One of these days …

Hercules didn’t know whether to adopt a disapproving glower or just burst out laughing. He settled for a warm but reproachful frown – which Iolaus totally ignored, but elicited a shameless wink from Cystalia as she caught the hunter’s hand and led him behind a nearby stand of pipes. Yvanis hovered for a moment, then hastened after them both, leaving the son of Zeus to shake his head with disbelieving amusement.

"Your friend is a brave man," Milone said with decided sincerity. Hercules found himself exchanging a knowing look with Lysander.

"Very," the old man noted, his eyes twinkling as he led the way towards the wheels. "Oh, to be young again …"

"How dangerous is this going to be?" Hercules asked, eyeing the churning water with decided misgivings. It really was hot; he could feel the heat rising off it and, now that he was close enough, he could see the condensation dripping from the steam wreathed metal work.

"I don’t know," the General admitted, sharing his concern with his queen, who’d moved to join them. "The suit will protect him, but – it’s a long way out to the lake. Once you open the overflow valve," he explained anxiously, his hand resting on the first of the metal wheels, "the water will pour through here at fearsome speed. The currents in the tunnels may prove too strong and – "

"He’ll be smashed to pieces," Hercules concluded with dawning horror. "You didn’t tell him that. I can’t let him – "

"You can, and you will," Amymome interrupted softly, catching at his arm. "Hercules – Iolaus knows the risk. I saw it in his face when I explained about the wheels. He figured it out – and the rest of it, I think. Milone is right. He’s a brave man. And we need him to do this. It’s the only chance my people have."

That Mithias has, Hercules translated, reading the look in her eyes. He sighed. He could hardly fault her for wanting to save her husband – and she was right. With the archers stationed on the mountainside going over the wall would be tantamount to committing suicide. It probably was the only way …

"So why open the valve at all?" he questioned. "What good will it do?"

Lysander pointed at a complex mural painted on the wall behind the wheels. A pattern of interwoven lines cascaded down the image, interwoven with blocks of an archaic script that Hercules didn’t immediately recognise. "The system’s designed to clean out the sewers," he explained. "When the water floods in, it’ll scour the pipes and the passages – churn everything up. Once it reaches a set level – and a measured pressure – " He indicated the huge bronze plaque and its martial pointer, "- then we – that is you – can operate the release mechanism. The lower floodgates open – and everything pours out into the lower city and away down the mountainside. It’s a very clever design," he considered, taking another look at the painting. "I think they used to use it regularly – but of course, we’ve never tried it. For one thing, these wheels take effort to operate. And for another – well," he smiled, "people live in the lower city these days. We’d have had riots on our hands if we’d flooded them out."

Hercules examined the diagram with a thoughtful eye. Lysander – or someone – must have spent many hours studying it to understand what it was illustrating. But the story made a weird kind of sense – especially if you knew how arcanely complicated the Atlanteans liked to make their gadgets. "Okay," he said, "I can see how it might work. And I suppose flooding the city will deal with the fires, but – "

"It’ll deal with a lot more than that," Amymome said. "Because first thing tomorrow morning, I’ll be standing on the city gates, giving the order for them to open. Ostensibly to allow Petrayus into the city. And that’s when you’ll open the floodgates. The water will wash my city clean, Hercules. Clean of everything. Including the scum that’s currently camped outside its gates."

He stared at her for a moment – and then he laughed, a short sharp bark of astonished amusement. "Neat," he acknowledged, breaking into a grin. "They’ll never know what hit them."

"Oh, they’ll know all right," Lysander pointed out.

"Well, yeah," Hercules accepted the correction philosophically, "But – uh – hopefully not until after everything hits the phalanx. There’s just one thing," he added, his expression dropping into a more thoughtful frown. "Why will Petrayus believe your offer of surrender?"

"Because," the queen announced with a smile, "he thinks you’re dead. Or he will, once he gets Jayce’s message. I left Merrine with instructions to send him another pigeon. As far as he’s concerned, everything is going just as he planned."

Clever …

It was a ploy worthy of Xena in its cunning and execution – and he found himself wondering how Amymome would have responded to Petrayus' threats had he and Iolaus not been around when the siege began. With the same courage and determination, he suspected. Even without his help, she’d have found a way to protect her city and save its people.

Although, having him around made things like that a little easier, no doubt.

Which was one of the reasons he did what he did – because knowing he inspired others to find their own strength and courage was one of the greatest rewards he could ever ask for.

"If nobody has ever actually tried this," Milone said worriedly, " how do we know it’s going to work?"

Ah …

"We don’t," Lysander admitted. "But we know the plumbing works efficiently – and has done for centuries. There’s no reason why the rest of the system shouldn’t."

"I suppose not," the stateswoman sighed. "Its just that – if it doesn’t – then we’ll be allowing Petrayus to walk into the city unopposed."

"It’ll work," Amymome announced in a tone that brooked no argument. "You’ll see."

Hercules smiled to himself.

Well, if it doesn’t, I guess I’ll just have to throw every single one of those mercenaries out of the city again.

Although Iolaus will just complain about missing all the fun …

The thought turned his head towards the clump of pipes behind which his friend had vanished; the plan might be neat and meticulously put together, but there were still risks and uncertainties within it. The safety of Tantellus was dependant on his strength – on his ability to operate the ancient machinery single-handedly - while the lives of its King and his fellow citizens would rest solely on the courage and determination of his partner.

Who was taking an awfully long time getting into that suit.

I wonder what he’s doing back there …

Possibilities immediately sprang to mind. Hercules coloured a little and hastily turned his attention back to the wheels and the pressure gauge beside them. He hadn’t actually heard any giggles back there, although they would have been hard to hear above the thrumming of the wheel and the constant noise of the water.

