HTLJ: Labour of Love

by Arianna18

A retelling of the labours of Hercules and what it means to his relationship with Iolaus

Note: This story follows immediately upon the events of 'No Matter What', my story of our heroes' first adventure after leaving the Academy. Within this story, I've referred to the events of 'Lost…and Found', a story which predates their days at the Academy, and there are characters from 'To Find Your Memories' (Xertes) and 'Betrayed', (Malthius), so this tale forms a bit of the backstory to later adventures. In this story, I've tried to reconcile some of the mythical labours of Hercules with the modern television version of the myth. In the movies and tv adventures, Hercules dealt with the labours of the hydra, hind, Stymphalian Birds, the girdle of Hippolyta and Cerberus (not necessarily with any particular accuracy, or even remote resemblance, to the original myths). In my latest story, 'Be Careful What You Wish For', I have Hercules obtaining a golden apple from the Garden of the Hesperides. In this story, I have not dealt with the Cretan bull or the cattle of Geryon…the tale was already getting to be too long! Like the writers of the television series, I've taken liberties with the myths, but unlike the paid bards, I have tried to remain true to their main attributes. But, I've often wonder what Iolaus was up to while Herc was labouring away, and since the demigod couldn't be required to do his labours because of killing his family while maddened by Hera, as occurred in the mythic version, I wondered what in our universe would ever compel Hercules to submit to the labours. I hope you enjoy the way I've worked it out!

* * *

Iolaus stood with one hand on his hip while his other rubbed the back of his neck as he looked up at his clearly desolate friend with an expression of strained incomprehension on his face. "Let me get this straight, Hercules," he sighed. "You're going to indenture yourself to a guy called Eury…" he stumbled over the unfamiliar name.

"Eurystheus," Hercules supplied with a sigh of his own.

Iolaus' eyes strayed to the fresh mounds of earth, as he continued, "Yeah, whatever, him. You're going to indenture yourself, to do his will, because you figure you have to do penance for the fact this family was killed…"

"It was my fault, Iolaus," the young demigod cut in again, the anguish an ache in his voice. "If I hadn't been so quick to spout off to everyone in town to stand up against that warlord, Aureus wouldn't have resisted, and he and his family would still be alive…." His voice dwindled into nothing as he looked away, up over the horizon. He'd never meant that one man should stand alone…Aureus hadn't understood. But that didn't make it any less his fault. He kept seeing those little kids, so full of life and mischief yesterday, lying like broken dolls…. His heart twisted and he had to swallow the nausea that rose to the back of his throat as his gaze dropped to the graves they had just finished filling in, the raw earth like scars against the fresh green grass.

"It wasn't your fault!" Iolaus protested again, for about the tenth time since he'd first found Hercules at what was left of the burned out farmhouse. His friend had just begun to dig the graves for the family, tears in his eyes and his face stark white with grief and guilt. Iolaus had sagged at the sight of the murdered family, feeling sick and furious at the same time. Finding another shovel in the barn, he'd joined his friend in laying the family to rest. Herc's rigid silence, the stricken look in his eyes, made it all too clear what he was thinking, feeling. "It wasn't your fault, Herc," Iolaus had murmured, but his best friend hadn't even acknowledged that he'd heard.

Hercules hadn't listened then and wasn't listening now, his eyes still haunted by the shadows of what he'd seen. They'd finished the grim task together, mostly in silence, and then Herc had told him what he'd agreed to do. Stunned, Iolaus couldn't believe it, made Hercules repeat it and still couldn't accept what he'd just been told. He wanted to yell and shake some sense into his best friend, but Hercules' shocked, almost dazed manner worried him. The young demigod seemed utterly convinced that he deserved to pay this price. He could understand that Hercules felt bad about what had happened, gods, so did he…it was horrible, disgusting…but it wasn't Herc's fault. It didn't make any sense.

Holding his temper and frustration in check as best he could, trying to understand why Hercules would ever agree to something so ridiculous, Iolaus frowned as he looked down at the ground and kicked a handy rock. "Okay, so, to be clear," he continued, his voice tight, "you're doing this as penance because Apollo said you'd learn responsibility and that a worse penalty would be exacted for your interference in matters that didn't concern you if you didn't immediately comply with his demand. Is that about it?"

"Yeah…that's about it," Hercules agreed, looking away.

"Well, leaving aside the fact that Apollo is a nut case, and hasn't any right to be telling you what is or isn't your business, let alone threaten you with 'worse penalties', how long is this likely to take?" Iolaus asked, unable to keep the exasperated sarcasm from his voice…not even trying to.

"I don't know…months, a year maybe. He wasn't very clear," Hercules admitted, looking thoroughly miserable.

"You don't know," Iolaus repeated flatly. "You've agreed to cede away your right to choose how you live and what you do to some perfect stranger, but you don't know for how long, but maybe as long as a year." Iolaus shook his head in disbelief. "Gods, Herc, have you taken a really bad kick to the head lately that I don't know about? How dumb is that, anyway?" the young blond hunter almost shouted, losing his grip on his temper in his growing sense of alarm. Not only was this dumb, it could very well be dangerous. They didn't know anything about this Eurystheus guy, but being a favourite of Apollo's wasn't a particularly good character reference in the young warrior's view.

Hercules just shrugged and shook his head as his eyes strayed again to the fresh graves. "You don't understand…"

"I understand that your 'loving' family has found a great way to trade on your guilt complex," Iolaus cut in. "Herc, for pity's sake, you weren't responsible for what happened to those children or their parents. If you want justice, why don't we go after the warlord who had them killed?"

When Hercules flinched and looked away, Iolaus' eyes narrowed with a dawning suspicion. "Wait a minute…wait just a damned minute," he muttered, knowing outright avoidance when he saw it. Something else was going on here. "Is that the 'worse penalty' clause? What did Apollo do? Tell you Ares would take me out in retaliation if you kept interfering with his precious little warlord?"

The demigod's jaws clenched and his lips thinned as he refused to answer and refused to look at his friend, but his silence was as good as an admission, and they both knew it.

Iolaus felt his anger flare. "DAMMIT!" he shouted, turning around in a tight circle of furious energy. "I don't know what's worse…them using me to threaten you, or you letting them! And you weren't even going to tell me? Who gave you the right to make a decision like this on my account without talking it over with me? I thought we'd gone over this, buddy…you don't make my life choices for me!"

"Iolaus…it's probably just a year, maybe less…I didn't know what else to do," Hercules finally admitted, still not making eye contact.

"Right," his friend seethed. "Fine." He sighed as he pushed an angry hand through his hair, trying to calm down. Guilt over the death of an innocent family and a threat against his best friend's life. No wonder Herc had folded. Damn gods…why couldn't they get a life and leave Herc alone? Shaking his head, he continued, "Fine, okay. I'll get my stuff from town and we'll be on our way."

Hercules frowned as he looked up at his friend. "Your stuff? Iolaus…you can't come with me," he said, his voice a little uncertain, not sure how his buddy had gotten the idea that he could.

"I can't…what?" Iolaus demanded, the anger again rising, his face flushed. "Who says? Who decides where I go and what I do?"

"I…it's just that…I have to do this alone," Hercules finished lamely. "Look, I appreciate the offer, but this isn't your problem."

As soon as he'd said it, Hercules knew he'd just made everything a lot worse. Iolaus' eyes narrowed as he slowly licked his upper lip, nodding tightly, rigid with fury. "Not my problem," he said with dangerous quiet as he fought for control of the sudden rage that literally made him what to slug his best friend. "You got suckered into this to protect me...and now it's not my problem. You're going away for a year or more, but I'm not welcome to come along. You're going to face gods know what dangers, but you've decided to do it all on your own. Because it's your problem, not mine."

Iolaus swallowed hard, forcing back words he knew he'd regret saying. Pressing his lips closed, he looked at Hercules long and hard, then turned on his heel to walk away.

"Iolaus…wait!" Hercules called, not wanting it to end like this. He didn't know when he'd see Iolaus again, and he sure didn't want them parting in anger, not talking to one another. He knew what he was about to do was dumb, that he should never have agreed. But, Apollo had caught him at a weak moment, just after he'd found the murdered family, and he'd been blind with grief and guilt. And, when Ares showed up to underscore the threat against Iolaus, it was too much. The thought of what the gods could do to his best friend had been the final blow…he'd been utterly devastated and had agreed to go along with Apollo's demands.

Now, it was too late. He'd given his word and he had to see it through.

When Iolaus didn't turn back, Herc ran after him and caught him by the arm, forcing him to turn back around to face him. "Please, don't storm off like this…I have to do this…I gave my word. Can't you understand?"

"No, Hercules, I'm afraid I can't," Iolaus retorted, shaking off his friend's grip. "I hope you have a good year, send a scroll once in a while to let me know you're still alive," he said sarcastically. "Oh, I forgot, you probably won't have the right to send a note…well, forget it. Look me up when you get back."

"What…what will you do while I'm gone?" Hercules asked…just wanting to keep his friend talking, not wanting Iolaus to take off angry.

Iolaus just stared up at him for a long moment. Finally, he said, "Why? So you can make more decisions for me as to what I can or can't, should or shouldn't do? You know what, Hercules, you have no right to ask me that…no right to any part of my life. Not anymore. I have had it with you making decisions that affect me without bothering to talk to me. I have had it with your overblown need to protect me at outrageous cost to yourself. I have had it with the guilt of being used against you, because you just keep letting it happen. So, what I do from now on is not your problem. Capisce? Go pay this penance for being stupid and irrational and self-centred…pay the penance for being dumb enough to believe that any bad thing that happens in this world is your fault. Maybe by the time you get back, you'll have grown up a little and realize that even you, the great Son of Zeus, can't save everyone, that you sometimes make mistakes, and that you are not responsible for my life."

With that, Iolaus turned and stomped off across the fields toward town.

Hercules watched him go, sick at heart, wondering how everything had come apart so badly. He hadn't meant to cause the deaths of a whole family…gods, he didn't know how he could live with that. Oh, he'd heard Iolaus, and knew it wasn't as if he'd killed them himself…but his words had led to this, his urging to resist, to fight back. Hercules knew the penance he'd agreed to wouldn't change anything, wouldn't bring that family back…but he felt so guilty. But, giving up a year of his life wouldn't change the facts, wouldn't make him feel less guilty, he knew that…already knew it was a stupid oath to have given, but he was stuck with it.

But, he also knew he'd make it again, if not for the family, then to protect Iolaus. In the end, he had been driven into the oath because he cared so damned much about his best friend, and now he'd screwed that up, too. He'd rarely seen Iolaus so furious, and never before had his friend's anger been so clearly directed toward him. The pain of it all was written on the demigod's face, in the scrunched up frown and the lost look in his eyes, in his defeated posture, and in the way he had to concentrate on his breathing to keep the overwhelming despair that had risen in his chest locked down. Finally, when he'd lost sight of Iolaus and with a last look at the four graves, he turned to walk slowly over the crest of the hill, heading to Eurystheus…whatever his name was.

Heading toward what he was afraid was likely to be the longest year in his life.

* * *

The distance into the little hill town of Moreia was far enough that Iolaus had managed to walk off most of his anger on the way. By the time he'd covered half the distance, he already regretted his angry words and wished he hadn't left Herc on such a bad note. The poor guy had to feel like Tartarus over the death of that family, not to mention what Apollo had demanded of him, and this fight wouldn't have made him feel any better. Iolaus considered turning around, but decided that he hadn't been completely wrong. Herc did have to get past his tendency to guilt out or he'd destroy himself…maybe a year to cool off and reflect would actually do him some good.

But, a year was an awfully long time when you're not yet twenty years old. It would be hard on him. Iolaus sighed and decided he'd send a scroll to Hercules, at least letting him know that his best friend wouldn't spit in his eye the next time they saw one another. And, maybe in a few weeks, he'd drop by and make sure his buddy was managing alright…you know, casual like, while he happened to be passing through the nearest town on his own business.

Which left the question of what his 'own business' was going to be for the next year.

Iolaus frowned as he thought of what had started all this. He and Herc had been passing through the little town of Moreia not long after their confrontation with Hera's high priest. Hercules had allowed his powers to be stripped from him to protect Iolaus' life, and they'd both suffered for it…Iolaus still wasn't fully recovered from his wounds. It'd been their first big 'adventure' after leaving the Academy, he thought ruefully. Then, just after arriving in Moreia, they'd heard about the depredations of the warlord, Xertes, and Hercules had made one of his pithy little speeches about how if people would stand up for themselves and one another, bullies like Xertes could be defeated. Most of the town had scoffed…well, who could blame them? From their perspective, this young kid had tried to tell them how to face a threat that had most of them scared witless. But, Aureas had listened, had been one of the few brave men in the lousy town. And he had paid dearly for his bravery.

Iolaus rubbed his face as he wished he'd been with Hercules when his buddy had found the family. They'd split up, to check on the isolated farms in the area, to make sure everyone was alright, knew how to protect themselves, and to encourage them to move into the village for a while, if they'd go, for the protection of being with a larger group of people. At least until they'd figured out how best do deal with Xertes and his bunch. They'd agreed to meet at Aureas' place for the noon meal, having made the acquaintance of the man and his family the day before in town. By the time Hercules had gotten there, it was all over, the bandits long gone.

Iolaus cursed as he thought of the decent, likeable young man, not yet thirty, his pretty wife and their cute little kids. Dead now, because of Xertes. It wasn't right…was, in fact, revolting. And the stupid townspeople didn't realize this was just the beginning. More would die before Xertes and his men robbed them blind and moved on to terrorize another town.

The villain needed to be stopped and Iolaus had an idea or two about how to go about doing just that.

When Iolaus arrived back in town, he went directly to the magistrate's office. There was something about knowing he was going in there on his own, to face a man who clearly felt all young people were fools, that caused Iolaus to assume a demeanor of tough independence, and of world weary age beyond his years, a look he hadn't worn for years. When he strode in, the magistrate glanced up from the papers on his desk, a grimace of impatience on his face when he recognized the young man.

"You," he said, a tone of angry contempt in his voice. He didn't like this kid, or his tall friend, didn't like the way they'd tried to stir up trouble, trying to get people to resist when it would only get them killed. "I thought you and your friend had moved on."

Iolaus shook his head as he stood in the doorway. "No…we'd gone to check on the folks scattered on the farms outside of town, to suggest they move into Moreia for a while, to be safer. We found…" he hesitated, then plunged on with the terrible news, "Aureas and his family have been killed by Xertes and his bunch."

"What!" the magistrate exclaimed, shaken. "By the gods…this is your fault, you and your loud-mouthed friend, telling people to fight back…this is what happens when fools listen to fools!"

Iolaus stiffened at the words and the condemnation. "No, this is what happens when a brave man stands alone, his neighbours and friends too frightened to stand with him," he snapped back coldly, moving into the room.

The magistrate stiffened at the tough, threatening demeanor of the young man who seemed to be advancing on him. Flushed, angry, he shook his head at Iolaus' words, not wanting any responsibility for what had occurred. "You and your friend…so quick with the answers, so quick to tell us it's all our own fault. Where is he anyway, the one who came into town with you yesterday?"

"Hercules? Oh, he had to go off and do a few favours for the gods," Iolaus replied almost off-handedly as he settled uninvited into a chair in front of the desk, and proceeded to make up his own version of events to explain why Hercules had left. "The gods seemed to think that trying to help the people here was clearly a waste of his time, when it seems you're not prepared to help yourselves."

"The gods?" the magistrate snorted in disbelief and contempt. "He probably ran at the sight of real blood. Go on, get out of here…you're wasting my time."

"Hercules is the Son of Zeus," Iolaus replied tightly, a flat look in his eyes at the insult to his best friend. "So, I wouldn't be so quick to jump to conclusions if I were you. You never know who you might offend."

Sitting back, the magistrate stared at the abrasive young man, wondering if he was telling the truth. There'd been stories recently, about the Son of Zeus…by the gods…he hadn't made the connection with the tall kid who'd tried to stir up the town the other day. But, no, it was too much to believe. This kid had to be putting him on. "And, who are you? One of Apollo's byblows?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he stared with contempt at the golden youth with brilliant blue eyes…and suddenly thought the possibility might not be so far-fetched.

Iolaus barked out an unexpected, mirthless laugh. "No need to get insulting," he replied, his voice icy, his eyes like chipped stone as he coolly eyed the magistrate as if he was a loathsome worm. "No, if it means anything, I'm just plain Iolaus of Thebes, Son of Skouros." The effect of his manner and words was… impressive. The contempt vanished from the other man's eyes and he sat up a little straighter, beginning to believe Iolaus was only telling him the simple truth. He'd heard of General Skouros, knew he'd come from Thebes, his brother having served with the older man years ago. And, if Hercules really was the Son of Zeus…maybe he'd underestimated these kids… underestimated them badly.

"If your friend is gone, as you say, what are you still doing here?" the official asked then, a little warily.

"Well, Hercules would have stayed to help this town, regardless of your unwillingness to do much on your own account, if he'd had a choice. But, he didn't…I gather Apollo was very insistent. However, since Herc doesn't need me tagging along for what Apollo wanted him to do, I thought I'd stick around and lend my help to you. Herc and I want Xertes punished for what he did to that family…and we want him and his bloodthirsty bunch put away where they can't hurt anyone else. So, I'm here to find out what it'll take for you to act against the scum…what you need to send him to prison," Iolaus explained, not the least bit uncomfortable with using his friend's name. Herc did want Xertes brought to justice…he'd just been stymied from doing it himself. But, no god had dropped by to tell Iolaus he couldn't 'interfere' with Ares' little warlord.

"And just what do you think you can do against a cold blooded killer like him, and his horde of cutthroats?" the magistrate asked, a disparaging tone again creeping back into his voice. What could one kid do, after all?

"Both Hercules and I were trained at Cheiron's Academy, and we know of various ways to take goons like Xertes out of action…it all depends on what you're prepared to do," Iolaus replied as he coolly studied the older man, throwing the ball back into his court.

Sighing, the magistrate thought about it. If there were an easy way, one without risks, to get them out from under the threat Xertes posed, he'd be more than willing to take it. "Well…I'd need the back up of trained soldiers in the town to ensure the safety of the citizenry, and I'd need a witness who would swear to Xertes' guilt…then I could judge him without getting killed by his horde, and send him to prison. But, it's not likely that any of his men would inform against him, and no one in town would ever take the risk of standing up to him, especially not now, not after what happened to Aureas…so, I see little hope of getting a witness."

Iolaus pulled at his lip as he thought about it. Leaning forward, he blithely picked up a piece of blank parchment from the man's desk and reached for a pen and the inkpad. After he'd scribbled a brief note, he blew on it to dry the ink then rolled it up and handed it to the magistrate. "Here's a note to King Jason in Corinth, asking him to spare a hundred of his warriors for a month. It shouldn't take more than a few days for a messenger to run there and return with the soldiers. In the meantime, I'll infiltrate Xertes' 'horde' and get the information you require. That good enough?"

His eyes wide, the magistrate unrolled the message and read, "Jase, I need a hundred soldiers to protect the village of Moreia for up to a month until we can bring an upstart warlord, Xertes, to justice. The slime has already moved to killing off women and kids…he has to be stopped. Thanks. Iolaus."

"You know King Jason?" the magistrate stammered.

"Sure…the three of us used to hang out together at the Academy," Iolaus replied with a shrug. He wasn't used to trading on his acquaintance with royalty, but he couldn't think of any other way to get this guy off his butt. Without the protection of professional soldiers, this town would never resist Xertes and his men. Someone had to stop the warlord and Iolaus had appointed himself to the job. He had no doubt that Jason would loan him the men, and he was grateful he had friends like that he could count on.

"Alright," the magistrate said then, nodding thoughtfully. "If these men arrive, and you come back with the information I need in court, I'll see Xertes goes to prison."

"You got a deal," Iolaus replied as he stood and left the office without a backward glance.

* * *

Hercules wasn't all that anxious to begin a period of servitude for an unknown duration, but he figured the sooner he started, and the quicker he could get the assigned tasks done, the sooner it would all be behind him. He loped with long, steady strides over the countryside, heading across the plains of Mycenae to the west. As he traveled past rich fields of grain and thriving villages, he thought about Iolaus' last words to him and pondered the truth of them.

It wasn't as if he felt responsible for all the ills of the world…but did he really act that way? He knew he resented the interference of the gods in the lives of ordinary people, was appalled by their callousness and wanton lack of respect for mortals. And, it was true that he was embarrassed to have their blood in his veins, humiliated to the core of his being to be any part of what they were, what they did. And, he knew he had a hair trigger temper when it came to seeing people oppressed by soulless creatures who preyed upon them, terrorized them. It was so unnecessary. There were always more decent people than evil people in the world…if the decent ones wouldn't allow themselves to be so easily intimidated…if they'd just stand up for themselves, and for each other, they could overcome the would-be warlords and tyrants. It wouldn't have to be hard.

But, there were risks…and he'd seen what could happen, why they were afraid. No one wanted to die…or worse, see their families slaughtered. Was he wrong to encourage others to stand up for what was right? If no one did, there'd be no boundaries, no deterrents to the bad seeds in the world, and those bad seeds would only thrive, growing without restraint. And, if he didn't encourage people to push back, some, even many, would be killed anyway…villains like Xertes used force to get what they wanted and knew only too well the terror blood could evoke. Someone had to stand against that kind of evil. Someone had to stand for a better way of life.

As he ran, he reluctantly conceded that Iolaus had been right, at least about the charge of feeling responsible for the ills of the world…maybe not for causing them, but for doing something about them. So, if he'd made a mistake that had led to the deaths of Aureas and his family, it had been in not doing enough. Not being clear enough about what was needed, not standing firmly enough in front as the first wall of defence. He should have explained more about the preparation that would be needed for defence, should have had a strategy, not just gone in half-cocked. It was his fault, in some respects, that the tragedy had happened. He couldn't undo it. But, he could learn from it…and he vowed he'd not make the same mistake again.

But, he'd likely make others. Dammit, he hated to fail…was sickened when his failure meant someone else was hurt. For a long time, Hercules ran with bits of thoughts spiraling in his mind, feelings of over-whelming despair slowing his steps when he remembered the children. Could he take such chances again? Could he risk making a stand that could end up so…so horribly he wanted to scream with the pain of it? Finally, his steps slowed to a walk, and then he stopped by a wide but shallow fast-moving stream and dropped to his knees to splash the cool water over his face. Sagging back on his heels, he stared at the tumbling, rushing water, sparkling bright in the sun, flashing glittering shards of light into the fragrant spring air. That family was dead. He had to live with that. Sighing, he looked up through the boughs of the trees bending over the stream, up through the branches to the sky above, trying to make sense of a world that allowed children to be innocent victims of mindless, vicious violence. He couldn't. He couldn't make sense of, or accept, a world like that without trying to change it.

But, if he gave up because he couldn't stand the pain of the guilt when something went wrong, and tragedy happened, then he wouldn't do anyone any good. Did he have the right to provoke people into resistance? The right to urge them to place themselves at risk? No…no one had that right. But, he was responsible for deciding what he stood for, and then for making his own stand. He could describe the future he was trying to create, and let others choose whether or not they'd join in sharing the risks…and he could prepare them and protect them as much as possible. And, if someone still died…could he live with it then?

Could he live with doing nothing about people who traded in terror?

So it came back to guilt…and he'd feel guilty either way, he understood that now. Every choice carries the weight of responsibility and the costs of bearing it. Sighing, he stood and stretched muscles that had stiffened as he'd knelt and pondered the choices before him. Standing a moment longer by the stream, his hands on his hips, he decided he had to do something with his life that made it worth having been born. He had a gift, a strength of body that was unique. He could use it to raise grain, and a family, living quietly and apart from the violence of the world. Or, he could use it as a warrior, to protect and defend…to do his best for those who couldn't defend themselves.

"I'm sorry," Hercules murmured to the memory of those children, and their parents. "I'm sorry I wasn't there when you needed help."

There were other children, though, who still lived, and who could still be saved. Turning away from the stream, continuing his journey, he decided finally that he couldn't stand aside and let terror in any form have free rein. There would be costs. And, he wasn't omnipotent, so it was likely he'd make mistakes. But…he'd try…he'd do his best…and with a certain sadness he understood that was all anyone could do, even if sometimes your best wasn't enough.

He'd have to learn how to accept the costs, the pain, of making mistakes, of failing. If he didn't, if he gave up or was overcome with guilt, he'd be no good to anyone. He'd been given strong shoulders…he'd thought to bear physical burdens more easily. But, now he understood the invisible burdens would be the heavier to bear. There really wasn't any choice, not if he wanted to make the world a better, safer place.

