; a trickle of cold sweat crawled down the back of his neck and his fingers knotted up into tense balls of muscle, waiting - just waiting - for whatever came next.

There weren't many times in his life that the son of Zeus felt vulnerable. His divine heritage gave him an edge that few could match and fewer still could overcome. But, standing there, alone and unarmed, with the remnants of this menace's last victim scattered at his feet, he experienced a brief and unsettling quiver of fear.

I wish Iolaus were here to back me up, was his first thought, followed almost immediately by: No, I don't.

Whatever creature it was that lurked out in the long grass was both agile and deadly; as much as he longed to have his partner's compact presence watching his back, he was glad the hunter wasn't there to face - whatever he was about to face.

Because this might turn out to be something that neither of them would be able to survive …

Grass rustled somewhere behind him. Hercules spun round, dropping into a defensive half crouch, then spun back again as another noise came from the direction he'd just been facing. The sweet sour scent was suddenly overpowering, filling the air with cloying persistence. Something darted in towards him, a dark shape with too many joints and angles to be a sensible animal. He dodged the lightning like snap and struck up with his fist, sending the thing staggering. It let out a high pitched whistle and lunged in again, a blurred impression of glossy armour and slashing blades coated in a thick and gooey ichor. He threw himself sideways, diving into a forward roll that took him over the remnants of the carcass and bounced him up again beside the creature's flanks. He kicked out, aiming at one of those high angled legs, missed, and instead slammed his foot hard into the plated side of what seemed to be a bloated abdomen. The monster skittered sideways under the blow, swinging round in a lightning recovery that allowed it to make another lunge with savage scissor like jaws.

Gods, this thing is fast.

He cursed and dived forward again, rolling under the lunge and slamming upwards with both feet, hoping to find a vulnerable spot on the thing's underbelly. His boots hit armour yet again, although the move did toss the creature a good ten feet into the air.

It twisted as it came down, slashing out with its tail end - which had suddenly sprouted a vicious spike. Hercules hastily tried to roll out of the way, although he moved neither far nor fast enough. The spike raked across his back and shoulder as he tumbled clear, cutting through leather and cloth before slashing open the skin and muscle beneath. Sudden pain flared through him, an impossible pain, one far greater than he'd have expected from a simple cut, no matter how deep. He gasped in agonised surprise; it felt as if someone had just driven a white hot poker into his shoulder and down the length of his arm.

"Agh," he reacted, striking out with elbow and boot as he squirmed away. He heard something crack, and then he was scrabbling back to his feet and backing away from his attacker with a look of wary concern. It circled round, seemingly watching him with equal consideration. Huge, multifaceted eyes reflected a glitter of sunlight and the creature's long feathery antennae waved menacingly as it lifted its head and let out another of those high pitched, whistling trills.

The son of Zeus took another cautious step backwards, his left hand absently massaging at his right shoulder, which was now thobbing with pain. "Time to finish this," he muttered, his eyes narrowing as he realised that he had managed to hurt the thing. One of its slender legs now dragged on the ground, the joint between it and the armoured body twisted and hanging limp.

That's it, he realised, his lips curling in a slightly relieved smile. It's vulnerable at the joints …

He'd barely had time to come to this conclusion before it was lunging at him again, its bladed jaws open to seize, grab and crush. This time he grabbed, diving past the armoured head to wrap his arms around the impossibly narrow neck. It bucked and shifted, dragging him off his feet and bruising his thighs against the jutted leg of the slaughtered cow.

Gods. It's as strong as I am …

He'd tried to hold it, anchoring his feet against the ground as he lifted, but it had pulled away with ease. He clung with desperation, only too aware of the angry slash of the armoured shears that clicked and closed barely inches from his back and shoulder. The fire that was centred there seemed to be growing, spreading out fingers of flame and leaving a cramping numbness behind. He gritted his teeth and ignored it, focused on the conflict and the struggle to find purchase for his feet. He was dragged back and forth, the beast first rearing up to try and dislodge his grip, then slamming down, trying to shake him free.

His feet hit bloodied dirt. Hard. The shock shivered through him with bone jarring force. A lesser man might have shattered under the impact, but he was the son of Zeus - and he used the moment to his advantage. His knees flexed. So did his arms. He used his body as a lever and he lifted, heaving the whole creature up and over, throwing it onto its back and twisting as he did so. The narrow neck snapped with a satisfying sound, and the armoured body landed upside down in the long grass, twitching and shivering in exaggerated death throes.