I don’t think I want to know …

There were some days he envied his friend’s ability to live life so thoroughly, no matter what the circumstances might be; this wasn’t one of those days exactly, but he’d long since learned to accept that Iolaus tried to fill every moment as if it might be his last. He was only too aware that – given the life they both led – one day it might turn out to be the truth.

But not today, he decided firmly, making the thought a defiant determination rather than a prayer to whichever of the Gods, Fates and powers might be listening. The journey his friend was about to take might well be hazardous, but hardly one to over stretch his not inconsiderable abilities. For once, Hercules suspected that he was the one more likely to fail.

Because while the mechanisms within the pump room were protected and shielded by the fragment of the staff of Chronos that lay at its heart, the rest of the system had been exposed to the ravages of time. There was every chance that, when he laid hands on this ‘release mechanism’ that Lysander had mentioned, it would simply fall apart on him. Unless that was in here too …

"Urmm – " he queried, running his hand around the rim of the nearest wheel, "three wheels here, pump over there … Where’s the floodgate control?"

"Down on second," Lysander answered promptly. "You must have seen it - it’s one of the most prominent features in the city."

Down on - Hercules mentally retraced his steps into the city, trying to identify what the General was talking about. He got there round about the same time Milone did.

"The well chain," the woman reacted, throwing her hands wide in an of course gesture that more than matched the expression on her face. "I always wondered what that thing was for." Revelation collapsed into a doubtful frown. "But – it must be rusted solid. A whole team of men couldn’t move that chain."

"You’d be surprised what Herc can move once he puts his back into it," Iolaus remarked, his voice holding more than a hint of affectionate laughter. "Titans. Dragons. Obdurate hearts. Stubborn fools – even divine ones. And mountains. He’s good at mountains."

"When did I last move a mountain?" Hercules reacted, turning to favour his friend with a look that was meant to convey chagrined embarrassment at the exaggeration. The look collapsed into one of startled wonder instead. From his first impressions of the suit he’d expected the hunter to emerge wrapped in an awkward and bulky encumbrance; instead he found himself looking at a sleek, streamlined figure, the material of the suit hugging the muscular contours of the man’s body like a second skin. The intricate chest and back plate did bulk out his torso a little, but the ancient Atlantean design conveyed an impression of sturdy and efficient protection, rather than cumbersome burden. It was only the metal collar - structured to support the heavy helmet and which rested easily on the metalled breadth of his now armoured shoulders – that gave the whole ensemble a faintly comical look, and that because the helmet itself was nestled in the curve of Yvanis’ arms. Without it, the suit looked incomplete and the man inside as if he’d been swallowed up by some impossibly wide mouthed frog.

An impression which Hercules suspected would not be helped by the wide, flipper toed boots, which were currently dangling from Cystalia’s hands.

"Couple of weeks ago," Iolaus was saying, answering what had been a rhetorical question with confident fact. "Remember? You closed off that crack above the Abyss – and brought most of the peak down doing it."

Hercules grimaced embarressedly.

Okay. I’ll give you that one …

After all, technically speaking, he had moved that particular mountain. Sort of. "Well - I did have help," he pointed out. The hunter grinned at him.

"Yeah," he giggled. He spread his arms to demonstrate his occupancy of the suit. "Whatdya think?"

The son of Zeus was thinking a lot of things. He was thinking of how old the equipment was, and how his friend’s life would be depending on it. He was thinking of a long journey through a maze of dark underwater tunnels and how surging currents would drag at man’s limbs while the heat of the water sapped his strength. He was thinking – and pretty fiercely too – that he’d better make it, because if the hunter was lost, somewhere in the waters beneath the mountain, there’d be no way to retrieve his body, and thus no way to give him the funeral rites that would ensure his soul was free for its journey to the other side.

What he said was: "You look like a frog."

Iolaus rolled his eyes and shot Cystalia an accusing look. "See," he muttered. The courtesan shrugged philosophically.

"Maybe a little," she admitted, winking at Yvanis, who clearly thought it safer not to comment. The queen hid a quiet smile behind her hand.

"It doesn’t matter what you look like," she said softly. "The important thing is that you get to the dam in time."

"I will," the hunter assured her with confidence. "I just hope King Mithias will listen to me when I find him. We’ve not exactly been introduced, you know."

"He’ll listen," Lysander interjected. "That suit is unmistakable. He’ll know that you’ve come from the city – and that we sent you."

"Mithias will," Amymome agreed, tugging a ring off her finger. "But you’ll have to reach him first. Take this. It carries the city’s seal – and my authority with it."

Good idea …

The son of Zeus watched as his partner took the ring and carefully slid it onto the little finger of his right hand. "I’ll take good care of it," Iolaus promised. His voice was light and still held a hint of laughter but Hercules recognised the subtle change that backed it. The time for joking was over; he was preparing himself for the task ahead, gathering his determination, clearing his thoughts of all distractions and focusing his mind on what was to come.

You ready for this, buddy?

Hercules asked the question with an expectant glance and a raised eyebrow. The challenge his friend was facing was a tough one and they both knew it; for one thing, he’d have to endure the heat of the water whilst concentrating, not just on finding a route out, but on mastering the unfamiliar suit while he did so. For another, everything, including his own safety, was dependant on his getting out as fast as possible. He was going to need every ounce of the reckless energy at his command, pushing himself to his limits – and beyond - despite his having been running around for most of the day.