It wasn't going to be easy…far from it. Not when the heaviest costs were paid by others…gods that was going to be the hardest of all to bear. He found himself wishing Iolaus was with him, so that he could hear his friend's take on all this. Iolaus, whether he admitted it or not, felt just as responsible for making the world a better and safer place, was just as apt to jump in and confront anyone or anything that threatened the innocent. Did he struggle with these same questions? Or did he see life differently? That nothing was free and you chose what costs you'd pay and then you just got on with it. Hercules smiled a little as he imagined his friend chastising him for making it all too complicated. 'There are bad guys out there who hurt people whether you get involved or not. Better if you're involved and you stop them from hurting more people in the future. It's that simple.' That's pretty much what Iolaus would say…but Herc knew his friend also had nightmares when things went wrong. He just didn't talk about it, dwell on it or somehow resent the price that he paid in pain. He just kept going.

Picking up his pace, Hercules decided it wasn't a bad approach to life. You couldn't go back, change what had been done. You had to keep going…learning as you went, getting better at what you do, but always moving forward. Otherwise, what was the point?

Thinking about his friend and his pragmatic, sometimes even earthy approach to life, Hercules felt the first pangs of loneliness. He was going to miss Iolaus badly during the months ahead. The only other time they'd been split up for so long was the first year he'd gone to the Academy, after he and Iolaus had had a falling out, and hadn't been speaking for months before he'd even left Thebes. He remembered the lost feeling, how confused he'd been, wondering what he'd done to make Iolaus so angry with him. And he could never understand why his best friend had taken to living on the streets when he could so easily have had a home under Alcmene's roof.

And, it was happening again, parting in anger, only this time Hercules knew what Iolaus had been so mad about. His buddy was fiercely independent and had proven long ago he was more than capable of taking care of himself. More than that, Iolaus saw himself as someone who took care of other people, protected them…even Hercules, so it galled him to be cast as the one needing to be safeguarded. He hated being used as a pawn by which Hercules could be controlled by powers greater than either of them…but which he earnestly believed they could face if they stood together. Iolaus had said he was tired of feeling guilty about being held as a hostage to Hercules' fate…and had seen Hercules' capitulation as a violation of the trust that had to exist between them. Iolaus had made it plain that Hercules wasn't responsible for his life…but even if that were true, the demigod was far from indifferent about what happened to his friend.

What was he supposed to have done? Ares had been crystal clear. If Hercules had refused the deal Apollo proposed, implying it was made on behalf of all the gods who were tired of Hercules' arrogance and hotheaded interference, Ares was going to punish him by killing Iolaus. That was the deal, take it or leave it, no time to think, no room to bargain. Hera had done essentially the same thing to him just a few short weeks ago. And Hercules had been unable to respond in any other way but to capitulate. It was inconceivable to him that he would ever make a choice that would directly result in his best friend's death.

Iolaus was so much a part of his life. Like a candle in the darkness, Iolaus illuminated his world. But, it was more than his deep conviction that he needed his friend, for guidance, for strength in the face of adversity, for balance…for any one of a thousand reasons. It was that he loved Iolaus for who he was, for the kind of person he was. Hercules would sooner kill himself than be the one who caused Iolaus' death. But, like a candle, Iolaus could be snuffed out with but a breath from one of the gods. Hercules shuddered at the vulnerability of mortals, the fragility of life and its fleeting nature.

So, where did that leave him? Them? Twice now, the gods had learned how easily he could be controlled by the force of a simple threat against his best friend. They'd threaten again, and again…endlessly, so long as the threat worked. What in Tartarus was he supposed to do? Say, 'Oh sure, go ahead, blow him away… what do I care?' Like that would ever happen. Would the reality of such constant threats spell the end of the friendship the two of them shared? Because, Iolaus had been pretty clear, he wasn't going to be used that way again.

As Hercules ran through the night, he grappled with the problem, but couldn't see any solution. It was a stalemate. No, from the gods' perspective, it was checkmate. Game over. They win.

Well, they'd won this round, that was for sure. Herc was bound by his word for who knew how long, to do who knew what, and Iolaus had taken off furious. The young demigod shook his head ruefully as he loped toward his fate. Oh, he knew Iolaus would have blown off the anger by now. He never stayed mad for long. But the situation hadn't changed.

The good news, if there was any, was that he had quite a bit of time ahead of him in which to figure out how to get a different solution to the same challenge.

* * *

When Iolaus strode purposefully out of the magistrate's office, he headed directly to the inexpensive lodgings where he and Herc had taken a room to get his gear. Once inside the small chamber, he pulled off his shirt and rifled around in his pack until he found the one that was in the worst shape…blue faded almost to gray, patched with a small rent in the sleeve where he'd torn it on a branch and hadn't yet repaired it. He rolled his two half-decent shirts together to leave with the old woman who had let the room to them. That left him with his scruffy pack, the flint, a handful of rags, fishing line and hooks, a ragged blanket, a small packet of herbs for emergencies, his bow, quiver, arrows, knife and sword. Pretty much what a mercenary down on his luck would be carrying.

After he left the boardinghouse, he cut through the back lanes of the town to the countryside. He needed to live off the land for a week or so, let his beard grow in a little, get some dirt under his nails…and lose the scent of having recently had a bath. Once he was in the forest, he pulled one of the faded blue rags from his pack and rolled it, to make a headband out of it to change the appearance of his hair and profile. With an unshaven face, the poorer clothing, and a layer of dirt, he was hoping that no one would recognize him as the guy who'd been tagging along with the tall, mouthy kid. Most times, people tended not to notice him anyway, but there was no point in taking any chances. In a week or so, on his own, looking like a tramp, no one would connect him with the two confident young men who'd arrived in town just two days ago and so far as anyone except the magistrate knew, were long gone.

While he lived off the land, he could also scout out Xertes' camp, conduct a little surveillance as Cheiron would put it, to get to know his enemy's routines…and to watch for his weak spots.

* * *

Not long after dawn, Hercules figured he had to be getting close to his destination. He stopped by a small, clear pond for a quick swim to clean himself up, and then headed down the valley to Eurystheus' farm. It was a pleasant enough location, quiet, certainly remote. He found himself wondering what tasks would be set for him, whether they'd be challenging, or humiliating or dangerous…or all three. What he didn't expect was anything that would be fun. He hoped it wouldn't be anything he couldn't do with a clear conscience. Biting his lip as the rooflines of the house and large barn came into view, he figured wondering and worrying weren't doing him any good. He might as well head on in and see what was in store for the next few months at least.

When Hercules turned into the lane heading to the house, he saw a tall, weathered man filling a bucket at the well in the yard between the house and the barn. Eurystheus looked to be in his forties, maybe early fifties, broad-shouldered but lean and leathery, his graying hair pulled back and tied at the base of his neck. His clothing had a worn, serviceable look, not rich, but not poor either. Striding forward, the young demigod called out and when the man turned, he said, "I'm Hercules…I was told you'd be expecting me."

The older man looked him up and down, then nodded sparingly. "Aye, lad, I was told. Apollo came by and explained I was to set you some tasks to pay off a debt you owe the gods. Come in and join me for breakfast and you can explain how you came to owe such a debt."

As Hercules followed the man, he took in his surroundings. The barn was large, with cattle and goats in the fields beyond, pigs in a pen and chickens pecking in the yard. The house was also a good size, solid and with touches of wealth in the craftsmanship and materials used in its construction. Inside, the floors were polished, the furniture well-made and comfortable looking, rugs on the floor for warmth and tapestries on the walls to keep out drafts. There was a serving woman of mature years, whom Eurystheus introduced as Cleandra, who set out a light meal of bread, cheese, olives and pickles, fruit and ale, then left them to their conversation.

It didn't take Hercules long to tell the bones of his tale, but Eurystheus drew him out, learning something of his parentage, his years at the Academy and by watching him and listening closely, getting a sense of his character. Leaning back from the table, Eurystheus drew a pipe and a small packet of expensive Egyptian tobacco from a pocket in his pants and as he lit it, he gazed speculatively at the youth across from him. A son of Zeus, an impetuous and hot-headed do-gooder, Apollo had said. Well, it was no wonder the gods watched him and wanted to make sure he toed the line.

Once the pipe was well lit, Eurystheus leaned forward again, one elbow on the table. "I suppose you're wondering why you've been sent to me?" he observed, and when Hercules nodded with a wry twist to his lips, Eurystheus explained. "I'm the chieftain of the people in this valley and those that adjoin, and all those on the mountains in between. We worship Apollo, and have a temple to him not far from here, on my land, and I see to the support of the priests there. I'm known as a hard man…one has to be to survive here and prosper…but, I hope I'm also fair. It seems to me that the gods want you to learn a few things, lad…oh, I know, you figure they just want you to learn to stay in your place. But, what is your place? Do you know? Do they? You have strength…but do you have cunning? You're obviously intelligent, but do you have judgment? You say you want to help people, almost as if you see yourself as a servant of some kind, of justice maybe? But do you set yourself above others, even unconsciously? Are you proud? Do you need to learn humility…and patience?"

He paused and gazed at the earnest young man facing him and as the silence lengthened, Hercules wondered if he was supposed to answer all of those questions. Uncomfortable with the scrutiny, he said quietly, "No, I'm not sure what my 'place' is in the world…I'm trying to figure that out. As for your other questions, I don't know how to answer. I've lived a fairly sheltered, even structured life until recently…I try to act reasonably…I don't think I'm better than anyone else…."

"No? Then how is it you found yourself lecturing strangers about how they might better live their lives and face the challenges that threatened them?" Eurystheus asked abruptly. "Did you listen first, ask questions, learn what they'd tried…what they hoped? Or did you just tell them what you thought was right?"

Hercules flushed at the astute questions. He hadn't listened…hadn't asked questions. Just assumed he knew what needed to be done. Maybe Eurystheus was right…and maybe Iolaus had been right as well. Maybe he did still have some growing up to do. "Uh, yeah…I see your point," he said finally with a sigh. Looking up at Eurystheus, he ventured, "Do you have specific tasks in mind for me? And, uh, how long do you think I'll need to stay here?"

"Impatient to get on with it, are you?" Eurystheus smiled dryly as he rose and tapped out the pipe in the hearth. "Well, you're young and I can't fault you for that. I have the first task in mind, yes…as to how long? I'd say maybe a year, give or take a little."

A year. It was a long time, but pretty much what he'd expected. Hercules swallowed and nodded his acceptance. He'd made a vow after all…he was lucky it wasn't a whole lot longer. Looking up at Eurystheus who was standing above him now, he also stood, ready to begin. "What's the first task?" he asked.

Heading toward the door, Eurystheus said over his shoulder, "I want you to kill a lion for me."

* * *

Iolaus shook his head as he watched the band of about fifty men move out along the trail under the tree in which he was perched. They weren't that good. He'd been watching them for a couple of days now, and had had no difficulty slipping by their sentries, which was the first indication that they were little more than bullies who'd decided to band together to wreak a little havoc. No discipline. And they took lousy care of their weapons…half the swords looked rusted, the bows lacked tension, and they seemed to be allergic to the idea of drilling to improve their competence. They lolled around the camp, swilling ale and boasting of what they'd do to the villagers, the women particularly, once they moved in to take what they wanted. When they went foraging, they didn't bother to cover their back trail and seemed oblivious to the fact that anyone could be hunting them. Arrogant. Fools.

But that didn't make them any less dangerous. They were big men, and rough. Most had spent some time in one war or another from the sounds of the bragging they did. And there were enough of them to overcome the resistance of any village or small town. Seeing them up close and personal, Iolaus could understand why the townspeople had been so frightened, so willing to pay the tribute demanded. Farmers and craftsmen, merchants and storekeepers, they'd have had no chance in an all-out battle.

Iolaus slipped away, traveling through the trees for about half a mile before he returned to the ground. He scratched his face, feeling the stubble and grimaced at its itchiness. From what he'd heard, he didn't think he could wait a week to make his move. The bandits were restless, wanting a big score, their lust for intimidation having been too easily quenched by the timidity of the people in Moreia. But, Xertes was trying to hold them back, reminding them that it was always easier to simply bully gold, jewelry, wine and food from the weakling townspeople and farmers, than to fight for it. Even a rat would fight when cornered, and would bite before it was killed. To underscore his point, he waved at the two men who bore wounds from the encounter with Aureas and reminded them all of the comrade the farmer had killed before he'd been subdued. With reluctant growls, they'd agreed to bide their time a little longer, bleeding the strength from the community before they slaughtered them. But, Iolaus knew Xertes wouldn't be able to hold them in check for long.

As he headed back to his own cold camp a mile away, Iolaus debated his strategy, wondering if he hadn't already heard enough to satisfy the magistrate. But he was afraid he'd lack credibility if he just said he'd overheard them talking. Who would believe him? They'd claim he made it all up. No…he had to be known to have been in the camp, accepted as one of them for his testimony to carry the weight needed to condemn these men. Jason's soldiers should be arriving within the next couple of days. That would keep the town secure. If he could infiltrate the gang in the next day or so, spend say three or four days with them, at most, then he could slip away, coach the soldiers on how to take them and get the magistrate to conduct the trial.

In a week, it should all be over. The soldiers could escort the villains to prison, and Iolaus could wander over the hills and see how Herc was making out.

* * *

Hercules had been stalking the lion for two days now…well, he'd been looking for it that long, and had finally found fresh tracks. And what tracks they were. Eurystheus hadn't been exaggerating when he'd said it was a monster…the thing was huge. According to what he'd been told, the beast had been raiding the cattle and sheep for almost a year, but it was cunning and no one had been able to find its lair. Two farmers had attempted to hunt it down a little more than a month before and had been killed, brutally mauled and half-eaten. A week ago, a lone shepherd had disappeared, only splashes of blood remaining to tell what had occurred. Now that the lion had a taste for human meat, the people who lived on the mountains and in the valleys were frightened that it would go after them, and were most afraid for their children. The beast had to be stopped.

Kneeling by the tracks he'd finally spotted, Hercules chewed on his lip, wishing Iolaus was with him. His buddy was the hunter, and would have a better idea of how to take down a lion this big, how to trap it maybe. But, the demigod sighed as he stood. Iolaus wasn't there. He was on his own. Looking around the forest, Hercules studied the trees, judging their relative strength. He'd need something very solid to take down this critter. Spotting an acacia, he loped over to it and reached up to rip a good-sized limb from the trunk of the tree. He'd chosen well, and he had to exert a good measure of his strength to break it free.

He stripped smaller branches from the broken bough, then pulled a knife from his boot to trim and shape it into the club he needed. Once he was finished, he had a sturdy weapon that was nearly as long as he was tall, as wide as his hips at its upper end, but narrow enough to be gripped with one hand at the opposite end. Hefting it, he slung it over his shoulder, then returned to the tracks, following them higher up the mountain. Glancing toward the horizon, he figured if he didn't find the lion within the next hour, he'd have to quit for the night.

This was one beast he didn't want to try taking on in the dark.

* * *

Iolaus grinned when he realized some of the bandits had decided to go hunting to alleviate their boredom and had happened on the sign of a stag. This lot would take forever tracking the animal, driving it before them with all the noise they were making. Moving on ahead, traveling faster and in silence, his own tracking skills far superior to theirs, he'd found their quarry a good hour before they got even close.

Iolaus trailed the young but fully-grown buck until he could hear them in the distance. Pulling an arrow from his quiver, lifting his bow, he sighted and shot true, bringing the animal down cleanly. Slipping the bow over his head and shoulder, its bowstring angled across his chest, he loped over to the beast and knelt beside it to quietly stroke its head and whisper a soft prayer of thanks to its spirit before he began the work of gutting it.

When the horsemen approached, he looked up from his work as if a little startled by their arrival, and stood slowly to face them, the dripping knife in one hand, his other hand resting lightly on the hilt of his sword. For a moment, the bandits regarded him in silence, not happy to have had some stranger bag the deer they'd been hunting.

"Something I can do for you?" Iolaus asked then, to break the silence.

"We were hunting that deer," one of the men, 'Locucius' Iolaus thought he remembered him being called by one of the others two nights before by their fire.

"Were you?" Iolaus countered with a shrug. "Apparently, not very well…don't you know that hunting a deer from horseback makes too much noise? He'd hear you coming and stay well ahead."

"A hunter, are you?" Xertes observed, as he studied the smaller man, thinking he stood more like a warrior, and the sword wasn't a part of the usual hunter's kit.

"When I have to be…and since you lot have been raiding the cattle…and the chicken coops, well…" Iolaus replied amicably, but with a mocking grin. "Made quite a racket the other night when some of you got chased by that feisty little rooster."

Xertes eyes narrowed, not liking the feeling of having been watched…or ridiculed. "What do you know about what any of us have been doing?"

Iolaus' grin broadened disparagingly. "Well, it's hard to miss. You all move around like ham-footed cityfolk, making an unholy amount of noise, leaving tracks a blind man could read…gods, my old grandmother could hunt better than you."

Angered by the mocking tone, Xertes' hand went to the hilt of his sword. "Pretty mouthy little runt, aren't you? Maybe we should just take this carcass…and teach you a few manners while we're at it."

Iolaus' smile died as he raised his chin and stared back with a disconcerting, icy calm at the wannabe warlord. "You can try," he replied quietly, a dangerous tone in his voice. " 'Course, with, what, ten of you, you might get what you want…but at what cost?"

One of the bandits snorted derisively. "Like it would take ten of us to bloody a whelp like you."

Iolaus tossed his knife onto the ground and held out his arms, his fingers waggling a little in invitation. "Yeah? You wanna try your luck, big guy? Or are you afraid to take me on alone?"

With a roar, the bandit leapt off his horse and stomped toward the cocky blond tramp. He'd teach the little worm to watch his mouth! The others sat back, prepared to enjoy the show, certain that Locucius, a man more than six feet tall and weighing in at nearly three hundred pounds, would make mincemeat of the little twerp.

Iolaus grinned wickedly as he watched the huge man storm toward him. "The bigger they are," he chirped, as he suddenly dropped under a wide, powerful punch by the overly confident bandit and swung a leg out and around, tripping the larger man, making him fall heavily. Springing back up, Iolaus whirled and delivered a solid kick to the man's head that quickly rendered him unconscious, "the harder they fall." Iolaus dusted his hands symbolically as he looked up at the others, one brow quirked. "Anyone else want to try their luck today?"

There was the sound of several swords clearing their scabbards as the men growled at the insulting tone, and a bowstring twanged. Iolaus hadn't been happy when so many went for their swords, having hoped to get through this without having to fight all of them. But he wasn't about to stand about and be skewered, so he'd quickly and smoothly drawn his own sword as well, and was holding it before him, ready for any and all comers. As he'd watched the archer draw his bow, he swallowed, knowing his sword was a flimsy shield, but it was all he had, and it would have to do. There was nowhere to run, even if he'd considered that option…which he didn't. Already moving as the archer let fly with the arrow, Iolaus leaned back and a little sideways, his sword sweeping around and down in a flashing arc, deflecting the arrow sharply, causing it to drop to the dust at his feet. Turning silently back to face the bandits head on, his sword again up and poised for more, he ground the spent shaft into the dirt with the heel of his boot.

It had all happened almost too fast to see, and the bandits were astonished, impressed in spite of their anger.

Xertes held up a hand, stopping them from any further action. He was intrigued…the little guy wasn't all mouth. He knew how to handle himself…and the warlord had never known a man quick enough to deflect an arrow from the air before…it took a skilled alertness, and an icy calm, that older man found very impressive. Xertes would also have laid money on Locucius, had never seen him taken down so quickly, with so little apparent effort. The guy might look like a homeless tramp, but he was good, very good.

"Where're you from, kid?" he asked then, his tone conversational as he studied the unkempt youth.

"Oh, here and there," Iolaus replied with a shrug, his own eyes narrowed as he stared back. "Why?"

"You like traveling on your own?" Xertes queried, ignoring the question that had been posed to him.

Iolaus grinned, the cocky demeanor back, as he settled his hands on his hips and studied the warlord. "You recruiting?" he asked.

"I can always use a man who knows how to feed himself and can handle himself in a fight," Xertes replied. "You interested?"

His tongue firmly planted in his cheek, Iolaus looked from the men on horseback to the one on the ground and then over his shoulder at the deer. "Well, there's more meat here than I need for myself. I don't mind sharing…and frankly, I think you could use my help."

Xertes looked from Iolaus to Locucius, then to the broken arrow in the dirt at the young warrior's feet, and nodded slowly as he murmured, "You could be right."

* * *

It was about an hour after dawn when Hercules spotted what he believed to be the mouth of the lion's lair. It was a dark shadow low under the lip of jutting granite, almost obscured by the wild growth of brush, but both the fresh tracks and older ones all headed in and out of the area, high on the mountain, just inside the tree line. The demigod frowned as he wondered how to corner the beast…knowing there was no way he was going to crawl into that lair. He'd be at too much risk, the space too tight for action…the lion would tear him apart before he'd even made it inside.

His gaze lifting to study the area, Hercules shook his head. The trees were not as thickly spaced as further down the slope, but it was still forest…too many ways for the lion to slip away, too many trees to climb, to maybe get above him…could he get above it? If the beast got away, it wouldn't likely return to this lair, and Hercules didn't want to spend days, maybe weeks in more tracking. No…when the confrontation occurred, he wanted it to be final. Could he stand just in front of the lair, and club the beast when it came out…assuming it was even in there right now? Too risky…if the lion got past him, and chose to run rather than fight, he'd never catch it.

Hercules moved back into the shadows of the trees, squatting downwind as he studied the terrain and thought about the challenge. He needed to box it in somehow, to give himself time to defeat it. Rubbing his fingers thoughtfully over his chin, he waited to see if the lion was there…no point in going to a lot of effort if he was wrong and this wasn't even the lair.

About half an hour later, his patience was rewarded. It was a flash of movement in the corner of his eye that alerted him…the beast was moving silently, stealthily through the forest, the carcass of a goat gripped in its jaws. Hercules' eyes widened as he took in the full measure of the animal he'd been sent to kill.

An ordinary lion would have to drag something as big as a goat, but not this one. No. He was huge, magnificent in his wild majesty. Almost five feet high at the wide, rolling, immensely strong shoulders, the massive head and jaws of the lion easily held its prey off the ground. Its fur was the colour of molten gold, with a wild tawny mane and dark amber eyes glinting almost red in the sunlight. Paws the size of platters padded quietly over the ground, and its long, tufted tail flicked casually, belying the beast's constant state of alert intelligence. As it passed by upwind, Hercules caught the scent of the charnel house. Death was stalking by, confident, undefeated, merciless…fearless.

Hercules held his breath, remaining absolutely motionless, as the great beast moved with sinuous grace the last few strides to its lair, then sank a little on its haunches as it passed under the low lintel of its cave, disappearing into the darkness beyond. Silently, the demigod blew out a long breath and slowly rose to his full height, staggered by the immensity of the beast and its raw power.

This was not going to be easy. He'd wondered if the tasks posed to him would hold an element of danger.

Now he knew.

Cautiously, trying to remember every last bit of wood-lore Iolaus had taught him, the demigod slipped silently deeper into the forest, swallowing to moisten his suddenly dry throat. 'Easy, Hercules,' he chided himself. 'It's not like it's a ghidra, breathing fire…you've fought worse monsters before.'

But, not alone.

He kept moving until he was a good mile away, far enough that the sounds of his activity wouldn't reach the lair. All the way, he kept playing the picture of the area around the lair over and over in his mind, trying to figure out how to box such an imposing creature in…wondering if there was a back exit to the lair. For the rest of that morning, he scouted the area back of the lair…and finally found the backdoor. It was another low entrance, virtually obscured by overgrowth, but the few old tracks told him the wily lion had ensured it had an escape route.

Again pulling back silently, Hercules went to work. First, he moved through the forest tugging thick vines from the trees, looping them over his shoulder as he went until he had as much as he figured he'd need. Squatting in the shadows, he knotted vines together, then wove them into two net-like strips wide and long enough to cover the two entrances once they were securely hooked over the sturdy low trees and shrubs on either side of the openings to the lair. Leaving one in the area of the back entrance, he moved again to within a mile of the more frequently used opening into the cave. He spent the rest of the day gathering long branches which had fallen from the trees, broken by storms and when he had all he could find, he set about breaking more branches of the length and thickness he wanted, until he'd amassed a stack of wooden rails that rose above his head.