"Phew," Hercules breathed, releasing his vice like grip and staggering backwards to stare down at his foe. "That's put an end to those antics, at least." He was having trouble catching his breath; his lungs spasmed as each intake of air stirred the fire that had taken root in his shoulder. "Gods," he gasped, twisting his head and reaching to feel for the extent of the damage. His fingers came away tainted with something foul; the wound was oozing a mix of blood and a dark, tarry substance that smelt like pickled fish.

Poison, he concluded with a wince, feeling his legs start to buckle under him. A fast acting one: his strength was leaching out of him like water pouring from a spout, leaving a shivering emptiness behind. He fell to his knees, and then onto his hands, his head spinning. The world swayed around him alarmingly, his presence in it anchored only by the throbbing fire that marked the source of the attack.

Can't -

He struggled for focus, knowing that he needed to get up, to get help. His body refused to obey him. Darkness danced at the edge of his senses and he fought it away, watching the ground pulse in and out below him while the ringing in his ears grew to a shrill, unbearable whistle.

Have to …

Help was coming. Hercules clung to that thought, using it, drawing strength and determination from the encouragement it offered. Any moment now, his partner would stroll out of the long grass and help him up, probably voicing a good-natured complaint that, there he was, having to come to the rescue for the second time that day …

Somehow he managed to lift himself up, arching his back in agony as the effort stoked the fire into a raging inferno of pain. Something moved beside him; a dark shape, blurred and unrecognisable. "Iolaus?" he gasped, turning his head with a brief flare of hope. The hope died instantly. There were shiny, multifaceted eyes staring at him through his haze of sweat and pain. Huge eyes, topped by feathery antenna and sitting above jutting, angled jaws. The monster had a partner too.

"We don't want any trouble."

Now, where have I heard that before? the hunter wondered sardonically as he deliberately took a step forward and placed himself between the heavy mob and their intended victim. The voice belonged to a broad shouldered, thick set man, dressed in working clothes and wearing an oil stained apron over his grubby shirt. Iolaus' eyes narrowed as he assessed both the speaker and the three men that hovered behind him; a father, two sons, and perhaps a son-in-law by marriage. All four had the muscled build of hard working men - blacksmiths or coopers perhaps - used to applying brute force but not well versed in the subtleties of combat.

Which, given the size of them, was probably just as well.

Theodorus was quivering, half poised for flight; looking at the group ahead of them, Iolaus wasn't entirely sure he blamed him.

"Glad to hear it," the hunter said, keeping his voice soft and unchallenging. "Neither do we."

"This ain't your problem, shorty." That was one of the sons; a young man whose neck seemed to be wider than his head.

"Yeah." His brother wasn't much better. He looked as if he'd been chiselled out of a solid block of hardwood. "Just keep on walking, huh? That way you won't get hurt. The way he will …"

"Iolaus," Theodorus hissed, his gangling frame looming over the hunter's shoulder. "What we gonna do?"

Shorty, huh?

Just over two hours ago, Iolaus had taken out a group of men far harder than these four - men who'd made the same assumption about his height and his ability to defend himself. This bunch were little more than village bullies, although that didn't make them any less dangerous. They made up for their lack of experience in bulk and weight and - if it came to a fight - he'd have to move fast to deal with them.

Fortunately, moving fast was one of his specialities - and a man's advantage in height or weight could also prove to be his downfall if you knew the right way to use it.

"The last man that called me shorty," he offered by way of warning, "is in jail right now. And unless you want to join him, I suggest you step aside and let us be on our way."

"Not without our money," the older man insisted, holding his ground with angry determination.

"And not before I've paid him back for what he said to my wife."

"Yeah. He insulted our sister. He's gonna pay."

Iolaus sighed softly to himself. This really wasn't his problem - but he was hardly going to leave the lanky entertainer to the mercy of this irate bunch, who packed the potential to hurt him really badly. On the other hand, he had no real wish to fight with them either; he'd come to the Valley for a vacation, and he just wasn't in the mood …

What would Herc do? he wondered, glancing towards Theodorus' fear pinched expression. An on-looker would probably find something vaguely absurd about this long limbed, angular figure seeking refuge behind the hunter's compact, if sturdy, frame. There was nothing laughable about the situation though; the villagers meant business and they looked ready to back up their threats with action. Oh yeah - he'd try to reason with them.