Iolaus caught the glance, answering it, and the concerns behind it, with a determined nod and a tight lipped smile. Excitement danced in his eyes; he was as ready as he was going to be – and impatient to leave, anxious to be doing rather than just thinking about it. Hercules returned the smile with a matching one of his own, taking the hint and moving smoothly into action.

"Let’s get this show on the road, shall we?"

Amymome watched as Hercules casually slapped his partner lightly on the arm with the back of his hand – a gesture of comradely support, an admonition to be careful, and a wish for luck all at the same time – then strode easily across to the middle wheel. She wished she could read the hunter’s thoughts right then; the look he threw at his friend’s back held such a complexity of emotion that she doubted the man himself could safely disentangle it. A lot of it was amusement and affection, delivered with more than a hint of his devastatingly impish grin – but under all that lay a haunted, almost hungry look. It was as if he felt the need to fix the man’s image into his soul. As if he feared this might be the last time he ever saw him …

She shivered and gave herself a little shake. She was reading too much into this. Far too much. There was a risk, but she’d never have asked that he take it if she didn’t believe – didn’t know – that he was more than capable of surviving it. Mithias’ life lay in his hands, and she couldn’t afford to doubt him. Not now. Not when so much depended on his success.

There seemed to be no doubts in the blue eyes that turned to meet her wary consideration. Iolaus found her a smile so packed with confidence that she had no choice but to answer it with a flustered one of her own. "You sure you want to do this?" she found herself asking, and he laughed, spreading his hands and glancing down at the ancient suit with a look that spoke volumes.

"You know," he observed, tugging the heavy, metal plated gloves from the weighted belt, "I’ve done a lot of weird things in my life, but – this?" He giggled again, passing her one of the gloves to hold while he pulled the other one over his fingers and wiggled it into a tight fit. "At least Missy only turned me into a dog. Hey," he added warmly, catching her eye and fixing her with a resolute smile. "I’ll get there. I promise." He retrieved the second glove and tugged it on, flexing his hand to accustom himself to the weight and feel of it. "Mind you," he said, smiling his thanks at Cystalia as she knelt down to help him put on the wide flippered boots, "when we talked about coming to Tantellus for the waters, this wasn’t quite what I had in mind …"

I don’t suppose it was.

The queen couldn’t help but smile; his confidence was catching, and it loosened some of the knots that had been churning in her stomach. "Well," she said, "at least you got to see the city before it burned down."

He grinned and nodded, his attention distracted by signs of movement above the lake. The huge pump wheel had begun to edge upwards, lifted by the massive supporting chains which were slowly being pulled back into the ceiling. Amymome glanced over towards the control wheels. Lysander had slipped the retaining ratchet and Hercules was turning the mechanism with a studied, even handed pace. It didn’t look to be much of an effort either; the wheel was turning smoothly under his hands.

Schlooppp!

The queen jumped, whirling round with alarm as the weird sound echoed across the chamber.

Schlluurpp!

Iolaus was giggling again, carefully leaning down to disentangle himself from the flustered courtesan who’d clearly made a terrified grab for his knees the moment the noise erupted. Yvanis was giggling too. The young washerwoman was more accustomed to the vagaries of the city plumbing and would have quickly recognised the source of the sound – even though Amymome doubted she’d ever heard it resound as loudly, even in the bath house.

The first of the pipes had begun to clear the surface of the water, and the turbulent, steaming liquid was still being sucked up by the constantly spinning wheel; the result was a protest of air and water, one struggling to escape the other and generating a series of unspeakable noises while it did so. Another pipe rose out of the water, sending a yet another resounding schurlp echoing through the chamber.

"I hope it’s supposed to do that," Milone observed a little archly. She’d also reacted with startlement, and she looked as embarrassed about it as Cystalia did.

"So do I," Iolaus muttered, his eyes flicking from the slowly rising wheel down to the water and then back, watching as the massive construction was slowly dragged from its accustomed place. Its rise was accompanied by an disgusting orchestration of bubbles and slurps, the pipes shuddering as air rather than liquid was sucked into their exposed maws. Amymome glanced at Lysander, who seemed unconcerned at the sudden cacophony. She knew he’d been through this routine before – back in the days when he and Mithias’ father had been adventurous enough to explore some of the tunnels. In the days when her grandfather was still king, and Petrayus little more than a spoiled brat fretting at his mother’s breast.

He wasn’t surprised by the noise, she realised, then frowned with a moment of irritated pique. He could have warned me it would do that …

He’d told her everything else though. Hadn’t he?

She stared down into the water, unable to help the sudden surge of doubt which followed that thought. The lake was slowly settling as the force which had disturbed it was withdrawn; without its constant swirling current the surface was becoming dark and ominous, reflecting the crystal light without revealing anything that lay beneath. Steam and vapour had also begun to gather across it, creeping in from the edges like a menacing fog. She sighed and reached to wipe a line of sweat from her forehead; the cavern was hotter than the hottest steam room in the bathhouse, and getting hotter now that the pump was no longer dragging the heat up into the city’s pipes.

And that reminded her …

"Lysander told me," she said, turning her attention back to the man beside her, "that your best chance will be to always swim toward cooler water. The lake is nowhere near as hot as this – although it's still pretty warm out there."

He nodded, taking the information on board. "Cooler water. Got that. Anything else I need to know?"

"We’re about to raise the grating to the lake," the General called across. "I’d get started if I were you."

