The chase picked up speed, hurtling along a water-cut ravine and out into a open meadow of waist high thistles and thorn bushes, then back into the twilight filled cathedral of trees, with only the pound of hurried steps and the gasps of desperate breath disturbing the silences. Still the menace grew, a mass of bulk and shadow growing closer and closer. The beast was three, four times the size of its quarry, and it ran on thunderous paws whose every impact made the ground shake.
An observer might have caught the brief flashes of the dying sun that pierced the gloom and turned the tumble of the runner’s hair to liquid gold, but the dusk lay deep in among the oaks and cedars and for most of the time he was little more than a silhouette, flickering ahead of the bulk of beast that followed him. The creature itself was pure shadow, a dark shape moving through growing darkness. The pursuit drove them both onward, turning from a hasty game of dodge and chase to a headlong, reckless dash for escape. There was no longer time to jink and turn, or to even see the obstacles that lay in wait; the man could glimpse open ground beyond the slope of the land and he raced for it, ignoring the lash of branches that snatched at him as he passed.
Until he fell.
Barely a short pace from the beckoning edge of the forest he stumbled through a snatch of bushes and the ground went from under him, a shift of loose stones and gathered debris. He tumbled forward, turning the precipitous fall into an attempt at a more elegant roll, twisting so that the impact took him on side and shoulder before his forward momentum was intercepted by a waiting tree. He came to an abrupt halt, all breath driven from his body ...
And the beast at his heels loomed up above him, a mass of thick fur and snarling teeth, all claws and strength and terrifying presence.
"Sweet Artemis," the creature’s quarry gasped, nothing left to him but reflexive invective. In a moment - less than a moment - he was going to be a very dead man, and while he knew he had a right to fair judgement in Hades courts, there were certain of the gods who might take the opportunity to prejudice the jury against him.
There were some who might not even give him a chance to make his case ...
"Ursus! No!"
The words cut through the snarl of the beast with a ringing note. It was a woman’s voice, sharp and commanding. The impossibly huge bear jerked its head at the sound of it - and the stroke of its deadly paw cut a swathe of wood and splinters barely inches from the fallen man’s head. He hunched down as death whistled above him and shuddered. Just a little lower and it would have smashed his skull into an unrecognisable pulp.
"I said, no." The command was reinforced with impatience and the bear dropped to all fours, whiffling at its captive with rank breath and a disappointed snarl. The man backed away as far as he could, which wasn’t that far since there was an oak behind him, and, wrestling with a nervous smile, put up a wary hand to gesture the beast away.
"Good bear," he managed, around gasps for breath and equilibrium. "Good, good bear "
He heard a laugh from his left and he glanced in that direction, seeing the slenderest of figures materialise out of the dusk. He blinked, wondering - for a split second - if the goddess herself had heard his exclamation and come to his aid. The figure was a shapely shadow dressed in tailored leathers, one arm bare and the drape of a cloak adding to the darkness that spawned her. He spotted the curve of a bow rising above her unadorned shoulder and the embers of the day revealed a sheen of bare leg between the line of the leather skirt and the interwoven thongs that laced the rest of the way to her sandals. Then she moved closer and he grimaced at his self delusion; it was a mortal woman that walked towards him, albeit a striking one. A tumble of what was likely to be corn blonde hair framed a tanned face and even in the semi-darkness her eyes glittered like potential diamonds. She might not be an immortal, he decided bewilderedly, but her smile was divine ...
That smile was sheer amusement, and it was directed right at him. She was laughing softly as she strode across the distance to shoo the bear away with an easy flick of her wrist. "Go on," she ordered with firm affection, and the beast shuffled back with a soft protest, growling deep in its massive throat. "Don’t mind Ursus," she advised, returning her attention to the sprawled figure. "He’s just a big softy really."
"Really?" The question came out with a slight squeak; the man clambered to his feet with exaggerated care, watching the bear as he did so. It swayed forward and yawned, revealing a cavernous mouth and endless teeth. He jumped - and found himself in contact with soft leather, her body preventing his retreat as effectively as the tree had done earlier. "A big softy, huh?" His hand pointed in the bear’s direction with a slightly wavery finger. "He’s been chasing me all day. Halfway across Arcadia. I didn’t think we were playing tag."
She chuckled. "He won’t hurt you. Not now. You want to make friends?"
The man glanced at the bear. The bear let out a soft whuff and sat back on its haunches, raising those massive shoulders to the height of his head. "Friends," the man considered doubtfully, and took a careful breath. "Right."
"It’s okay," the woman assured him, still regarding him with amusement. "Just give him your hand to smell."
He looked at his hand, then at her and that smile, sighed, set his shoulders and took a wary step towards the bear.
The step became a stumble. He went down with a gasp of pain. Woman and bear both moved forward, one to support him in concern, the other to breathe odorous breath straight in his face. The man froze at the return of confrontation, but the animal merely sniffed at him, nudged the woman’s arm and turned away. "See," she said. "Are you okay?"
He twisted round so that he could rest his weight on a nearby tree root and grimaced as he did so. "Think I twisted my ankle. Damn."
"Let me look."
Her touch was gentle; even so he winced at the contact.
"Mmhuh," she decided. "Just a sprain. You’ll need to rest it though. Do you have far to travel?"
The effort of the chase was beginning to catch up with him. His shoulder slumped wearily. "I was heading for Pheneus. But with all - that - " His gesture managed to include bear, forest and resignation. "I’m not sure where I am." He looked back, meeting her eyes as he did so and an extremely charming, if slightly self effacing smile lit up his face. "The outskirts of Elysium, maybe?"
She threw him a look, then laughed out loud - with more amusement than the joking compliment might seem to require. "No," she denied, her eyes sparkling as she did so. "Hardly. But you’re closer to your destination than you think. Pheneus lies over that rise. The city fields reach up to the forest’s edge just here."
He looked in the indicated direction with some surprise. "I’m that close? I thought I was a good day distant Oh, well." He shrugged. "Must be my lucky day."