Then, the demigod rolled in the dirt, raking handfuls of it through his hair, scrubbing it over his body and clothing. He pulled leaves from the trees and crushed them in his hands, along with flowers and herbs, mixing the juice he'd gathered with the dirt on his body, blurring his own natural scent, obscuring it under the natural odours of the forest. Iolaus had shown him this trick for hiding his scent when they'd been little kids…he just hadn't needed to use it before. His nose wrinkled in mild disgust at the filth and stickiness, but he carried on until he was well coated. Only then did he rest, lying beside the pile of wood, to catch a couple of hours sleep before the sun set.

The lion hunted at night. While it prowled, seeking prey, Hercules would build his trap.

* * *

Iolaus settled into the rough rhythm of the outlaw camp as if he'd been born to it, acknowledging the casual introductions of his new found companions with an air of almost indifferent negligence. The others watched him, not sure what to make of him, wary. An accounting of his actions when the hunting party had first met up with him had made the rounds and those who'd hadn't seen the action wondered at the skills the small youth must possess to bring down Locucius and to deflect an arrow in flight. Though he seemed amiable enough, laughing good-naturedly with the giant he'd bested, and the archer who'd tried to kill him, they noticed the blue eyes remained cold and hard. The cocky cheerfulness was a veneer, they decided, barely hiding a very dangerous man who moved with economical grace and agility. They sensed a violence in him that, though tightly coiled, could be readily unleashed.

They concluded that they were glad he was on their side, though when they looked at him, at his puny size, they marveled a bit at their own reactions, wondering what it was about the kid that made them so… cautious.

As if he was the hunter, and they were the prey.

Iolaus was aware of their disquiet around him and was glad of it. They were an undisciplined lot, given to violence, all of them a good ten years older than him, so if they considered him formidable and thought twice before taunting him into a fight, it was fine with him. His shoulder still ached a little from the arrow he'd taken in the arena, and the scar along his hip and ribs from the spear was still fresh, pulling when he moved in certain ways. If he didn't have to get into a major fight, it was all to the good. When he sat a little apart that evening over the meal of roasted venison, Xertes came to sit on a log opposite him.

"The founder of the feast," the warlord acknowledged genially with a nod of appreciation toward the younger man as he bit into the succulent meat.

Iolaus grinned and nodded back in formal acknowledgement, replying with mock solemnity, "Happy to provide."

"So, tell me a little about yourself, Iolaus," Xertes encouraged as he raised his mug of ale to his lips. "You have an air of 'experience' despite your youth."

Iolaus sipped his own ale, knowing Xertes wasn't referring to his experience as a hunter. Shrugging, the young warrior set his mug on the ground as he picked at his own venison. "Not much to tell, really. I spent some time on the streets, learning to fend for myself…ran with a gang for a while, but they were going nowhere. When I finally got picked up for theft, because of my tender age and the leniency of the local magistrate, he gave me a choice between a military academy or prison. So…I learned how to fight professionally. Since then, I've kicked around, looking for action. How about you?" he asked nonchalantly, turning the question back to the warlord.

Satisfied for the moment that the kid's albeit sketchy story fit with his demeanor and skills, Xertes reciprocated with a bit of information of his own. "Well, I grew up in a warrior family, following my father from one skirmish to another, so it seemed only natural to pursue a soldier's life when it was time to move out on my own. I'd been a mercenary for more than fifteen years when I finally decided it didn't make a lot of sense to risk my life for someone else's battle for the kind of pay that was being offered… when they paid at all. So…I've set up on my own, as you can see, bringing some of my men along, recruiting others. It's not a bad life, lad…Ares has been good to me."

Iolaus rubbed his nose as he nodded, "Yeah, I can see that. You're all well mounted, good equipment and you don't seem to go hungry even if a handy buck doesn't drop dead at your feet."

Xertes chuckled. "No…we don't go hungry. In fact, we are beginning to get rich. In a couple of years, I plan to buy my own villa, raise a few grapes and live the life of a gentleman."

Grinning back, Iolaus allowed, "It's a nice dream…but do these little towns really cough up enough to be interesting? Don't they get to a point of fighting back…must be some risks."

The warlord shrugged negligently as he replied with a note of disdain in his voice, "Shopkeepers? Farmers? They're peasants, afraid of their own shadows. But, you'd be surprised what a lot of them have squirreled away for a rainy day and are only too happy to part with in the name of peace. We accept what they give freely, in tribute, and before we move on, we take the rest."

"'Freely', huh," Iolaus mused with a cynical, knowing smile. "I came across a burned out farmhouse the other day, saw some blood and fresh graves…sacrifices to Ares, were they?"

Xertes laughed outright at that. "I like the way you put things, kid. Yeah, 'sacrifices to Ares'…you could say that. Yes, you could say that." Still chuckling in high good humour, Xertes got up and slapped his bright new warrior on the shoulder in approval, then wandered across the camp to talk with another of his men.

He didn't notice that his newest recruit had set his plate aside as if he'd lost his appetite.

* * *

Hercules stayed well back from the lair, perched off the ground high in the boughs of an oak tree, watching and waiting until the lion finally emerged for its nightly hunt. Once the animal had stalked silently away into the darkness, he dropped to the ground and went to the mouth of the lair, pulling one of the nets he'd made from his shoulder. Draping it across the entrance, pulling it taut and anchoring it securely around the sturdy small trees on either side, he wove in a few branches to increase its strength and resiliency, then turned and loped away, heading to the back of the lair to also block that entrance, in case the lion somehow broached the first barrier and got inside.

During the long hours of the night, the demigod worked swiftly, first moving the poles of wood into the area around the lair. Mindful of what seemed to be the main routes the lion favoured, he built fences from the granite side of the mountain on either side of the lair, gradually angling them inward. He built them high, up to six feet, tying the poles to trees and bushes with the pieces of vine, interlocking the poles in a rough wicker-like fashion, and reinforcing them with branches he pulled from nearby trees.

When he got to the area with the highest concentration of tracks, he rigged two gates between three pine trees, wide enough to cover the distances between any two of the trees, six feet in height. It was tricky work, but he managed to tie the gates up against the limbs of the middle tree such that, when they fell, they'd land inside the trunks and be held in place by them at ground level. Anchoring each gate in the air, ready to flip down, with a vine around the same branch, he dropped to the ground and retrieved his club.

Climbing back up into the branches, he wedged himself in as comfortably as possible to wait for the lion's return at dawn. Briefly, he wondered if he shouldn't have fashioned a spear, using his knife and a length of wood, or perhaps sharpening several lengths of wood into deadly shafts. But, he discarded the idea. The beast would be moving fast and he'd need to be ready, not burdened down with awkward weapons. No, the club would have to do. The rough arena he'd fashioned would keep the lion from escaping once he attacked.

As he waited, Hercules reflected that he was sorry in some ways to have to kill the magnificent beast. He'd never seen, or heard, of the like of it before. It was a wild, free creature, doing what it did to survive. But, it had begun to prey upon men and that had sealed its fate. It had gone from being an animal seeking its food, to a monster preying upon people and Hercules was not about to let it roam freely now that it knew the taste of human blood.

Wiping his damp palms on his leather pants, the young demigod smiled wryly at his thoughts, recognizing his conscious assumption that he would win this battle as bravado, knowing there were no guarantees. Glancing up at the full moon, he wondered if he shouldn't cast a hopeful thought in his sister's direction, asking Artemis to guide his actions when the dawn came. But, he shook his head. He'd never asked his family for help and he wasn't about to start now. No, this was his task, set for him because the gods had demanded he bow to their will. He'd accepted the deal…he'd see it through…on his own.

Given that he'd worked most of the night, it wasn't long before the eastern sky began to lighten, first to a pearl gray, then slightly pink and then a growing, glowing soft yellow that eased into the palest blue. It would be a clear, cloudless day. He hoped he would be still alive to see the sun set. It wouldn't be long now and his grip on his club tightened unconsciously as he waited with growing impatience for the mighty lion to return.

Hercules caught the carrion smell of death before he spotted the lion, this time with a small sheep in its mouth, gliding stealthily through the forest below.

As he watched it come closer, he saw it pause and drop the lifeless burden as it raised its snout into the air, the massive head turning from side to side, slowly. For all that Hercules had attempted to cover his own scent, it had been hard work during the night, and some trace of the odour of his perspiration must still linger in the air. The big cat stood like a statue, listening, sniffing the trace of the foreign smell of man here near its lair.

Too near.

Hercules waited, motionless, the blade of his knife against the vine holding the gates in place, his eyes gazing at a spot above and beyond the lion's head, not wanting to draw its gaze with the weight of his own. Minutes passed in silence with only the sounds of the birds waking in the trees. Finally, cautiously, ignoring its kill, the cat moved forward, one slow step at a time. Though its scanning eyes touched on the barricades Hercules had erected, it didn't really register them. They were wood, woven with vines and branches to blend with the rest of the overgrowth in this virgin forest. Nothing moved to attract its attention. The scent of the two-legged beast lingered but was not strong. Another step…and another.

Hercules watched, his lower lip caught in his teeth, hardly daring to breathe as the lion stepped forward into the rough enclosed area, heading toward the mouth of its lair. Waited, until the beast's nose had practically pushed into the vine netting he'd crafted to keep it from disappearing into the darkness beyond, and then with one quick sharp slash of his blade, he cut the vine and the two gates flipped forward and down, dropping with a clatter against the trunks of the trees below him.

The lion jumped and whirled at the sudden, unexpected noise, crouching low to the ground, ready to spring at whatever threat was coming from behind. Rumbling low in its throat, tail lashing, it backed toward the opening of the lair, surprised when its tail and hindquarters came up against a barrier. With a low roar of irritation, its head swung around and then it pushed a shoulder against the net woven with brush, taut against its route of escape.

Swinging back around, it darted to the left, only to skid to a halt before the fence of branch covered wooden poles. While it had darted away in that direction, Hercules had dropped noiselessly to the ground, and stood now inside the enclosure with the monstrous lion, his feet wide apart, the club held across his body in both hands, ready to be swung with all the strength he could muster.

The cat whirled back around, and downwind now of the demigod, caught Hercules' scent on the slight morning breeze. With a low growl in its throat, the big cat crouched as his eyes came to rest on the two-legged creature who dared to venture so close. Its tail flicked slowly, back and forth, as its lips curled back, revealing fangs that had to be six inches long, a massive pink tongue licking the upper lip as if in anticipation of an unexpectedly tasty meal. Claws extended from the mighty paws and dug into the earth for better traction when it finally sprang forward in attack.

When Hercules began to move toward it, blue eyes drilling into amber, his posture tall and resolute, his gait that of another hunter, measured and deliberate, the lion roared its challenge…then sprang forward with one mighty bound and a leap toward the demigod's throat.

Hercules was pulling the club around even before the cat lunged forward, and as the animal jumped toward him, he was swinging the massive weapon of rock-hard acacia toward the beast's head. The lion, sensing the danger, twisted in the air, ducking its head down and under the blow such that it simply grazed the top of its head, stunning it but not stopping its forward momentum. Claws lashed out as Hercules twisted away, raking his chest and one arm deeply, drawing hot blood. The shoulder of the beast caught him as he tried to wheel away from it, knocking him off-balance as the cat also bounced off his incredibly strong body, reeling from the blow to its head as it landed awkwardly and scrambled to its feet, whirling around to catch at Hercules' body with its claws.

Hercules rolled hard away from the questing reach of the cat, coming back to his feet in a continuous smooth motion, club in front of him and ready for the next attack. Maddened by the smell of blood, furious to be attacked for the first time in its life, the lion snarled as it lunged forward, coming in low this time, jaws gaping, eyes wild. Hercules swiveled to the side as his club came around, connecting hard against the massive lion's shoulder, staggering it and knocking it sideways into the air for ten feet before it crashed to the ground. The cat had been hurt that time, something had cracked and it began to think retreat might be a good tactical option. Springing away, it again came up against another barrier and leapt at it, but its damaged shoulder wouldn't bear its weight properly and, off-balance, it crashed into the rough fence, bouncing back to the ground, spitting furiously and snarling as it again whirled to face its tormentor.

Trapped now, enraged…afraid and sensing for the first time that this fight was to the death, possibly its own death if it did not destroy the one who hunted it.

More cautious now, and calculating, the great beast prowled low to the ground, circling a little, watching for a weakness, seeking an opening. Hercules felt the blood streaming down his chest and injured arm, making his grip slippery on the club. He was breathing heavily, sweat pouring down his forehead, burning his eyes. The beast's eyes glinted red in the sun's rays as it glared at Hercules, seeming to assess its enemy's strength, mindful of the weapon in his hands.

This time, when the lion lunged, it seemed to have decided to absorb whatever the club would do, not veering away from it but plunging forward, leaping at the last moment, so Hercules' swing was low, catching it in the ribs, but the cat kept coming, the massive paws ploughing into his shoulders, knocking him backwards as the claws of one of the muscular hind legs ripped down along his own long leg, tearing through leather and skin to the bone.

Crying out in agony from the burning tearing of his leg, Hercules landed on his back, one hand coming up fast to lock against the lion's jaw, forcing the ugly deadly fangs back away from his throat. Unable to get leverage for another swing, he let the club go and grabbed at one of the heavy forelegs as he pressed hard into the ground with his uninjured leg and pushed up and over, to roll with the lion, breaking its grip upon him, escaping its crushing weight. The demigod continued to push back hard on the jaw, forcing the lion's head back as they rolled, trying to snap its neck, but he couldn't get the right angle.

Desperate to escape the claws that raked at him, he shoved away, rolling back toward his club and grabbing onto it as he scrambled to his feet, favouring his badly injured leg.

This wasn't going well.

He was losing blood too fast, and was beginning to feel dizzy. The damned lion looked essentially uninjured except its right foreleg had weakened from the earlier blow. The demigod couldn't know he'd stove in some ribs, and the lion was in agony, bleeding inside…and was also having some blurring of vision from the blow to its head. This time, when the lion rolled back into a stalking crouch, growling low in its throat, Hercules growled back, his own teeth bared in an unconscious grimace of pain and determination. He had to finish this, before the lion finished him.

The demigod locked both fists around the end of his club and pulled it back, his knees bent a little for balance and strength, his feet planted solidly in the earth, immovable. The lion prowled back and forth, but Hercules didn't trust his injured leg enough to move after it, so he waited for it to come to him, hoping he wouldn't have to wait for long.

Suddenly, the lion was moving, coming at him with the speed and power of an avalanche, its long strides eating the ground between them and then its muscles bunched as it launched itself up, claws out, fangs wide, roaring with murderous intent. Hercules watched, waited until the last moment, then swung with all the strength left in his body.

The massive club of acacia came around in a blur, striking solidly against the lion's head with a resounding crack, and with such a powerful impact that the wood shuddered in the demigod's hands as if it had felt the pain of the mighty blow. The weight and speed of the animal kept its forward momentum and it ploughed heavily into the demigod, knocking him from his feet, crushing him under its almost two thousand pounds of now dead muscle and bone.

Hercules landed hard, the breath knocked from his body, his head snapping back against the stony ground.

In the silence, the majestic, monstrous lion, and the powerful Son of Zeus laid sprawled and still under the glare of the rising sun.

* * *

It was midmorning when the band of bandits descended upon one of the farms in the area, intent upon collecting more 'tribute'. Iolaus had ridden out with the fifteen men who'd volunteered for this raid out of boredom. The blond warrior knew he needed to be seen riding with the gang so his membership amongst this sorry lot could be confirmed by a witness at the trial, but even more, he hoped to ensure there'd be no tragedies like the one at Aureas' farm.

The elderly farmer came out of his barn to meet them, a rake held like a flimsy weapon in his hands. Iolaus had positioned himself near the front of the riders and was one of the first to slip to the ground. "Morning, pops," he called out genially, hoping to establish this as a semi-friendly encounter. In moments, several others of the party had dismounted, hands ostentatiously on the hilts of their swords.

"What d'yer want?" the farmer demanded, eyeing them narrowly, clearly afraid but too stubborn to just back down.

"Why, we'd like to make the acquaintance of your good wife and admire whatever fine trinkets you may have showered upon her over the years, old man," one of Iolaus' companions sneered, the threat in his voice only too clear.

"Ain't got no wife," the man responded belligerently. "She died more'n a year ago…and never had no money for foolish baubles," he continued, spitting contemptuously on the ground. "Yer wasting yer time here. An', if'n ya got any brains, yu'll all clear out…soldiers rode into town las' night and they'll be hunting you all."

"Why you pathetic old hayseed," one man rumbled dangerously as he took a step toward the farmer, intending to bash his head in for his insolence. But, Iolaus was quicker, moving in to slap away the rake and grab the farmer's collarless shirt in a tight grip, drawing the man's face down close to his own.

"Soldiers…what soldiers? How many?" he demanded, giving the man a slight shake for emphasis.

"Looked like as many as a 'undred," the old man replied, shaken now that he felt defenceless in the grip of this hard-eyed man.

"Is that right?" murmured Iolaus quietly. "Well…now that's interesting news and we thank you for it. Very helpful of you to pass it along. Wasn't it helpful?" he called back over his shoulder at the others.

Waiting only long enough to hear the uncertain murmur in response from the men behind him, Iolaus stepped back and lightly brushed the man's shoulders, smoothing his shirt considerately as he said lightly, "Well, I'm sure you'll want to give us a gift of beef to see us on our way. There're some fine cattle in the field out there, and I'm sure you'd want us to take as much as we might need for our journey, wouldn't you, friend?"

While his tone was light, and there was even a half smile on his lips, the effect was chilling because Iolaus' eyes remained cold as they stared into the farmer's worried gaze. Nodding uncertainly, the old man agreed to the suggestion that he make a gift of cattle to these dangerous men. "Uh, sure…take what you want…" he stammered.

Iolaus slapped him on the shoulder as if he was a fine man, generous, then turned to face his comrades. "There now, not only generous with his news, but with his beef as well. This little jaunt has been well worth while, but Xertes will want to hear about the new folks in town. Best we be on our way."

With the air of confidently assuming their agreement, Iolaus swung back up onto his horse, in the process moving his mount between the old man and the others. When they hesitated, some clearly wondering if they should let the old man live, Iolaus called out, "Come on, lads…we've a small herd of cattle to round up!"

Men unaccustomed to taking their own initiative, they responded almost unconsciously to his confident leadership, recognizing him as someone who was comfortable giving orders, however lightly they were made. Nor had any of them forgotten the lessons he'd given yesterday, easily defeating one of the best amongst them. It was enough to sway them. The rest mounted and the band swung away, heading toward the field. Iolaus lingered a moment behind them, turning back to the old man to call quietly under the sound of the rolling hoofbeats, "Thanks again, friend…and give the soldiers my regards." With that, he kicked his mount and thundered after the others.

* * *

Hercules groaned as he struggled back to consciousness. One hand came up to grope at the back of his head as he fought to open his eyes. Gods…he felt like a mountain had fallen on him. Moaning softly, he pushed at the weight pinning him down, blinking his eyes open when he felt the fur. The lion's head rested next to his own, massive jaws slightly agape, eyes wide and glazed. "Oh yeah," he mumbled as memories crashed back in.

Wincing, he laid there a moment longer, getting back in touch with his aching body. With a heavy sigh, he pushed at the lion's carcass with one arm while he used his good leg to wiggle himself out from underneath its oppressive weight. Struggling to sit up, he checked out his bloody chest and arm, then reached down to pull the leather away from his wounded leg, stopping when he found the blood had congealed and glued the leather to his body. Pulling it away would only start the bleeding again, and that he didn't need.

Gods, it had been close. And he still needed to skin the beast. Eurystheus had demanded that he bring the pelt back as proof that could be hung for all the citizens of the valleys and mountainsides to see that the monster had been vanquished. Dragging out the knife from his boot, he set about the grisly task, disgusted by the need to rob the beast of the last of its glory.

Finally, it was done and, exhausted, weak from the loss of blood and hurting badly from the agony of his wounds, Hercules rolled up the pelt and used the club to help lever himself to feet to head back down the mountain…only to confront the barriers he'd erected to keep the lion in. Not in the least feeling like climbing out, he again wearily pulled the knife from his boot and set about cutting the vines that tied one of the sides of the rude fence to a nearby tree. Once he was done, he shoved the poles aside with his shoulder and slid out of the enclosure.

Stumbling a little, dizzy from the blow to his head and loss of blood, limping heavily, Hercules used the club as a staff, leaning on it for support, as he began the long trek back to Eurystheus' homestead.

* * *

"A hundred soldiers, he said!" one of the bandits emphasized again, as they reported the news to Xertes. Iolaus slouched a little apart, one thumb hooked in his belt, his other hand resting on the hilt of his sword as he studied the warlord.

Xertes didn't look pleased. "Hmmm," he muttered as he studied the ground. "I wonder if the old man was telling the truth, or just trying to scare us off?" he mumbled to himself.

"It's two to one odds, if it's true," Iolaus observed, his tone mild.

Xertes' eyes came up to meet his level gaze and the older man nodded. "If it's true."

Iolaus sniffed, almost indifferently as he looked up through the trees to the clear sky. "You want me to take a stroll through town and see what's up?" he asked casually. "No one but that old man has ever seen me with any of you so I'd just look like a stranger passing through."

Xertes studied him thoughtfully for a moment, his tongue prodding his teeth as he thought about the idea. They needed to know the odds…there wasn't enough gold in the town to warrant the risk of facing a large contingent of professional soldiers. But, the kid was right…he and his men had been too visible, were known by the townspeople. He was lucky to have recruited the kid the day before…an unknown face was just what was needed for this task. But, the hairs on the back of his neck itched, and he wondered if maybe they'd been a little too lucky…if the kid was all he seemed. Or maybe the lad just wanted to use this excuse to make his own getaway. He hadn't been with them long enough to know if he'd cut and run or do what was needed.

When Xertes didn't answer, Iolaus shrugged off-handedly and turned away to sit down on a log, his legs stretched out in front of him, apparently unconcerned as to whether he was sent or not.

Xertes rubbed the back of his neck, while his men waited to see what he would decide. They were bullies, not heroes and weren't interested in facing men who knew how to handle weapons as well or better than they did. There were other towns.

Finally, the warlord nodded, if a shade reluctantly. "Alright, lad…off you go. I'll expect you back before nightfall."

Agreeable, Iolaus stood and moved to mount his horse. Turning it to face Xertes, he assured the older man, "I will be back."

A little surprised to find the younger man had seemed to have read his thoughts, Xertes smiled tightly as he nodded, "I believe you, kid. Now, go on."

Iolaus nodded and without a glance at the other men, he wheeled his horse around and headed toward town.

An hour later, Iolaus tethered his mount outside of the magistrate's office. Striding inside, he pulled up sharply when he saw who else was in the cluttered room, lounging negligently in the chair in front of the official's desk.

"Jason!" he exclaimed, as he moved forward with a wide smile, arms wide to embrace the King when he stood and turned around, "I didn't expect you to come personally!"

"Well, I wondered what you and Hercules had gotten yourselves into this time that you needed so many soldiers to balance the odds. So, I decided to come and rescue you myself," Jason joked as he hugged the smaller man, both of them slapping each other on the back in fond reunion.

"You mean you were bored with the endless administration and nagging of your court lackies and came to find some excitement," Iolaus teased back, his eyes dancing.

Jason chuckled, "Yeah…to tell you the truth, I was getting stiff from so much sitting around."

"Seriously, Jase…it's real good to see you," Iolaus said then, again slapping his friend's shoulder…a quiet thanks for all of it, for sparing the soldiers, for coming so quickly…for coming himself, so that Iolaus felt less alone in this adventure. Smiling warmly, the young King nodded silently back…message received.

Iolaus stood back then to nod a greeting at the magistrate, who was staring wide-eyed at blond warrior who'd been so intimidating the last time he'd been in the office and who now stood with clear, laughing eyes in the rough guise of a mercenary, almost like a kid playing dress-up.

"Oliander here tells me Hercules is off doing something for Apollo…what's that about?" Jason asked, a shadow of concern in his eyes. He was only too familiar with the demigod's opinion of the gods and wondered what had happened to convince Hercules that such action was required.

"It's a little complicated. I'll explain later," Iolaus said. "Right now, I'd like us to clear up this business of Xertes and his band of not so merry men. They know that soldiers have arrived…an old farmer spilled the news this morning, and they're wondering if they should take off.

"Sandreas came to town a little while ago to tell us that the bandits had taken some of his cattle…he told us one of the bandits, a blond man, had frightened him…and had been very interested in knowing how many soldiers had arrived. He's old, but not a fool…on reflection, he thought the young bandit might have saved his life today…" the magistrate interjected then.

Iolaus smiled softly as he replied, "Yeah, well, his timing in letting me know back up had arrived was great. He's a spunky old man…. Anyway, I think we need to take them tonight."

"How many?" demanded the King, all business.