Iolaus lifted a gloved hand to acknowledge the advice, still watching Amymome as she struggled to recall if there was anything she should have told him. Nothing came to mind, but she held the moment anyway, drawing strength from the look that backed that startlingly blue gaze. She’d not thought to find any laughter left in him, but it was there all the same; not the dismissive amusement of false self-confidence, but something deeper, a response to the challenge that he was about to face. It was underwritten by a quiet determination, and an understanding of just how important all of this was – to her, and to her city. A true hero, Lysander had named him, and she could see it now, could see past all the surface bravado and the reckless demeanour to recognise what lay beneath; the inner strength and quality of heart that made him worthy of that title and a whole lot more.

"Uh - no," she managed to say, recalling herself to the immediate situation with difficulty. "N-nothing else. Just – be careful, okay?" Her heart was beating a decided tattoo in her chest, and she was struggling to draw breath. Some of that could be the steaminess of the air, but somehow she didn’t think so …

"Okay," he agreed. A brief smile touched his lips, only to be lost as he focused his thoughts and his concentration on the task ahead. "I’ll be back before you’ve missed me." She took a deep breath to steady herself and quickly leant forward before she lost her nerve.

"For luck," she whispered, hastily pressing her lips to his cheek. Then she just as quickly stepped back, letting Yvanis move forward to place the heavy helmet over his head and latch it in place. He took a moment to inspect the seal for himself, settling the whole assembly over his shoulders and making sure he could still see the softly glowing crystal that indicated everything was functioning as it should. His chest rose and fell as he checked his air supply – and then he nodded once to let them know he was ready, a studied movement inside the cumbersome suit.

Be safe, Amymome prayed, moving back with the others to stand by Milone and watch as he carefully walked down to the lake, lifting his flippered feet with cautious, deliberated steps.

"He really does look like a frog," Cystalia murmured, unable to resist the comment.

"Yeah," Yvanis agreed, heaving a decided sigh.

It was true – and in any other circumstances they’d probably have been smiling at his ungainly progress. But this was a matter of life and death, and the absurdity of the moment simply served to counterpoint the desperation of his mission. Amymome didn’t even turn as she felt Lysander’s hand touch her shoulder, but she did cast a small sideways glance as Hercules loomed up on the other side of her. The son of Zeus had an odd look on his face; he might have been fighting down a smirk, but his eyes held nothing but anxious concern. The six of them watched in silence as the ungainly figure hesitated at the edge of the water, glanced back once – and then plunged in with a hasty all at once leap.

He went into the water with a terrific splash and was swiftly swallowed into the depths, leaving a surging, billowing surface behind him. The clouds of steam swirled and danced like tatterered ribbons above it, disturbed by the intrusion. The lake stayed dark for a moment, before being suddenly lit from within. A vague white glow flickered though the depths, moving fitfully at first, then with greater purpose. It drifted towards the far wall of the cavern, grew dimmer – and was gone.

The ripples in the water slowly settled into stillness; steam went on rising from its surface while, above it, the wheel hung in isolated splendour, spinning with indifferent speed.

Nobody said anything for what seemed to be forever. Eventually, Hercules cleared his throat and asked – with wary consideration – "How long do we give him?"

"No more than an hour," Lysander answered, his eyes still fixed on the glimmering surface of the lake. "It’ll take time to fill the lower tunnels, and we have to be sure that we’ve reached full pressure before morning."

"Okay." The son of Zeus turned towards the queen with a determined smile. "Amymome – why don’t you and the others go back and tell the council that things are in hand here?" He waved his hand towards the ceiling, where the reflected web of light had practically faded into non-existence. "The sun’s gone down, so it’ll be safe for them to cross the park and send word to the rest of the city about what’s going to happen tomorrow. Yvanis will want to check on her mother, too I expect."

"Mother!" the young woman exclaimed, her hand flying to her mouth. "I’d almost forgot …"

"I’ll come with you," Cystalia offered, taking one last lingering glance at the dark water. "There’s no point in us hanging around here, is there? Just the – uh – overflow valve to open, right?"

"Right," Lysander agreed, nodding encouragement to his queen. "Hercules and I can handle that. Go back to the council, Amymome. Send them home. There’s nothing more they can do tonight."

She sighed. They were right. But all the same …

"You think – " she began to ask. That he’ll be alright down there? That he’ll make it? The questions died in her throat. There was no point in asking; Iolaus was out of their reach and influence now, trusting to his skill, his courage – and the blessing of the Fates - to keep him safe. "Never mind," she concluded with a sigh. "You’re right. We must start preparing the city for the morning. Something tells me it’s going to be a long night."

The heat was inescapable. The suit did seem to be holding some of it at bay, but the rest was soaking its way through the fabric, drenching him in a layer of sweat and slowly broiling him in his own juices. It was getting into the air too, tainting its already metallic taste and invading his lungs with fearsome insistence. Iolaus felt as if he were breathing liquid copper.

But at least he was breathing.

The lake had been deeper than he’d expected and it had taken him a little while to get himself orientated. Although the crystal light in the helmet threw a pool of grey white light ahead of him, it only penetrated so far; he’d found himself swimming into what looked like total darkness and he’d had to zigzag back and forward for a bit until he located the tunnel he was looking for. While the delay had been a little worrying, it had allowed him to get the feel of his new environment. The suit seemed to be functioning perfectly, and the flippers – which had been so ungainly on dry land - gave him remarkable speed and control in the water. His initial instinct had been to use his hands to pull himself forward, but he quickly found that kicking his flippered feet was just as effective and far less tiring. Once he’d got the hang of it he began to really fly, darting through the twisting tunnel almost as if he were a frog – albeit one with a light stuck in the middle of its forehead, and with a decidedly limited field of view. Frogs didn’t usually choose to swim in water hot enough to turn them into amphibian soup either; it didn’t take him long to realise that his need for speed was not purely driven by the vision of Hercules hovering over the controls for the overflow valve. If he took too long to find the way out then he’d probably never find it; heat exhaustion would kill him long before he ran out of air.