She chuckled again. "It must be," she observed. "Look - you can’t walk on that ankle for a while and there’s no point in trying to enter the city after sundown. My lodge is close by - why don’t you stay with me tonight? I’m sure I can entertain you."
His eyes widened a little at the bold offer, but he thought about it all the same. "He be there?" he questioned with a tilt of his head towards the bear, then smiled at the reaction it got from her. "I’d be glad to. Just so long as he doesn’t hog the bed."
Her chuckle was warm. "He won’t. Come here Ursus" She beckoned to the beast and it shambled over, dipping its head to snuffle disconcertingly close to the man’s precarious perch. "Ursus, meet - ah, I - didn’t get your name."
"Iolaus."
"Ursus, meet Iolaus. He’ll be our guest tonight. The Iolaus?" She stepped back to give him an appraising look. "The one that helped Hercules defeat the Hydra? The one that Hera sent to Tarterus and Hades sent back?"
His expression fought between pride and embarrassment. Neither exactly won. "That Iolaus," he admitted ruefully.
"Oh wow," she breathed, clearly impressed. "A mortal willing to risk Hera’s bad books … Wins points with me. Here - climb aboard.," she said, offering her guest a hand to help him up and waving the other at Ursus’s back.
"He won’t mind?" His expression was dubious and she found him another laugh.
"If you’d rather spend the night here …"
He shook his head, sighed, and carefully scrambled onto the animal’s broad shoulders, his hands sinking deep into the thick fur. A moment later she’d settled behind him, leaping up with a move worthy of an Amazon. Which she might well be, Iolaus considered, acutely aware of her presence at his back. Something told him this wild spirit did not belong among the usual citizens of Pheneus who - like many in the isolated areas of Arcadia - had a reputation for being generally dull as ditchwater.
"Home, Honeypot," she commanded, wrapping her hands around her fellow rider’s waist with possessive familiarity. The bear lumbered into the darkness, its shambling pace a remarkably comfortable ride, and Iolaus slowly relaxed into the encouraging warmth of soft bear fur and close pressed femininity. The exertions of the day’s chase had leached his strength; he had no energy to protest her closeness even if he wanted to. His day had got off to a bad start, a rain induced avalanche blocking the route he was supposed to take and driving him off the trail and into virgin forest. That wouldn’t have been so bad - except that he’d disturbed the bear and not even his expert skills had stopped him turning from hunter into hunted. And now, here he was being carried away into the depths - well, the edges - of this wilderness by the same bear that had chased him halfway down and across a mountainside. Along with a mysterious and highly attractive bear keeper to whom he undoubtedly owed his life.
It wasn’t - despite the company Iolaus tended to keep - the sort of thing that happened to him every day ...
The sun was warm as it beat down on the roadway, its light mellowing the stone walls of the town ahead into unmenacing lines. The son of Zeus strode through the meagre traffic with an easy pace; he was in no particular hurry and the day was gentle enough to encourage a sense of indolence. He paused for a moment as a bump in the road threw an unbalanced passenger from the tail board of a loaded cart, but when he went to check he found the child unhurt. It only took one hand to scoop the astonished boy from the road and toss him back onto the hay padded vehicle; the child gave a whoop of delight and spent the rest of the way watching his rescuer with admiration. Hercules smiled warmly at him, accepting the familiar pang of inner pain as memories of his own children were stirred by the moment. It wasn’t a day for sadness, nor was he one to succumb to its melancholy overlong. He winked at the child and walked on, enjoying the day and its undemanding company, fellow travellers heading - like him - for the town ahead and the promise of its festival.
Iolaus was waiting for him at the southern gate.
Well, strictly speaking he was waiting on the gate, perched inside a niche that might once have carried some heroic statue and now held nothing but the remnants of broken stone feet. He was dressed as casually as the new arrival, being, as usual, neither armed nor armoured, and he was leaning back, with his boots resting on the head of a carved and weathered lion, and his fingers employed with what looked like slender strips of coloured leather. He glanced down as his friend appeared below his vantage point, his face lighting up with a easy smile.
"Hi, Herc," he called down. "What kept you?"
"Bandits in Teas. You been waiting long?
Iolaus shrugged, stuffing his handiwork into a pouch on his belt. "Couple of days. I - arrived a little earlier than I expected." He looked down past Hercules’s shoulder at the other travellers and grinned. "Just as well, really. Town’s getting pretty crowded. Half the local countryside’s come in for the games."
"I noticed." Hercules stepped back a little, giving his friend room to vault down from his perch, a descent he managed with athletic ease despite it requiring a handstand on and subsequent somersault over the lion’s head. "Did you find us room at an inn?"
"Nope. Every room’s been booked for weeks." Iolaus didn’t seem concerned at the denial. Hercules studied him suspiciously.
"Room at the palace?"
They followed a cart under the archway, entering the bustling marketplace beyond.
"Nope. The King’s hosting half a dozen local princes and four restless warlords. He thought you might - stir his diplomacy a little. He said to stop by and say hi though."
"He did, huh?" The suspicious look grew deeper, albeit backed with wry amusement. Iolaus was clearly in a cheerful mood, almost dancing round his friend to keep up with the Olympian’s manful strides. "So where are we staying? In the temple of Ares?"
The answer to that suggestion was a peal of delighted laughter.
"Hardly. But - close. Kind of. I - uh - " Iolaus suddenly looked somewhat abashed, "got us an invitation to stay at this hunting lodge just outside of town …"
Hercules stopped in mid-stride and turned to look at his friend.
"A hunting lodge? I didn’t think the King - "
The sheepish look became an even more sheepish study of the sky. "He doesn’t. All the forest from here to Macarea is sacred ground." Iolaus took a deep breath and launched into his explanation at a headlong rush, the words stumbling over each other as he tried to get them out. "See - there’s a - an Amazon lodge - just - well, a shrine, sort of, only - I met her in the Forest - she rescued me from this bear, kind of, and then she invited me - well, I’d twisted my ankle, only I hadn’t, just sprained it a little - and Missy said there’d really be no point looking for room in town, and - actually there’s plenty of space in the lodge - if - uh - if you don’t mind sharing with Ursus - he’s a bear, but that won’t worry you. He’s a big bear, but he’s not so bad once you meet him - then there’s the dogs, of course. And the sick animals …"
"Iolaus," Hercules interrupted firmly, "One thing at a time, huh? Who’s Missy, and - what are you talking about?"