The thought lifted a quiet grin to his face. He was well aware that - in his partner's head at least - the phrases patient reasoning and Iolaus did not fit together comfortably as a rule. Not in this kind of situation, anyway. But, then again, there were some illusions he liked to foster. They helped keep the big guy happy. Made him feel needed …

He took another look at the four men, trying to assess a sensible course of action. The oldest man in the group was undoubtedly the key - satisfy him and they could probably leave him to mollify the ruffled feathers of his sons.

"How about - " he began to say, moving the encumbrance of the pole from one hand to the other and spreading them both in a conciliatory manner. We sit down and talk this out over a drink, he was going to say. He never got a chance to complete the sentence. The broadest built of the two sons chose that moment to stride forward, sweeping out his right arm to knock the speaker out of his way while he grabbed for Theodorus with his left. Both moves failed spectacularly; the first because Iolaus was poised for trouble and had dodged and ducked with perfect timing, and the second because the agile hunter had finished his manoeuvre by jabbing out with the pole, which the bigger man had then tripped over.

"So much for reasoning," he muttered, planting the pole end firmly on the ground and using it to lift himself up and round in a sweeping arc. "Run!" he advised, lashing out with a glancing kick that knocked the older man halfway across the road. Momentum carried him on round; he followed the first blow with a second that spun the man’s still upright son completely round, and ended by planting both feet firmly against the son-in-law's barrel like chest. Son-in-law went down with a grunt, and the hunter twisted through a hand stand over the end of the pole, using the extra impetus he'd gained to lift him up and over, so that he could land back on his feet.

He hit the ground running, grabbing a handful of shirt sleeve and dragging the startled entertainer with him as he went. Theodorus resisted for a moment then realised what happening; within moments the two of them were hurtling down the dirt track road, the juggler barely keeping up with the hunter's practised stride, despite having the longer legs. Their flight had musical accompaniment; the strap of the lyre bounced up and down in time with its owner’s steps, jingling bells and occasionally striking a note from a taut string.

They were well past the village boundary stone before Iolaus took pity on his panting companion and slowed the pace to an undemanding walk. There was no sign of pursuit, nor had he expected any; he seriously doubted that any of the four would have had either the desire or the stamina to offer much beyond a token chase. A few steps and a couple of angrily shaken fists would have been enough to register their annoyance at having been evaded; no doubt they'd been more occupied in picking each other up and plotting dire consequences should either their victim or their humilator return to town. He knew the type. Give them enough time and they'd forget the reasons for the original quarrel - although they'd probably go on harbouring a seething resentment at having been whipped, and so quickly too, by someone a lot smaller than they were.

No doubt his description would grow considerably in both stature and bulk each time the tale was told …

"That was - amazing," Theodorus gasped, glancing back towards the village almost as if he expected to see himself still standing there. "How do you move so fast?"

"Practice," Iolaus said with a small shrug, picking the track that looked most likely to lead him down to the lake and sauntering off in that direction. The incident had delayed him a little, but hardly long enough to worry about. He still had plenty of time to catch up with Hercules before he reached the lake.

And the monster, whatever it is …

He frowned over the thought for a moment, wondering if he should be worried about it, then dismissed the concern with a soft laugh and a quiet grin. He slung the pole across his shoulders and rested his wrists on either side of it, adopting a casual, unhurried pace that expended very little energy and gave him plenty of time to study the scenery. He knew Hercules wouldn't be in any hurry, so there was no real reason for him to rush.

Left behind, the juggler hovered indecisively or a moment or two, taking a half pace towards the hills, then back again. He turned once or twice on the same spot, then came to a determined decision - and hastened after the hunter, falling into step beside him.

"You're - "

"- going your way," Iolaus capped dryly, throwing him a look half pained, half amused. He hadn't invited the company - but he didn't really have a reason to refuse it, either.

"Ah - yeah. Umm - a little way, at least. If that's okay with you?"

The hunter held the look a little longer, frowning doubtfully as he studied the man's anxious face. The resemblance really was disconcerting; he even walked like Joxer, with a gangly, slightly uncoordinated step. "Yeah, sure," he breathed eventually, backing the assurance with an amused shake of his head and a wry grin. Theodorus looked briefly puzzled by this reaction, but, realising that his company hadn't been dismissed out of hand, answered the grin with one of his own.

"Thanks," he said. "Guess I owe you another one, huh?"

"Uh-huh," Iolaus nodded, candidly confirming both the debt and the man's gratitude for it. It was no big deal - just the usual kind of thing that happened when you went about with hero in the job description. He seriously doubted the entertainer would ever be able to repay him, anyway. "But how much do you owe them?" he asked, more by way of starting a conversation than real curiosity.