Iolaus blinked sweat out of his eyes and drifted to a brief halt, turning his head this way and that as he considered his options. The tunnels had divided again. The first time that had happened he’d picked the wrong way and found the route ahead narrowed too tightly for him to pass. Since the water at that point had been pretty close to boiling he’d backed away rapidly and made his way back to the junction. He couldn’t afford too many mistakes like that. Sooner or later, Hercules was going to open that valve – and he didn’t want to be navigating these narrow passages when it happened.

Follow the cooler water …

He kicked in one direction, then back in the other; to the left the temperature seemed unchanged, but the right felt a little more comfortable.

Right it is.

The mouth of this tunnel was pretty narrow, but he wriggled through, relieved to find that it quickly widened out again. The rock surfaces around him had been worn smooth by the water, something that had probably taken centuries, since the currents were barely detectable. He wondered if the water flow was a little more lively when the pumping mechanism was working, then grinned to himself as he realised it was about to get much livelier. He was already black and blue from unavoidable bumps in the narrower sections of tunnel; he’d be both cooked and tenderised if he stayed down here too long.

Come to that, how long have I been down here?

He had no way to judge the passage of time. His world had been reduced to the pale globe of light in which he swam, measuring his progress by the way solid rock loomed out of the darkness and was just as quickly swallowed by it again. If the situation hadn’t been so pressing – or the heat quite so oppressive – he’d probably be enjoying himself. He liked to swim, and had done so with great relish during his days on the Argo; sometimes because Hercules or Jason had thrown him overboard, but often simply for the fun of it.

This would have been fun – especially since he had no requirement to surface in search of air – but he couldn’t linger in the dark tunnels and the equally dark caves which they interconnected. The heat from the water was eating into his strength; he had to swim as hard and as fast as he could, twisting this way and that, and hoping that he could get out in time.

Another right, and then a left. The lure of cooler water lead him into gaping rock mouths and water hewn caverns, feeling his way through narrow gullies and kicking into speed whenever circumstances allowed. The passages seemed interminable and he was beginning to feel as if the rock walls were slowly closing in on him. That there was no way out, and that Lysander and Amymome had sent him down here to serve as an unwitting sacrifice to some dark god or other. The god of plumbing perhaps.

Don’t be ridiculous, he told himself severely. There had to be a way out since the water had to have a way in – and Amymome was depending on him to save Mithias and his troops from the nasty fate that Petrayus had planned for them.

Iolaus paused for a moment, desperately needing to rest, no matter how dangerous it might be. His head was pounding, and the world was dancing dizzily in front of his eyes. It’s the heat, he realised, taking a few deep breaths of impossibly hot air and dipping his head to check that the power crystal still glowed a reassuring blue. You can deal with this …

He kicked off from the rock wall that he been clinging to and let himself drift, concentrating – not on the way the grey white light in which he floated seemed to pulse and heave hypnotically – but on calming the frantic race of his heart. After a moment or two the world came back into focus and he resumed his journey, moving slower than before, but forcing himself forward with determination.

It can’t be much further, he promised himself, turning the thought into a repetitive litany that helped carry him onward. Not much further. Not far at all.

The tunnel twisted, spilt and spilt again, dividing into a hundred different passages, a honeycomb of rock and water through which he danced without any sense of direction or progress. The water might well be getting cooler, but he could no longer tell for certain. He swum because he had to. Because to stop was to stop forever, to sink down into the dark and be slowly devoured by the heat.

Not – much – further …

Not far – at all.

The rock wall to his right fell away into the dark.

So did the rock wall to his left.

He found himself swimming in a total void, a cavern so vast that he had practically no sense of enclosure at all. He came to a disconcerted halt, wondering which way to turn. The light from his helmet spilled out into nothingness, revealing nothing.

Nothing except the faint flicker of movement, somewhere off to his right …

Oh-oh.

Wherever he was – and it wasn’t the outer lake, not yet, because looking up he could glimpse a vague loom of rock ceiling – he was no longer alone.

What kind of fish would live down here? he wondered, striking forward and up, in the hope that would take him somewhere. Wonder what they eat?

He was about to find out.

The predator struck like lightning, arrowing out of the dark like a javelin. It was big: far bigger than he might have expected. It raced in from the right, a good six to eight feet long, its mouth a gaping trap filled with razor sharp teeth. Some kind of eel at a guess, although he didn’t get a very good look at it. He rolled over in the water, reacting more from instinct than anything else and it slithered past him at high speed, dragging a turbulent wake behind it. He saw more of it going than he had coming; It was stark white in colour and – worst of all – it didn’t seem to have any eyes.

Gods.

Lysander hadn’t mentioned anything about finding fish living down here – let alone killer eels with supper on their mind. A frog supper from the look of it …

The creature surged in again and he twisted away, pushing himself upwards with a few quick kicks of flipper clad feet.

Damn, but that’s fast.

He spun round, angling the light in search of his assailant while still trying to move forward as fast as he could. A few more strikes like that and he’d risk losing all sense of direction - and that was likely to be a fatal mistake.

"Just keep moving, Iolaus," he muttered, conscious of the effort all this was costing him. His limbs felt like lead weights despite being supported by the water, and he was panting for breath, fighting down the queasiness that surged inside his stomach. That was not good. He was sweating like a pig but the heat of his body had nowhere to go. He had to get out and he had to get out now. He wasn’t going to last much longer.