"Missy?" Iolaus hunted for words to explain, which he probably didn’t need, because the bashful grin that surfaced at the question explained practically everything.
"Oh," Hercules noted sagely. "I see." A look of chagrin chased across his friend’s face.
"No, you don’t," he said protestingly. "It’s not what you think. Well -" he admitted at the look he was getting, "it’s not exactly what you think. Actually," he went on, "it’s probably a lot what you think - at least to begin with … Look," he said, squaring up to the man in front of him with a hint of belligerence, "It’s not like that, okay? Missy very graciously offered me hospitality and I accepted it on our behalf, and I don’t want you thinking she’s some kind of -of - temple harlot, because she isn’t. She’s a Lady. An Amazon - a Protector , a hunter - a priestess, you know? She is a wonderful, kind, beautiful woman …"
"Okay, okay!" The son of Zeus surrendered with amusement, spreading his hands to deflect the verbal assault. "I get the picture. She’s a gracious lady and she offered you accommodation during the games."
"Uhuh," Iolaus confirmed. "She’s really looking forward to meeting you."
"Really." Hercules resumed his walk towards through the marketplace, unable to hide his smile; the one his friend was wearing was positively infectious. Iolaus danced after him.
"Really. And - ahh - that’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about when you got here because … Did you know the priests of Hermes are offering a special prize for the overall champion this year?"
Hercules wondered at the sudden change of subject and shook his head. "I thought they always put up a purse of gold."
"Well, that too, but - they found this crystal arrow in their vaults, and, because it surfaced on the first feast day of the Messenger they decided to make it the hero’s prize in the next Hermia. This is the next Hermia and - " A return of the man’s earlier abashment warned his listener that perhaps the subject of their conversation wasn’t so far removed from the previous one after all. "You know," he considered, as if the thought had just occurred to him, "that arrow would look just - wonderful - in among the trophies on Missy’s altar."
"Iolaus," Hercules warned, swallowing a snort of laughter. "I am not about to enter the games ..."
"Not you," his friend giggled, side swiping him with the back of his hand. "I meant me. Whadya think? Huh? I gotta chance, right? Right?"
Hercules paused to look him up and down with thoughtful consideration, shrugged, and resumed his nonchalant pace. Inside he was laughing quietly to himself. It wasn’t uncommon for Iolaus to fall for a pretty smile or a curvaceous figure, although he didn’t usually fall this far - the man’s exuberance was almost as infectious as his smile.
"Right?" his friend insisted a second time, backed by just a little hint of anxiety this time. The son of Zeus relented immediately. It was all right to tease, but not to torment. And Iolaus did seem to be serious in his wish to take part in the games. Even if it was just so that he could impress the subject of his latest infatuation.
It could be worse.
After all, when he’d fallen that way for Xena she’d managed to persuade him to go for his best friend’s throat ...
Of course, with Xena, it had been understandable. She had that kind of effect on people. Even on Hercules himself. And once he’d realised what she’d been doing, Iolaus had had the good sense to make her prove herself worthy of his subsequent trust.
Hercules hoped that Missy - whoever she was - was equally worthy of his friend’s adoration.
"You’ve got a chance," he allowed, reluctant to be too encouraging. "I suppose."
"Hercules," Iolaus groaned, well aware that his friend was teasing him. "This isn’t Salmoneus’s grand Olympics. It’s just a local bi-annual games - and it’s six out of ten here. All I have to do it pick the events I can win and - well, the arrow’s as good as mine."
"The events you can win, huh?" The son of Zeus looked his partner up and down one more time and smiled. Warmly. He threw a muscled arm around the man’s shoulders and walked him towards the far side of the marketplace where the flags fluttered from the Game Marshall’s booth. "Well, you’ll be okay with the archery, and probably the discus, but I’d steer clear of the wrestling if I were you. And the weight lifting. That’s definitely out. Pick the lighter events - like the racing. You can put on a good turn of speed when you need it."
His fellow hero grinned. "Hey," he noted, "if I can outrun Ursus, I can out run anybody. Mind you, the other competitors won’t want to eat me ... I hope. Thank’s Herc. I appreciate your support."
"I just hope she’s worth it." The grin got a little wider.
"Oh she’s worth it, big fella. She’s worth it ..."
The Games Marshal was practically packing up when they arrived at the booth. Nearly every slot on his game board had been filled with a chalked name and the bowl of entry tokens was nearly empty; in fact there was just one token remaining to be claimed. Iolaus squirmed through the crowd reading the assembly of names and snatched it up with relief.
"A late entry?" the Marshal asked, looking up with a bored expression that became a wide eyed one as Hercules parted the crowd and appeared behind his friend with a smile. "Hercules? We are privileged ..."
"Not that much," Hercules laughed. "It’s my friend who wants to enter, not me. I’ve retired from competition."
The Marshal - who wore the robes of a priest of Hermes - looked a little disappointed. "If you say so. That’s the last token, so if your friend here takes it, you won’t be able to change your mind. Unless he gives it to you, of course. One token, one entry. That’s the rule." He looked Iolaus up and down, shrugged and passed him the stick of chalk. "Ten dinars donation and put your name down to claim the slot. You must chose six events out of the full ten - and we’ll except no substitutions once the first event has been completed. The competition starts tomorrow, so you won’t have much time to prepare."
"I’m ready," Iolaus assured him, digging in his pouch to extract ten dinars. His hand was caught by his friend who tossed a handful of coins onto the table.
"It’s on me," Hercules said. "I was going to pay for the room, remember?"
