Jumping to conclusions. Part Three Pythia

He never did know what woke him; it might have been some blind instinct for trouble, stirring him from well earned sleep; it may have been a whispered voice, one of his more caring relatives pausing to drop a well intended warning of danger - or perhaps some aspect of his divine blood gave him a subconscious awareness whenever a close friend invoked his name in prayer. Whatever the reason, Hercules woke; woke to a darkened room and the first soft streaks of light in the sky.

Iolaus is in trouble.

There was no rhyme, no reason to the thought - just a crystal clear awareness of desperation and need. He lay for moment, caught in the realisation, then tumbled out of bed in alarm, snatching for his clothes and flinging open the shutters to catch a glimpse of the world outside.

What he saw only served to add to his sense of urgency. It wasn’t dawn that was busy painting that soft warm light over the world.

The House of Elysium was on fire.

Gods!

He kicked into his pants, dragged on his boots, and snatched up his gauntlets, abandoning the rest in favour of speed. The door went back with a bang as he charged through it, the noise shaking the entire inn from roof to foundations. "Nathan!" he called, hammering on the innkeeper’s door with desperate urgency. "Nathan!" A moment later Nathan appeared, clutching his night shirt around him and blinking sleepily at the unwelcome disturbance.

"Hercules? It’s the middle of the night ..."

"I know. I know. The House - the one on the hill - it’s ablaze. There may be people trapped ..."

"Gods! Helena ... The girls!" The innkeeper was suddenly wide awake. He strode past the anxious hero to knock hurriedly on the door next to his. "Clellus! Clellus!"

The boy peered out of the opening, as bleary eyed as his father had been. "Uh?" he questioned incoherently.

"Get dressed," Nathan ordered sharply. "Hurry. We have to rouse the watch. There’s a fire. Hercules - "

"I’ve gone," the son of Zeus announced, heading down the stairs two at a time. "Catch up with me!"

A flurry of rain smacked him across the face as he hurtled out of the door and charged across the darkened square. It was no longer coming down in solid sheets; instead the air was filled with a fitful, miserable mist - enough to quickly soak a half naked man, but far from enough to inhibit the roaring blaze which danced ahead of him.

He yelled out alarm as he ran, stirring a spattering of lit candles in his wake. Water splashed up underfoot, cold and bitter in the night, but he ignored it, his eyes fixed on his goal, his heart pounding in his chest. Memory was replaying the image which was seared indelibly into his mind; the scream of Hera’s fireballs as they took his family from him.

Iolaus ...

Fear leant wings to his feet. He practically flew up the hill, covering the distance almost before he knew it; he breasted the rise and then skidded to a disconcerted halt as he hit a tangible wall of heat.

Gods...

The building was well ablaze by now; flames were licking at the upper eaves and gnawed hungrily across the frontage, rimming it with lurid, flickering light. Smoke billowed from the second story windows and the rain was hissing into steam as soon as it hit the burning, heated surfaces. Hercules cast a quick glance around, hoping that the residents of the House had already made their escape. There was no sign of any women - and no tousled haired hunter either. Just six figures, silhouetted against the night and watching the spectacle with delight.

Jantis!

The young man stood out, even among his friends; he was laughing, bringing his arm back to throw something against the wall of the burning building. There was a sound of breaking pottery and a sudden flurry of flame where the object had hit.

"Yes!" the little group crowed, celebrating the successful impact with a shared shimmy and a slapping of hands. The next thing they knew, they were sprawled across the rain soaked ground, a furious demi-god glaring down at them.

"Having a good time, boys?" he asked tightly. Jantis blinked up at him, rolling back with a drunken chuckle.

"Sure," he declared happily. "You know, when you have good ideas, you have good ideas."

"What?" Hercules - who’d been busy fighting the temptation to slap them all down again, stared at him, utterly aghast. The young man didn’t seem to have noticed his reaction.

"Yup," he went on with relish. "Burn the whole place down. Best thing you said. Deal with the cause of the problem ..." He hiccuped tipsily and burst out laughing. Most of his gang followed suit.

The son of Zeus went pale beneath his tan.