A flicker of movement to his left caught his eye. He turned his head towards it, then back to the right as something else disturbed the darkness. The crystal in the helmet poured a pool of illumination into the surrounding water – and Iolaus froze in total horror, seeing the light reflected back, seeing the undulating shadows resolve themselves into purposeful movement.

"Oh, sweet Artemis," he swore, a reflex reaction to an overwhelming situation. "Uh - sorry, Missy," he apologised distractedly, just in case she might be listening. Not that it would matter much. There was very little chance that she could help him down here.

Especially not against that.

Eels, like wolves, tend to hunt in packs. Blind eels were obviously no exception. The water was practically boiling with them, a writhing, wiggling swarm of menace that was rolling towards him with eager speed. Consternation held him still for a moment longer – and then he was turning round and kicking himself forward for all he was worth. He had neither the time nor the strength left to fight the encroaching hunters; he had to be close to the exit by now, and his only chance lay in finding it.

Which way out?

Which way …

He swam as fast as he could, and faster, putting everything he had into his escape, and holding nothing back. The light swept ahead of him, cutting a swathe through the darkness. It swung back and forth as he searched desperately for some sign of egress; a tunnel mouth, a crack in the rock, something. Dark rock glimmered above him in a seemingly endless parade.

Then it started to curve up.

Yes!

He twisted in the water, jack-knifing himself round so that he could dart upwards without losing any speed. The eels were literally at his heels; the closest of them, lunging forward to snap at his flippered feet, slammed hard into his metalled chest plate instead. He was thrown into a disorientating tumble by the impact, all the air driven out of his lungs. Teeth raked across the steel. He felt something crackle across his chest.

And his light went out.

No!

His first reaction was pure panic. He punched out blindly in the darkness, feeling both gauntleted fists connect with solid muscle. He also kicked out wildly, hitting squirming bodies but still managing to force himself upwards. The eels were suddenly everywhere, turning the water into a churning mass of bruising impacts and he struggled to get away from them, expending his energy in a desperate flail of arms and legs. It was instinct more than awareness that registered the faint whisper of light that was seeping down from above. It outlined the curve of a narrow cave mouth that pierced the rock ceiling, and he fought to reach it, battered by a frantic assault and his lungs labouring with the effort.

No – more than just the effort. The air in the helmet was growing heavy and stifling. He risked a brief glance down at his chest, hoping to catch the reassuring glimmer of blue, somewhere among the writhing bodies of his tormentors. It wasn’t there.

Gods!

Iolaus hesitated less than a second, stubborn determination cutting in with angry force. He’d got this far, and he was going to make it the rest of the way – if only because dying of suffocation in a lake of hot water, and ending up as a broiled supper for a bunch of frenzied eels was a decidedly stupid way for a hero to die.

He could just see the look with which his father would greet his arrival in Elysium …

He went on struggling upwards, seeing the hint of light grow stronger as he neared the cave rim. The surface of the lake couldn’t be that far away. Jaws closed on his arm and he shook the eel free, feeling the creature’s teeth rake across his biceps as he did so. Weight slammed into him from all directions, bruising his hip, pounding his back and jarring his shoulder. They were trying to beat him into unconsciousness so that they could feed without further resistance and – since his air supply was running out fast – their odds of succeeding were rising with every blow.

He’d almost forgotten about the other threat which had been creeping up on him; it was only when he felt the whisper of warning current that he remembered what was coming. He had only seconds to act, and he dived upwards with desperation, reaching out blindly until his gloved hands found purchase on an outcrop of stone. Teeth raked across his lower leg and something tugged at his right flipper – just as the surge kicked in with a vengeance, ripping through the cave mouth and flattening him firmly against the rock. The swarming eels were torn away, tumbling and spinning in the sudden torrent. Iolaus felt the weight of water tug at him, pummelling at his bruised and exhausted body and he knew he had to get away before he was dragged back into the dark.

Painfully, agonisingly slowly, he pulled himself forward, pitching himself up and over the outer lip of the cave; turbulence tumbled him a little further and he used its impetus to kick off from the rock and start swimming upwards again. It was hard going. The current tugged him back and he struggled and fought for control as it buffetted at him mercilessly. His legs were full of cramp. He couldn’t breath, couldn’t see. Stars danced in front of his eyes, but he went on fighting, slowly rising towards the promise of light and air.

Somehow, he was no longer swimming but crawling. An angled shelf of rock lay beneath his hands and he was climbing, pulling himself up, out of the deep water and into the shallows at the edge of the lake. Stars swirled through his perceptions. He crawled onto a narrow pebbled beach, rolling over to drag himself up those last few inches. His hands fumbled with the helmet catches. His lungs were screaming for air. The world was going grey and dancing away from him …

And the taste of the twilight was pure nectar, filling his scalded throat and caressing his burning skin with a touch as gentle as a lover’s hands. Iolaus collapsed back against the solidness of the mountain, too exhausted to do anything but lie there and gasp. The helmet tumbled from his nerveless fingers, landing with a quiet splash in the shallows. The last shaft of the setting sun painted its way across the vapour touched surface of the lake – and illuminated the whirlpool from which he’d barely escaped, filling its contours with ripples of pure golden fire.

Way to go, Herc. He tipped his head back, to find the purple tainted sky wheeling unsteadily overhead. Perfect timing, he noted, breaking into a weary grin. As usual.

It was to be his last coherent thought for a long time …

When Iolaus finally woke up again, it was to be serenaded with the soft, soothing sound of water lapping softly at a shore line. His mouth was dry, his body cramped, and there seemed to be a light shimmering across his eyelids, drenching his perceptions in silver.

Moonlight?