Iolaus remembered - and grinned, recalling why that wasn’t necessary anymore. He nodded his thanks and tucked the token safely into his belt, stepping across to add his name to the empty slot at the bottom of the game board. Missy would laugh at him, he knew - but he liked to make her laugh, and he’d risk her amusement if it meant he could win her that arrow. There was something about her - something that made him feel so utterly alive - and he wanted to give her something in return. Something as a keepsake. Something to recall the snatched moments of the night, the unexpected intimacy they had shared beneath the moon. She was - as he’d found on his arrival at the lodge - a priestess, and as such expected to keep herself both chaste and pure of thought; he’d accepted the hospitality she’d offered, sighed a little over the equal unobtainableness of her nubile handmaidens and retired to his bed with good grace, cursing his luck, and her goddess a little, for bringing him something he could look at but not touch.
Only, later that night, she’d crept into his room with the rising of the moon, a sign for silence on laughing lips, and her desire a whisper of warmth that had seemed almost a dream ...
A hand closed around his fingers and crushed the chalk within them with bruising force. He snatched his hand free and spun, finding himself face to chest with a man who - if not possessed of giant blood - was large enough to give even Hercules a moment’s pause.
"You got the last token," the man-mountain growled, giving him a shove that pushed him back into the game board. "Karvo wants it."
Iolaus swallowed. "You Karvo?" he asked, his eyes darting around to assess his situation. The mountain was backed by at least five more men, and another who stepped forward with confident arrogance.
"I’m Karvo," the new arrival announced, looking him up and down with disdain. Iolaus returned the favour, not liking what he saw. Karvo was a typical mercenary with ambitions to be a warlord, his armour worn with use, and his manners less well practised. He wore a dented and polished cuirass over his muscled frame; his arm bands were equipped with sharp edged barbs and his belt was stuffed with an assortment of swords and knives which had probably once belonged to half a dozen different armies. There was an ornate crystal droplet hanging from his left ear, the delicateness of which was an incongruous contrast to the rest of his gear. He also had an unsavoury air, from the stubble on his chin down to the stains on his boots. Blood stains at first guess. "You got my token. I’ll take it now."
"My token," Iolaus corrected, weighing up his avenues for escape and surreptitiously testing the strength of the pole behind him. The crowd - which had been eager to check the names on the list - had fallen back, leaving a space around the booth and the confrontation in front of it. Karvo scowled, sticking out his hand with boorish demand. The rest of his men moved forward with menace, the mountain adopting an anticipatory leer.
And their victim - smiled.
"Seven against one," a quiet voice noted from behind the gathered bullies. "Doesn’t seem fair odds, somehow."
Karvo glanced over his shoulder. The son of Zeus was standing there, his arms folded and his eyes amused.
"I was taught that it’s not polite to ask for things that don’t belong to you," Hercules continued thoughtfully. "I’m afraid you’re too late to make an entry for the games. Maybe next time, huh?"
The mercenary growled, jerking his head towards the interruption. "Deal with that, boys," he ordered, and strode forward to grab his intended victim.
Who wasn’t there.
Iolaus ducked and rolled, diving through the mountain’s legs and hooking him down as he passed. He came up with a flip and a twist, landing close enough to follow through with a well aimed jump kick. The mountain went down the rest of the way and the smaller man ducked as one of the mercenaries went flying overhead.
Mayhem erupted with a vengeance.
Karvo lunged in Iolaus’s direction; the hunter barely dodged the grasping hand, jinked once, jinked twice, and then collided with another of the mercenary’s men, who immediately grabbed him and dragged him backwards. Hercules, meanwhile, was dealing with three of them at once, seizing the arm of one to throw him at the other two.
They went down in a heap.
Karvo cursed and stode across to kick them back up.
Iolaus gifted his captor with a well aimed elbow to his stomach, and then a back hand to his chin, which poleaxed him instantly. The mountain was back on his feet and coming in for the kill, but familiar arms lifted the wiry hunter from behind and he kicked out, landing both feet into the enraged man’s chest.
The mountain staggered but didn’t stop coming; Hercules merely tossed his partner up and over his shoulder and extended his right hand into a straight armed punch that took the huge man clean off his feet.
Iolaus landed with cat like grace, spinning round as he did so; it brought him face to face with an armed mercenary. He ducked under the sword, caught the descending sword arm, twisted round, and rapidly applied three directed blows to his attacker’s body and face. The man went sprawling, and the weapon clattered to the dust.
Another burly figure leaped on him from behind, only to be hoisted up in the air by a brawny arm.
"Pick on someone your own size," Hercules advised and tossed him away with a casual gesture. Iolaus grinned his thanks, then dodged as an arm lashed out in his direction. The son of Zeus caught the arm and yanked. The man followed his comrade in a an ungainly arc through the air.
"Leave it!" Karvo growled, clearly recognising when he was outnumbered. His men staggered to their feet and followed him into the crowd, leaving the two heroes relaxing from their defensive stance in the centre of the open ground.
"Phew," Iolaus breathed, straightening his waistcoat and reaching to check that the game token was still safely tucked into his belt. "The manners of some people!"
Hercules laughed. "You okay?"
"Yeah. That was a little - unexpected."
"Mmm." Hercules stared in the direction in which Karvo and his men had vanished. "Not the usual sort of athlete. I wonder why he wanted to compete in the games?"
The hand struck Karvo with what looked like a dismissive flick, but the ring laden fingers impacted with stinging weight and sent him sprawling against the rough wall of the allyway. "You," Ares drawled with contempt, "are pathetic."
"But we were too late." The would-be warlord picked himself up and pleaded his case with ill restrained anger. "If you’d asked me a week ago ..."
"A week ago," the god of war pointed out with a jab of his finger, "I didn’t know they’d offer the arrow as a prize. I was looking for someone to steal it. This way is much less - conspicuous."
"But I can’t enter the contest," Karvo protested. "There are no slots left."
Ares dismissed this with an airy wave of his hand.
"That’s simple," he said. "Kill one of the other contestants and take his token. I don’t care which."
Karvo glanced at his men, gathered to keep watch at the end of the alley. "Simple," he noted with a growl. "What about Hercules?"