"By the gods ..." he breathed, staring at the group with a mix of shock and horror in his eyes. Somewhere in the burning building a timber cracked loudly, the sound ringing out through the night. It was followed by a terrified shriek. Shock gave way to tight fury; Hercules thrust his forefinger at Jantis with a gesture that brooked no argument. "Stay there," he growled. "I’ll deal with you when I’m done with this. And don’t try to sneak away," he added as he turned and strode towards the waiting inferno. "Because I’ll find you. No matter where, no matter what - I’ll find you!"

It was seven steps to the door; each one took him deeper into that wall of heat, painting his naked torso with sweat and searing the surface of his skin. Once there, he could immediately see why no-one had used that route to escape the blaze. Someone - and he had a good idea who - had jammed a heavy balk of timber across the porch, turning the already solid door into an impassible barrier. It must have taken three or more of them to lift it into place; he tore it free without a moment’s thought, took one step back - and kicked the door completely off its hinges.

Smoke billowed out, acrid, thick and black. Flame flickered after it as fresh air hit the wood panels which lined the outer lobby. Hercules ignored them both, plunging in with determination. The air was filled with the roar and crackle of flame, but - over it - he could hear the soft sobs of frightened souls coming from somewhere inside the building.

He crossed the tiled floor at a run, briefly distracted by the figures which loomed out of the smoke beside the inner archway. Their gilded surfaces were crackled and melting in the heat, revealing the wood beneath. One glance was enough to reassure him that these were not living women; he headed further in, tugging down the flame edged curtain which barred his way and tossing it aside.

The high roofed common room was aswirl with smoke and he put up both hands, breathing into his palms to keep the choking fumes out of his lungs. Fire danced along the edges of the upper balcony and had started to paint the lower staircase with flame. One of the candelabras had fallen, smashing the gaming tables below it to splinters; the others were threatening to join it, the ropes which held them aloft being eaten away from above.

Am I too late?

There was no immediate sign of life in the huge hall. Just a large misshapen lump lying in the middle of the tiled floor. Hercules took a cautious step forward, wondering why anyone would leave a pile of rugs stacked up like that - and then realised that there was movement beneath the weave, moves which matched the soft muffled sobs which he’d been hearing.

Thank the gods ...

It was only a few short strides to reach the flimsy refuge. He dropped to his knees, bent low to the floor and tugged up one edge, trying not to let too much smoke swirl in as he did so. A whisper of cooler air flowed out instead, along with a gulp of terror and a delicate hand, which groped to retrieve the rug.

"It’s okay," he gasped, catching at the slender wrist and dropping even lower to cast a glance under the protective covers. "I’m Hercules. I’m here to get you out."

There was cooler air blowing out from under the rugs, although he couldn’t figure why that might be; a glitter of wide, terrified eyes stared out at him, several of the women practically hysterical from fear.

"Out?" the young woman whose wrist he’d grabbed looked at him as if he had two heads. "We can’t get out. The doors are jammed. The doors are jammed ..."

"Not any more," he announced, wincing as he heard another of the candelabras hit the floor somewhere to his left. "It’s a straight run - out the arch and through the door. Don’t be afraid. The flames won’t touch you if you run fast."

"I can’t," came the terrified answer. "I can’t!"

"Yes,you can," another voice said from further back. "You all can. Do you hear me? We’re all going to get out of here. Iolaus promised, remember? We’re all going to get out."

Iolaus ...

A sense of relief fluttered across a half immortal heart; his partner wasn’t lost. Not yet at any rate.

"Is he with you?" Hercules asked, his beleaguered lungs benefiting from the cleaner air which was billowing out from under the rugs. "Buddy - are you in there?"

"No," the owner of the calmest voice responded, fighting down a decided tremor. "No. He tucked us in and went to find the kids. They were - upstairs. Up in the attics."

The flutter of relief became one of anxious terror.

Upstairs?

Hercules glanced up, desperately trying to see through the heavy veil of smoke. The balcony was a dance of flame and burning timbers had begun to tumble from the outer rail. One landed close by, hitting the tiles with a crack. Too close for comfort. If he didn’t get the women out now, then their unlikely refuge would soon become a death trap.

