…thirty nine.

There was a jagged edge to the rock, right at the upper lip of the low roof cavern.

Forty.

Tendrils of the softly glowing lichen curled over that edge like fingers of torn and twisted fur.

Forty one.

Water was gathering on the lichen’s surface, the weight of it slowly pooling out, forming a tear shaped droplet that shimmered like liquid silver against the dark texture of the rock.

Forty two.

When the weight of water grew too much the droplet would break away, dripping down to splash against the platters of fungus that lay beneath. Each drip’s descent was marked by a sudden flash of light, a brief sparkle of defiant life dashed to nothingness on the merciless surface beneath.

Forty three.

Hercules was counting the flashes, using those minute sparkles as a point of focus, using each one as a trigger to draw in a slow, juddering breath

Forty four.

The wait between each descending drip was interminable, an agonising moment of expectation – but each descent was torture in itself, an incessant, inescapable assault.

Forty five.

There was nothing in his world but those fleeting, ephemeral flashes. They filled his senses, echoed his heart beat, and counterpointed the constant pulse of the pain.

Forty six.

Pain. He was immersed in it, devoured and digested by it. It had eaten its way through his shoulder, down his arm, across his back and into his legs. Now it was busy working its way back again, up through his stomach, raking its way across his heart and lungs. Rest had not been his answer; each moment that passed had added to his torment, devouring his strength and heightening his agony. There’d been a time when he’d lifted the weight of giants with ease; now each breath was a greater struggle, a battle between force of will, flagging strength and an unwilling body. It hurt to draw breath.

But he knew that to stop – to surrender to the protest and give up the fight – was not an option. If he gave up, he’d die – and he wasn’t prepared to do that. Not here. Not yet.

Forty seven.

So he sat and he watched and he counted the flashes, knowing that each number, each one that fell, measured the progress of his journey from life to death.

"Hercules?" Timeon asked, his voice hushed and shaky with fear.

"Yes?" Once the boy had tipped the last of the eggs out of the refuge, he’d crawled into the shelter of his company’s arm; his body was pressed close, a swathe of warmth against the ice cold fire that shivered through the demi-god’s frame.

"Nobody’s going to come, are they."

The statement was offered with tentative expectation; it wasn’t a question, but the boy was still wanting it to be denied, was looking for reassurance and hope, even if that hope was a lie.

No … Hercules knew the answer. Timeon was right. Nobody would come. Nobody would be crazy enough to look for them in the depths of the nest, risking their own life on the fragile chance that there might still be someone alive down here.

Yes … He knew that answer too. He wanted to deny it. Wanted to believe that hope was beyond question – and yet it lingered, a fragile, tenuous thing, held in his heart by an awed, and wondrous lifeline. One that lay anchored in a deep and unshakeable sense of faith.

He could make no promises. Would make no promises; Iolaus would be a fool to even venture into the nest, let alone hope to find his injured partner, deep below ground and surrounded by armed and armoured warriors. The ants would tear him to pieces long before he reached the buried nursery. The son of Zeus knew he would not be seeing his partner again – not this side of the eternal veil at least. And yet, and yet …

"No. Nobody’s going to come, Timeon. I’m sorry." He wouldn’t lie to the boy. It would be cruel to fan his flames of hope, only to have them extinguished by bitter reality. He’d already failed him; he wouldn’t compound that failure with deceit. "If I hadn’t been hurt …"

A foolish if – if he hadn’t been poisoned, he’d have fought the second ant the same way he had the first. He wouldn’t be down here at all – and Timeon would still be trapped, still waiting, hopelessly, for the nightmare to come to an end.

"There’s no hope, is there." The boy’s voice was bleak. "I mean – you’re Hercules, right? If you can’t – can’t – " He broke off with a desperate sob, burying his face in the hero’s shirt as he fought for self control. His body shook, and Hercules gathered him up with what little strength he could spare, holding him close and fighting back his own tears. He could resign himself to his fate; could accept that, this time, he’d not had the winning hand in the fight. It had been bound to happen sooner or later – that he would come up against something that not even his divine heritage could overcome – but it just wasn’t fair on the boy. Timeon was an innocent in all of this. He’d not sought this fate.