The god threw him a look that could wither the strongest soul. "What about Hercules? He’s not entering the contest. You just told me that. And you have nothing to fear from that pet puppy of his." A sneer touched his lips as he examined that idea. His brother’s partner was an irritation he occasionally liked to scratch. Iolaus had no respect for him and he’d got in the way of his plans more times than Ares liked to admit. If it wasn’t for the fact that the man could be as much a source of amusement as he was annoyance, he’d have sent him straight to Hades long ago. Still, he considered a little contemptuously, sometimes uppity mortals needed taking down a peg or two ...
"Why don’t we just steal the arrow, like we planned?" Karvo demanded. Ares glanced at Discord, who snorted with laughter.
"Because," the dark god drawled, leering towards his protégé with scathing scorn, "Hercules would just come after you and take it back. Dolt! There must be a better way ..."
He strode away and then back, considering options. As he passed the mercenary his eyes fell on the crystal that hung from the man’s ear and he stopped to stare at it with greedy eyes. In the heart of the crystal a faint green light had begun to pulse.
It’s just as well," Discord remarked, eyeing up Karvo like a dog eyes a juicy bone, "that Hercules isn’t taking part in the games. He’d win every contest by a mile."
"Right!" Ares rounded on her with delight. "That’s it. We get my brother to win me the arrow. That way it’s guaranteed."
"But - my lord," the mercenary said in confusion. "Surely he’d never give it to you, even if he did enter the contest. And he can’t, because all the slots are taken."
Ares smiled. A slow, pleasured smile that made Karvo blanch.
"Oh - he’ll give it to me. It doesn’t have any value to him. I’m sure we can organise something he does value to offer in exchange. And - uh," he winked at Discord who giggled in sheer delight, "we can make sure there’s an empty slot for him to fill, all at the same time ..."
The stadium was in chaos. A whole troop of men seemed to be occupied with sweeping the seats and even more were busy raising flags with enthusiasm. In the centre, several of the contestants were practising, limbering up with energetic exercise while marshals collected information, issued equipment and measured the markings on the various tracks and stands.
"You sure you want to do this?" Hercules asked his friend as the two of them stood in the entrance and took in the spectacle. Iolaus nodded.
"I’m sure. I don’t have to win everything - just earn enough points to make champion. Most of these," his hand indicated the scattered contestants, "are specialists. Lifting." He pointed out a well muscled individual straining under impressive weight. "Jumping." A long legged fellow, limbering up with a series of squats. "Throwing." A broad shouldered man hefted a round stone with enthusiastic effort. "Those two are the ones to watch."
Hercules followed the line of his finger, identifying a pair of young men engaged in a practice wrestling match. They were tall, athletic figures with matching auburn curls and young, limber limbs, both naked from the waist up and liberally oiled like all good athletes were expected to be. Each of them looked, he had to admit, every inch a champion. "You’ve been studying this," he accused with amusement. Iolaus shrugged.
"Observe your opponents," he quoted with well drilled ease. "Consider their strengths, measure their abilities and - "
"-understand their weaknesses," Hercules capped in chorus and laughed. "You mean you actually listened to Ceridian’s lectures? I used to think you spent your time day dreaming back then."
"I did. But Ceridian - and you - taught me to try and balance confidence with comprehension. And he repeated that one so often I had to remember it. He was right, too."
Hercules nodded his agreement, returning his attention to the competitors on the field. Iolaus was a long way from the streetwise and cocky teenager that a wise centaur had once tamed and tempered by encouraging his association with a troubled half immortal child. But he’d never lost the sense of adventure that had got them both into trouble on more than one occasion - or the self-confidence that allowed him to converse with gods and keep the company of a son of Zeus.
"Want to meet the competition?" Iolaus strode onto the field, waving his token at the marshal who came to intercept his passage. Hercules strode after him, content for once to be follower and not the focus of attention. The token worked magic and they made their way down to where the two brothers had finished their bout and were cleaning their oily hands on a towel.
"Aphidas, Elatus," Iolaus called, tuning both heads in their direction, "I’d like you to meet a friend of mine. Hercules - this is Aphidas and this is Elatus, the sons of King Arcas."
Arcas, the King of Arcadia, had three sons, but Hercules had only ever met one of them, and that had been in Athens where the young prince had needed his help getting out of a unwelcome street brawl.
"Azan’s brothers," Hercules noted with pleasure, extending his hand in greeting. "I’m really pleased to meet you. Is your brother taking part in the Hermia?"
"Oh, no," Aphidas laughed, shaking the extended hand. "Azan’s the scholar of the family. He’ll be up on the podium with father. Are you competing?"
The son of Zeus shook his head. "No. No - I’m just - Iolaus’s trainer this time round. I’ve retired from competition."
"Iolaus?" Elatus took a step back and looked askance at the man in question. "I thought you were jesting the other day."
Iolaus shrugged. "I - ah - decided to give it a go. Got the last token." He displayed the carved piece of wood and both brothers clapped him on the back in delight.
"Good for you." They glanced between each other. "Since you obviously don’t mind coming second to us ..."
All four of them chuckled at that, Hercules wondering just how much opportunity the young men might have had to assess their latest competition. People often underestimated Iolaus’s abilities - a mistake many had paid for over the years. Even he had been guilty of misjudging him in the early days, a lesson he had learned the hard way and never forgotten. In fact, the only one who never underestimated the man was Iolaus himself - and he had the scars to prove it, too.
"Have you picked your contests yet?" Aphidas asked, winking at his brother over blond locks. Both of them topped Iolaus by several inches, although - having been towered over by Hercules for so long - he probably hadn’t paid the fact much attention.
"Aphidas fancies his chances in the discus," Elatus confided, picking one of the smooth shaped discs off a nearby table. "Want to give it a try?" He threw the disc at Iolaus, who caught it easily, and then tossed another to his brother.
"You first," Iolaus suggested, twinkling a brief grin in his partner’s direction. Hercules smiled to himself and leant back against the equipment table. This was going to be fun.
Aphidas took a moment to compose himself, feeling the weight of the disc and easing the muscles in his shoulder by rotating his arm in the socket. He stepped up to the marked line, sighted down the field - and threw, a good solid twist and release that took the weighted wood at least seventy paces.
"Good throw," Hercules noted. Aphidas looked pleased. Elatus looked smug.
"Your turn."