"You’ve got to go," he urged, desperately pushing concern and fear to the back of his mind. Iolaus could take care of himself. These frightened, hysterical women had to be his first priority. "One, two at a time. Come on. You can do it."

They didn’t want to move, and he didn’t really blame them. There would be a sense of security under the rugs, where the air was merely tainted with smoke and not thick with it; where you could pretend that the heat on your back was merely the result of being covered up and not because the world around you was being consumed with flame. But if they stayed there they would die.

And soon.

"Come on," he encouraged, offering them as warm and as reassuring a smile as he could manage. Iolaus had once told him that - because of his divine blood - he possessed an aura which helped calm people’s fears and strengthen their hearts. He’d never entirely believed that theory; he rather suspected that the way people reacted to him had a lot more to do with his build, his looks and his reputation than any semi-mystical ‘aura’ which nobody could see and only Iolaus claimed to have noticed. Whether that was the case or not, the smile worked wonders. The young woman whose wrist still lay within the circle of his hand crept forward, trembling with fear. Another moved behind her. Both of them were wearing little more than drapes of silk and their feet were bare.

"All right," he told them, keeping them under the drape of the rug for as long as he dared. "Take a few deep breaths of this cleaner air and - when I tell you to - stand up and run for the door as fast as you can, okay? Don’t look back - and don’t stop, whatever happens. Your friends will be right behind you."

Mine too, I hope, he couldn’t help adding to himself, taking another hasty glance at the burning stairway. There was still no sign of life up there.

They did as they were told. A few quick gulps of air and they were ready; he gave them the nod and they were gone, hunching their hands over their heads and balking only briefly at the flame wreathed archway. "Next," Hercules requested, lifting the rug back up again. The heat in the air was searing into his lungs and his eyes were streaming from the smoke. If it wasn’t for the cooler air gathered under the carpeting he’d have been in serious danger of collapse.

Two more went, then two more after that. There were fourteen women huddled under the protective layers and he moved them out as fast as he could, praying that they’d all get out before the building came down on top of them. They passed in smoke shrouded blur, a panic of scantily clad figures streaming out into the rain misted night. Their escape was punctuated by the crackle of burning wood and creaking timbers; the last of the candelabra fell just as the twelfth figure started her run. She shrieked and quickened her pace, vanishing into the swirl of smoke which now cloaked the escape route.

An elegant hand touched Hercules’ upper arm. "We’re the last. You’d better be right after us."

He dipped down under the rug to catch another much needed breath and found himself face to face with a much older woman, her eyes a soft gleam in the dim light. "I won’t be long," he assured her, unable to help the automatic upward glance although he had no chance of seeing anything through three layers of rug. "I just need to know - "

"Hey!" The cry was distant and the throat that voiced it was raw with smoke and heat - but he knew that voice. Knew it with a heart leaping certainty that lifted him straight to his feet. Rugs scattered in all directions and the air in the hypercaust - no longer contained under the weight of woven fabric - roared up into the room, fanning the flames into a frenzy.

"Go," Hercules commanded, sending the remaining women hurtling towards safety, the younger of the two screaming in total panic as the older woman dragged her away. The son of Zeus was already running in the opposite direction - towards the stairs and the source of that barely heard cry.

"Iolaus!" he yelled, heedless of the way the heat in the air ripped into his lungs. The sudden upwards draft had taken a lot of the smoke with it; he found himself staring up the stairway, each tread glowing with red hot intensity.

"Herc?" The question held a note akin to disbelief. It was followed by a raw and hacking cough.

"Down here!" He’d finally spotted him; the hunter was lurking halfway up the second staircase, wreathed in smoke and practically black with soot. There were three more figures with him, clinging desperately to his crouching frame. Iolaus had his arms round all three children, holding them with a comfort he’d probably expected to be their last. "Hurry!"

The look this elicited was wide eyed and incredulous; it said what in Tarterus do you think I’ve been doing? and Hercules grimaced back the usual apology for stating the obvious - again.

"Suggestions would be welcome," Iolaus called down, wincing and crouching a little lower as a whole piece of the balcony gave way over by the fireplace. The room was brightly lit by now; the fresh inrush of air had turned the blaze into a roaring inferno. Hercules put out a foot and tentatively tested the lower staircase. It creaked, groaned - and then collapsed completely, leaving nothing but a heap of scattered, flaming timbers, a shower of sparks, and a gaping hole where it used to be.