Anymore than would have the rest of the innocents who would fall victim to the ants once they flew the nest.

Demeter should have warned me …

Trouble she’d said. Nothing specific, nothing with any detail. Just – trouble. This was trouble all right. Trouble, as Iolaus had so eloquently put it, with a capital T.

"Listen," he breathed, lifting himself up with a shaky effort and reaching to turn the boy’s head so he could look into his eyes. "Just because I’m not going to make it, doesn’t mean you won’t, okay? You’ve got a chance, Timeon. Not much of one, but – better than I have. You’re small. You can creep into places the ants can’t reach. You can stay one step ahead of them. Stay alive. You hear me?"

Brown eyes stared into his; wide, frightened eyes, glistening with fearful tears and backed with a tremor of panic. "No," Timeon whispered, pressing close, shivering all the way to his soul. "I can’t. I won’t. I – I couldn’t…"

"Yes, you can." Hercules forced himself to keep his voice steady. This was one battle he had to win. "Timeon – being brave isn’t anything to do with how tall or strong you are. It’s all to do with the strength of your heart. Not giving up. Not giving in."

"But – "

"No buts." He didn’t have the energy for this; his head rolled back and he struggled for breath, grimacing impatience at his own failing strength, at the fire which was flickering through his senses. "Remember how you told me about your soldiers? About how’d named them after the bravest heroes in Greece?"

"Yeah." Timeon sat up, his hand reaching to drag the bag that contained his precious toys a little closer to his side. "I got you – and Ajax, and .. and Achilles …"

Hercules’ smile was a wry one; he remembered Achilles only too well. His thoughtless arrogance had nearly gotten Iolaus killed, that cold bleak day on the Hissarlik plain. "Yes, I know, but – there’s someone you’ve missed. Someone braver than – all of those people put together."

He had the youngster’s attention now; Timeon’s eyes had got a little wider, but not with fear.

"Braver even than Jason? Braver than you?" His note of disbelief held astonishment. That’s impossible …

"Yeah," Hercules gasped, half laugh, half breath of pain. "Braver than me. Much braver. And you know something?"

"What?"

"When he was your age? He was this – scrawny, itty bitty little kid. Nothing to him. All the other kids used to try to push him around. Because he was so small."

"That’s mean," Timeon pouted. "Dad always says I should look out for kids smaller than I am."

"You should. I always did. But then – " He managed a conspiratorial grin. "Nearly everybody’s smaller than I am."

The boy actually laughed; a small gulp of sound quickly swallowed, but definitely a laugh. "Guess they are," he agreed.

"You see, " Hercules went on, finding focus in his story, using it to drive away the lurking darkness. "The bullies knew I could defend myself – even though I didn’t want to fight them, I could – so they only ever called me names and things like that. But Iolaus – he was always getting into trouble. They’d trip him up, bump into him, knock him down – that sort of thing. And laugh at him. He didn’t like being laughed at."

"But that’s really mean. A small kid can’t fight back …"

"Iolaus did." The smile that went with that statement held warmth and affectionate memory. "You know what he found out?"

"No."

"That – sometimes – being small can be an advantage. He was faster on his feet. Less of a target. And he could get into places the bigger kids couldn’t reach. Got him into more mischief too, but – that’s a habit he’s never been able to get out of."

"And he grew up to be a hero?"

"Well," Hercules chuckled softly. "Hero – yeah. Grow up? That I’m not so sure about. The bad guys and the monsters? They always underestimate him. But I never do." He paused to wrestle for breath, his eyes growing thoughtful and his expression distant. "He never gives up, Timeon. No matter what the odds, no matter how hurt, or desperate … If there’s a way – Iolaus is the one to find it."

If I miss-time this jump …

Iolaus shook the thought from his head with a moment of self annoyance. He couldn’t afford that kind of thinking. If he missed, he missed – but then he wasn’t going to miss. He couldn’t. Too much depended on him getting this just right.

Including his own safety, because if he did miss …

Whoa, he told himself sternly. Don’t think. Don’t go there. Just do this. You can do this.