Iolaus blinked and fought for focus, wondering where he was and what he was doing there. He’d been dreaming, hadn’t he? Something about hot baths and beautiful women and frogs …

"Oohhhh," he groaned as memory finally caught up with the rest of him. He was lying half in, half out of water that was close to blood heat, and there were pebbles the size of his fist busy impressing permanent indentations into the softer parts of his anatomy. It hadn’t been a dream. None of it had been a dream.

Not even the eels …

Guess I passed out.

The world was fading in and out behind his eyes, pulsing in time to the deep seated headache that seemed to have woken up at the same time he did.

Odds are I’m gonna do it again …

He eased himself up a little, shifting position until his shoulders were supported by the rock wall that loomed over him. His entire body protested even that little movement and he winced, cautiously lifting his hand so that he could inspect what logic – and current sensation – suggested ought to be major damage. He could remember teeth closing on his arm and he looked for signs of blood, figuring that losing it might explain why everything had developed fuzzy edges.

Except that, where he expected to see shredded leather and shredded muscle underneath it, all he found were a few deeply scored indentation in the fabric of the suit. His assailants’ teeth hadn’t even punctured the oddly flexible material; not on the arm, nor anywhere else as far as he could determine. He carefully reached down to run a still gloved hand down the line of his right leg. It felt as if it were on fire, but the surface beneath his fingers appeared to be both smooth and undamaged.

"Whoo," he breathed, dropping his weight back against the stone, since the effort of moving was making him feel dizzy. "This stuff’s tougher than it looks …"

He wished he could say the same for himself. He hurt. All over. The eels might not have succeeded in drawing blood but they’d pummelled practically every inch of him. The suit was nothing but a green black shiny surface under the moonlight; he suspected that, beneath it, his skin was turning a fairly similar colour.

The headache and the nausea didn’t help much either.

That’s the heat. I guess …

"Oh! Ah. Oh!"

A sudden sharp and demanding pain lanced through his left calf muscle. He jerked upright and grabbed at the offending limb, hastily massaging the worst of the discomfort away. "Oh grreat," he complained. "Hey - cramp is not funny," he announced, raising his voice to address the general night air. Nobody responded to the challenge in his voice, but then – even if one of the gods had been lurking out there laughing at him – he doubted that they’d actually own up to it. "Ow. Ooh". He gingerly lowered his leg back into the shallows, relaxing a little as the heat helped ease away some of the involuntary tension in the limb. "Ahhh."

If nothing else, the onset of cramp had served to dissipate some of the fog from his brain, so he took a deep breath and tried to focus through the rest of it. The softly lapping water reminded him of how dry his mouth and throat were, so he carefully tugged his right hand free from its glove and reached down to scoop up a palmful of liquid. Okay, so it was warm, and had a bitter, mineral taste to it, but it was exactly what his body craved right there and then. He dipped his hand again and again, slaking his raging thirst and finally used the last handful to wash some of the grime and encrusted sweat from his face.

"All right," he gasped, drawing his webbed feet up and leaning forward to rest his weight and his weary forehead on his knees. "Made it this far. But – come on, Iolaus. You got work to do …"

He still had to reach the dam before sunrise – not to mention stopping Petrayus’ men sabotaging it. And if turned out that there were too many of them for him to do that, then he’d just have to try and sneak past so that he could reach Mithias and his army before someone emptied the entire lake over them.

Even if he did feel as if – well, as if he’d been half pummelled to death by a bunch of would be killer eels.

Maybe the heat in the water will help.

When all of this was over, he wasn’t going to want to see hot water again for – oh, the rest of his life. Well, maybe not for year or two at least. But right now, getting back into that water was the only option to him.

At least the whirlpool seems to have died back down again …

"Oh-oh." He lifted his head and stared at the moonlit water. If the whirlpool was no longer sucking water into the tunnels, that meant that the sewers beneath the city were practically full. And that meant that sunrise wasn’t that far away.

Time to get moving, Hero …

He reached down and unclipped the fastenings of the cumbersome breastplate. Without the crystal to power it, the breathing apparatus was just so much junk and dead weight. He left it, and the helmet, lying in the shallows, and wearily waded out into the water, keeping one wary eye out for any signs of eel. The heat of the lake did seem to ease some of the aching protests of his body; the rest of it he manfully tuned out, determinedly focusing his mind on the task in hand.

The body is distraction, his eastern master had insisted, casually strolling bare foot across a bed of burning coals. The mind must be taught to ignore it.

Iolaus had never entirely mastered the barefoot, burning coal, no blisters bit, but the advice – like the lessons - had come in handy on more than a few occasions since. He knew he’d pay for it later, but right then he had no choice; he deliberately pushed the headache and the pain away, and sank down into the softly steaming water, becoming a part of it, letting it soak back into his bones.

He was about to launch himself forward, ready to push his way through the water with the help of those flippered fins and follow the path the moonlight had painted for him, when a wry grin wreathed its way onto his face. He’d almost forgotten the nickname his teacher had given him, watching him trying to recreate those complicated moves that had been demonstrated so effortlessly. It sprang to mind now with an almost delicious irony.

His Master had always called him clumsy frog.

And boy – would he be amused to see me now …

Still grinning, he slipped deeper into the water, and, moving just like the lithe amphibian he currently resembled, he quickly vanished into the night …

The moon was a curving crescent of silver set in a velvet sky. It had risen above the far rim of the ancient crater soon after sunset and hung there most of the night, its curved image reflected in the dark water, far below. Hercules had been watching it for hours. Sleep had been a long way from his mind and – after tossing and turning in his borrowed bed for a while – he’d sought fresh air and refuge high atop the palace tower, leaning his weight on the stone railing and staring down into the night.