"Don’t try the stairs," he advised, backing off from the sudden flare of heat.

"Right," Iolaus acknowledged, fighting down a coughing fit. The children were crying, long low keens of misery. "Good tip." He paused, wrestling for breath, his eyes darting this way and that as he weighed up his options. "Say - Herc?"

"Yeah?" Hercules had kicked away some of the debris and moved to stand below him, looking up through the shimmering heat filled air with a sense of frustrated helplessness. So close - and so completely out of reach.

I could probably jump that distance ...

Except that wouldn’t help the situation in the slightest - and he had no guarantees that the upper floor wouldn’t just collapse under the extra weight.

"If I throw - can you catch?"

Iolaus was nodding down at the children, his intention perfectly clear. Save them, even if you can’t save me ...

Hercules felt a cold shiver run right through him. This can’t be happening. There has to be some way ... "Yeah," he found himself agreeing, his voice remarkably calm. Inside he was howling denial, his eyes fixed on the slight figure above him, committing every moment to memory, devouring every second because it might turn out be the last. "Quick as you can."

Iolaus stood up, galvanising into action before any of the children could realise his intention. The smallest came first, a shriek of surprise as she hurtled downwards. Hercules caught her easily, swinging her round onto his back as he reached to intercept the next descent. The boy was right behind the second girl and he caught him too, a well fielded catch with first one hand and then the other.

The upper stairway creaked ominously, sending the hunter scurrying upwards and ripping a howl of terrified denial from a half god’s smoke scoured throat. "Nooo!!" he cried, taking a half step forward and then staggering back as pieces of the burning balcony crashed down around him.

"Get outta here, Herc!" he heard Iolaus yell, as much order as it was advice. There were frightened children clinging to his shoulders, their fingers sinking into his skin like claws; flames were everywhere, driving him back, the smoke and the heat sending his senses swimming. "Save the kids. Save yourself ..."

The man’s voice was lost in the sudden roar and anger of the rising flame. His heart breaking, his soul refusing to believe his betrayal, Hercules turned and ran for the door, leaving his best friend to the mercy of the fire ...

At least I saved the children ...

Iolaus clung to that thought as he crawled dizzily up the attic stair case and along the narrow passage which, only a few short moments before, he had been rushing down in the opposite direction. There was a barely breathable layer of air, right next to the wooden floor and he inched along in it, feeling the heat strike up through the boards and knowing that it wouldn’t be long before they burned right through. Below him, he could hear the collapse of the second story, timbers crunching down through fire scoured surfaces along with the crack of shattering pottery and breaking tiles.

Won’t be long, I guess.

The House had gone up like a torch. It had taken only moments to rouse the residents from their beds and herd them downstairs so that they could make their escape - only to find both front and back doors barred - and by then the lower floor had been well alight, filling the place with smoke and sending everyone into a panic. It had been sheer luck that he’d remembered about the hypercaust; Helena had got everyone gathering the rugs while he’d hacked through the floor tiles to access the sweeter inrush of air. The growing heat had been drawing it in, and he got them all to huddle over the flow, hoping that it would buy them time until someone came.

Someone like Hercules ...

He managed a grimaced grin, his face contorting with pain and effort as he dragged himself forward. He remembered hammering fruitlessly on the blocked door, kicking and slamming his shoulder against it again and again without effect. Had he called his partner’s name during that pointless effort? Had it been then, or afterwards, when he’d let himself slide down the polished wood, the tears of frustration and terror springing to his eyes? He’d never liked the feeling of being trapped; to find himself trapped inside a burning building with a dozen or more lives depending on his actions, had almost been more than he could bear.

Almost - but not quite. Surrender was not a word that belonged in his vocabulary - not connected to him, at any rate. He’d picked himself up, sent a little prayer to anyone who might have been listening to send someone, soon, and then headed back to do what little he could in the circumstances.

Guess someone heard me.