Iolaus stepped up to the line, holding the disc in both hands and studying its balance by examining its finish. "It won’t bite," Aphidas called, sharing a look of amusement with his brother.
The warrior finished his inspection, looked up along the line that Aphidas had picked - then dropped the disc back into his right hand and threw it in one smooth motion, a straight armed toss all the way from the shoulder and hip, his feet firmly planted where he stood. The disc flew up - and up, a long easy arc that ended in a downward plummet some hundred and ten paces away. It landed in the stomach of a startled marshal and knocked him off his feet. Iolaus winced.
"Sorry," he called, earning himself a disapproving look from the priest and a look of total astonishment from both brothers.
"What?" Iolaus questioned, turning back in time to see their expressions. "You got a problem with my technique?"
"Ahh - no," Elatus recovered first and laughed, comprehending that he’d undoubtedly been had. "Where did you learn to throw like that?"
Purple clad shoulders shrugged. "Here and there." He grinned, putting up his hand to his partner, who slapped at it with comradely support. "You need to take down a giant with a sleeping powder, you learn distance. And how."
Hercules chuckled, well aware that the last time they’d tried such a trick Iolaus had still managed to get himself caught in the fall out. "Not bad," he judged thoughtfully. "But next time - put a little more back into it."
"Back?" Iolaus queried, pantomiming the start of the motion a second time. "Yeah. Right. Will do."
A sweet trumpet blast caught their attention. A parade merged from under the podium arch and began a stately passage round the outer track.
"They’re parading the prize again," Aphidas noted, reaching for the powered chalk and rubbing some into his hands. "Father’s afraid someone will steal it before it’s won, but the priests still insist on bringing it out. Lovely piece of work."
"Old, too," Elatus said, watching the procession with a look of longing. "Azan thinks it might even have been forged by Hephestus."
Hercules stood up to catch a glimpse of the object they were discussing. The robed figure in the middle of the procession was carrying a padded cushion on which a slender object glistened in the afternoon sunlight. "It really is something," Iolaus remarked from beside him, his own eyes fixed on the prize. "You should take a closer look at it."
The noise of the gathered athletes had dropped to a soft murmur, a reverent hush sweeping across the stadium as the parade passed by. It wasn’t often that the priests of Hermes commanded such attention, unless, of course, they’d arrived in a kingdom to deliver a declaration of war. They were always the messengers, never the centre of event - but for that moment every eye in the stadium was focused on their progress with expectant awe.
"Maybe I will," Hercules decided, frowning a little at the unexpected reaction of the crowd. There’d been - something … The arrow and its accompanying cavalcade vanished back beneath the main podium and the odd prickling at his senses vanished with it. Iolaus sighed, softly.
"They don’t know what they’ve got," he murmured, almost to himself. "And they offer it up as a prize ..."
Hercules threw him a worried look. Had his partner felt that curious whisper of energy too? Or was he just conscious of all the trouble that a mix of Olympian power and mortal greed could create?
"I can’t wait to see Missy’s face when I give it to her," the man went on to confide in a lighter tone, and the son of Zeus laughed, dismissing the moment of foreboding in his amusement at his friend’s confidence.
"You have to win it first," he said. "Listen - you stay here and assess the competition. I want to get a closer look at that arrow."
"Sure." Iolaus agreed good naturedly. "See ya later. But, uh - don’t be too long. There’s some pretty noxious fumes that hang over the lake at night so they close the gates at sundown. "
"Yeah. I’d heard about that." Hercules smiled. "Don’t worry. We’ll both be safely inside this lodge of yours by then."
The interior of the Temple of Hermes was a chill relief from the afternoon sun, its interior wreathed in the sharply bitter scents of myhrr and olibanum. It was an old building, constructed in stark lines from marble and limestone, and filled with soft shadows and shaded light. The fire that flicked in a vast iron burner in front of the altar did little to alleviate the cool atmosphere, and the statue of the god was cut from pure white marble, looking down on his followers with sightless eyes. Old offerings were stacked along the walls; the swords of retired soldiers, drapes of cloth and baskets of grain all competed for space, along with innumerable scattered slips of paper carrying messages to distant loved ones and absent friends, left in the hope that the god of messengers would deliver the inscribed thoughts to their longed for destination.
Since he knew the god a little more personally, Hercules rather thought that Hermes wouldn’t dreaming of lingering in such an austere place, let alone have time for such trivial missives - but maybe the mere act of writing and leaving the words would be enough to carry their intent to the souls they were intended to reach. He smiled at the idea and picked up a slip of the soft papyrus, pausing to scribe ‘I love you’ on the stark surface. He dropped it carefully into the fire and watched the smoke from it rise to the distant vent and the sky beyond. His family probably had no need for the message, but it felt good to send it anyway.
"Can I help you?" A soft voice, the question presented with patience. Hercules turned, to find an elderly priest watching him from the shadows.
"I hope so," he smiled. "I was - wondering - if it were possible to take a closer look at the arrow. The one that’s been put up for the champion’s prize?" The priest didn’t look at all surprised at the request.
"But of course," he said, motioning the way to a room beyond the main temple. "You look like a fine athlete. Are you a competitor?"
"No," Hercules denied, the shrug of embarrassment delivered with his usual self effacing smile. "Just a friend of one - has the arrow been in the temple long?"
"Now that’s an interesting question." The priest pulled back a heavy curtain, opening the way to a side chamber. The two armed men that had been lounging on either side of the inner doorway immediately straightened themselves up and tried to look menacing. Hercules flashed them both a disarming grin. "The matter has been of some debate within the precincts. The room in which it was found had been sealed for several years - and would have remained so if it had not been for the flooding last winter. We rescued what we could from the lower vaults, and the arrow came to light among a chest of Thracian coin. Now that was part of the original tribute paid by the Amazons when they petitioned to establish a temple to their goddess out in the Macarean woods, but no-one is sure if the arrow was part of their offering, or was something hidden in the chest for safe keeping."