"Fifty-two," Iolaus replied. "Ruffians, not all that competent…scared of you, to tell the truth. They're well armed but not schooled, not disciplined. If we surround them, make resistance hopeless, I'm not sure they'll fight all that hard, except to get away."

"What's the terrain like?" Jason asked, already thinking about the tactics needed.

"Forest…and they're not much for posting alert sentries. A really sloppy bunch. Shouldn't be hard to get in close if we're quiet," Iolaus answered, clearly not impressed with the mercenaries. "They're tough when it comes to defenceless people, but haven't the skill or courage to face professional warriors. Except maybe Xertes himself…he's more seasoned, smart. But he's chosen the wrong men to stand with."

"Alright," Jason agreed then. "You can lead us in."

Iolaus nodded as he turned toward the magistrate. "I've got what you need for the trial. I've heard Xertes and his men talking about the massacre of Aureas and his family, and exchanged some pleasantries with them about their plans to wipe out the rest of you when they rob you of what wealth you have left. I think I've heard enough about their activities in the last few months to give you all you need to put them away for a long time. The old farmer, you said his name is Sandreas, saw me with them today and can testify to that. So, nobody can claim I've just made it all up."

The magistrate swallowed, amazed at how quickly the youth had pulled it all together for him. "I'll hold the trial in the morning," he said.

"Good," Iolaus nodded as he turned to lead Jason from the office.

* * *

Eurystheus came out of the barn just as Hercules limped slowly into the yard. "By the gods, lad, are you all right?" he cried in consternation at the blood-smeared man who was gray with exhaustion.

Quirking a half smile, rolling his eyes a little, Hercules nodded slightly as he replied, "Oh yeah…fresh as a daisy." He tossed the skin of the lion onto the ground and swayed a little, leaning heavily on the club to keep himself upright.

Loping rapidly across the yard, Eurystheus hastily wrapped an arm around the younger man, letting Hercules lean on his shoulder as he guided the youth into the house. "Cleandra!" Eurystheus called out, "Cleandra, bring warm water and cloths…hurry!"

The clan chieftain guided Hercules across the hall and settled him into a chair next to the hearth, to warm him by the fire. Eurystheus hadn't like the feel of the demigod's cold, clammy skin or the weakness in the lad as Hercules leaned heavily against him.

Kneeling, the older man conducted a quick inspection of the nasty, dirt filled wounds. "You'll be lucky not to get an infection in these," he muttered.

Hercules leaned his head back against the support of the chair, glad to have made it back, glad that he didn't have to take another step. His eyes closed, he murmured, "It'll be okay…I heal fast."

Eurystheus' eyes lifted to the demigod's face, and he frowned at the evidence of exhaustion. Cleandra entered from the kitchen, a basin in her hands, towels over one arm, and she stopped in shock at the sight in front of her, biting back an exclamation of alarm. The young man looked half-dead, sprawled there in the chair, bloody and torn.

Eurystheus waved her over impatiently, and together they began the task of cleaning up the wounds. She left to get herbs, as well as a bone needle and thread and bandages. The arm and the leg would need stitches before the wounds were bound.

Hercules winced and bit back a moan as Eurystheus soaked the leather from the leg wound, gingerly pulling the shredded material away from the skin and muscle it had adhered to. "Easy, lad," he said quietly as he worked, cursing himself for having sent the young man alone. He might be a demigod, but it was only too clear now that he was not invulnerable. His skin could be ripped from his bones and he could bleed like any man.

An hour later, they were finished. Wrapped like a mummy in yards of bandages, garbed in one of Eurystheus' long, woolen robes, his own hands trembling too much with weakness and pain to hold either a bowl or a spoon, Hercules was reduced to having to allow Cleandra to feed him spoonfuls of nourishing, herb-laced broth. He was clearly embarrassed by the attention, wanting to take care of himself. When he made another ineffectual grab for the spoon, she snapped at him in mock severity, "Be still and eat this…you need it for strength."

"Yes ma'am," he submitted finally, chagrined as he looked up at her from under his long, unkempt bangs. She was as bad as his mother…and it was oddly comforting. When he gave her a slow smile of gratitude, she couldn't resist grinning back at him. In her view, he was a good kid…one that showed considerable courage and fortitude in having endured their treatment of his quite terrible wounds without a whimper. She'd overheard enough of the conversation the other night to know Hercules had been sent here to be taught a lesson of some kind, that the gods were displeased with him. But, she'd become a partisan in his camp and as far as she was concerned, she doubted he could have done anything much that was wrong or deserving of punishment. Not the most pious resident of the valley, she concluded the gods were probably just jealous of him and making mischief as usual. Never having had a child of her own, she'd quickly adopted this young man in her mind and would do all she could to make him at home, his time here as pleasant as possible.

Eurystheus hadn't been blind to her solicitude toward the lad, and he approved her judgment of Hercules. The young man had potential, the possibility of an extraordinary fate in terms of the impact he could have on the world. But, with his strength and heritage, this Son of Zeus would also face considerable temptation and could fall victim to arrogance. It was his job to ensure that would never happen. Whether, when he was done with the lad, the gods would approve of the results might be another question. He, too, suspected the gods were wary of Hercules…no doubt with good reason.

The broth done, Eurystheus made him drink a large flask of cool water to replace the blood he'd lost. As Hercules sagged back against the chair again, tired but not quite so gray, the older man observed, "So…your first task is done. Are you ready to hear about the second?" There was a glint of humour in his eyes as he recalled the young man's impatient eagerness to get on with his labours just a few nights before.

Hercules opened one eye and shook his head. "No…not tonight," he replied with a shadow of a grin. "Tomorrow will be soon enough, thanks…if it's all the same to you."

Eurystheus grinned back at him with approval. Standing, he helped Hercules to his feet, to guide him to his bedchamber. "You'll do, lad. You'll do."

* * *

Iolaus rode back into the camp, pulling up his horse just inside the circle of men. They rose to greet him, anxious to hear his report. Ignoring them, Iolaus called out to Xertes, "The old man told us the truth…a hundred soldiers did arrive in town last night."

"Damn it," swore the warlord. "That's it, then. We'll leave in the morning."

His chin up, his eyes cold with contempt, Iolaus shook his head. "No…tonight. I've brought company."

"What!" a number of voices called out, some loudly, some in murmurs, wondering what he meant, until the soldiers moved into sight, ringing the camp, swords drawn, bows notched with arrows.

Xertes glared up at Iolaus, bile burning in the back of his throat, gripped by a furious rage. "Why you damned little…"

But, Iolaus cut in, holding up a hand to stop the tirade. "Oh…and by the way, Ares once told me that he's not impressed with the sacrifice of innocent children…hates it, actually. Thinks anyone who kills kids is the worst kind of coward."

Jason moved forward, calling out, "Drop your weapons, or we'll cut you down."

There was but a moment's hesitation. It was hopeless, but still a few went for their swords, only to die with arrows in their hearts. The rest complied with the order.

"Round them up," called the King, his voice ringing with authority despite his youth. His men moved in to bind the bandits, and then herded them back to Moreia.

The trial, the next morning, was short. His judgment based upon Iolaus' testimony, the magistrate took quite evident pleasure in sentencing Xertes and his men to fifteen years hard labour in the salt mines of Cheos, a small island off the coast. It would be fifteen long years in Tartarus, but Iolaus figured they'd gotten off lightly. He'd have liked to see them sent directly to the real thing.

As Xertes was led past him, the warlord pulled back against the soldier who had him by the arm, to glare into the young warrior's eyes. "I'll kill you for this one day," he promised, his voice tight with loathing.

"You're welcome to try," Iolaus replied, gazing back steadily, remembering the children. Xertes had to look away from those cold eyes and the promise of death they held. Unconsciously, he shivered as they hauled him away, chilled as if he'd felt Celesta's icy breath on the back of his neck.

* * *

Hercules hobbled out onto the porch of the house and eased himself into a rocking chair. Looking around the yard, he was surprised to see the lion's pelt stretched on a frame and there were several people dressed in homespun standing around it…staring at the massive skin in awe. When one of them spotted the young demigod, the farmer immediately strode over, followed quickly by the others, to stand below the level of the porch.

"We want to thank you, young man. It was a brave thing you did, going after that beast on your own. You've done us all a great service…no doubt saved any number of lives," the stranger said, sincerity ringing in his voice.

Embarrassed by the attention, Hercules flushed a little as he replied, "No need for thanks, sir. I was glad to be able to help the folks around here."

"The monster could have killed you," one of the women observed as she eyed the evidence of his wounds.

"Looks like it almost did," another muttered.

Hercules grinned a little at that. "Well…it was exciting for a bit…but, I'm fine. Really. Thank you for your concern."

Eurystheus strode around the corner of his house, smiling when he saw the small delegation and his…boarder up and around. He paused a moment, realizing he wasn't sure what to call the young man. Boarder wasn't quite right, indentured servant was out of the question. As he studied the serious young man, he thought 'friend' might soon be the best appellation.

"I see you're up," he observed, mounting the steps to stand by Hercules. "How are you feeling? Stiff, I'll warrant."

"Uh huh, a little. But a lot better than last night, thanks," Hercules replied with a slow smile.

"Well, we best be off," the first spokesman said, and they all murmured their farewells and with a genial wave, headed off down the lane.

"Nice people," Hercules observed.

"That they are," Eurystheus agreed as he moved to settle in the chair next to the demigod. "So, tell me Hercules, how did you manage to take that cat. It's bigger than even I imagined…it couldn't have been easy, and from the look of you last night, I'd say it must have been a close thing."

Hercules nodded briefly, then launched into the description of how he'd created the rough arena to box the beast in, and gave a sketchy account of the battle itself, downplaying the drama…and the feelings he'd had as he'd looked death in the eye.

"A good strategy," Eurystheus approved. "Smart. You were wise to prepare, to not rush in."

Hercules nodded in acknowledgement of the compliment, but clarified, "Thanks, but I learned all that stuff from my best friend, Iolaus…he's the best hunter I know." Then, looking across the yard at the pelt, he mused quietly, "It's odd…but I was almost sorry to kill it. If you could have seen it, how magnificent it was…I don't know, dumb I guess. The lion was too dangerous to allow to raid any longer."

The older man studied the youth in silence. Compassion even for a beast that had almost killed him. Hercules was a strange young man…but one who, in Eurystheus' view, showed increasing promise.

The demigod turned his gaze back to Eurystheus, as he asked, "You said last night you'd decided on the next task…?"

The older man smiled as he leaned back in the chair, pulling out his pipe and tobacco. "Plenty of time for that lad. We need to get you a little more healed before you take on my next assignment for you. The stables have waited this long, they can wait another couple of days."

"Stables?" Hercules repeated, his gaze shifting to the barn.

"Aye…but not those here. My cousin, Palomides, is the steward for King Augeus. But, as I said, no need to be thinking about that yet."

* * *

King Jason sent his men on ahead with the prisoners, only his personal guard holding back to escort him to Corinth when he was ready to go. The two friends left the townsquare, where the court had been held, and headed toward the tavern. After they'd settled in a quiet corner, and had ordered their ales, Jason leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Alright, give…what's Hercules up to?" he asked, able to contain his curiousity no longer.

Iolaus sighed heavily as he settled back into his chair. Looking across the table at Jason, he explained, "You heard at the trial that a family had been slaughtered. Well, Hercules found them…and, you know Herc…he figured it was all his fault and was eaten up with guilt because he'd encouraged people to resist Xertes and his men the day before. The children were the worst of it for him, I think. It was pretty bad."

Jason frowned as he nodded thoughtfully and took a sip of his ale. "But…surely even Hercules knows he's not responsible for something like that happening," he replied.

"Apparently not," Iolaus snorted, shaking his head at his friend's seemingly endless capacity for guilt. "Anyway, Apollo showed up and told him it was Herc's fault, which didn't help. The jerk told Hercules he had do penance for interfering in things he knew nothing about and for having caused those deaths."

"That's ridiculous!" Jason exclaimed.

"Tell me about it," Iolaus agreed. "I think Herc might have blown Apollo off, but bright eyes threatened more serious penalties if Hercules wouldn't agree to the penance…."

"What kind of penalties?" Jason asked with a scowl, not liking the idea of the gods holding threats over the head of his friend.

Iolaus looked away as he toyed with his mug of ale. Finally, he sighed as he explained, "Herc wouldn't spell it out in so many words, but…I gather that he was told if he wouldn't go along with what Apollo wanted, my life would be forfeit."

The young King choked on his ale at that. Wiping a hand over his mouth, his lips parted in shock as he gazed at his younger friend, imagining the impact a threat like that would have on Hercules…appalled himself at the threat to Iolaus' life. For the first time, he fully realized that Iolaus constantly lived with the knowledge that he was a target of the gods' wrath, a handy pawn to be sacrificed in their feud with the demigod. "So he had no choice…he had to agree."

Iolaus stiffened a little, his lips thinned in frustration. "I guess Hercules saw it the same way you do," he said with evident irritation. "He agreed to indenture himself to some stranger, to do whatever this guy wants for an unknown period of time, but Herc figured it might be as much as a year."

Though Iolaus had spoken almost sharply, he still wasn't meeting the King's gaze. "How else could he see it, Iolaus? Gods, your life was hanging in the balance!" Jason replied, his gaze thoughtful, trying to understand what was going on under those unruly curls. When Iolaus didn't answer, just gave a tight shake of his head as he took a healthy gulp of ale, Jason observed, "You feel guilty about being used against him."

"Guilty…furious…helpless…yeah, all of that," Iolaus acknowledged, finally lifting his gaze to Jason's. "And, this wasn't the first time, Jase. Hera threatened to kill me about a month ago if Hercules wouldn't agree to give up his strength…so he folded that time, too. Almost got us both killed. They're using me, dammit, to get to him."

Jason leaned back in his chair, absorbing that news, and he could see the shadows in Iolaus' eyes. The King could read what it all meant in Iolaus' candid gaze…that he knew he was now the hostage to be held over Hercules, to control the demigod. That he hated it…was sick about it. "What are you going to do?"

Iolaus leaned forward, elbows on the table, head in his hands. "Damned if I know," he murmured. "I just know I can't do this to Hercules…I can't be held over his head this way." Pushing his hands through his hair, he sat back and took a swallow of ale. "I've tried to tell him that he's not responsible for what happens to me…that it's my choice to travel with him. If there are risks, I accept them. But…it's no use. They'll get to him every time through me." Looking up at his friend, the pain of his assessment in his eyes, Iolaus said quietly, "Maybe…maybe he'd be better off without me. Maybe I shouldn't tag along. It's just that I… well, I hate the idea of him trying to do it all on his own. He's not invulnerable, Jason, you know that. He needs someone to watch his back."

Jason rubbed a hand over his mouth as he thought about the situation. Shaking his head, he said quietly, "I don't know what to suggest, Iolaus…you're right. They've got his number now, and you're it. But, you're also right that he needs you, and not just to watch his back. All I can say is, the two of you are going to have to come up with a strategy to handle this the next time it happens."

Iolaus blew out a sigh. "Big help you are. I thought you were supposed to be this wise king who has all the answers."

"Oh, I do…I do, most of the time," the King responded with mock sagacity. "Except when it comes to you. I've never been able to figure out what to do about the problems you seem to wind up in."

Iolaus looked up sharply at that, but caught the twinkle in his friend's eye. Chuckling ruefully to acknowledge the gentle teasing, he shook his head. "Well…do something about that, would you? I can't be expected to fix all the messes I get into all by myself!"

The King laughed outright at that. "Oh no…you're not going to saddle me with being your keeper. I could never sort out all the mischief you make."

But, Iolaus wasn't really in the mood to laugh. His gaze flicked away as he chewed on his lip. He was frowning in worry as he slumped back against his chair. "Jase," he said quietly, sounding almost lost, "I really don't know what to do."

An expression of fondness, mingled with concern, settled over the young King's face. He reached out to grip his friend's shoulder reassuringly as he said, "I know…but…maybe you do need to think about splitting up with Hercules." When Iolaus looked up sharply at that, Jason continued, "I don't want to see you killed anymore than he does. The gods have no mercy, Iolaus…."

The younger man gazed at his friend for a long moment, then shook his head. "This isn't about me, Jase, it's about controlling Herc, keeping him from doing what's right. If I can help him, I will…if I'm a burden, I'll get out of the way. But, I'm not ready to give up, not yet. I keep thinking there must be a way to beat this…I just don't know what it is yet."

Jason studied his determined young friend, struck again by the courage in his heart and the selfless way he put Hercules first, even in this, even when it could cost his life. Nodding finally, he said, "Well, if anyone can figure out what to do, it'll be the two of you. Not much can stop you when you and Hercules have decided on a plan of action. Give it time, Iolaus…"

"Well, time is certainly something we have with Herc tied up in this penance gig," Iolaus replied, a slight tone of exasperated disgust in his voice.

"What are you going to do while Hercules is serving his 'penance'? You know you're welcome to come back to Corinth with me," Jason offered.

"Thanks, Jase, I appreciate that. But…I think I'll go check on how our friend is doing, make sure they're not asking him to do anything really crazy, and then I think I might just head back to Thebes for a while. Something will turn up."

"With you…it always does," grinned the King as he lifted his mug of ale. Then, sobering for a moment as he recalled that Iolaus had blithely gone up against Xertes on his own, without waiting to make damned sure he had back up before he'd infiltrated the warlord's gang, he added, "Just try to make sure it's not something that'll get you killed."

* * *

Iolaus watched Jason and his mounted escort ride out of town the next morning, then hitched his pack over his shoulder to head in the opposite direction. Clean-shaven once more, dressed in one of his less disreputable shirts, his bow at his back, quiver and sword scabbard hooked to his belt, he looked less a tramp down on his luck, but still retained a bit of the edge of dangerousness he'd carried since Hercules had left. Iolaus was a troubled man, wondering what to do about the problem the gods had posed to his friendship with Hercules. He felt more than a little lost not having his best friend traveling by his side.

As he passed by the magistrate's office, Oliander spotted him and dashed out to call him back for a moment. When Iolaus turned with an inquiring look, the older man gazed at him solemnly. "I owe you, and your friend, Hercules, an apology. I thought you were crazy kids, wrong-headed and too quick to run off at the mouth. But, the two of you were right. We should have stood together to resist Xertes. You, one man alone, not even from this town, took him on for us…I know what you did could have put your life in danger. You saved this town. And you showed us what courage looks like. I…well, thank you."

Embarrassed by the quiet and heartfelt tribute, Iolaus shrugged a little. "Actually, Aureas showed all of us. We owed it to him, and the memory of his family, to finish what he started. I'm just glad I was able to help."

The magistrate nodded and patted Iolaus on the shoulder. "You're a fine young man, and we were lucky you came to town."

Iolaus shook the man's hand, then turned to continue his journey while the magistrate watched until the young warrior was out of sight.

Taking his time, getting in a little fishing, it took Iolaus four days to travel across the plains and hills to Eurystheus' homestead in the valley deep in the Pelopponesian range. His pace quickened as he got closer to his destination, anxious to see how his best friend was faring. But, even so, it was late afternoon by the time he strode into the yard between the barn and the house.

The first thing that caught his eye was the monstrous pelt of the lion stretched on the rawhide and wood frame. His eyes a little wide, he ambled over to take a closer look, amazed to see that it was a lion's skin. Biggest damn lion he'd ever seen. And the pelt was perfect…no blemish from arrows or spear thrusts. Wondering what the beast had died of, he examined the pelt, wondering if it was old…but it was too thick. This had been an animal in its prime. Frowning, he was still studying it when he heard a voice call out behind him, "Can I help you?"

Iolaus turned and saw a tall, somehow distinguished man despite his plain clothing and unaffected air. "Hi!" he replied. "My name is Iolaus. I'm a friend of Hercules and thought I'd stop by to see how he's doing. Is he around?" With his last comment, Iolaus' gaze included the house and barn.

"No…I'm sorry. He left this morning and I doubt he'll be back for some time," Eurystheus replied, studying the small youth, wondering at the armament he carried. Not a soldier…no armour or shield. But more than a hunter. The chieftain didn't miss the look of disappointment that flashed across the young man's face and remained in his eyes. "Hercules has mentioned you…well, actually, he's talked about you quite a lot."

"Oh yeah?" Iolaus grinned, pleased. "Well, we've been good friends for a long time…I was really hoping to see him. If you'd tell me where he's gone, maybe I could catch up with him."

"He's not gone far, but it's a longer journey than you'll want to make tonight. Please…won't you join me for dinner and stay the night," Eurystheus invited, curious to learn more about Hercules, and thinking this stranger could provide the insights he sought.

"That's good of you, but I really don't want to be any trouble," Iolaus replied, wanting to be on his way.

"It's no trouble," Eurystheus assured him, then changed the subject. "I noticed you were studying the lion's skin. Hercules said he'd wished you'd been with him…that you are the best hunter he knows. He said he used ideas you'd taught him to trap the lion."

"Herc took down this monster…on his own?" Iolaus clarified with a frown. Gods…no evidence of arrows or spears. Dammit, Hercules must have gone in with nothing more than a club! Iolaus'd kill him for being so stupid!

"He did," Eurystheus confirmed. "Come along inside and I'll tell you as much as he told me about how he did it."

Iolaus chewed on his inner lip for a moment. On one hand, he just wanted to catch up with Herc, but on the other, he wanted to know more about this 'penance' Herc was serving…especially if it included going after monsters like that lion alone. "All right, thanks," he agreed, then followed his host into the house.

The two men had found common ground…they both wanted to talk about Hercules.

Over dinner, after sharing the tale of Hercules' triumph over the Nemean Lion, Eurystheus drew Iolaus out, not that it took much effort. The young man was eager to talk about his friend, and to defend him. "I know you might not want to hear this, and you probably think it's none of my business since Apollo sent Hercules to you, but he doesn't deserve this 'penance'. He didn't do anything wrong. Herc's a good guy, the best! He'd do anything for anyone in trouble…"

"Hercules told me he felt responsible for the deaths of a family," Eurystheus intervened. But Iolaus waved off the comment.

"Hercules feels responsible for everything and everyone…he guilts out on a regular basis if he thinks someone is hurt that he could, or should, have protected. But he can't be everywhere at once, and he sure as Tartarus didn't kill that family…bad guys did that. And they're paying for it. If Herc needs to learn anything from all this, it's that he can't keep blaming himself for all the bad stuff that happens in this world!"

"I see," murmured Eurystheus thoughtfully. "What do you mean, the ones who killed the family are paying for it?"

"Uh, well, after Herc had left, I figured something needed to be done before they killed anyone else. So, I worked out a deal with the magistrate to get the back up of professional soldiers from King Jason of Corinth, and I infiltrated the gang to get the information necessary to convict them at the trial. They were sentenced a few days ago," Iolaus explained briefly.

"You did this, on your own. Why?" Eurystheus asked.

"Why? What do you mean, why? Someone needed to stop them…Herc would have but he'd been forced into this agreement," Iolaus replied, not seeing anything extraordinary in what he'd done."

Eurystheus regarded the youth steadily for a long moment, struck by his candour and sincerity…and by his sense of justice and courage. The older man began to wonder if he'd too quickly assumed that Hercules was too young to have a sense of himself, a sense of what he stood for…if perhaps, they had both, he and Hercules, been manipulated into an arrangement that had nothing to do with what Hercules had to learn, and everything to do with the capriciousness of the gods.

"You've indicated a couple of times that Hercules may have been coerced into coming to bide by my tasking of him," Eurystheus said then, wanting to know the details, "What, exactly, do you mean by that?"

"Didn't Herc tell you how Apollo finally forced him into vowing he'd go along with this servitude?" Iolaus demanded.

"No…no, he didn't," his host replied, frowning.

Iolaus swallowed and sighed as he looked away, his own guilt surfacing unconsciously in his expression as he replied quietly, "He was told that if he didn't agree that…well, that they'd take my life to teach him a lesson."

Eurystheus' frown deepened as he looked away. This he definitely hadn't known. Neither Hercules nor Apollo had bothered to mention the threat to the youth Eurystheus had already figured out was Hercules' best friend. This wasn't a game he liked being part of.

When the chieftain didn't say anything, Iolaus murmured into the silence, "Hera did something similar a little while ago. She threatened to kill me if he wouldn't give up his strength. So, he did…we had to fight armed soldiers with our bare hands in an arena, to either win or be killed, before he could get it back. They …the gods…they know how to get to him now…."