Theodorus winced. "Thirty dinars," he admitted. "But I don't have it," he added hastily. "When the constable realised the dice were loaded he confiscated the pot. All of my stake was in it."

All that for thirty dinars … Iolaus heaved a quiet sigh. For men like this, that was a small fortune - yet he had over three times that amount currently burning a hole in his money pouch. It was coin he'd reluctantly accepted , and that only because he knew even heroes needed to pay their way from time to time. Hercules always firmly turned down rewards, but the hunter had learned to be a little more pragmatic about such things. He wasn't the son of Zeus. Someone had to cover expenses.

"You - ah - get into this kind of trouble often?" he wondered, giving the man a sideways look as they walked down the track together. Theodorus might look - and walk - like Joxer the Mighty, but instead of the would-be warrior's air of blustering bravado he presented a thoughtful, slightly anxious face to the world, as if aware of his own insignificance within it.

"More often than I like," he admitted glumly. "I make money but - I just can't seem to hang onto it. Does your line of work pay well?"

Iolaus threw him a startled look that dissolved into a peal of laughter. "My line of work," he said between giggles, "just doesn't pay at all. Well," he corrected, thinking about it, "very occasionally, I suppose. The odd 'thank you' feast. The rewards they insist you accept." His lips curled into an involuntary smile as he considered some of the more intangible benefits of being in the hero business. "You can't put a price on people's lives - or their gratitude either. See," he went on, grinning at the entertainer's puzzlement, "if I charged, then you'd be getting a bill round about now. What I did for you back there? That's what I do," he explained, taking pity on the man's growing confusion. Theodorus frowned.

"You're a professional bodyguard? Mercenary?" he queried suspiciously. His wide eyed expression set off another attack of the giggles.

"Do I look like a mercenary? Uh - don't answer that," Iolaus requested hastily. All of the possible responses that sprang to mind were going to be insulting, however the man might chose to phrase them. "To be honest, I'm not sure what you'd call me. I mean, I'm a pretty good hunter - actually," he corrected wryly, "I'm a very good hunter - but I don't hunt for a living. Not unless you count catching the occasional rabbit for supper, that is. I'm a halfway decent blacksmith, but I'm not home often enough to warrant keeping a fire in the forge, let alone using it on a regular basis. I'm - ah - a warrior by training. Academy graduate, studied under an Eastern Master for a while, number of campaigns to my name - including Troy - oh, and uh - I'm a reasonable sailor too. Sailed under Jason on the Argo," he added, throwing his company a slightly smug grin. Theodorus was staring at him open-mouthed.

"You - were an Argonaut?" he squeaked. Iolaus' grin grew a little smugger.

"Yup," he affirmed matter of factly. The entertainer went on staring for a minute, before his wide eyed expression folded down into a suspicious frown.

"You're having me on," he accused warily, clearly hovering between an offer to laugh at the joke and the option to take offence at having been thought gullible enough to fool. "I mean - " he added hastily, probably remembering that he'd just seen his current company take down a line of bullies with the minimum of effort, "- not that you couldn't have been, but - well, those guys - They were all heroes, you know? Ten feet tall, chew nails for breakfast kind of guys …"

He tailed off, wrestling with a very apologetic expression. Iolaus was eyeing him with a patient have you finished yet look; the one he knew to be highly effective from all the times that his best friend had used it on him. "Since when," the hunter asked dryly, "has there been a height requirement in the hero business?"

"Umm - well …" Theodorus winced. "I guess - there isn't - but - come on. An Argonaut? Next thing you'll be telling me is you spend your time hunting monsters and saving damsels in distress …" If the previous look had been arch, this one was positively pointed. Iolaus was actually enjoying himself watching the entertainer talk himself into a corner, but he wasn't about to let him know that. "Ah …you do hunt monsters?"

The warrior nodded.

"And do the damsel stuff?"

Another nod, just as firm as the last.

"Really?"

Iolaus nodded again, backing the confirmation with a wry grin. The man was not looking entirely convinced. "You know," the hunter offered generously, savouring the coming punchline, "if you don't believe me, you can always check it out with my partner when we catch up with him. His name is Hercules. You may've heard of him."

Theodorus stopped dead in his tracks. Iolaus kept on walking, suppressing an urge to giggle with decided difficulty. The look that was currently stamped across his company's face was an absolute Joxer style classic.