Trying not to worry.

Trying very hard not to think at all.

And not succeeding very well at either task.

He didn’t know exactly when it was that he gained company, but when he finally turned his head away from the mesmerising image of the moon it was to find Amymome standing beside him, her eyes fixed, much as his had been, on the silver curve painted against the midnight blue of the sky. She turned as he turned. Their eyes met.

Her's held an anxious, haunted look.

"He’ll be alright," they chorused, each offering the other the assurance in perfect harmony.

And then they both laughed, a quiet acknowledgement of synchronicity and mutual concern that had made them – for that moment – seemingly of one mind and one heart.

"Mithias, I meant," Hercules pointed out, leaning back against the rail so that he could consider her with sympathy. The moonlight rimmed her with a shimmer of silver. "I’m know Iolaus is okay."

"You do?" She sounded surprised and he found her a wry smile, staring down at the weathered stone that made up the roof of the tower.

"Yeah," he assured her, wishing he could make it sound more positive. But there was still a lurking doubt. There always was. Until he actually saw the man again … "You see that?" His hand indicated the gleaming curve of the moon and she nodded, her eyes reflecting puzzlement. "That’s a hunter’s moon. Artemis, my sister, puts a mark just like that on all her hounds. To show her favour, I guess. Iolaus carries his - right here," he explained, showing her the relevant heel of his hand as he did so. "And with that moon in the sky – well, if anything had happened to him, I’m sure she’d have been here, telling me all about it.

"Besides," he added with an almost dismissive shrug, "I think I’d know. Somehow. If something – really bad happened."

Amymome studied his face for a moment, looking at him with wary consideration. Her eyes reflected the moonlight, so that, they too, gleamed with a tiny crescent of silver. "You’ve know each other a long time, haven’t you," she said. Hercules’ lips twisted, expressing both warmth and wry amusement.

"Yeah," he confirmed softly. "We have."

A quiet smile touched her face, written there with just a hint of wonderment. "So – uh," she asked softly. "How do you put up with him?"

It wasn’t the question he was expecting and, for a long moment, he just stared at her. Then he laughed, a quiet chuckle that came from the heart. "The same way he puts up with me." The shrug was dismissive; the look that went with it was a vaguely embarrassed one. He turned to gaze out into the night, watching shadows chase across the moon. "My mother – used to say that we – Iolaus and I - balanced each other out. She was a wise woman, my mother."

And I miss her …

He wasn’t sure exactly why his mother had come to mind – except perhaps that Amymome reminded him of her a little. She certainly possessed the same kind of quiet strength and determined heart that Alcmene had bequeathed to her sons.

"She must have been very proud of you," the queen noted sympathetically. She’d obviously picked up on the was – which added astute to her many virtues. "If Icastus – my son – grows up to be a tenth the man you are, I know I’ll be proud of him." She let the thought carry for a beat, then added: "Of course, if he turns out to be a tenth the man Iolaus is, I’ll be just as proud. But I’ll have to warn all the mothers in the city to lock up their daughters."

Hercules nearly choked on his snort of laughter. Iolaus had been laying it on a little thick today. "He – ah – doesn’t always flirt that outrageously," he protested. "Just – whenever he’s encouraged to."

Amymome chuckled. "He doesn’t seem to need much encouragement," she observed warmly. "Hercules – whatever happens tomorrow – I just want you to know how grateful I am for everything you – and Iolaus – have done for my city."

He shrugged again, this second gesture even more dismissive than the first. "Its what we do," he said. He was always uncomfortable about being thanked for something he saw only as his duty, but especially when it happened before events had reached a natural conclusion. The fate of Tantellus still hung in the balance – along with the fate of its unsuspecting army. The task that remained to him was only a small one, important only in its timing; somewhere out in the darkness the man he thought of as his brother was busy risking his life in the hope of preventing a terrible tragedy.

Providing he did escape those tunnels in time …

He’d waited the hour and more, risking a few extra minutes to give the hunter as much as chance as they dared. Only then had he put all his weight to the third wheel, forcing the ancient mechanism to operate the long sealed valve; the dark waters of the lake had bubbled, boiled – and then swirled into a roaring whirlpool, a howl of current that had dragged steaming water out of the dark and poured it back with fearsome speed.

The idea of what it might be like to be caught up in that had been one of the things he’d been trying very hard not to think about.

"Well, then I’m grateful you were here to do it for us," she stated firmly. "Jayce was right. You gave us hope. Gave me hope. Even if – even if the watergates jam tomorrow and Iolaus …" She caught back the thought with a determined breath, as if speaking it might give the possibility shape and substance. "Even then," she insisted, "we will have tried.

"And I’ll still spit in Petrayus’ face and tell him he can go to Tarterus for all I care."

Hercules hid a quiet grin in the darkness. She really did reminded him of his mother. "If Lysander is right about everything," he pointed out, "then we’ll do a lot better than spit tomorrow. It’ll work. I’m sure of it. And afterwards? We’ll see Mithais and your entire army ride back in through the city gates."

Amymome sighed, staring out into the night with anxious eyes. "You really think so?"

"I know so," he assured her with confidence. His own gaze drifted to the distant, night shrouded surface of the lake, far below. The curve of the moon glinted back at him, echoed there by an almost perfect reflection of its true self. His best friend was down there somewhere, with that same silver curve etched on the heel of his hand.

Do me a favour, buddy, Hercules requested silently, sending his thoughts, and his heart with them, out into the dark. Whatever you do - don’t let that have been a lie …