He pulled aside another curtain, revealing a carved pedestal and the velvet cushion that lay on top of it. Nestled in that was the arrow itself, a slender shaft of clear crystal supporting a half moon arrow head at one end and an irregular feathering of glittering fragments at the other. It was - just as Iolaus had remarked, really something - and not just in the delicate workmanship or the sheer fragility of the intricate fletching. Hercules could feel it - could sense the underlying hum of power that lay sleeping within the piece.
"It has no practical value to us, of course." The priest beamed with pride as the hero bent to take a closer look, but quickly put out his hand to prevent him from actually touching it. "His Majesty was more than willing to make it part of this year’s prize. Gold is hard to come by and this …" He left the sentence unfinished and Hercules nodded his understanding of the matter. It was clear the priest had no sense of the arrow’s slumbering power, but a delicate treasure like this was too tempting a target for thieves to stay long in a public and unprotected temple. By making it the champion’s prize they would avoid the problems that keeping such a piece might bring them - and attract good business for the biannual games while they did so.
"It’s beautiful," he said. His fingers swept close enough to stir whatever lay within the crystal and a soft pulse of palest green flared in its depths. He’d seen the colour once before, although he couldn’t immediately place where.
"If you want it, you must win it - or your friend must," the priest said, letting the curtain drop back. "Personally, I think who ever does claim it must be able to protect it afterwards. Too many have come through here and desired it for my piece of mind. I shall be pleased to see it pass on."
Hercules nodded a second time, his mind still wrestling with that odd sense of familiarity. "Take good care of it," he advised. "It really is a champion’s prize."
Hercules had barely left before a barefoot and breathless boy raced up to the young princes and their companion. "My lords," he begged, gasping the words with effort. "Do you know where I might find - a noble hunter - by the name of Iolaus - among the competitors?"
The two brothers glanced at each other and then stepped away, revealing the third member of their group. Iolaus grounded the javelin he’d been hefting and looked at the youth in puzzlement. "I’m Iolaus," he said. "Is there something wrong?"
The boy grinned, his young face lighting up with delight. "No, my lord. But the lady said I would earn a gold piece if I reached you before she finished her business - and she was only buying fish, so - "
"You ran all the way," Iolaus completed, sharing a grin with Aphidas, while his brother laughed. "What was the message?"
The boy thought for a moment, gulping down another much needed breath. "That the woods were full of bears and it’s not safe for a lady to walk home alone with a basket of fish - and she will bewaiting for escort on the dockside - if the most noble of hunters would care to spare her his protection."
Elatus let out a low whistle of approval, grinning at his brother who reached to clap Iolaus on the shoulder with delight. "Now that," Aphidas declared with relish, "is the kind of message I’d like to get from a lady."
Iolaus coloured a little, pride and pleasure wrestling with a hint of embarrassment. The princes knew where he was staying. They’d expressed their envy - and their disbelief - as soon as they’d found out. It wasn’t unknown, they’d implied, for them to go hunting at the edge of the woods in the vain hope of catching a glimpse of a young and nubile follower of Artemis ... He’d brushed off their admiration, despite being tempted to make more of it than he had. Truth was, that while the amused envy of the princes might have encouraged him to boast a little, the memories that rose to mind had silenced his tongue; Missy, he’d realised, was not a woman you boasted about. She was a heart warming secret that you kept, and treasured, and valued among the best.
"Now you know the priestesses of Artemis are chaste," he reminded the two of them archly, fighting to keep a straight face as he did so. Elatus chuckled.
"Chased, more like," Aphidas laughed, then threw his hands up in mock defence as the remark earned him a frown of disapproval. "Okay, okay. That was unfair of me. But then, why would a full blooded Amazon need an escort through her own woods?"
"I think Iolaus here is going to need the escort," Elatus suggested with a grin. "Those warrior women aren’t safe, you know."
The boy suppressed a snort of laughter; Iolaus’s brief self-consciousness became exasperation.
"That’s enough," he growled. "The lady is my friend and she’s just offering me her company, that’s all." He turned to the youth, dipping up a coin from his pouch as he did so. "Here’s the piece. You earned it. As for you two - tell Hercules to catch up with me, will you? I’ll see you on the field. Tomorrow."
He strode away, a little vexed by their laughing farewells. Elatus was of the opinion he wouldn’t have the strength to stand tomorrow; Aphidas was quick to agree.
"They’re just jealous," Iolaus muttered to himself, annoyed as much on Missy’s behalf as his own. He didn’t care what the princes thought of him. In other circumstances he might even have encouraged their ribaldry, not generally averse to earning admiration for the less warlike of his accomplishments. But the Protector of the Macarean woods was not a subject for tavern jests or campfire tales; she was a wild spirit, filled with fire and wisdom, as above such base discussions as any goddess might be.
Aphrodite excepted of course ...
In the shadow of the stadium arches, Discord shimmered back to her true shape and laughed cruelly, turning the gold dinar between her fingers with amused delight. "Now there," she considered wickedly, "goes a man in love."
The dockside was practically deserted; the fishermen packed up early, unwilling to wait for dusk before they sought refuge from the night airs off the lake. A number of boats bobbed at the end of their hawsers, while others lay beached further up the banks. The lake itself was wreathed in distant mist as usual, the late sun shimmering off its surface so that it looked like a silk shrouded mirror, its depths filled with mystery and promise.
Iolaus had passed a flower seller just before the northern gate and - on impulse - had acquired a bunch of fresh white blossoms which he cradled as he made his way down to the lakeside. Their sweet scent had restored his good mood and he savoured it as he walked, picturing the smile with which Missy would greet their presentation. A laughing smile, he had no doubt; she brought out the clown in him, always amused at his flights of fancy and his impulsive nature. Which was weird, in a way. The lady was very much an Amazon, strong, self willed and highly independent. As much a warrior as she was a hunter. As much, in fact as another, equally strong woman for whom he’d once been fool enough to fall. And he’d have never dreamed of strewing flowers at Xena’s feet, however infatuated he might have been.
He paused to imagine the Warrior Princess’s reaction to such foolishness and nearly laughed out loud. Xena was another of those special treasures, her betrayal too damaging for him to ever rekindle that sense of passion, but his heart forgiving enough to let her become his friend. Her - and Gabrielle, whose open heart and inner strength had helped temper Xena’s fierce spirit into a true force for good.