Eurystheus heard the pain in the young man's voice and shook his head at the machinations of the Olympians. "Iolaus," he said finally into the silence, "I didn't know any of this and I thank you for sharing it with me. The gods are wrong to force such sacrifice, wrong to use your life to blackmail your friend. But…that doesn't mean that Hercules has nothing to learn. In the short time he's been here, I can see he is a young man with almost unlimited potential for good…but," he continued, hoping that something worthwhile might yet come of all this, "he's still uncertain of himself. He needs to learn patience, and perhaps even humility. He has yet to really decide who he is…how he will live his life. During his time here, I hope to help him come to terms with these things, make these decisions."

"Yeah? Well, I can tell you that Hercules knows he wants to help people, innocent people who are preyed upon by those who are ruthless, whether they be monsters, or other men, or gods. If you can do anything for him, help him to learn not to feel so guilty for what isn't his fault…not to feel responsible for what he can't control," Iolaus replied earnestly.

"Like, for instance, for whatever might happen to you?" Eurystheus guessed.

"Yeah…like that," Iolaus agreed, looking away. "Nobody should have to face what he faces on his own. Nobody should have to fight those battles alone."

"So…you're prepared to face the threat the gods pose, the threat to your own life, to stand with him," Eurystheus clarified, thinking Hercules must be special indeed to have earned such loyalty. And he found himself increasingly impressed with Iolaus…few men would consciously and deliberately accept such a threat to their own lives and still stand by a friend. Unusual and compelling young men, courageous and selfless the both of them. He'd not known any like them before, and he wondered if he'd see the like of them again in his life.

"Yeah…I am. If I can figure out how to get him to face it without caving in…or…or blaming himself if someday…." Iolaus replied quietly.

"I see," the older man replied thoughtfully. These two youths faced a terrible dilemma, risked great loss, if they hoped to maintain the partnership Iolaus had alluded to. Looking into the fire, he wondered how they'd find a way to resolve it…without Iolaus having to sacrifice his life in defiance of the gods' threats. He wanted to think about this, about whether he could help devise an option for them. Standing, he said, "Well, we'll not solve that problem tonight. It's late. I'll show you to the room Cleandra will have made up for you, and tomorrow, I'll give you directions on where to find Hercules."

* * *

The sun had reached its zenith about an hour before Iolaus made his way onto the grounds of King Augeus' extensive estate. Eurystheus had told him to seek out Palomides who would direct him on how to find Hercules. The grounds were extensive, including a village housing the King's retainers and peasants, a well-appointed temple to Aphrodite, the sizable castle and countless out-buildings, sheds and a massive complex that looked like stables, and sure smelled like them, but were larger than any Iolaus had ever seen before. The structure must have the capacity to house a thousand cattle, he thought as he wrinkled his nose against the overwhelming acrid odour of dung. There were soldiers, servants, guards, peasants, and sundry officials moving about, each with an air of going somewhere, intent upon their duties. When one of the guards accosted him, Iolaus asked for Palomides and was directed toward a middle-aged man standing near a wagon loaded with manure near one of the entrances of the massive stable complex.

Iolaus hitched his pack more securely on his shoulder and wove his way across the busy common area. "Hello!" he called out, "Are you Palomides?"

The older fair-haired man turned, a harried expression on his face, to examine the small, somewhat scruffy youth, and unconsciously shook his head as he answered, "Yes, I'm Palomides…but before you ask, I'm sorry, I've no work to offer you."

Iolaus grinned good-naturedly as he explained, "That's okay, I'm not looking for work. Eurystheus, your cousin, said I should ask for you. He said you could tell me where to find Hercules. My name's Iolaus."

"Oh," Palomides nodded then, returning the grin with a smile of his own. "Well, if you're looking for Hercules, you've come to the right place." The older man glanced down at Iolaus' boots with an appraising look, decided they'd be adequate and motioned with his head toward the open stable door. "He's in there."

Iolaus looked toward the entryway, his eyebrows raised a bit, Palomides nodded again and waved him on. "Thanks," murmured the blond warrior as he made his way toward the stable complex, wondering what Herc would be doing in there. As he got closer, the stench worsened to the point where he had to lift a hand to cover the lower half of his face. He was breathing through his mouth, and trying not to gag by the time he stepped into the darkened interior and paused, letting his eyes adjust to the dimness.

"Herc?" he called out, squinting a little, his face scrunched up against the stench. He could hear the shuffling of thousands of hooves, the lowing of cattle, but it was too dark to see.

Hercules turned at the sound of his best friend's voice, a smile of delight on his face as he made out the form of his buddy against the light. "Iolaus!" he called back, slogging through the filth, shoving cattle out of his way as he moved toward the entrance, "what are you doing here?"

Iolaus' eyes adjusted and he found himself gazing at a thoroughly disheveled demigod, carrying a shovel, wearing over-sized boots that came up to his thighs, squishing through what looked like a decade worth of cow manure. "What in Tartarus is this all about?" he gasped, then regretted the sharp inhalation and gagged.

"Uh…a little ripe, isn't it?" Hercules observed as he clapped his friend on the back, then turned and led him back out into the fresher air.

"Ripe?" Iolaus repeated, his eyes watering as he fought for breath, "gods…that lot went beyond ripe years ago. Yycchhh!"

Hercules chuckled and nodded. "When you're right, you're right. It's pretty disgusting."

Iolaus rolled his eyes in agreement. "What are you doing in there?" he demanded.

Hercules set the shovel by the wooden wall, as he explained, "Well, for a reason that escapes me, and apparently everyone else I've met so far, King Augeus has never had the stables cleaned, not once in more than ten years. Anyway, I guess everyone here, the peasants, the soldiers, the grooms, the servants, everyone, finally revolted and said the stables had to be cleaned out or they'd quit. Only…it was such a mess that no one really wanted to actually do it. Eurystheus heard about it from Palomides and volunteered my services…I think he thinks it'll teach me humility or something. I don't know…but, it's really pretty awful."

"Awful?" Iolaus repeated, gesturing back toward the interior of the building, "I don't know if anything will ever make you humble, but you're sure getting good at mastering the art of understatement, Herc. That's… that's…well, I'm at a loss for words…."

Hercules laughed outright at that. "Well, that's a first, Iolaus…almost makes it all worth it." Reflexively, Iolaus smacked his friend on the arm for the crack, but his attention was clearly still centred on the foul stables.

"It'll take you forever to clean that place up a shovel load at a time!" Iolaus protested. "There has got to be another way!"

"Believe me, I'm open to ideas, buddy," Hercules replied, wrinkling his own nose in disgust at the long weeks that lay before him. It was truly amazing how long it took to fill a wagon with that stuff…and how little seemed to actually be removed, even once the wagon was full.

"Right," his friend murmured, thinking furiously. If worst came to worst, he'd help…but not until every other alternative had been exhausted. Frowning thoughtfully, he looked around the yard and noticed that it opened at this point directly onto the fields where the peasants grew grain and vegetables. Chewing on the inside of his lip, one hand rubbing his chin, he set off to stride around the corner of the stables. For about half a mile the land rose gently until it came up to the steep side of a mountain ridge. He could see the glint of water in the distance…and remembered passing a wide, fast-moving river on his way here. Waving a hand at Hercules to follow him, he continued around the stable building, then stood with his hands on his hips, wondering if it would work.

"What's going on in that head of yours, Iolaus," Hercules asked, amused and curious.

Cocking his head as he stared at the distant river, Iolaus mused, "Well, if we dug a new channel from the river, the force of the water could sweep through the stables, and drive all the dung out, or most of it anyway, directly into the fields back there." He looked up at his friend, "Digging dirt has got to be better than digging that sh…uh, dung. And, as a bonus, all that cattle would get a bath…gods, they reek, too."

Hercules' gaze lifted to the river, shifted to the stables, then he took a couple of steps back to gaze at the fields beyond. "The fields look like they could use a little fertilizing…." Turning back with a broad grin, he clapped his buddy on the shoulder. "I am SO glad you dropped by to visit!"

They went to explain the plan to Palomides, who being an essentially kind and humane individual, gave his full support. Besides, anything that got those stables cleaned out, and the stench blessedly gone as quickly as possible, was a good thing.

When Hercules turned to pick up his shovel, Iolaus scrounged around and found another just inside the stable door. Once again fighting his gag reflex, he turned and saw Hercules watching him, a slight frown on his face as he remembered these were labours he was supposed to do by himself. When he said doubtfully, "Ah…Iolaus…I don't think…."

"Don't start, Hercules," Iolaus replied abruptly, cutting him off. "I'm helping with this. Period. Full stop. No discussion." And he turned to lead the way to the river.

Hercules grinned widely as he nodded in acceptance of a will that was greater than his own. Gods, it was good to have his friend there to help…good just to see him again, truth be told. He'd missed him.

What might have taken them a week, only took a day as soldiers and peasants showed up with shovels of their own, unasked but willing to help. The stench really was formidable and they were heartily sick of it.

Finally, the channel was dug, with only one very, very large rock blocking the way of the fast moving river. They ensured all but two of the stable doors were nailed shut…one on the back, and one at the far end on the opposite side left open for the water to flow through and across to the fields. Then, Hercules and Iolaus rigged a rock fall to block the main channel of the river.

The water raging in a rapid torrent, with the combined forces of two mighty rivers, the Alpheus and the Peneus which had converged less than a mile upstream, quickly rose up against the temporary dam. Hercules jumped into the new channel and heaved and hauled until the large boulder was lifted clear. Immediately, he was almost bowled off his feet by the force of the pent up water crashing through into the new channel, rushing along it to the stables in the distance.

Iolaus laughed as he held out a hand to haul his soaked friend up onto the bank, and they turned and ran to see how the plan was working. By the time they had reached the back of the stables, a wall of water had already churned into the building. It rushed through the passageways, flowing through cracks in and under the stalls, swirling around the cattle that lurched and protested loudly at the sudden indignity of being soaked to their shoulders, rising in the building until it found its passage out the other side. Brown, fetid water gushed out through the narrow channel they'd dug across the yard towards the fields, flowing fast until it reached the wide open space where it spread out over the ground, gradually flooding the fields, fertilizing as it went.

They let the water flow until it started to run clear, and then Hercules, Iolaus and the other men trudged back to the head of the channel they'd dug. They all clambored into the muddy riverbed to clear out the boulders that had blocked the main course of the river. The ground around them grew slick as water filtered through, quickly building up to their knees and then their waists, until the centre of the channel was clear, and the force of river itself began to push the remaining boulders out of its way. Supporting one another against the raging torrent, they waded hastily back to the shore, having to swim the last few yards. Hercules went to pick up the massive boulder that had originally blocked the man-made channel and hauled, half rolling it, until it again slipped into place, the river now fully returned to its original course.

In high good spirits, despite being soaked to the skin, the band of men slogged back to the stables, eager to see the results of their work. They found Palomides inside, already conducting his own inspection. When they entered and found him in the depths of the building surrounded by dripping cattle, he turned to them with a wide smile of triumph on his face. "YOU DID IT!" he exclaimed, striding to meet them, pounding Hercules and Iolaus on the back in congratulation. "It's been swept clean…look at it! I never would have imagined it possible! Look! See what you've done!"

And look they did. There were puddles everywhere, already drying in the heat of a Grecian summer, the walls and stalls still dripping a little from the high water mark about four feet above the ground…but the filth was gone. The slate of the stable floor was almost pristine. The force of the water rushing through had scoured it, and the cattle, clean.

Dripping, clothes and hair soaked, everyone stood around and grinned…and heaved a heavy sigh of satisfaction…glad to be able to do so without choking on fetid air. Hercules reached over to squeeze his partner's shoulder. "Thanks," he murmured.

Iolaus laughed with delight that the plan had worked. "No problem, Herc…I really didn't fancy the idea of helping you shovel it all out of here!"

Thrilled to his boots that this disgusting chore was behind them, Palomides called out, "Come along, and we'll get all of you cleaned up. This calls for a celebration!"

The wine flowed that night almost as freely as had the river. There was music and dancing, and even the King himself came out of his castle to examine stables made like new, as pleased as if it had been his own idea. King Augeus was an odd fellow, taken to fanciful notions, but essentially kind-hearted and harmless. His people loved him and indulged his whims, finding him amusing though they never let on. Iolaus found he had to bite his lip a couple of times to keep a straight face, particularly when the King was regaling them with stories about his adventures and brilliance in creating fire, holding up the pillars of the world…it seemed he spent much of his time imagining himself to be a Titan. Draping a comradely arm around the small youth's shoulders, he practically hauled Iolaus along to admire the truly impressive statue of Aphrodite in the temple. "We worship her here, the Goddess of Love. Isn't she breathtaking?" the King said with a worshipful voice.

Gazing up at the more than twice life size attributes of the nude goddess, Iolaus nodded enthusiastically. "Absolutely!" he agreed with a broad smile of appreciation. Hercules, eyes cast downwards, plucked at Iolaus' arm to draw him back outside. "Come on, buddy," he murmured, "remember that's my sister you're drooling over…."

"Oh yeah," sighed an enraptured Iolaus. "I know." As he allowed Hercules to drag him away, he asked a bit peevishly, "How come I never get to meet her? She's a lot better looking than Ares, I got to tell you."

"Be careful what you wish for," Hercules replied darkly with a bit of a shudder. He was beginning to believe that the gods only ever meant trouble.

There was a spangle of pink lights only he could see, and he rolled his eyes as Aphrodite flashed into view. "Hey, he's kinda cute…maybe you should introduce us!" she teased her 'little' brother.

"Don't start," mumbled Hercules waving her away.

"Start what?" Iolaus asked, catching his partner's motion and distracted air. Looking around, his eyes suddenly lit up as he asked, "Is she here? Aphrodite?"

"Not anymore," Hercules growled, shaking his head as his sister pouted, then grinned and vanished.

"Ah, geez, Herc…you're no fun at all!" griped Iolaus, but his eyes were twinkling at his buddy's discomfiture.

* * *

They headed back to Eurystheus' place the next morning. It was the first chance they'd had to talk on their own, without hordes of others around them, since Iolaus had caught up with Hercules in the stables. "Interesting tasks you're getting," Iolaus ventured as they ambled along the trail that would lead over the mountain.

Hercules grunted as he rolled his eyes. "You could say that," he agreed.

Turning to look at the fresh scars on his friend's arm and chest, mindful that he'd noted Herc still walked with a bit of a limp, Iolaus said with a hard edge to his voice, "I saw the lion's pelt."

Hercules' brows rose as he cut a quick look at his friend, but at the sight of the scowl, he looked away again. "Oh," was all he said.

"Oh?" Iolaus repeated. "That's it? 'Oh?' Gods, Herc, you went after that thing with just a club, didn't you! I didn't see any sign of arrow or spear wounds in the pelt…a club! Against that monster! What were you thinking? Let me rephrase that…ARE YOU AN IDIOT?"

Hercules raised his hands against the angry tirade. "Whoa! Easy! I won, didn't I? You know I don't like carrying weapons, and well, by the time I saw the tracks and realized…well, I had to make do," he explained, though he knew it sounded lame to say the least.

"Make do?" Iolaus snapped tightly in exasperation. "Right. You might look full grown, but I can't let you out on your own, you know that? Herc, don't you EVER do anything that stupid again! You could have been KILLED!"

Hercules shrugged and turned to continue along the narrow trail, but Iolaus grabbed his arm and pulled him back around to face him. "I'm not kidding, Herc," he said angrily. "I want your word that you won't pull a stunt like that again. It was a damn fool thing to do, and you know it. What were you trying to do? Get yourself killed?"

"No!" Hercules protested, pulling back from his friend's insistent grip on his arm. "No…I wasn't. I…I… maybe I didn't think it all through, but by the time I'd actually seen the lion, I was committed. It wasn't the time to turn back. It was already killing people, Iolaus…I had to stop it."

"Hercules…" Iolaus sighed, then pressed his lips together as he pointedly studied the almost healed scars. "It hurt you bad, didn't it?"

The young demigod looked away, then nodded reluctantly. "Bad enough. It was a near thing, to tell you the truth."

"Don't…don't ever do anything like that again, not on your own, okay?" Iolaus pushed, but his voice was quiet, a plea, not a demand.

"Okay," Hercules replied, then looked back at his friend. "So…you're not still mad at me?"

Iolaus looked up at him, then rolled his eyes, knowing Hercules was referring to the fight they'd had two weeks before. "Who says I'm not still mad?" he countered. "I've just stopped yelling at you about it."

But, Hercules grinned, "Yeah, right…well, I'm glad you've stopped yelling, then. It's good to see you."

Iolaus gave him a half-smile back, then turned to continue their journey. "Eurystheus seems like a decent guy," he observed.

"Yes, he is," Hercules agreed. "I like him. So…what have you been up to while I've been hunting lions?" he asked then.

Iolaus flicked him a look over his shoulder as he replied in a casual manner. "Oh, not a lot. A little fishing. After Jason helped me round up Xertes and his bunch and send them away for a very long time."

"What?" Hercules demanded. "You went after Xertes? How did Jason get involved?"

Iolaus shrugged. "Well, Apollo didn't tell me I couldn't stop the creep. I sent a note to Jason, explaining that I needed some back up and he was there in a matter of days along with a hundred soldiers." Turning back to Hercules he observed, "It's amazing how easy it is to round up fifty bad guys with a hundred warriors…we should try that option more often!"

Hercules gazed at him, a thoughtful frown between his brows. He wasn't getting the whole story, and he knew it. But it was also pretty clear he'd gotten as much as Iolaus was going to give him. "I'm sorry I left you to deal with them on your own," he said quietly. "But…I'm glad you did."

"You'd've been there if you could have been. I know that," Iolaus said matter-of-factly as he again led the way along the path. "I'll just be glad when you've served your time with Eurystheus and things can get back to normal."

Normal. Back to traveling together until the next time the gods threatened Iolaus' life. And what then? Neither of them spoke of it, though both of them were thinking about it as they made their way over the mountain.

What then?

When Eurystheus' homestead came into view, Iolaus paused and turned to face his best friend. "Well, I guess this is as far as I go," he said, looking away, not wanting Hercules to see how much it bothered him, knowing this servitude was because of him.

"Where are you headed?" Hercules asked, wishing they were heading off together.

The blond warrior shrugged as he looked back. "I thought I'd head back to Thebes for a bit. See your mother and tell her what's going on, that you're all right…"

Hercules nodded as he looked away toward the horizon, toward home. "Thanks," he murmured. "I appreciate you looking in on her."

Iolaus snorted. "Are you kidding? I'm dying for some decent food! I might just move right on in and get her to adopt me!"

Hercules laughed then as he reached out to ruffle his buddy's hair. "She did that a long time ago. Look, you be careful…and stay in touch, okay?"

Iolaus grinned as he rolled his eyes, "I'm not the one who goes after monster lions with nothing but a club, remember?"

"No…you just go after warlords and their bloodthirsty mercenaries on your own. I know you, Iolaus…" Hercules replied, his eyes serious.

Laughing, Iolaus reached out a hand, and as Herc clasped his arm, he replied, "Okay…I promise. I'll be careful, if you'll be careful. Deal?"

"Deal," Hercules affirmed.

* * *

Hercules had barely returned when Eurystheus set him another task. The chieftain had thought long and hard about what Iolaus had told him. Though he resented being used by the gods for their own purposes, he had determined that Hercules would have this time to develop his character so that he would never be tempted by his fabulous powers into the arrogance of the gods who had coerced him into this service.

A creature the people in the valley had come to call the Erymanthian Boar had been creating havoc for several seasons now, trampling crops, impaling smaller animals, like sheep or young cattle, on its monstrous tusks and generally being a nuisance. Given the young demigod's success with the lion, several of his clan had asked if the young stranger might also rid them of the depredations of the boar, and Eurystheus had agreed that it would be done.

"It's another massive creature, Hercules," Eurystheus warned him, "one that would be a burden for you to carry back. And, I would like to have the boar's body, to slaughter here for a feast of celebration for my people. So, you might want to consider how you could get it back here, alive."

Hercules was hard pressed not to roll his eyes at this assignment. What was it with these mountains…did everything grow to massive proportions in this neighbourhood? Stifling a sigh, he turned on his heel and headed toward the barn to see if anything in there might be useful in corralling a monstrous, no doubt ill-tempered, boar. Poking around the dim interior, he sighed, heartily wishing he was ambling across the hills with Iolaus towards Thebes. Finally, his eye alighted on a pile of rope in one corner. Frowning, his eyes narrowed as he thought about how he might catch and tether a wild boar. Hands on his hips, his head down in concentration, he tried to picture the action in his mind. Nodding finally, he gathered up the rope, looping it over his shoulder, and then he headed back out into the yard.

"Any ideas on where I might start looking for the boar?" he called to Eurystheus.

The chieftain turned toward the mountains looming above them. Waving in their general direction, he said, "Up there…we've tracked it to the snow line, but then lost it. Must have a den or cave up there it holes up in."

Resigned to the task, Hercules simply nodded and set off toward the mountains. That night, he camped within the treeline and spent the long evening hours by the fire working the rope into a large net. The next day, he set off just after dawn, climbing to the snow line, then trudging along it, watching the ground for tracks. He saw plenty, but they all seemed to be fallen in, the snow blowing across them, or softened by the heat of the sun in days past. "You'd be proud of me, Iolaus," he muttered to himself. "I really was paying attention all those times you tried to teach me this stuff. The boar has been this way, but not for several days."

He kept up his circumference of the mountainside, until he came to fresh tracks…three days later. "Finally," he mumbled, well past being disgusted with the time this was taking. The cold didn't bother him like it got to Iolaus, but that didn't mean he enjoyed it. Slogging through the ever-deepening snow, breaking through the crust so that he was often up to his hips in it, he tried to hold onto his patience and remind himself that he'd agreed to do this…and remembering, he sobered thoughtfully. And, he'd agree to do it again, if it meant saving Iolaus from Ares' power.

It was late in the day when he finally spotted the animal, ploughing its own way through the deep snow. He hauled the net from his shoulder, and shook it, to loosen strands that had grown stiff with the cold and damp. His fingers were almost numb from the bitter chill of the high altitude and he'd lost touch with his feet at least an hour before. Striding forward, as purposefully as he could while sinking hip deep in the freezing wasteland, he closed the distance between him and the boar.

Gods, and he'd thought the lion had been big. The boar was not quite as tall as a cow, but substantially heavier, with tusks three feet long…and they looked sharp. Making a considerable racket on its own, what with its snuffling and guttural grunts, the beast didn't hear him coming…and was wildly enraged when it found itself trapped under the rope netting that suddenly surrounded it. Thrashing, it twisted, slashing with the tusks and stamping its heavy hooves, the grunts rising to squeals on the wind.

Standing well back from the hooves and keeping himself behind the beast, away from the deadly tusks, Hercules hauled back on the net, exerting every ounce of his powerful strength. The netting tightened around the creature and the fierce pull of the demigod dragged the beast off its feet, until it lay foundering in the snow. A bitter tug of war ensured, as the creature rolled with all its three thousand pounds of weight away from the force that was dragging it, and Hercules hauled it towards him, determined to drag it off the damned mountain. His muscles stood out, corded along his arms, his shoulders and neck, his jaw was clenched and his eyes narrowed to slits as he fought the animal's wild thrashings. Finally, finally, it began to weaken, exhausted, and he was able to begin dragging it back through the deep snow.

The sun had long set, and the wind had grown more cruel, but he couldn't stop…didn't dare. At the least slackening of the pressure, the boar would resume its desperate struggle for freedom. Once he was out of the snow, the boar grunted and squealed, again thrashing mightily, having rested up for the past three hours, furious at being bruised and battered as it was hauled over rocks and banged into the odd tree. Hercules fought back, but finally decided it had all gone long past ridiculous and he needed to get some rest. There was no way he wanted to fight this brute for all of the two nights and a day it would take him to drag its immensity back to Eurystheus' homestead.

Hauling the net tighter, drawing the beast ever closer, he struggled against its frenzied rage. It took another half hour, but finally he was close enough to leap up onto its back. Infuriated by this new assault, the beast humped and tried to roll, squealing loudly. But, Hercules gripped its sides with his powerful legs, one fist clutching onto the rope netting to keep his place on its back, as his other fist came up and fell with the force of a hundred pound hammer onto the base of the monster's neck. Stunning it immediately into unconsciousness.

The boar collapsed beneath him, and he sagged over its back, in weary relief. Rolling off the animal's back, he again gathered the rope into his fists and resumed the long journey off the mountain.

He sure hoped the people of Eurystheus' clan enjoyed their feast.

For his own part, once he'd delivered the creature, he didn't care if he ever saw it, any part of it, ever again.