Yup, the warrior grinned to himself, definitely related …

There were days when the weight of his partner's shadow - the way that the reputation of the mighty Hercules pushed his own, not inconsiderable achievements aside, unnoticed and unacknowledged by the adoring crowd - sat heavily on the hunter's shoulders. Days when he'd become decidedly irked by the way that the mere addition of the man's name to a request would be enough to get him the attention or service that was otherwise being overlooked. On such days he would begin to feel that he was becoming invisible, and resent the need to trade on another's name simply in order to be listened to.

This wasn't that kind of a day. Those moods - and the resentment - were always brief. He admired Hercules enough to understand why others admired him too, and he'd come to realise that the people who mattered - the ones he thought of as his friends - saw him, not overwhelmed by that shadow, but as part of the light that helped cast it in the first place. Besides - what fun was there in being sword brother to the son of Zeus if you couldn't use the fact to disconcert people from time to time?

He'd walked a good half dozen steps before Theodorus got over his astonishment; the lanky entertainer had to catch up with him at a run. Iolaus smothered a smirk at the sound of approaching bells. The man would be absolutely hopeless at sneaking up on people; they’d hear him coming for leagues.

"Did you say - Hercules?"

"Mmhuh."

"We are on our way to meet … Ah, now, you have got to be kidding this time. I mean - what would he be doing in the Hebris valley?"

"Fishing." The matter of fact answer elicited a decidedly sceptical frown and Iolaus laughed at the man's expression. "That's if he hasn't run into this so called monster, of course." The thought raised a small frown of his own, and Theodorus gave him a wary look.

"You're serious, aren't you? And you're worried about him …"

"Me? Worried about Hercules?" The hunter dismissed the idea with a snort. "Nah - I'm just worried he'll have dealt with the thing before I get there. I'd hate to miss all the fun."

"You're crazy," the entertainer decided, shaking his head in disbelief. "Hercules, huh? Monsters … Well, I'll believe it when I see it - and not before."

Iolaus grinned to himself, not at all put out by the man's scepticism. His friendship with the son of Zeus wasn't exactly going to be hard to prove - after all, any minute now, they'd be catching up with the man himself.

Monster permitting, that is …

The thought had settled at the back of his mind and was sat there, nagging at him. He had no reason to think that Hercules was in trouble, but now that the possibility had been raised it was refusing to go away again. He picked up his pace a little and Theodorus had to stretch his stride to keep up with him.

The path led over a low rise and then turned south a little, still heading down towards the darkened tree line and the gleam of water that lay beyond it. Fields stretched out on either side and, some way off to his left, Iolaus could see a glimmer of white where polished stone surfaces reflected back the midday sun. That had to be the Temple - and the trail ahead intersected with the road leading down from it. He was on the right path at least, although his slightly uneasy frown deepened into worried lines as he realised that there were at least a dozen people gathered at the junction.

"Something's wrong," he registered, lengthening his stride into anxious speed. The entertainer hastened after him, looking more than a little apprehensive as he did so. Iolaus ignored him, his eyes busy scanning the group as he approached it. There were a number of men, mostly dressed in practical homespun, although one was draped in a corn gold robe - and there were at least two women, both looking decidedly alarmed.

Where is he?

The hunter was looking for the soft gleam of pale gold suede and the familiar tumble of honey dark hair that belonged above it. Hercules should have been instantly recognisable in that crowd; he tended to stand out against - even tower over - most gatherings. But there was no sign of him - and the way the men were muttering, there should have been.

"… blood everywhere. And the thing …"

"Well, I'm not going to take a closer look. What ever it is, it's still out there"

"What if we all went - there's safety in numbers …"

"You said it was dead - that's safe enough isn't it?"

"Yeah - but what killed it? That's what I want to know …"

"Excuse me?" Iolaus wasn't sure whose attention he needed to catch, but he aimed his query at the priest, hoping that he'd commanded a little authority over the crowd. "Ah - is there a problem here?"

Everyone instantly stopped talking and turned to stare at him instead. The warrior was suddenly and acutely conscious of the fact that there was a man dressed in a parti-coloured jerkin and wearing a ridiculous hat hovering at his shoulder. Hardly the most convincing way to start the 'hey I'm a hero and I'm here to help' routine.

"My son is missing." That was one of the farmer types, his clothing rough spun and practical. "And something has killed my cow. Something - " he hesitated, his features twisting with a hint of uncomprehending revulsion. "Monstrous."

"Yeah," another man chimed in, "only something else killed that - and I'm not going anywhere near the place. That other fella didn't come back, did he?"

Other fellow? A cold hand raked icy fingers through Iolaus' stomach.