He took a deep breath, leaning out from his perch to stare down at the worker ant which was now busy stripping bark from the tree. It was right below him, reared up a little so that it could reach the tattered edges left from where previous workers had harvested the tree. That temptation was one of the reasons the hunter had chose this particular tree – along with its closeness to the nest, and the fact that it could be reached by climbing a completely different tree further back on the trail. Theodourus’ escape route. The hunter’s eyes flicked from the ant up to where the entertainer now crouched, ready to scramble down the tilted trunk of the toppled pine whose fall had been intercepted by the far larger oak.

"Ready?" he hissed. The man nodded nervously. "Okay. On three. Three."

Iolaus jumped.

Straight down, dropping like a stone. One moment he was up in the tree – and the next he’d landed, right where he wanted to be – which was astride the startled ant’s curving thorax, his feet hastily locking under the joints of the creature’s forelegs and his body arching forward so that he could reach out and grab the base of the feathery antenna.

The ant reared up in alarm, and the hunter hurriedly tightened his grip, clamping himself in place and hanging on for dear life. This wasn’t like riding a horse – not even an unbroken, unbridled one; he was clinging to a creature which could twist and bend in practically all directions. It jerked and shook and spun on the spot, bucking and dancing under him, its head turning one way and its body the other. He held on with determination, fighting – not just the desperate effort to dislodge him, but the overwhelming desire to choke and gag from the cloying sweet sour scent of the creature.

Gods. This is worse than wrestling a gidhra …

The surface beneath him had looked pretty glossy and smooth from a distance. Contact was demonstrating otherwise; the ant’s body wasn’t just hard and shell like – it was also covered in a carpet of short coarse hairs, each one jutting up from a pattern of distorted ridges. The effect was rather like trying to cling to a giant bristle brush; one that was determined to shake him off. Each hair ended in a sharp, unforgiving point and, by pushing himself closer, he was busy impaling himself in innumerable places. Stinging pain raked across his arms and chest, the bucking, twisting movement of his steed raising narrow, angry welts as the prickly surface shifted beneath him. His hands were bleeding, and he was losing his grip.

Hold on, Iolaus. Just hold on …

The ant had begun trilling in distress, a high pitched, ear peircing note which filled the air with insistent sound. The hunter ducked his head closer to the rough, ridged surface of his steed’s outer shell and winced, gritting his teeth as the noise hammered through his skull. He hadn’t counted on the thing calling for help. He had no doubt something would pay attention, and soon; he just had to hope that soon would still prove long enough for his audacious plan to work.

Just a little longer …

His time ran out. The ant reared up, twisted round, and then plunged its head forward with a savage jerk. His feet were tugged from their uncertain anchorage points. His hands held for a little longer – and then he was tumbling, tossed straight over the creature’s head and falling barely inches from the angry clash of its shear like jaws.

"Whooaaooahhh!"

Iolaus landed with a bone jarring thump, flat on his back in the middle of a nettle patch. All the breath went out of him with a gasp and he lay there for a long moment, utterly disorientated. The dark shape of an ant loomed over him – and then another, a much larger shape, one that came complete with a huge armoured head and a whole series of sharp edged, saliva dripping weaponry jutting from its mouth. The hunter held his breath, keeping himself utterly still as the warrior ant dipped its head in his direction.

Oh gods …

This one smelt worse than the worker did. A waft of acrid, eye stinging air washed over him as the monster moved closer. He locked every muscle, not daring to move, seriously regretting the moment’s breath which had answered his lung’s demand for air, since all it had done was fill his chest with the burning, gut churning odour of ant at close quarters.

Long, angled antenna reached down, poking at him with curious caution. Their feathery surface brushed across him, tasting him, feeling him out, just as they’d done to the workers which had descended into the nest. Iolaus endured the creature’s investigation, trying not to react as it stirred the damage to his skin. He just had to hope that the scent he’d picked up on that wild ride was stronger than the scent of his blood.

Look, I’m an ant, okay?

He found himself glaring at the thing as it made its inspection, willing it to accept what it found, adding a level of stubborn determination to his makeshift deception.

Maybe a little on the small side, a few legs short – but I smell like an ant, so I gotta be an ant – right?

Right?

The creature chirruped once, then made a weird whistling sound, jerking its head up and round, nudging the lurking worker with what almost looked like disdain. The worker whistled back plaintively. The warrior repeated its nudge, a little more forcefully and then the both of them simply turned away, leaving the hunter shivering with relief and gulping in mouthfuls of sweet fresh air.