* * *

It took Iolaus the better part of two weeks to make it back to Thebes. He was dawdling along the way, he knew it, dreading having to tell Alcmene that Hercules had sworn away his right to choose his actions for an unspecified period of time. Because of him. His mood swinging between fury with the gods, guilt for being used against Hercules, frustration with his friend for caving in and despair at not being able to come up with any ideas about how to stop the vicious blackmail, he felt above all else, lost. Without Hercules, he had no direction, no focus for his life, no purpose and it scared him to realize how empty his own life was, had always been except when Herc filled it.

He'd seen the awed admiration in Jason's eyes, and in Eurystheus' gaze when they realized he was fully aware of the risks he was taking by electing to stand by Hercules, that he knew it could well cost him his life. He snorted a little in self-disgust. They thought he was 'brave' or 'courageous'…now that was a laugh. The simple truth was, his life wasn't worth living without Hercules in it. He had no path, no reason to go on without his buddy next to him. Oh…he'd find a way to survive, and he'd do the best he could, but it wasn't bravery or courage that determined his choices. It was…it was love, plain and simple, though he'd have choked on saying the words out loud. Iolaus swallowed as he thought about how much Hercules meant to him, always had.

Pausing at the crest of a hill, looking out over a deep valley toward a lake in the distance, he leaned against a tree, his arms crossed tightly against the ache in his chest. For a dozen years, Hercules had been the bright joy of his life. First, as a gawky, shy kid, awkward and uncertain, uncomfortable with a strange strength that frightened him, with that haunted, lonely look in his eyes. A look that had pulled at Iolaus' young heart because he recognized it as something he felt deep inside of himself. He'd taken such boundless pleasure in chasing that look away, filling those eyes instead with wonder and laughter. Teaching the kid the mysteries of tracking, introducing Hercules to the delights and adventures to be had in the forests and fields that surrounded their village. Teasing him, getting him to see his strength was a good thing, something useful, especially when they needed to shift heavy boulders to build a fort…or to catch his smaller friend when Iolaus ventured too far out onto a branch and tumbled out of a tree. Standing up for him against the bullies that Herc wouldn't fight himself, afraid that he might hurt them. Gods, they had been great years…growing up, learning to trust one another, coming to love one another like brothers.

And, at the Academy, Iolaus knew he wouldn't even have been there if not for Hercules, and Alcmene's determination to reunite them, believing in the value of their friendship, that it was something vital in both of their lives. And, he'd never have survived the place, being so different, if Hercules hadn't been there, staunchly letting everyone know that this runty kid in the ratty clothes was his best friend. Never ashamed of him, despite the common knowledge that he was a thief. Never giving up on him, even when it seemed crystal clear to everyone else that he was an idiot and would never make it academically. Gods, they'd had some wild times…that Bacchus and his bunch were truly weird. And, there'd been terrifying times, like when he'd thought Herc had been killed by Ares, and he couldn't help, because he couldn't swim. Iolaus had felt as if he'd die himself that day, wanted to, as he'd screamed at the gods from the wall, taunting them, daring them to kill him, too.

His head down, his eyes blurred, Iolaus bit his lip and sniffed. Gods knew what Herc would have to face in the months ahead, and it was all his fault. Because Herc cared so much about him that he'd given up his life, enslaved himself to the will of a stranger. Gods, that lion could have killed him. Blinking hard as he looked back to the far horizon, Iolaus pushed his fingers through his hair, sniffing again as he shook his head. He couldn't let this happen again. Not ever.

But, how could he stop it from happening, except to foreswear their friendship…except to maybe drift away and let Herc live his own life? The thought of that created a wave of emotion that filled his chest, making it hard to breathe, and he didn't know if it was fear for his friend, knowing Hercules would be at constant risk with no one to watch his back, or from the complete and utter desolation he felt at not having Herc in his life. What in Tartarus was he going to do?

Pushing away from the tree, Iolaus again shouldered his pack. First things first. He'd told Hercules he'd check on Alcmene, make sure she was all right and let her know what was happening. Eurystheus seemed like a decent guy…they could write Hercules, and he'd send them news. It wasn't as if the man kept Herc locked away, or treated him as something less than human. He seemed to genuinely care for the youth who'd been sent to him by Apollo, seemed to hope that he could help Hercules become the man he was destined to be. Iolaus rubbed the back of his neck, hoping that would be the case. Hoping that the year, or however long it was, wouldn't be a total loss, a complete waste of time filled with nothing but disgusting chores like cleaning out those stables, or life-threatening tasks like hunting the lion.

When Iolaus finally arrived at Alcmene's cottage, he hesitated a moment before entering, licking his upper lip as he gazed at the door, his head bowing for a moment, eyes closed, as he prepared to face her. She'd always, somehow, given him the feeling that she expected him to look out for Hercules. He was older. It was his job to make sure her son came to no harm. Well, he'd sure screwed that up.

Straightening his back, squaring his shoulders, he pressed down the latch and walked into the bright, warm kitchen, the scent of fresh baked bread lingering on the air, a soup steaming in the cauldron over the fire, the wood polished and gleaming in the light. Gods, he'd always loved this place…loved her.

"Alcmene?" he called out, into the silence, then heard her footsteps in the hall, hurrying a little in eagerness at the sound of his voice, thinking they were both home. When she came into the room, there was a wide smile on her face, her eyes dancing…but she faltered almost immediately when she saw that he was alone, and she paled, one hand rising unconsciously to her lips.

"It's okay," Iolaus assured her quickly, seeing the fear in her eyes. "He's alright." It was something they shared, almost a conspiracy they hid from Hercules, their fear that something would happen to him, that the gods would hurt him, that he'd take on something even he couldn't handle one day. They tried hard never to let him see it…but they had never hid it from one another.

Looking past him, then back, she asked, "Where is he?"

Iolaus moved across the floor to touch her shoulder, to guide her gently to a chair by the table. "He's staying with a man named Eurystheus, southwest of Corinth, past Mycenae, in the Peloponessian mountains," the youth said as he sat down across from her, reaching out to cover her hand with his own.

"Why? I don't understand…" Alcmene interjected, impatient, concern darkening her eyes. "Was he hurt? Should I go to him?"

"No…he's fine," Iolaus assured her again. "It's a little complicated, but Apollo…let me back up for a minute. We'd been in a small town, Moreia, that was being terrorized by a warlord. A farmer, his wife and two children were killed, and Hercules felt responsible because he'd encouraged the people there to resist. Apollo took advantage of the guilt he felt, and demanded that Herc pay a penance for his interference in stuff that was none of his business. And…well…I guess he was told if he didn't agree, I'd be killed to punish him."

"What kind of penance?" Alcmene demanded, fire sparking in her eyes as anger took the place of fear in her heart.

"He was sent to Eurystheus, a chieftain in the Peloponnese, to do whatever the man wants him to do, for as long as Eurystheus feels necessary," Iolaus explained.

Her eyes narrowed, not liking the sound of this. "How do you know he's alright? Why aren't you with him?" she demanded then.

Iolaus sighed as he sat back. "I'm not 'allowed' to be with him…but I went to see how he was doing anyway. Eurystheus seems a fair man and he seems to think that this time might be good for Herc…give him a chance to really decide what he wants to do with his life. At that point, he'd just had Hercules hunt down a lion and clean out some stables. Nothing Herc couldn't handle…to teach him things like patience and humility." There was no way he was going to tell Alcmene the whole truth…there was no reason they should both be worried sick until Hercules finally got home.

"Humility?" she nearly spat out. "My son is not proud. He's the most decent, kind, thoughtful…"

"I know," Iolaus cut in, "and Eurystheus is bound to see that, too. With luck, he'll realize this whole thing is a crock of… well, anyway, he'll understand Apollo was out of line and let Herc go soon. I'm sorry, Alcmene. I wish this hadn't happened, that Herc hadn't agreed…but, he gave his word and, you know him, he'll see it through."

Furious, Alcmene pushed away from the table, standing she snapped, "He couldn't very well refuse if it meant you'd be killed." Turning away, she moved to the counter and grabbed a damp cloth to scrub at an imaginary stain, anything to give vent to the rage she felt.

Iolaus was devastated, believing she blamed him…because he blamed himself. He sat there for a moment, the pain of it in his eyes, then he stood slowly. "I'm so sorry…" he stammered, the sound of his guilt and grief thick in his voice.

Hearing the pain, she whirled around to face him, and her anger dissipated in the instant of seeing how defeated he looked, how broken. Tears filled her eyes and her lips trembled as she moved to him and took him in her arms. "Oh, Iolaus…sweetheart, I'm not mad at you. This isn't your fault…I'm just so furious with Apollo I'd like to thrash him! He threatened to kill you. I meant it…Hercules had no choice. Of course he had to make that vow, if the cost of refusing was your life."

Iolaus hugged her back, but her absolution didn't help make him feel any less responsible. "They know now that they can use me against him, Alcmene," he murmured. "I can't let that happen…I think I should go away."

"NO!" she replied, standing back to look him in the eye. "I forbid it. You will not let them win…Hercules needs you, and so do I."

Swallowing, he shook his head, arguing, "But…I don't know what else to do! I won't be used to blackmail him…I won't let something like this happen again!"

"You will not leave…do you hear me?" she insisted, shaking him a little, then relenting to pat his arm reassuringly. "It won't have to come to that…we'll think of something. But, I won't lose you, and that's that."

His lips parted, not knowing what to say in the face of her determination, and he looked away as he shook his head. But he didn't argue any further. Maybe they would think of something, some way to resist the threat the next time it was made. And, if they didn't, well…once Herc got back, and they knew he was alright, there would be time enough to decide when he'd leave and where he'd go. Because he had already decided that if that was the only option he had to protect Herc from future coercion, he would disappear.

* * *

Hercules ambled into the house, late in the afternoon, after finishing up his chores in the barn. It had been three weeks since he'd returned with the boar, and he was beginning to wonder if Eurystheus was ever going to give him another task. If he was done, he wanted to go home. If he wasn't, he wanted to get on with it, whatever it was going to be. The demigod had no way of knowing that Eurystheus was struggling with the challenge of trying to devise a solution to the problem that confronted the two youths he'd found himself both liking and admiring. Though he'd come up with an idea, it was extreme and very dangerous, and he needed more time to think about it, to determine whether he could bring himself to set it in motion. In the meantime, he hadn't had the heart to give Hercules useless tasks to fulfill for the sake of proving a worth that was already abundantly clear. So…he'd allowed the time to drift, believing there was no hurry, no real urgency. Both Hercules and Iolaus were safe from the depredations of the gods so long as he kept Hercules with him.

Seeing that his…host? mentor? owner? Hercules sighed, still not knowing how to categorize Eurystheus in his mind, anyway, noticing he seemed absorbed in a scroll that had arrived for him that afternoon, the demigod wandered into the kitchen. When Cleandra looked up from the dough she was rolling, he gave her a slow smile, and bent to pick up the empty bucket by the back door. She grinned back at him, and returned to her work while he went to the well to fill it. It was peaceful, not demanding…and very boring.

When he returned to the common room, Eurystheus was sitting deep in thought, tapping the rolled scroll against his lips. Looking up when he heard Hercules' step, he gazed at the young demigod in silence. Herc's brow quirked in inquiry as he settled in a chair opposite his…friend. That appellation wasn't quite right, either, but it was better than the others.

Looking down at the scroll, Eurystheus said quietly, "I've just received this from my younger brother."

"Oh?" Hercules replied, frowning a little at Eurystheus' air of abstraction. "Is there something wrong? I mean…I hope he's alright."

"Hmmm? Oh, yes, Admentus is fine," the older man replied, his gaze returning to Hercules. "My brother is a wanderer, a man who likes to see what's over the next horizon. Right now, he's in Thrace. He's just written me about something terrible that is happening there. One of the kings in that part of Greece, Diomedes, has a herd of mares that he's somehow made to eat human flesh…."

Hercules gulped at that. "You've got to be kidding!"

Sighing, Eurystheus shook his head. "I wish I were. Hercules…I want you to go there, to take those animals from him and find a way to reverse the enchantment he's obviously placed upon them. This is…revolting and has to be stopped."

"What is he? A wizard of some kind?" Hercules asked, frowning, wondering what he'd be up against and how best to prepare.

Shaking his head, the chieftain said, "No, not a wizard. Diomedes is one of Ares' half mortal sons…he must have some power…."

"Ares…great," Hercules sighed. "All right, I'll leave first thing in the morning."

* * *

Iolaus had long finished all the chores around the house and barn, repairing some loose thatch, replacing a couple of rotting boards in floor of the loft, and time was weighing heavily on his hands. Heading back to the house, he found Alcmene in the garden. Smiling at her intent concentration on her work, enjoying the beauty of the flowers, he interrupted quietly, "Would you mind if I headed into town for a day or two…to look up some old friends?"

Lifting her head, she smiled at him, as she replied, "Mind? Why would I mind? You've been slaving away here for weeks! Go on…have a good time."

Waving, he set off with a grin down the lane toward Thebes and less than an hour later, he was strolling through the marketplace, chatting up merchants and craftsmen who'd once eyed him warily, knowing him for a thief, but who now counted him as a friend. Stopping off in a tavern, he ordered an ale at the bar then turned to scan the room…and spotted someone he hadn't seen in quite a while. Flipping a coin onto the bar to pay for his drink, he picked up the mug and headed to the table in the corner, grinning widely as he caught the eye of his old friend.

Pulling out a chair and plopping into it, he shook his head as he studied the man across from him. "I swear," Iolaus said, "you haven't changed a bit!"

Malthius' smile was wide as he gazed back at Iolaus. "I think you've gotten a little taller," he observed dryly.

"Don't start," the young warrior chuckled as he took a sip of ale. Mal was one the few people Iolaus let get away with teasing him about his height. Long years ago, when he'd been struggling to survive on the streets, it had been Mal who'd looked out for him, taught him what he needed to know to survive. A few years older, Malthius had come to see Iolaus as the kid brother he'd never had, and they'd been very close for a while.

"It's good to see you, Iolaus," Malthius said then, reaching over to clap the younger man on the shoulder. "You look like you're doing well."

Iolaus scratched the back of his neck as he nodded, studying his friend. "Yeah, not bad, I guess. How about you…clean up your act, yet?"

Reaching for his ale, taking a sip, Mal let his eyes slide away. Iolaus shook his head and sighed, knowing he'd been the lucky one…he'd gotten caught and had had to change the direction of his life. The continuing silence indicated all too well that Mal was still playing on the wrong side of the law. Not responding to his question, Malthius asked then, "Where's your tall shadow?"

Iolaus looked away as he replied. "It's a long story, Mal…let's just say he's tied up on some business down south. I hope he'll be back soon." Changing the subject as his gaze roamed the tavern, "How about the other guys? Any of them still around?"

"Some…Marcus and Didelus, Mulehead and Dodge, Michaelaous are still hanging about…they might be in later. Tomas went to prison last year…Perceus got caught the year before," Mal reported, his mouth twisted in regret at what had happened to a couple of their former colleagues in crime.

"Sorry to hear that," Iolaus replied, frowning. "What about Sim?"

Malthius shook his head, his eyes clouding with concern as he replied, "Now…that's a bit strange," he replied, and then continued. "Simeous disappeared about two weeks ago."

"Disappeared?" Iolaus repeated, sitting up a little straighter. "What do you mean…he just took off?"

"No, I don't think so," Mal replied. "We were here, actually, having a drink, when this drop-dead gorgeous rich woman came in, obviously slumming. Well, you know Sim…always the ladies' man…worse than you, if that's possible. And, he has the looks to get away with it. Anyway, he caught her eye, and they left together. I figured he'd be back in a couple of hours, with a big stupid grin on his face, and a pocketful of jewels, but…he never came back. Nobody has seen him since."

"That's a little weird," Iolaus muttered.

"Very weird…and…he's not the only one who's vanished in the last few months. Always after the lovely lady invites them home," Malthius elaborated, his voice edged with worry.

"What? Who is she? Where does she live?" Iolaus demanded.

Malthius shrugged, "Haven't got a clue. But, I've been coming in here every night since, hoping to spot her and follow her home…ask a few questions."

Iolaus pursed his lips as he thought about it, leaning back in his chair as he sipped on his ale. Sim had been a good kid, well, relatively speaking…not a mean bone in his body. If something had happened to him, the young warrior wanted to know…wanted to help find him if he could. Spoiled rich girl, looking for thrills…what could she have done to perfectly healthy men? Drugged them? Set them up for…what? Slavery? It was too much to think she might kill for kicks, though it wouldn't be the first time. They needed more information…right now, all they could do was speculate.

"Well…speak of the devil," Malthius murmured, gazing toward the door.

Iolaus turned and spotted her immediately. Long and lithe, draped in silk and a string of pearls, a wild mane of black hair, and an air of seductive promise…hard to miss. She paused in the doorway, her eyes boldly scanning the room, her manner haughty…challenging. His chin raised a little unconsciously, as his eyes caught and held hers…then lifted his mug in a lazy salute as a slow smile curved his lips.

Watching, Mal murmured, "Iolaus…I'm not sure this is a good idea…."

But, the warrior was already coming to his feet in one smooth, languid motion. Glancing down at his friend, Iolaus replied quietly, "I'm going hunting…watch my back." And, then, he was moving between the tables, unhurried, with the sinuous and confident grace of a panther, his eyes roaming her body as hers roamed his…and then the almost physical impact of the hunger in her eyes. A clearer or more brazen invitation he'd rarely seen…and he'd seen quite a few.

Moving in close to her, he licked his lips lightly, then asked, his voice low, "Buy you a drink?"

"Wine…red," she replied, moving in even closer, and he could smell her scent…musky with a citrus tang. Close up, her eyes were amazing…violet, deep, mysterious, definitely alluring. The lashes were indecently long, and her lips were slightly parted, as if she was slightly breathless, luscious and full of promise. As he turned away, she laid a hand on his arm, moving with him, as if they belonged together. He smiled slowly as he glanced down at the long elegant fingers, tipped with crimson, looking almost wet, like fresh blood. The smile was that of the alpha male, fully confident of his ownership of this astonishing woman, but she couldn't see his eyes…couldn't see the brief hard look of cold assessment that was quickly masked by a blaze of passionate challenge as he raised his gaze again to hers.

This was one dangerous lady…he could feel the tingle down his spine, the same tingle he felt when facing a predatory beast, excitement…the thrill of the hunt…and the awareness that one false move could well be his last. Raising her hand to his lips, he brushed the back of her fingers lightly, like a wisp of wind, a promise of heat. Then, still holding her hand, he led her to the bar to order the wine.

Iolaus was very conscious that most eyes in the tavern were on them as he clicked his goblet against hers, and then sipped, his gaze never leaving her eyes. Lowering his glass, he said, "My name is Iolaus. I haven't seen you in here before."

"No…I'd remember seeing you," she purred. "You can call me Sarazan."

He cocked his head a little, as he replied, "An unusual name…unique…like you."

Somehow, there seemed no need for words between them, their communication a language older and more complete than words could ever be. She slipped in close, leaning her body against his, and he could feel the heat of her. Slipping an arm around her waist, drawing her in tight against him, he bent his lips close her ear, his tongue delicately tracing its outline before he softly kissed her neck. He heard her intake of breath, sharp, wanting, as one hand gripped his arm. Pulling back from him, she again gazed into his eyes for a long moment, then set down her goblet and taking his hand, she led him from the tavern.

He didn't look back. He didn't have to…he knew Malthius was right behind them.

Which didn't do him a whole lot of good when she led him to a carriage, the driver whipping the horses and setting off at a rapid clip as soon as they'd climbed in.

"Damn it," cursed Malthius, as he darted after the fast moving vehicle. Fortunately, the streets weren't crowded, so by stretching his long legs and running flat out, he was able to keep the coach in sight…and it finally stopped before his lungs gave out. It was an estate, just outside of town, one he knew belonged to a wealthy merchant-trader, a man who traveled often and far, trafficking in olive oil and wine. Pausing in the shadows, Malthius held a hand to his ribs as he caught his breath, all the while watching for guards. He spotted three…one on the gate and two roaming the perimeter. Well, it wasn't as if he had to get inside. He knew where Iolaus was…with a feral grin, he could guess almost exactly where his friend would be at that moment. Settling in for a long wait, he slipped to the ground, resting his back against a tree, his eyes on the gate.

* * *

Hercules had cut almost due east, to the port at Naphthlion, where he caught a trading vessel up the coast. Thrace was a long ways north, and where a journey on foot could take a month, even more, the voyage would only take a week. He worked his passage and kept mostly to himself, quiet by nature and not inclined to talk about his reasons for wanting to visit the domain of King Diomedes.

As the ship sailed past Cape Sounion, and then further north, his eyes rested on the western horizon, wishing this trip would have permitted a visit home. He'd received a scroll from his mother a few days before, and her thoughts about this sojourn of his had been very clear. He grinned a little, thinking that if he was Apollo, he'd make it a point to steer clear of Thebes for a while…a long while. He'd sent a quick note back, assuring her that he was fine and sending his regards to Iolaus, who he hoped was staying out of trouble.

* * *

It was barely light, the dawn just breaking, when Iolaus slipped from the bed and bent to retrieve his pants. Slipping them on, he pulled on his vest, then tightened his belt. Sitting again on the edge of the bed, he bent to pull on his boots, reflecting that it had been an interesting night. Not much for conversation, this one. But, proficient and demanding, she'd given him quite a workout. He could still feel the burn of the tracks her nails had left on his back.

She stirred behind him, then sat up. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"Getting ready to go," he replied, turning to face her, surprised at the look in her eyes. Angry. Funny, he'd thought she'd be in a better mood.

"I want you to stay," Sarazan said, a trace of steel in her voice.

"Do you?" he teased lightly, a smile that was just short of predatory on his lips.

Liking the look, she relaxed a little. "Hmmm, yes, I do." She reached for him, but he stood up and away, again provoking that flash of near rage. Interesting. Her motions tight, she rolled from the bed and pulled on a diaphanous robe that revealed more than it concealed, and then she paced over to a richly carved cabinet. Pulling a door open, she reached in for a flask of wine and poured two generous portions of the rich, ruby red libation.

He watched her, wondering what would come next. She crossed the room and held out a goblet to him but he shook his head. "It's a little early for wine," he murmured.

"It's never too early for wine," she replied, so he shrugged and took the goblet from her, holding it lightly in his hand.

His gaze drifting around the room, taking in the rich furnishings he'd not really noticed the night before, he commented negligently, "Nice place…suits you."

"I want you to stay," she said again, more a command than an invitation.

"Yeah, so you said," Iolaus replied as he gave her a cool, calculating look. "Why?"

She laughed then, vastly amused, her eyes flashing with renewed invitation. "I like you…you're attractive…you belong here, with me," she replied, and though her words were flirtatious, her tone was preemptory, as if she was talking about a thing, a possession.

Iolaus stiffened a little as he asked, his voice quiet, the words blunt, "Did Sim belong here, too?"

Startled, her eyes widened briefly, and the look hardened. "I thought so…he disagreed," she responded, her voice cold.

"Where is he?" Iolaus asked then, aware that the hairs on the back of his neck had risen, like hackles. His instincts were shouting at him to get the Tartarus out of there.

"Gone," she replied briefly as she turned to stroll toward one of the long windows that looked out over extensive gardens. Turning back to face him, framed in the light, she continued, her voice again pitched seductively, "I don't take rejection well, Iolaus. And I hate being treated like a one night stand. So…what's your hurry? Is there somewhere more important, or entertaining, than this that you need to leave so soon?" Her arms lifted to encompass the room, her gaze shifting to the rumpled bed.

He looked around the room, then back at her. "You're rich, and you're bored…and, to be fair, last night was certainly entertaining. But, you, my love, are a stranger, and Sim is a very good, very old friend. I want to know where he is."

The pretense of seduction was gone, and her eyes were ice cold. "You used me?" she demanded, fury creeping into her voice. "No man uses me! I do the hunting…you're my game."

He smiled as he shook his head. "Not this time, sweetheart. Look, let's not make this difficult. Last night was…good, very good. Great, even. But, that was last night. I don't belong to you, and I'm not staying. You can either tell me what happened to my friend, or I'll go see my other old friend, the magistrate, and then he can ask you where Sim is. Now…wouldn't you rather just tell me? Or…" for the first time, he seriously wondered if she'd had his friend killed. The idea had seemed too extreme last night, but in the cold light of the dawn, with that flat look in her eyes, now he wasn't so sure. "What did you do to Sim?" he asked, his voice hard as he took a step toward her.

He was surprised when she laughed at him. "What? You think I killed your precious friend? Maybe buried him in the garden out there?" she taunted. "That's a little melodramatic, don't you think?"

He looked away, irritated with the games. Wondering how to make her give him the information he wanted, he looked back at her, his eyes narrowed as he bit his lip. Without even being fully conscious of doing so, he raised the goblet and took a sip of the rich wine.