"You're his friend, aren't you?" That was one of the women - the one clinging to the anxious farmer's arm. She'd been staring worriedly at the hunter, and her sudden sense of recognition added a further layer of grief to her distraught features. "He said you'd pass this way - oh gods …" She turned and buried her face in her companion's shoulder, overwhelmed by her distress. The man wrapped his arms around her, offering what comfort he could. The flutter in the hunter's stomach tightened into an ice cold knot.

"Hercules," he breathed, staring at the couple with a decided sense of horror. "Something's happened to Hercules?"

"We don't know that," the priest interjected, reaching to lay a comforting hand on the woman's shoulder. "We don't really know what's happened. But Timeon is missing and no-one's seen Hercules since he went to look for him - oh, well over an hour ago. Lathius here was looking for both of them when - " He paused, glancing at the farmer, who shuddered, hugging the woman even closer.

"It was - horrible," Lathius said, his voice cracking with emotion. "So much blood …"

"Be easy, Lathius," the preist suggested. "The gods willing, it was just the cow. Perhaps it was Hercules who killed the thing - and even now he's tracking down it's lair …"

Yeah …. Iolaus seized the suggestion, using it to quell the tremor of alarm that had caught at his soul. "Sure," he agreed, the words still sounding a little forced. "That's - likely. More than likely. I mean - any minute now, he's gonna come striding up the hill, large as life …" He tailed off, catching the look in the farmer's eyes. Lathius was reluctantly and sorrowfully shaking his head. Whatever the man had seen, it had been enough to convince him there was no hope - not for his son or for the man who'd gone in search him.

Cold terror stabbed straight through the hunter's heart.

Gods! What kind of monster are we talking about here?

There were very few things he could think of that were really dangerous or deadly enough to seriously challenge the son of Zeus. If something had happened to Hercules …

No way, was his first reaction, a determined rebuttal that did nothing to lesson the fear which had caught hold of him. It was followed by a shiver of irrational guilt.

I should have been with him!

It didn't matter that - an hour ago - he'd been busy completing the task his partner had handed over to him in confidence. That he'd been at least a league away, and unaware of any threat or danger. Hercules trusted him to watch his back and he hadn't been there.

And because of that, he might never see him alive again …

No, his heart denied. I won't believe that. I can't!

If Hercules had been killed, he'd know. Somehow, he'd know - and all he knew right now was the churning anxiety that was eating at his guts and the growing sense of urgency that went along with it. If his friend wasn't dead, then he had to be in trouble. Desperate trouble.

"Show me," he demanded, stepping closer to the distraught farmer and ignoring the murmurs of alarm that his request sent rippling through the crowd. "Show me exactly what you found."

"No, no - it's too dangerous," the preist interjected gently. "Whatever it is out there, it's more than a few unarmed men can handle. Let me send to Calea for troops. King Paleartes will help us, I know he will."

"Calea is two days away," Iolaus pointed out, his gaze still fixed on the farmer and his distraught wife. Lathius was considering the request, his face troubled and his eyes haunted by what he'd seen. "It would take another three for troops to arrive, even if the King sent them straight away. If you won't take me," he offered, "at least point me in the right direction so I can find it. Look, I'm a hunter." He turned his entreaty towards the priest, who was frowning worriedly. "I can take a look at the ground, at the tracks ...." Iolaus took a steadying breath; he wasn't going to convince anyone he might be able to help if he couldn't get the shake out of his voice. "This is Hercules we're talking about here. If there's something around here that got the better of him, then all the troops in the world aren't going to help you people. We need to know what's happened. What's really happened. Please," he went on, turning back to Lathius, who'd understand that need only too well "if he's dead, I still have to find him. I have to know. And if he's not - if he's hurt and in trouble, well …"

"I'll take you." The farmer reached to gently disentangle his wife, handing her over to the other woman in the group and calming her panicked hands as they clung to him. "He's right, Arenna. We have to know. I'll be careful, I promise. Go home. Take care of the baby. I'll be back before you know I've gone."

The woman nodded tearfully - then reached forward and caught at Iolaus' arm. "He promised," she sobbed, her fingers tightening with painful pressure. "He promised Timeon would be fine …"

Iolaus looked down at the bruising contact, then up at her agitated face. His heart turned over, knowing that his friend would have made that promise with every confidence and without a second's thought. What's happened to you, Herc? he wondered, staring at the woman and sympathising with her distress. He knew what it was like to lose a child. "Hercules doesn't break a promise lightly," he said, knowing it wasn't much reassurance but wanting to offer what he could. "I don't know what's happened - but I'm going to find out."