Maybe even Hercules himself. Iolaus wouldn’t put it past his semi-divine friend to have the ability to hear such a desperate supplication. He half hoped he could hear him now, still struggling to escape the inevitable, wanting his partner to know - needing him to know - that he had done everything he could. That - if he didn’t make it - Hercules would be wrong to eat himself up with guilt over being unable to save him. The children had been the right choice. The only choice.

My choice ...

His groping fingers found a door ahead of him and he pushed it open, feeling the smoke surge overhead as it swirled in to the space beyond. The world danced around him in a shimmer of heat and flame; he could barely see, and he was fighting for breath, his lungs screaming at each intake of scalding air.

Why not, he asked himself, grimacing as he hauled himself inch by inch across the floor, just let go, huh? The smoke’ll smother you long before the flames get here.

"Yeah, right," he coughed, over what was probably a hysterical giggle. Give up? Like that was ever going to happen ...

He’d lost track of time and distance. When he reached the wall he went on crawling, too blinded by smoke to see where his path was taking him, too dazed by the heat to realise where he might be. It was only when his groping fingers found open space beneath them that he lurched to a halt, blinking desperately for vision and wondering why he seemed to be getting wet.

Rain, he registered, frowning at the picture that painted. The roof fell in and I didn’t notice?

He blinked a little harder and suddenly things swam into semi-focus. The roof hadn’t fallen - not yet at any rate. Instead he was lying at the edge of it, peering straight down at the ground, which seemed to be lit by a lurid, dancing light and was covered in shifting shadows.

He risked a glance over his shoulder. The attic room had had a window - and he must have crawled straight out of it onto the thatch. Which, he now noticed, was oozing smoke despite the fact that its surface was sodden from the rain.

"This," he muttered to no-one in particular, "is not a safe place to be."

There was only one place left to go. And that was down. Straight down, three stories worth, onto unforgiving ground without a chance to judge the softest landing place.

So, he wondered, peering down through smoke scoured eyes, do I sit here until the fire gets me, or do I jump?

His world was little more than blurred patterns of light and dark; dark mostly, a veil of shadows through which the occasional patch of lurid colour danced without substance or form. Somewhere behind him something gave way with a tearing, agonised creak of pain. The prickly surface on which he lay sprawled shifted and tipped, threatening to follow suit. Heat billowed up behind him, a fresh assault on his senses. There wasn’t really a choice - and he’d run out of time to make it anyway.

Iolaus stood up, unaware of the way it raised his silhouette against the sky, a heat shimmered figure outlined by dancing flame. He didn’t hear the sudden mutter of voices, or see the way the crowd below stirred into movement; he knew nothing but the moment, wrapped in fire, balanced between light and dark, between certain death and uncertain chance. He closed his eyes, reaching deep down inside himself to find that point of utter focus his master had taught him to find, lifted his arms, committed his soul to the fates -

Not just a pace off the roof, a blind step into nowhere, as likely to spill him back into the flames as it was to save him, but a determined leap; he sprang out into the air, pushing off with all his strength, riding the upwards rush of the burning air until gravity took over and pulled him down. If he was going, he was going in style; his dive traced a perfect outward arc, his arms out stretched for balance and his body curved to catch the air.

He felt the world race past him, an exhilarating rush that ripped the heat from his body and set his heart pounding in his chest. If he’d had breath to spare he would have whooped out loud as he gave himself up to the moment, reveling in it; for that one, perfect second, he was flying - and it didn’t matter if the one that followed meant death or crippling pain. He had caught, in that instant, a glimpse of the truth which lurks behind the great illusion. That it was fear of death which killed the soul, not death itself. He wasn’t afraid. There was a lot he knew he’d miss, but very little that was cause for regret. Life was for living. He lived it; seized it; accepted it.

He’d never felt so much alive.

The ground came up to meet him, hurtling towards him with grim inevitability. The moment stretched into forever ...

... and then time came back with a rush, what little air he had left in his lungs expelled in a startled oof that shook his entire frame. The ground was still a blurry distance away. There were arms around him, strong arms which had caught and cradled him. He was pulled into a desperate embrace, held and supported there by a strength which could move the world.