Phew …

He was a little surprised to find that his plan had actually worked. There’d always been a chance that – even soaked with the worker’s scent – he might have been recognised as a threat. Or as food – which was a possibility he really didn’t want to think about.

He waited long enough to be certain that the ants hadn’t changed their mind before leaping back to his feet. A quick glance up into the oak tree confirmed that Theodorus no longer lurked in its branches; Iolaus hoped that the entertainer had followed orders and was, even now, hot footing it towards Ytarsia. That part of the plan seemed to be under control. The rest of it was up to him – and all he had to do was make his way down into the nest, find Hercules and the missing boy and get all of them back to the surface before dawn.

No problem …

Iolaus chuckled softly to himself, pausing to scrub an abstracted hand across the shoulder which had been deepest in the nettle patch; his upper body was a tingle of protesting pain – none of it serious, but all of it demanding attention in the most insistent way possible. The damage to his hands was the worst of it and he ripped up a bunch of dock leaves as he waded through the undergrowth, wrapping them around his palms and using them to staunch the flow of blood. If he’d had a little more time, then he might have looked for something a little more effective – but time was not on his side. Besides, he didn’t want to confuse his new status as ‘ant’ by adding anything else to the mix of scents. While he was still on the surface he had the option of taking to his heels should things start to go wrong; once he’d descended into the dark, there’d be nowhere to run to.

Dark …

The thought gave him reason to pause for a moment, one foot poised on the mound of hard packed earth that surrounded the entrance to the nest. He was heading underground and was going to need some kind of light – but a torch was totally out of the question, even if he had the time and the materials to construct one. Wandering around with a naked flame in his hand would almost certainly alarm the ants and turn him back into a threat, no matter what he smelt like.

Should have thought of this before.

He had no great love for confined spaces as a rule; dark confined spaces fell even lower in the list of places he felt comfortable in. The prospect of descending into the nest, bereft of light and with the weight of the earth pressing in on all sides, sent a sudden and disconcerted shudder down his spine.

An ant raised its high pitched voice somewhere close by – just as something touched his shoulder from behind. Iolaus nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Woah!" Somehow he managed not to leap five feet in the air and scramble hastily away – which was what every instinct was demanding he do. He turned round instead, to find a worker ant, waiting patiently to climb past him up the mound. It tapped at him again and he stepped warily out of its way, watching as it walked up to be challenged by the soldier ants on guard at the entrance. It was carrying what looked (and smelt) like the haunch of a deer which had been dead for several days.

On its way to the larder, I guess …

Two things immediately struck him; the first was a shivery which is probably where I want to go, and the second was the pattern of faintly gleaming patches which clung to the underside of creature’s bloated abdomen. There were tiny clumps of some kind of moss or lichen stuck to the coarse hairs of its skin – and they were glowing, emitting a soft light which was only just discernible against the dark surface which supported them.

The observation would have been missed by most people, and for many of those who might have noticed there would have been little of significance in a few crusty patches of moss - but Iolaus was not most people; he knew immediately what he was looking at, and broke into a gratified grin. It looked as if Fortune was on his side that day – and he mentally sent the appropriate thanks to the goddess concerned, just in case she’d made it a personal intervention.

That’s my guide …

He hastily scrambled after the encumbered ant, catching up with it just as the inspecting guard finished with it. "I’m – ah – with him," the hunter quipped, stepping in close enough to touch the creature’s front right leg. The soldier ant hesitated, its antennae waving back across the worker as if sensing something amiss – then it turned away, and Iolaus heaved a huge sigh of relief. "That was easy," he remarked, patting at the worker’s shoulder in a moment of abstracted bravado. The ant’s head swung back in his direction, blood dripping from the hunk of meat which dangled from its jaws. "Uh – yeah," he immediately realised, hastily retrieving his hand and grimacing at his own recklessness. "You - you got work to do. Right. Carry on." He waved the beast back to work and, much to his relief, it did just that, turning back to its appointed task, and stepping forward to begin its descent into the nest.

Taking one last glance at the now fading daylight, Iolaus drew in a deep breath – and followed it down into the dark.