Missy wasn’t Xena - of course she wasn’t. She was a creature of the woods, not of war. Her comrades were both hunters and hunted, her hands as quick to help and heal as they were to draw bow or track game. The younger acolytes at the lodge clearly adored her. Her laughter was light, her heart lighter - and she inspired the trust of even the fiercest of creatures, treating Ursus like a beloved brother and her hounds like adopted children, a whole pack of wayward orphans competing for her affections.
He felt - privileged - to be included in that company.
And would probably have done so even without those moments shared in moonlit silence, the secret of her sweetness locked like nectar in his soul ...
He’d reached the last dock without sign of her, and he stood on the planks for a moment, frowning at the emptiness of the waterside. The boats here were drawn up tight against the coming night, all bar two beached high on the bank. There were nets folded ready for the morning, and fish traps and crayfish pots piled beside them; a line of oars were stacked against an empty drying rack and equally empty baskets were neatly placed beneath it. But there were no fishermen left working in among the gear - and no leather clad figure waiting to greet him, no hounds snuffling for titbits along the lakeside, not even a thick furred bear lazing in the late sun.
He looked around in puzzlement, a sudden sense of foreboding filling his soul. Something wasn’t right. Something, in fact, was very wrong.
"It was very sweet of you to bring me flowers."
The voice was deep and harsh, and mockingly amused. Iolaus spun, finding the unwelcome figure of the mercenary from the market place standing between him and the end of the dock. Other armoured shapes were oozing out of the landscape - eight, maybe nine men emerging from behind the angled boats and the drying racks.
"Karvo, isn’t it?" Iolaus kept his reaction light, quickly assessing the thoroughness of the ambush and the possible avenues he might use to escape it. He let the flowers tumble from his hands and assumed an easy stance, poised to fight if he had to, run if he were able to - or to bolt for the end of the dock and out into the water if there were no other choice open to him.
"Uh-huh," the man agreed, clearly confident in his control of the situation. "You dropped your pretty flowers. What a shame."
The encircled warrior’s eyes flicked down to the flowers at his feet and then back again almost immediately, annoyed at being taken off his guard. It was obvious now that the message had not come from Missy at all. But he had to wonder just how Karvo had known that he would answer that particular enticement.
The man who was half mountain climbed out of the boat tethered at the end of the dock and began to walk towards the shore. The other men began to close in. The mercenary’s grin was not a pleasant one.
"Well, how about that?" he taunted. "There’s no big strong hero to rescue you this time." He laughed, savouring his moment of power. "Hercules’s faithful partner - yapping at his heels like a lap dog. And running like a love sick puppy when a lady calls ..."
Iolaus held his position, even though his temper flared. The man meant to anger him, and was trying to goad him into precipitate action. He knew better than that. Much better.
"If you still want that token," he offered quietly, "I’m sure we can talk about it."
"Oh no." Karvo shook his head. "There’s been a slight change of plan. I don’t want the token. I just want you." A jerk of his head spurred his men into motion. They charged forward, leaving their target no choice but to make a break for it. Iolaus stepped sideways and slammed his forearm into the leader of the charge as he stumbled past, knocking him off his feet. The next man took a forward punch that staggered him back into the mercenaries at his heels, and the third went flying straight into the lake with almost balletic momentum.
Three down - and the man mountain was closing in from behind. The besieged warrior boldly danced two steps towards the advancing line - which now backed away warily - turned, ran back down the dock with the soldiers in pursuit - then abruptly dropped to one knee, both elbows striking backwards and sending the lead pursuers somersaulting into their massive comrade. The mountain staggered. Iolaus back flipped over the soldier that grabbed at him and kicked out, knocking down yet another attacker before landing squarely on his feet. He turned to run - and found himself facing a drying rack, his avenue of escape blocked by the stacks of fishing gear.
"Hang on to him, you idiots," Karvo cursed. His men closed in with determination. But at least they weren’t drawing their swords …
Iolaus snatched an oar from the line, using it to strike down one man and then trip another. Other hands grabbed at him and he fended them off with the heavy oar, wielding it like a quarterstaff, slamming stomachs and chins and knees with gusto. Men went down with startled gasps of pain, only to come back mad and bad and dangerous.
Once, twice, and again, a flurry of blows and counter blows drove his attackers back to a more cautious stand. They circled him, feinting and testing his reflexes, moving him back towards the end of the dock, and driving him away from the open ground. He paused to catch his breath, allowing himself a panting grin of wry bravado; this situation might have been fun if it wasn’t getting quite so desperate. He’d got himself a little trapped and - despite his undoubted ability to defend himself - he was almost certainly outnumbered. He rapped reaching knuckles and sought a line of escape, calculating his options with a wily eye.
Two men seized the ends of his weapon and he used their support to somersault over it, kicking down another assailant as he passed. His left leg snaked out, hooking the nearest soldier to the floor. A twist brought the oar back into his control, and he grounded the wider end hard into the planks underfoot and leapt, straight up, vaulting over the remaining scrum of bullies and leaving them to collide straight into each other.
He dropped the oar and made a run for it, sprinting down the dock and onto the hard ground beyond.
He nearly made it, too.
He was a good step and a half ahead of everybody when a figure appeared right in front of him. Literally appeared, out of nowhere. A casually extended hand slammed into the centre of his chest and pushed. Hard. He went flying backwards, all breath driven out of his lungs, to land in a sprawl at the mercenary’s feet. Karvo’s boot kicked him in the ribs and he squirmed away - only to be tangled in the net that was quickly thrown over him.
He cursed and struggled, but they had him. He was dragged to the edge of the dock, rolled and bound in the harsh mesh, and manhandled into the boat.
He kicked. They kicked him back.
And when he went on struggling, they tipped the net over the side and dunked him into the cold waters of the lake, holding him down until his lungs screamed for oxygen and his senses swam away.
He caught one last confused glimpse of the world before the darkness swallowed him; it held the image of a smug Discord, standing on the water and smiling down at him with satisfaction ...
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