Dazed, disorientated, and decidedly surprised that he was still alive, he rolled his head back, recognising the familiar features that danced in and out of focus only a few inches from his own. "Good catch," he noted, attempting a grateful grin. Darkness surged in from all directions.

And everything went black.

It’s okay. It’s okay. He’s only fainted ...

Hercules stood for a moment, his arms locked tightly around his partner’s frame, the blond crowned head resting comfortably on his shoulder. He could nothing but listen; listen to the soft ragged sound of the man’s breathing, and to the softer thump of a hero’s heart beating strongly inside its owner’s chest. His own heart had been breaking as he’d stumbled out of the smoke filled doorway; for an unbearable moment it had ceased to beat entirely, lodging itself firmly in his throat as the flame rimmed figure had appeared at the edge of the roof.

And then the man had jumped and he’d moved almost without thinking, racing to intercept that foolish, fateful fall. Hercules didn’t know if Iolaus had seen him in the crowd, or even if the hunter knew that he’d escaped the fire; he’d made a leap of faith - and the son of Zeus had to be there to answer it, no matter what it cost,

It had been close. He’d been exhausted to start with, wrestling with too much smoke in his lungs and too long spent in searing heat. His vision had been blurred, his eyes stinging with pain and his perceptions dancing. But somehow he’d closed the distance, measuring the course of that elegant arc more with his heart than with anything else. Time had slowed to a crawl as he’d weaved through the startled crowd, moving with desperate, determined steps, his arms reaching out, his eyes fixed on Iolaus’ descent - and then the two of them had reached the same place at the same time, his momentum carrying him forward as he scooped the hurtling hunter out of the air.

After which he could start breathing again, pulling in the air in great gulping breaths, his lungs protesting and his whole body shaking from head to foot. A second later, a step out of place - and he’d have been lifting a broken body from the ground.

"That," he heard Nathan say from somewhere behind him, "was amazing."

Yeah. Oh, yeah ...

Hercules found himself breaking into an almost hysterical grin. It was amazing. Not the catch - hey, that was one of his specialties - but the fact that his partner had, once again, cheated certain death, snatching hope from hopelessness, taking that extra step when a lesser man would have given up long before. He turned, cradling the brother of his heart against him with a tender confidence and a sense of wild joy. The joy that Iolaus gave him every day, the joy of life - and of living it, every moment.

"You should see us on a good day," he quipped, striding across to where the hastily assembled watch had brought up a wagon, ready to receive the injured - or the dead.

None of those today, he thought gratefully, carefully perching the man in his arms on the wagon’s tailgate and letting him rest back against the side boards. Iolaus was already beginning to stir, dragged back from darkness by the bitter impact of the rain and the distress in his lungs. Thanks to you, buddy...

The hunter jerked awake - and immediately jackknifed into a hacking cough, his lungs heaving as he brought up gobbets of black phlegm and a spattering of blood. Hercules supported him gently, relieved to see some of the colour wash back across his features as he slowly regained his breath. "Easy," he advised with a warm grin. "You took in a lot of smoke."

"No..." Iolaus croaked, eyeing his partner with mock incredulity before breaking into a rasping giggle which rapidly deteriorated into yet more coughing. "Tell me," he gasped in between his desperate struggles for air, "something - I - don’t - know ... The kids!" His realisation was alarmed; Hercules held him in place with firm hands.

"They’re fine," he announced, giving the man a warning look which had him slowly subsiding back against the supporting wood. "Everyone’s fine."

The House of Elysium choose that moment to complete its collapse; it crumpled in on itself with a resounding crash. The ground shook, and a great surge of flame reached for the sky, painting the air with brilliant light before it fell back into the glowing heap of debris.

"Told you those places were dangerous," Hercules observed, returning his attention to his partner and waving abstractedly for a waterskin. Iolaus quirked a tired smile.

"So you did," he noted, his red-rimmed eyes dancing in the firelight. His face was streaked with soot, his hair was slick with moisture and ragged from the heat; blisters painted his skin and the soft black silk which clung to his legs was patterned with ragged holes where the fabric had succumbed to sparks. "Don’t think - this was - quite what you had in mind."