It was a mistake.

He felt the numbness spread through his body with the force and speed of a tidal wave, the room tilted, the goblet slipped from his fingers and crashed to the marble floor…and he crumpled, unconscious before he hit the ground.

"Like I said," she purred, "you belong to me."

* * *

When dawn came, Malthius moved back further into the grove of trees opposite the entrance to the estate, sheltering in the shadows. He waited with an increasing sense of impatience which grew into misgiving and then to real worry, as the hours passed and the sun climbed to its zenith. Finally, he decided he was wasting his time, and he needed to get more back up to keep up the surveillance. He headed back to town to gather up the other members of his gang.

It never occurred to him to go to the magistrate…unlike Iolaus, the official was no friend of his.

* * *

Iolaus woke with a muffled moan, sharp shots of agony lacing through his head. His mouth felt as if it was full of cotton, his tongue thick and fuzzy and there was a tinny ringing in his ears. As he became more alert, he realized his arms, shoulders and back were killing him…his arms pulled high over his head, his hands tied together and hanging from a hook in the ceiling, his feet not quite reaching the earthen floor. Squinting against the pain that stabbed through his head, behind his eyes, he tried to figure out where he was. A dark, stone-walled cell, lit by a single torch burning in a sconce on the wall about five feet away. No windows. A heavy, metal-stripped oaken door…closed and locked from the look of it.

Scowling against the pain, twisting his neck a little to relax some of the pressure from his shoulders, he had to work to remember what had happened, how he'd gotten here. Biting his lip, he remembered Sarazan… and the wine. Gods…how dumb could he get? It had been drugged, obviously. She played a mean game of 'MINE', and she didn't seem to like it much when her toys decided they didn't want to play with her anymore. Tilting his head back, he examined what he could see of the bindings around his wrists and the hook he was suspended from. His hands were numb, dark from inhibited circulation and he consciously willed himself to wiggle his fingers, having to bite his lip hard against the pain that shot through his hands and down his arms, joining with the irritating tingling in his arms and shoulders. But, he still had feeling in his limbs and he knew that was a good sign…he hadn't been hanging here more than a few hours, maybe not even that long.

He was about to try tightening his abdomen, and swinging his legs up over his head to try to loop himself off the hook when he heard the heavy tread from somewhere beyond the door. When a key grated in the lock, he let his head drop forward, feigning continued unconsciousness until he could assess the odds.

The heavy door scraped open, dragging a little on the stone-flagged floor of the hall beyond, and he heard the measured pace of several sets of feet come into the room. Fingers tangled in his hair and yanked his head up…slim fingers with long nails. A hand slapped his cheek, none too gently, to revive him and he pretended to fight his way back to some semblance of alertness, assuming a dazed, confused expression.

Sarazan smiled coldly when she saw his eyes focus on her face. "I told you I wanted you to stay," she said, her voice playful, belying the calculating expression in her eyes.

He swallowed against the dryness of his mouth and throat, muttering, "I said I wanted to go."

Crimson tipped nails stroked down one cheek, along his neck and then down his chest to grasp his belt, her grip tightening on the leather, the skin along the backs of her fingers cold against his body. Licking her lips, she gave him his choices, "You don't have to make this so difficult, Iolaus. You could stay willingly, and… entertain me as I wish, and as I now know you can do so well or you can continue this foolish and useless resistance, and be punished. Either way, you must accept now that you are mine, you belong to me to do with as I choose." One hand stroked his chest while the other pulled a little against his belt.

The touch of her hands had all the charm of a snake and he didn't bother to hide his revulsion, or the shiver of repulsion that trembled through his body. Staring into her eyes, his own flat with a cold anger, he replied, "I'm not a beast that you own…not a slave you can command."

She laughed mirthlessly as she regarded him steadily. "Ah, but you are…a beast like the bull out in the paddock, a slave I can do with as I wish. No one knows you are here and you can't escape."

He smiled coldly, appraisingly as he let his eyes drift from her face and down along what he could see of her body. "Well…if I'm the prize bull, I guess that makes you a cow."

Anger flashed in her eyes, and she raked the long nails across one cheek, drawing his blood and making him flinch despite his resolution to give nothing away. She'd come close, too close, to clawing one of his eyes. Pulling his head back, he snarled, "You should take better care of your toys…"

Though he couldn't see how many guards stood behind him, he thought it had sounded like at least two had entered with her. "Choose, Iolaus," she demanded. "Submit to my will or be punished."

He grinned then and shook his head. "Not sure I care for either choice…I think I'll take door number three." With that, his fingers gripped the cold steel of the hook above him, and he tensed his body, bringing his legs up, kicking her back as he swung up in a blur of motion, pulling his body around and forward, his momentum and the twisting of his wrists, working the rope free of the hook.

Flipping in the air, he landed on his feet and instinctively ducked and rolled away from the guards he knew had to be coming at him…toward them, to bowl at least one over. His shoulder connected and the man staggered back against the wall, winded for a moment as Iolaus struck out with his feet, tripping the other man. He spun up to his feet, whirling again to see what Sarazan was up to, not overly surprised to see a knife glittering in her hand, the long blade reflecting the light of the torch. She was coming at him like one of the Furies, the blade plunging down. Stepping back, he simultaneously raised his arms hard and fast, judging the angle of the blade's descent, and its wickedly sharp edge cleaved through the ropes as if they'd been no more than weak string. His limbs still numb, he didn't feel the edge slice into one arm, along his wrist.

One elbow jabbed back hard into the gut of the guard who'd grabbed him from behind, and he turned fast to plough a fist into the man's jaw, knocking him out. Dropping below the swing of the other man, Iolaus pulled the unconscious guard's knife from his belt, then rose fast, his head connecting sharply with the face of the second man who'd reached down to grab him and haul him to his feet. His attacker was rendered senseless, and Iolaus had to shake his head a little to clear his vision, wincing at the pounding in his own head. Whipping around, arm out, blood splattering out in an arc from his wounded wrist, blade threatening, he crouched a little as he confronted Sarazan. She'd pulled back from the fray, out of the way of her guards, expecting them to easily overpower the smaller man, and wasn't happy to see he was the one who was still standing.

He paused a moment, wondering at her utility as a hostage, and decided he'd rather try to hold onto a spitting panther. But, she was between him and the door to freedom. Moving forward, his expression hard and determined, his eyes glinting in the flickering light, he ordered, "Move aside. I don't really want to hurt you."

Her eyes taunting, she looked from his eyes to his arm. "How far do you think you'll get, bleeding like a pig."

Iolaus' eyes flicked to his wrist, and he was shocked to see the blood pumping from an artery that had been sliced open. His momentary distraction gave her the chance to attack, but he lurched quickly to the side, tripping her as she past him, backing toward the door as he watched her scramble back to her feet. "You won't escape me," she told him.

"No? Seems like I'm doing just that," he replied, stepping back into the darkness of the outer hall. Once free of the cell, he cast a quick look in either direction, sorely dismayed by the sight of guards at either end. Making his choice, he headed toward the closest bunch, barreling into them, slashing out with his knife, driving them back. Others were rushing toward his back, and he could hear her cry out, "Stop him!"

He fought like a man possessed, and he did a lot of damage. Three of her guards found themselves making the acquaintance of Charon, five suffered severely debilitating wounds, but there were too many of them, and his strength was pouring out of his arm, pumping fast and furious as he struggled to get free. He felt the blow on the back of his head, stars of light suddenly blinding him as he pitched forward, landing hard. He was vaguely aware that they were kicking him just before the darkness closed in.

Pushing herself forward, through the men, she commanded them harshly. "Stop that! And bind the wound. Dead slaves are worthless."

The guards backed up and one knelt to apply pressure to the pumping artery, stopping the flow of blood while another went for bandages. Staring down at his bruised and bloody body, she shook her head. It was a shame really…he'd been one of the best she'd known. But, there was too much fight in him, he was too wild to tame. Once the wound was securely bound, she ordered coldly, her voice no longer seductive but harsh and demanding, "Tie him up and throw him into one of the large urns we use to transport oil. Take him to the docks. If my husband's ship has returned, chain him to an oar. If not, sell him for whatever you can get."

The men watched silently as she pushed past them, then their gaze dropped to the tough, fearless warrior who had cost them so dearly. She terrified them…and they hated him. One kicked him again, hard in the ribs, and then they hauled him up by the shoulders, dragging him along the corridor to the storeroom at the far end. Once his hands and feet were securely bound, they lifted him up and over the rim of a five foot high clay urn, and dropped him inside, setting the lid down and sealing it securely. He'd have enough air to last until they got to the docks…and if he didn't, who cared. She'd never asked for the money they'd gotten for the others.

Once her toys were broken, she forgot them.

* * *

Malthius had gotten back to the estate, Dodge in tow, to set up the first watch. The kid was skinny, raggedly dressed and looked unprepossessing to say the least…but he could run like a greased pig through a crowded market, breaking away from pursuit, making off with whatever goods he'd stolen at the time.

They didn't think anything of the heavily loaded wagon that lumbered out through the gates and turned toward the port, bearing ten of the large urns of olive oil for sale in far off places. It was only later, much later, when Iolaus never surfaced, that Malthius began to wonder about that wagon, and the clay containers that were easily large enough to conceal a small man. All he knew, all he felt, was guilt that somehow he'd let Iolaus down when his friend had been counting on him to watch his back.

As the days and weeks passed, with no word, no sign of either Iolaus or Sim, the guilt and grief would grow. Malthius cared a great deal for Iolaus, though he rarely saw the young warrior anymore…loved him in fact, the only person in the world Mal did love. During those hard years when they'd been kids on the streets, he'd appointed himself Iolaus' 'guardian'. Not like a parent, exactly, but like an older brother, who wanted, needed, to look out for the younger boy. He'd liked and admired the fire in the kid, the stubborn determination, and the way he'd resort to humour, both to calm himself and distract the others, to minimize the horror of what they endured, day after terrible day of cold and hunger, of fear and deprivation.

When Iolaus had first been caught for theft, Mal had been sick with fear for him, and had never felt so helpless in his life, knowing there was nothing he could do to save the younger youth that time. But…bless that Alcmene, she'd saved him and so, ever since, Mal had made certain that Alcmene was 'off-limits', never to be troubled or hassled by the street kids or the older thieves. Then, as he'd heard how Iolaus was doing, fitting in with the sons of rich men and kings, he'd been so proud of him. Iolaus was going to make it, was going to have a decent life. Somehow, that knowledge made the dreariness and hopeless emptiness of his own life easier to bear.

And, now, Iolaus was full grown, a man to trust and rely upon, a man who was stalwart and loyal, capable and courageous…and just as humble and fun as he'd ever been. But…what had happened to him? Was he even still alive? Or had that staunch loyalty to another kid, one the rest of the world would only count as a worthless thief, and his selfless courage only led him down a dead-end road?

Mal was utterly sick with a despair that grew unabated, and deepened to darken the days, knowing he'd let his friend, his 'kid brother' down. A man not given to prayer, believing the gods had abandoned him long ago, Malthius found himself praying that someone would watch over his friend…would give him a chance to realize all the promise his life held…give him a chance to live and be the hero he'd always been in his heart.

And, Malthius vowed that given another chance, he'd never let his friend down again, never betray the trust he knew Iolaus also had in him.

* * *

Weakened from loss of blood, the injuries he'd taken from the battle, and the residual effects of the drug she'd poisoned him with, half-suffocated, Iolaus didn't regain consciousness until after they'd arrived at the port and had hauled him out of the urn in the ship's hold. Even then, he was groggy, and felt shaky, confused. He struggled a little, ineffectually, his arms pinned back by large strong hands as he shook his head, trying to clear it.

"Who's this?" a man demanded, an edge to his voice.

"Just some nobody who offended your wife, sir. For his insolence, she has directed he be chained to one of the oars of this vessel," one of the men restraining Iolaus replied.

"I see," the paunchy middle-aged merchant murmured as he examined the battered man. She always liked them young, with curly hair and hard muscles. Disgusted, he turned away, ignoring the knowing looks in the eyes of the surly guards. He'd long ago learned to put up with the eccentricities of his beautiful, alluring and very rich wife. What she did on her own time wasn't important…or so he told himself as he swallowed against the bile of jealousy that burned in the back of his throat. "Whip him before you chain him," he called over his shoulder as he made his way back up onto the deck.

* * *

They ripped off his shirt and chained him to a post in the centre of the rowing deck, an example to the other slaves, and lashed him ten times. Stubborn, telling himself he'd endured worse, knowing it for the truth, he gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, and pressing his forehead against the post he silently endured. The other slaves winced with reflexive sympathy each time the whip cracked and opened another red line across his back, but before it was over, they'd straightened, proud of him, proud of his strength and his refusal to acknowledge the pain. One of them now, he ennobled them all with his courage.

Indifferent as to whether the new slave cried out or not, the overseer finished his grim task, drew back his whip and looping it, secured it to his belt. Then he moved forward to unchain Iolaus from the post and have led, half dragged the stumbling, weakened man to one of the benches, shoving him down upon it, tossing his ruined shirt into the slimy muck of the deck at his feet. Chains were secured around his ankles, bolting him to the floor and others were clasped around his wrists, linked to the oar of which he was now a part. Finished, the pragmatic brute brought Iolaus a dipper full of tepid water. Weak or sick slaves didn't row well.

Iolaus gulped down the liquid gratefully, then leaned forward, supporting his body on the thick oar, reflecting stoically that just about everything hurt. His back burned from the lashes. His ribs ached from the brutal kicks he'd endured earlier…bruised certainly, a couple maybe even cracked. His wrist had begun to throb and the thick bandage around it showed a dark, reddish brown stain, but at least it didn't seem to be bleeding anymore. His head felt like Hephaestus was using it for an anvil. His arms, shoulders and back ached. And he really hated being chained.

Reflecting back over the previous day and night, he figured he'd been pretty stupid to have fallen so easily, even willingly, into her clutches. He'd underestimated her ruthlessness…had even thought for awhile last night that she was just a young matron out for a good time, not necessarily responsible for the disappearance of his friend and others. Dumb. His instincts had warned him, but his body had ignored his intuitive sense of deadly peril. She'd been too beautiful, too willing…and he'd been too long without a woman.

Well, now he was in a fine mess…and he wondered if anyone, even Malthius, had any idea of where he was.

Finally, he straightened to examine his new surroundings. There were ten rows on either side of a middle aisle, five rowers on each oar. They'd make good time, he thought with wry humour. Checking out the man beside him, his eyes widened…and he grinned.

"Iolaus, what in Tartarus are you doing here?" the kid of no more than eighteen years demanded.

"Looking for you," the warrior responded, winking at young Sim.

The youth laughed. Iolaus hadn't changed. Still cheeky and quick to meet every situation with a show of brazen humour, no matter how grim or hopeless it all seemed to be. "Well, you found me, hero. What now?"

Again gazing around at the others who were chained to their posts, Iolaus replied as if the answer was obvious, "Now we figure out how to escape."

* * *

Alcmene hadn't worried when Iolaus didn't return the first night. He'd said he was going to look up old friends, and she just hoped he was having a good time. When he didn't return the second night, though, she frowned a little as she gazed down the darkening lane. Still, he was a man, now, not a child. He and Hercules wandered the whole of Greece, quite capable of taking care of themselves. But, when she hadn't heard anything as the fourth night closed in around her cottage, she began to feel the first pangs of concern. The next day, she went into town, and found people who remembered seeing Iolaus days ago, but not recently…one tradesman remembered he'd left the tavern with a beautiful woman.

Nodding knowingly to herself, Alcmene headed back home, thinking it would be nice if Iolaus found himself a lovely young woman. Resolved not to be a mother hen, she pushed her worries aside.

But, when a full week had gone by, and after checking again with folks in town, she realized that no one remembered seeing him after the first day, and no one could tell her who the woman had been, she began to believe something was wrong. She reported his disappearance to the magistrate before she left town, but the official showed no concern. The lad was young, and the young weren't always the most responsible of creatures. He'd probably just taken off with some friends and would be back in a few more days.

But, Alcmene was less confident. As she walked with an easy stride along the dirt road that would eventually lead to the lane to her cottage, she mulled over the sketchy details. It wasn't like Iolaus to be gone so long, having left for only a brief visit with friends, not to get in touch with her, to let her know where he was. Frowning, she remembered their conversation on the day he'd arrived, and wondered briefly if he might have decided to just disappear, removing the complication of his friendship from Hercules' life. But…that didn't feel right. He hadn't taken any of his gear with him, and Iolaus never set out on a journey without that ratty old pack and his sword.

By the time she'd reached her home, she had convinced herself that something was wrong, and that somehow Iolaus had gotten himself into some kind of trouble. A capable warrior didn't just vanish off the face of the earth. Once inside the cottage, she strode over to the cabinet where she kept a few small scrolls of parchment, a pen and an inkpad. Carrying them back to the table, moistening the ink, she sat and wrote a note to Hercules. If Iolaus was in trouble, Hercules would want to know…and vow or no vow, Alcmene was confident this news would bring her son home.

* * *

While Alcmene was writing her note, the heavily loaded merchant ship that had left the docks on the coast twenty-five miles from Thebes three days before was just coming around the headland, making for the port of Thrace, while another merchant ship was just tying up at the busy Thracian dock.

The docks and wharves of the main port of Thrace, a far northern province aligned with Greece, were a bee-hive of activity, with tradesmen, merchants, labourers, hawkers of food, sailmakers, sailors, both civilian and military, dock yard workers, craftsmen specialized in ship repair and passengers thronging the walkways, warehouses and wooden dock areas. As Hercules strode down the gangplank, he couldn't help a small thrill of excitement. He'd never been to Thrace before and despite the grim task assigned to him, he was pleased to be away from the quiet isolated farm, eager to see a new place. He had been advised by Eurystheus that King Diomedes held the lands about a day's journey northwest, so he set off immediately in that direction, striding up the narrow, winding steeply sloped streets into and through the city.

The streets were busy, with carts and wagons hauling goods to and from the docks, locals and travelers, messengers and prostitutes, rich arrogant merchants and poor, humble beggars, urchins and pick-pockets, women about their shopping, priests and soldiers all pushing past, making their way or stopping and blocking the flow of traffic to chat. In short, it was noisy, hectic and the place, as was the wont of most large cities, smelled unwholesome.

Hercules drank it all in, feeling a bit of a country lout, unaccustomed to the strangeness of the accents, despite his many visits to Corinth and Athens. Both of those cities were separated from their dock areas by some distance, so the ambience here was different, with a sense of overwhelming, almost claustrophobic, crowds. Corinth was smaller and Athens, a city renowned for its culture, didn't have the distinctly seedy look of this locale. Both of the southern cities were also a good bit cleaner, he thought, wrinkling his nose at the stench of rotting garbage. Still, he supposed there would be quieter, less impoverished sectors in the city further away from the dock area. Not far ahead, he spotted a line of men plodding along, chained together, heads down and shoulders hunched, dressed in little more than filthy rags. Slaves. He shook his head, offended and full of pity for the poor souls who were traded like some kind of commodity or animal. Swallowing, he looked away. He hated slavery, thought it an abomination, the worst possible thing one man could do to another. But…there was little he could for them.

As he moved on ahead, he continued to be haunted by the sight of those slaves. It was wrong. There should be something that could be done to stop such trading in human lives, some means to make it illegal. He felt grateful that he'd grown up in places like Thebes and Corinth, where slavery was not tolerated, both cities having been impacted by the democratic views of Athens. He tried to shrug off his feeling of guilt… he hadn't created slavery or made those men slaves. But, as he strode along, he added slavery to his growing list of wrongs to be righted, vowing to speak and act against the practice whenever he had the opportunity to do so.

Finally, more than an hour later, he cleared the last heavily settled areas and set out into the countryside, liking the stark rolling hills, feeling more at home in the peace of the countryside…and he grinned a little in self-mockery. He'd been eager to see the city, to get away from the tedium of the farm, and here he was feeling more at home in the countryside. Shaking his head, he figured he'd absorbed more than he realized of his best friend's love of the forests and fields, the open spaces.

And that thought reminded him once again how much he missed having Iolaus beside him. It was all well and good to set off to see new parts of the world, but it was lonely, doing it alone. He wondered what his buddy was up to, glad to know he was with his mother back in Thebes. He'd be less likely to get into trouble so long as he was staying with Alcmene. Hercules frowned a little in thought, wondering why he just assumed Iolaus was prone to trouble. It wasn't as if his buddy went out of his way to look for it, though he never backed down when he found it. It was more that Iolaus' curious nature, his constant restlessness and his predictable tendency to stick up for others in trouble, that invariably landed him in one tight spot or another. Still, Hercules told himself he shouldn't worry. His best friend was as good at getting out of trouble, whether by force or by charm, as he was in getting into it in the first place.

Gods, he missed him. The teasing and the banter, the almost constant good humour…the skills at hunting. Which reminded the demigod he might want to start watching for a reasonable place to camp and find himself something to eat. When he spotted a stream flowing by a small grove of trees not far off the main trail, he headed in that direction. He was hungry…and today he'd fish his own way. It was quicker.

Later, as he stared into the campfire, he once again found himself struggling with what they were going to do, what he was going to do, if the gods kept threatening Iolaus' life to keep in line. It infuriated him that such blackmail would be used so casually. And, it scared him. Missing Iolaus as much as he did, the idea of splitting up, to protect his best friend, left him feeling bereft…but if he allowed Iolaus to stand by him, it was likely to cost his friend his life. And that thought made him feel physically ill. Pushing fingers through his hair, he went 'round and 'round the problem, but couldn't come up with a winning solution. Oh, he knew what Iolaus would say. 'The gods be damned…they will not tell me what I can or can't do!' Brave words from a brave man…words that would make him a dead man.

Discouraged, Hercules curled up by the fire. There had to be a better answer than splitting up, but for the life of him, he couldn't seem to find it.

* * *

The large merchant ship, heavily loaded with massive kegs of wine and what seemed like countless tall clay containers of olive oil, eased in close to the dock. The slaves on the rowing deck sagged over the oars, on the edge of exhaustion, muscles aching and cramped, hungry and grateful that they'd have a couple of days of rest.

Iolaus rolled his shoulders, wincing a little at the still tender wounds from the lashing he'd received, made more tender by the occasional additional lash delivered at random during the voyage by the overseer, to keep the men alert and focused on their duties. His wrists and ankles were badly chafed by the rough irons, and his back, arms, chest, abdomen and thighs ached from the unaccustomed task of having to row ceaselessly through the long hours of the trip. Though there had been some wind, the ship's captain had wanted to make better time. After all, time was money and the faster they covered the distances between ports, the more trading they could do and the more profit that could be made. The captain enjoyed his bonuses at the end of each journey and the fact that it cost the slaves in sweat and pain never occurred to him.

Iolaus' stomach rumbled and he wondered if the gruel would be better in port. He doubted it…the slops they were served never varied and were barely enough to stave off the worst cramps of hunger, only enough to keep up their strength to row. The stuff was foul, but they all ate it, some even eagerly, driven by the realization that the only other option was to starve. Pulling a little on his chains, in frustration, he thought grimly of his boast a week before that all they had to do was think of a way to escape. What he wouldn't give for just a little of Herc's strength, to be able to rip the metal bindings from his body and toss them into the sea.

The only time they were unchained from the oars was for two daily short walks from the bench from which they laboured to the makeshift latrine…a hole in the stern that opened to the sea below. Even then, they were chained together and closely watched. Privacy was a luxury slaves did not enjoy. He'd wondered why they were all naked when he'd first joined their ranks, but he'd learned soon enough. If nature called while you were bound to the oar, you either held on or let go, right where you sat. The stench, and the indignity of it, both offended and sickened him. As for the torn shirt that had been thrown into the swill at his feet the first night, well, he'd decided he hadn't really liked it much anyway. Nor, after the first day, did he feel any attachment to his pants. There was no place to keep them, and with the slop they were given to eat, no one could risk the hope that the daily short walks would be either sufficient or timely.

Gods, he felt wretched. And increasingly desperate. How in Tartarus was he going to get himself and Sim, let alone the other poor sods, out of this mess? His head pounded, his ribs still hurt and his back was sore. Splinters from the wood irritated his hands and butt…and he was exhausted.

"So, hero, have you come up with a plan yet?" Sim teased with a cheeky grin, though his eyes were bleak.

"I'm working on it," Iolaus sighed, shaking his head.