"No," Hercules agreed, taking the skin that Nathan pressed into his hand and offering it up to his partner’s lips. Iolaus gulped a little down and then tipped his head back so that the stream of water cooled his scalded skin. The son of Zeus let it trickle out for a while then retrieved the waterskin and took a welcome gulp of his own. "You okay?"

The hunter had closed his eyes and was concentrating on his breathing, drawing in the air with slow deliberate breaths. "Yeah," he nodded. There was a pause and then he added, softly: "Thanks."

"You’re welcome," his partner grinned, reaching to squeeze his shoulder with friendly intent. Iolaus winced and Hercules pulled his hand back as if it had been burnt. Actually, it had - but not as badly as the raw blistered skin which it had just brushed against.

"You’ll need to put something on that," a rich, contralto voice observed somewhere to his right. Hercules turned, to find himself looking at the oldest of the women he’d rescued from under the rugs. Her once carefully coiffered hair now hung in tumbled disarray around her strongly sculptured features, the dark ringlets gleaming with hints of silver in the still flickering light from the fire. She would be a striking woman in any circumstances and, even smoke streaked and half soaked from the rain, she radiated a presence it was difficult to ignore.

"Hey, Helena," Iolaus wheezed, opening one eye and greeting the woman with a grin. She grinned back.

"Hey, hero," she answered, reaching past Hercules to catch the hunter’s chin and turn his face towards her. "You look like you need another bath."

He giggled - which was a mistake, since it sparked another round of coughing. "You - volunteering?" he asked, only half in tease. She laughed, shaking her head and glancing towards Nathan who was busy handing out more of the bulging waterskins.

"I’ve already got someone lined up to scrub my back," she considered knowingly, then dropped the bantering air and moved a little closer. "You saved our lives back there, Iolaus. I just want you to know - "

"Herc was the one that got you out," Iolaus corrected her, his voice weary and his look resigned. Helena glanced from one hero to the other and her lips creased in a determined frown.

"I know," she said. "And believe me, we’re grateful. But you were the one that recognised the danger, roused us from our beds, remembered about the hypercaust - went back for the children. Don’t sell yourself short, hero. If you didn’t have a place in the real Elysium before - then you’ve earned yourself one tonight."

Tonight and many other nights, Hercules thought to himself, then announced, a little more fiercely than perhaps he’d been intending: "He can earn as many places as he likes. Just as long as he doesn’t end up claiming one. Not until I can get Hades to owe me another favour or two," he added, softening his voice and dipping away from the look in his best friend’s eyes. Iolaus put out his right arm and casually draped its weight over the demi-god’s shoulder.

"Helena," he grinned, surreptitiously flicking his thumb at the back of Hercules’ neck in teasing acknowledgement of heartfelt sentiment which he’d just expressed, "meet my best friend. Hercules. Who may be the son of Zeus, but just has to keep reminding me that I’m as mortal as the next guy."

You scared me back there, buddy ...

Iolaus knew that. What he didn’t know was that his partner was the one responsible for putting him in danger in the first place.

Helena was smiling at them both. "You know," she pointed out softly, looking from one to the other. "Right now he is the next guy. Thank you. Thank you both. From the bottom of my heart - with all my heart - I just don’t know how to thank you enough."

There was a sharp crack and the last part of the last wall standing collapsed into the fire. All that remained of the once proud House of Elysium was the stone built bath-house, which now stood stark against the skyline. "Gods," Iolaus breathed, as if, only now, he’d begun to realise the extent of the damage. "Helena, I’m so sorry. Everything you had ..."

She shook her head, rejecting his sympathy with determined eyes. "Everything I valued in that place," she said, "is standing right over there." Her nod was towards the huddle of young women whom the townsfolk were busy wrapping in blankets and fussing over with neighbourly concern. "We can rebuild everything else. There’s been a House on this hill since before I was born into it - and by the gods, there’ll be a House here again. I swear."

She was born here? Hercules’ eyes drifted across to locate Nathan’s burly figure in the firelight. The innkeeper was busy organising a damage limitation party, getting men with poles and rakes to heap wet soil onto the edges of the blaze. Perelion was standing nearby, watching the proceeding with a sour look on his face. "Helena?" the son of Zeus inquired, struck by sudden inspiration. "Have you ever considered running for Magistrate?"