* * *

As Hercules drew closer to Diomedes' realm, he sought out information, from other travelers, in the market places of little villages and in taverns, trying to get a better sense of what he was up against. What he heard wasn't encouraging. Diomedes, by all accounts, was a tyrant, drunk on his own power, amused it seemed only by the suffering and blood of others. It was a reign of terror, where peasants stuck close to their hovels, not venturing alone into the countryside, less they disappear. In the towns, and villages, curfews were informally opposed by the folks who lived there, no one feeling safe to venture out in the dark, less they never return. And everyone seemed almost too afraid to do more than whisper about the mares that feasted on human meat. Live human meat when they could get it, but dead would do.

Gradually, Hercules pieced together the story. About six months before, Diomedes had had the bright idea of creating a new kind of weekly game in his 'theatre of life', an arena he'd had constructed as part of his castle grounds. He'd become bored with the spectacle of men killing other men, or of men being killed by fierce and deadly beasts. For a time, for novelty, he'd had women battle one another, battle men, battle beasts…and on special occasions, he'd herd children into the arena to be brutalized. But, it had all become too commonplace for his depraved appetite for violence.

Then, when out of boredom, he'd decided to ride out with his men to round up unlucky peasants for the week's games, he'd been vastly amused to see a testy mare take a painful nip at the shoulder of the stable lad not quick enough to get out of her way. Snickering, the King had suddenly sobered as he gazed at the nasty animal, his fingers thoughtfully stroking his chin. Something different…and terrible. Something to strike new fear into hearts grown numb to a predictable fate.

Turning, he called out to his steward. "How many mares do I have in my holding?"

Shrugging, his official replied, "Fifty or so, why milord?"

"Bring them to the paddock, immediately," the tyrant demanded imperiously…and all scurried to do his bidding. His people had long ago learned never to question and never to dawdle. There never were so many victims for the weekly games that he couldn't decide to add yet one more.

Within the hour, his herd of mares had been corralled and were milling about the too small enclosure. He studied them for a moment, appreciating the lines and spirit of the beautiful creatures, manes and tails full and flowing in the crisp breeze of the day. Eyes alert and ears cocked, curious, intelligent. Climbing up on the rail of the gate, King Diomedes raised his hands and called out, "To me, my beauties, to me!"

As one the milling horses turned to face him, standing still but for the ruffle of their manes in the wind, waiting. "From today," he called to them, "you will feast no more on tired grass or dull grain. Today, you become hunters and your meat will be man!"

A ripple went through the horses, and then they were in a frenzy, screaming in pain as blunt teeth were pushed from their mouths, made bloody by the new growth of sharp fangs. They plunged and kicked in their distress, until he again raised his hands. "Be still…this is noble, and right. Your bellies will be filled with blood and it will make you strong!"

Mesmerized by him, his power, they stilled, though blood still dripped from their agonized mouths. Helpless before him, doomed to do his will. With one hand steadying himself on the rails, Diomedes turned and gazed about him, his glance lighting upon a nearby stablehand. "You'll do," he murmured, then called out to his guards. "Him, that one with the yellow hair…throw him into the corral!"

Horrified, the man backed away and turned to try to bolt, but they swarmed over him, grabbing him by the hair and arms, dragging him screaming to the fence. With a heave, they shoved him over, and he landed in a heap on the other side. He scrambled to his feet and lunged for the fence, only to be driven back by spears. Trembling, terrified, he ran along the fence, seeking a way out. He'd just reached the far end, and was reaching for the rail, when the King called to his herd, "Feast, my lovelies…feast!"

Maddened, the mares surged toward the hapless man as he tried to scramble up the fence. One, then another, sank sharp teeth into one arm and his back, dragging him down, shrieking for mercy. The mares were frenzied, fighting one another to shove forward for a portion of the meal. Hooves flashed, and they cried out in their hunger, eyes wild. The screaming was terrible…until there was sudden silence. The mares stamped and vigorously nudged one another out of the way as they fought for the kill.

When it was over, bloody bones and rags were scattered across that end of the corral, all that was left of the first victim of the flesh-eating mares.

But he would be far from being the last.

* * *

Entomedes, the merchant and unhappy husband of the wicked Sarazan, the vessel's captain, the overseer and two burly sailors descended to the rowing deck early the next morning. The owner of the ship and slaves strolled along the centre aisle, studying each of the men chained to their oars. Taking his time, relishing this chore, he pointed to one and then another, seemingly at random. 'This one, and those two…and that one there," he said, the glint of revenge in his eyes.

When he was done, Iolaus and Sim, along with five others, found themselves freed from their irons, and clapped into new ones around their ankles and wrists, and then they were hauled roughly up onto the top deck. Looking at them in disgust, Entomedes turned to the overseer, and ordered, "Find rags for breech clouts, and then give them to him." The merchant cocked his head toward a soldier standing by the rail, then moved to join him, holding out his hand, and receiving a heavy bag of gold.

"What's going on?" Sim mumbled out of the side of his mouth.

"We've just been sold," Iolaus replied, frowning, wondering if this might give them the break they'd needed. Escape on the high seas was futile…there was nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. But, if they were about to be taken ashore, then the odds were moving toward their favour. About time, too. He wouldn't be sorry to see the last of this ship.

Once they were barely but decently clothed, the soldier hustled them down the gangplank where three others waited beside a wagon. The chained and linked together men were manhandled into the conveyance, and then the soldiers mounted to escort their purchases away from the docks. The going was slow through the town, and Iolaus gazed about alertly, glad of something other than the bare back of another slave to stare at. So this was Thrace, he thought with a disgusted look. Well, the main port of the province anyway…surely it couldn't all be this squalid.

The wagon picked up the pace once they were clear of the town. They had a ways to go and the soldiers wanted to make it back before nightfall.

"Where do you think they're taking us?" one of the other slaves mumbled, Electis, a former young scholar from Thebes. He was about the same age as Sim, and even looked a little like him, well built with dark curly hair. Once he really took notice of the others, Iolaus realized that they all had a similar general appearance, and he understood then why they had each been chosen. Entomedes was getting his own personal revenge.

"No place good," the young warrior muttered under his breath. He'd hoped for fields to tend, something not so well supervised, and more pleasant than the hard slogging on the oars. But, now, as he looked again at the well-armed, tough soldiers, he thought he might have been a tad too quick to thank Fortune for the change in their status.

"Well…that's a hopeful thought," Sim jested, shaking his head. The kid really tried to be a terminal optimist.

Iolaus gave him a wry grin, then looked around at the others. "Tell me, has anyone here not enjoyed the embrace of the lovely and treacherous Sarazan?"

Silent, they looked at him, and then at one another. Sim looked from the others back to Iolaus as his shoulders slumped, understanding now that Entomedes had chosen them for a special fate. "Right…no place good," he muttered.

Iolaus just nodded as he looked away, thinking about the odds, weighing the possibilities. Four guards, three mounted, one driving the wagon, all well armed and no doubt skilled. Seven undernourished and exhausted slaves, chained hand and foot, linked together, one a scholar, one a street thief, a cabinet maker, a farmer, a butcher's apprentice, a leather-worker and a warrior. Virtually naked and very definitely unarmed. Most wouldn't know one end of a sword from the other. He sighed as he looked around the floor of the wagon for anything that would remotely resemble a lock-pick. Nothing, just a few wisps of hay, some loose grain and a whole lot of dirt. If he hadn't been chained to the others, or even if he'd been chained at one end of the line, he might have taken the soldiers on…probably would have. But, he was linked in the middle, with no room to maneuver…it would be too risky. He'd only get the others hurt.

Easing his ruined back gingerly against the rough wood side of the wagon, he settled back to enjoy the ride, and to rest as best he could, so that he'd be ready for whatever challenges, and opportunities, were waiting at the end of the journey.

* * *

Though Hercules expected it would be useless, he had to at least try to convince Diomedes to recant on his use of the mares to kill innocent people. Presenting himself at the castle late in the day, he gained entry only by reluctantly confiding to the guards that he was a kinsman of the King, in fact, was his uncle. The guards looked unconvinced initially, given that the King was a good fifteen years older than the tall youth demanding entry.

Rolling his eyes, taking a deep breath to hold in his temper, Hercules shook his head as he persevered. "Look, my name is Hercules and, well, Zeus is my father and Ares is my half-brother. Maybe you'd like me to ask one of them to vouch for me?"

Taken aback, the guards glanced at each other and shrugged. They all knew that Diomedes was a half-mortal son of Ares, so the idea of another semi-divine relative showing up wasn't all that far-fetched. Shrugging, one of them relented. "Follow me," he directed, leading Hercules into the castle and to the main hall where Diomedes would be holding court.

Hercules ambled into the opulent hall behind the guard, his quick glances around the room taking in the decadent trappings, and the sycophantic, and fearful, attendance everyone there danced upon the King. Looking down the long hall toward the massive throne, his lips twisted in resigned recognition. No doubt about this being one of Ares' kids. Diomedes looked just like his dad.

The guard bowed, made the introductions and faded away. Diomedes gazed down upon this newly met uncle, then smiled widely, opening his arms as he stepped from the throne, to embrace Hercules, who submitted stiffly, with a look of distaste on his face.

"Uncle Hercules!" smirked Diomedes. "I've heard about you. Father doesn't seem to like you very much."

"We've had our differences," Hercules replied dryly.

"Hmm, so I've gathered. Well, to what do I owe this unexpected pleasure? The last I'd heard, you were labouring away down in the Peloponnese on some dreary farm…or was it shoveling manure in a very messy stable?" the King taunted, recalling his father's delight in recounting the latest adventures of Hercules.

Hercules rolled his shoulders slightly and one brow rose a little archly, but he otherwise ignored the insulting tone. "Could we, perhaps, speak privately?" he asked, looking about at the dozens of retainers and hangers-on listening avidly to their conversation.

"Nonsense," Diomedes replied. "I have no secrets from my people. Please, feel free to state the purpose of your visit."

"Right," Hercules responded, resigned to being the star attraction to this afternoon's show. "I've been sent by Eurystheus to stop the flesh-eating mares. I thought I'd start by asking you to take your curse off them."

Diomedes took a half step back, surprised in spite of himself by this brazen and completely unlooked for interference in his affairs. And, then he laughed, thinking it all quite funny. "Really, Hercules, get serious. This Eurystheus has no right to decide what becomes of my property or of how I choose to exercise my power," he finally replied, clapping his uncle on the shoulder in a comradely fashion. "I know, lad, that you have no choice now but to follow his instructions, so you had to make this journey. But you'll just have to slink home and tell him you failed. Unfortunate, I know, as it likely means you'll never be free of his dominance, having failed to fulfill one of his demands and thereby also failing to fulfill your oath to do his will. But, there is it. Have a good trip back."

Hercules glared scathingly at the too familiar hand patting his shoulder as if he was as inconsequential as a child. There was something in the tall hero's manner, some kind of quiet threat, as Hercules shifted his cold gaze to the King, that made Diomedes back up a little. "I don't intend to fail," Hercules replied icily. "If you won't recant, I'll find another way to stop them."

All trace of humour gone, Diomedes gazed at him speculatively as he pursed his lips. "Tell you what, Hercules…I'm a sporting man. Come to the arena tomorrow and face my mares. If you can stop them, I'll bow to your mastery," he challenged, confident a hundred bloodthirsty and starving mares would make short work of his unwanted relative. Smiling a coldly, he reflected his father would likely reward generously him for disposing of this Son of Zeus.

Hercules gazed at his 'nephew' a moment longer, fully understanding the man's confident assumption that the mares would kill him. "Fine," he replied, his voice flat, his eyes dangerous. "I'll see you tomorrow." The demigod turned on his heel and stalked from the castle.

* * *

It was about two hours after dark when the wagon and its escort of soldiers circled around the castle complex to enter by the arena gate. The slaves were hauled down from the wagon, and driven along a long, dark tunnel, past what seemed an endless row of walled stalls concealing what sounded like very angry horses, which kicked and shrieked their fury into the darkness. Curious, Iolaus gazed at the bolted stall doors, wondering at how stoutly they seemed to be constructed, and at the strange pulley system linked to each, as if they could be opened automatically from a distance. Poor beasts…they were probably beaten and abused to the point of madness…what else could make them lunge with such force against their stall doors, hammering with raging hooves, trying to break them down, at the sounds of men walking past?

The slaves were led to a stall at the far end, and shoved in to join half a dozen other men, peasants from the look of them. The floor was littered with filthy straw, and a single narrow cut high in the wall let in a modicum of starlight. The door was slammed shut behind them and the bolt engaged, locking them in.

"Nice digs," Iolaus complimented the strangers. "Now…how do we go about ordering room service?"

One of the peasants snorted, his voice bitter but edged with fear. "There'll be no food tonight. No point wasting it on dead men."

Iolaus' brows lifted, and his comrades shifted nervously. "Dead men?" Sim repeated, shocked. What had they gotten themselves into now?

"Didn't bother telling you, I suppose," another of the prisoners remarked, having noted the chains and their meagre garb when they'd been shoved inside. "Slaves, are you?"

"We prefer to think of it as being temporarily engaged," Iolaus replied, squinting as he studied his surroundings. "What's this about being 'dead men'?"

The peasants shuffled, none really wanting to put their fate into words. It didn't bear thinking about. Finally, when the silence lengthened, Iolaus turned to them and prompted, "Well? Are you going to tell us or is it supposed to be a surprise?"

One of them sighed heavily, as he replied with a voice thick with horror, "We're to be fed to the mares tomorrow morning in the arena."

"Fed to the mares…?" Iolaus repeated, frowning. "I don't understand. Horses don't eat meat."

"These ones do," another replied, shuddering. "King Diomedes put a spell on them…he's been feeding men to them once a week for months now. He starves them in-between times, to make sure they're good and hungry."

Iolaus swallowed, his face devoid of expression as he listened to the sounds of the frenzied animals caged nearby. He heard the cabinet maker gag as the idea of what was going to happen to them sank in. Blowing out a long breath, he figured he'd better find a way to get them out of these chains…and then he'd worry about how to deal with the mares.

"Okay, here's the deal. I need a thin piece of metal, like a nail or belt hook, something like that," he said, looking hopefully at the more well-dressed members of their motley crew.

One of the men fumbled in a pocket his wife had sewn roughly into his work pants. He'd been fooling around in the forge the day before, splitting the tines of an old rake into shivers of metal with the idea that they might be useful, more effective nails than the crude wooden pegs that were normally used to joint pieces of wood. His cart needed repairs and he'd been wanting to try this idea out. Holding out a two inch long sliver of hard metal, he asked, "Is this the kind of thing you're wanting?"

Iolaus held out his hand, then fingered the metal shard in the dark, grinning. "Yep, this is exactly what I wanted. I'd kiss you…but you might get the wrong idea," he replied with grateful cheekiness. Getting his comrades to shift together over under the slit in the wall, he angled the metal cuff on his wrist to the moonlight and began working on the lock with his treasured new lock-pick.

* * *

Hercules stared into the flames, frowning deeply as he considered the challenge he'd face on the morrow. Just as he'd been thinking ever since he'd left the castle and headed a short distance from town to set up a camp for the night. How was he going to triumph over what he'd heard were about fifty man-eating mares? Grimacing, he shook his head. It was impossible. Even he couldn't take on odds like that.

Sighing, he leaned back on his elbows and stared up at the stars in the clear night sky, not really conscious of them or of the full moon to the south. If he couldn't fight the mares, he'd have to find a way to force Diomedes into lifting the spell or curse or whatever it was. That meant getting past the guards and risking whatever god-like powers Diomedes might have…which was still a whole lot better than taking on a crazed herd of horses.

His thoughts, as always, drifted to Iolaus, missing him but glad he wasn't there. If this had been one of those times when they'd set off to help in response to a request for assistance, Iolaus would have been by his side, would be sharing the danger of having to face those monstrous, man-eating mares. For the first time, Hercules was grateful for having been forced to take that vow, grateful that the enforced 'labour' meant Iolaus would be home, faraway and safe.

Earlier, he'd heard a wagon roll by on the main road and the clop of horses' hooves, but he'd ignored it. Just someone heading into the town…strangers likely, who didn't know being out after dark in these parts wasn't healthy. People passing through were handy targets for the soldiers he'd learned roamed the countryside, looking for the mares' next meal. Since then, the night had been silent but for the crackle of his fire.

His face twisted with disgust at the thought of what went on in that arena. Well…it would end tomorrow. One way or another…he'd find a way to end the horror.

* * *

It had taken long frustrating hours to pick out all the locks on wrists and ankles, but he'd finally finished. Pulling the long length of chain that had linked them together out of the metal hinges in the manacles it had been looped through, Iolaus wound it up and then handed the manacles back to the slaves, the ankle restraints to each of the other men. They were now armed, if primitively, with chains and heavy iron cuffs. But, for the life of him, he couldn't figure out how to get them out of the stall. He prowled around the walls, looking for a loose slab of wood, examined the door and shoved at it to test its resistance…but, the hinges were on the outside, and it fit tightly, with no give. He grew increasingly anxious, knowing time was running out for all of them. How in the name of Hades was he going to save these guys from those frenzied mares?

When the light of dawn began to filter in through the slit in the wall, he gave up looking for a means of escape and turned to them. "Okay, we need a strategy if we're going to get out of this alive. What does the arena look like?" he asked those who were from the area.

"It's a rectangle, about three hundred feet long and eighty feet wide," guessed one of the men.

"Surrounded by sheer stone walls about eight feet high, with stands along one side for the spectators," another added.

Imagining it in his mind, Iolaus nodded. "When we leave here, where are we in the arena…at one end, or across from the stands?"

"Across from the stands, the King always sits in the middle, near the action, so he doesn't miss any of it," the first man replied, loathing in his voice.

"Okay, then…here's what we're going to do. They'll likely let us out before the horses, but not long before. We'll only have a minute or two, if that. I want all of us to run to the left, into a corner away from the stands. We'll have a bit better chance if the horses can't surround us. Use the chains to fight them off, aim for their noses…they're sensitive, susceptible to pain." Iolaus explained, wondering how many of them would really be able to get out of this alive. But he assumed an air of quiet confidence, almost as if it was a done deal, certain of success, calming them, getting them focused.

When he could see they were all listening closely, imagining what they would do to live, not simply panicked by the fear of imminent death, he continued, "While some of us hold them off, the rest of you help one another to get over the wall as quickly as possible. Decide now who will lift others up to the top of the wall so there'll be no time wasted in deciding what to do when you hit the wall. The strongest go up first, because they will have to reach down and haul the rest up out of the arena. We'll have to be fast, very fast, to get away before the mares tear into us. Remember to hold onto the chains…they'll be your only defence against whatever guards come after you."

Sim gazed at him steadily in the growing gray light. "If someone has to hold the mares back, we won't all be able to escape," he said levelly.

Iolaus returned the steady gaze unflinchingly. "No…but we won't all die, either. With any kind of help from Fortune, most should be able to at least get out of the arena. After that, with the guards, well, you'll be on your own. Sim…you know how to evade pursuit, and you know how to fight. I want you to be with the ones who get out…it'll be up to you to get them away, if it's at all possible."

"And what will you be doing?" his old friend asked quietly, while the others listened, afraid, desperate.

Iolaus fingered the long loop of chain in his hands. Looking down at it, he figured he had at least thirty feet worth of metal rope. Quirking a lopsided, rueful grin back at Sim, he shrugged deprecatingly, "Someone's got to stay and entertain the crowd."

"Oh no," Sim protested, shaking his head. Iolaus was in this mess for the simple reason of having been worried about him. "Not on your own…not against…."

But, Iolaus just cut in with a grin and a wink as he assured his young friend, "Hey, come on…you know I can never resist being the centre of attention." When Sim just stared at him, looking like he might cry, Iolaus sobered for a minute and laid a hand on the kid's shoulder, as he said quietly, "We each gotta do what we each gotta do…your job won't be easy either. You've got to get the rest of them away. I'm counting on you, Sim."

The youth looked away blinking, his head down. Nodding once, he straightened his shoulders as he replied, "I won't let you down…I won't make it all for nothing."

Smiling at him gently, Iolaus squeezed his shoulder once, then turned toward the others who were looking at him as if he was some kind of insane saviour. "Okay, everybody," he asked lightly, as if they were just heading out for an early morning stroll, "you all clear on what you have to do?"

* * *

Hercules was waiting outside the arena, watching the royal passageway from the castle for Diomedes and his hangers-on. He was frankly surprised at the numbers of people who had shown up to fill the stands for the weekly spectacle, unable to understand how anyone could take pleasure from watching innocents being slaughtered. But, then, he saw the soldiers accompanying groups as they arrived, and he realized they didn't have much choice. Diomedes clearly didn't like watching the events alone…generous guy, wanted to share the thrill. Hercules had to swallow against the bile in his throat at such evil, his face strained as he promised himself, one way or another, no one innocent would die today.

Finally, the royal party appeared, strolling leisurely along the tree-lined path, enjoying the bright promise of the day. Diomedes spotted Hercules and nodded, a cold smile twisting his lips. "Come along, Uncle Hercules, and we'll chat about how you plan to best my mares." He draped an arm around the demigod's shoulders, but Hercules shook him off, pacing along silently beside his nephew as they entered the arena and made their way down to the plush seats reserved for the King in the centre of the first row.

Unknown to Hercules, Diomedes had decided to proceed with the 'warm-up' act of having the mares chase hapless peasants and slaves around the arena. It always got the audience excited, the screams and the blood drawing their eyes so even when they didn't want to be there, they could not fail to watch in horrified fascination…and perhaps hope that some of the poor souls might escape. Besides, his beloved mares had been starved since the last time they'd been unleashed and they were hungry, poor dears.

As a result, they had barely arrived at their seats when the King waved a negligent hand and the sound of one door crashing, followed moments later by what sounded like scores of others, in a rolling cadence that echoed through the arena.

"What's happening?" Hercules demanded, anxiety in his chest. This wasn't going the way he'd planned…he was supposed to be the one facing the mares that day. His eyes drawn to the far entrance onto the hot sands of the arena, he cried out a strangled, "NO!" when he saw the men stampeding into the light, twisting and racing frantically to the far corner away from the stands, closely followed by the raging stampede of wild, frenzied mares.

"Just a little diversion before we get to the main act," Diomedes replied, frowning a little. The stupid mortals weren't cooperating. They were supposed to run all over the arena, trying to avoid the horses, hoping the beasts would go after someone else, not all bunch up like that in a corner.

At first, Hercules was stunned, seeing only a crowd of about a dozen men, some clothed, some almost naked. They were too far away for him to intervene to save them, not with the horses pounding after them, ravening in their hunger. He stood rigidly, his fists clenched, shaking his head. He had to stop this! Turning to Diomedes, he was appalled by the bloodlust on the man's face, the wanton desire to see death done here today.

Two dozen alert guards were positioned around the King. It wasn't unusual for some victim's family to decide they wanted revenge and retribution. Today, though, they were concentrating on Hercules, only too aware of his pent-up fury and disgust, his boast that he would best the mares. So, when Hercules moved toward Diomedes, they converged upon him, blocking him while others crowded from behind to grab his arms and haul him away.

Hercules shrugged off the guards behind him, hardly noticing them but to fling them off, to land crashing yards away above and along the other rows of seats. People cried out as unexpected armoured bodies crashed into them, drawing the eyes of others near by from the spectacle playing out on the sands below. Slamming his fists, his arms rigid, into the guards between him and Diomedes, he cried, his voice carrying across the arena, "Stop this, Diomedes! Stop this now!"

* * *

Then the stall door crashed open, Iolaus and Sim pushed and shoved the other men out, yelling at them to, "Run, run as fast as you can go! Don't look back! JUST RUN!"

And, they had run for their lives, spurred on by the terrible sound of the doors opening, one after another in a continuous snap and clang of sound, all along the dim interior ramp, hearing the furious screaming of the mares and the thunder of their hooves as they bolted from their confinement, knowing breakfast was finally being served.

The men burst into the bright, blinding light of the stadium, and wheeled hard left, some slipping on the sand, having to be grabbed up by others as they held close together and raced for the corner. The blazing hot sand seared the bare feet of the slaves, but they were oblivious to it, driven on by their terror and their desperate determination to live. Iolaus and Sim came last, urging the others on, gathering the stragglers and shoving them forward, roughly, knowing there was no time to waste. As soon as they made the wall, some stooped to let others step into their cupped hands, to hoist them up to grab the top of the wall and hoist themselves up, then those above held down hands to draw others out of the pit.

Hearing the pounding hoof-beats closing in behind them, Iolaus and Sim had turned to face the mob of maddened mares that bore relentlessly down upon them, their chains in their hands. The herd was already too close for Iolaus to lash out with the whole length of his rope of chain, but he spun half of it out, whipping it across the heads and chests of the front runners, startling and hurting them, making them draw up in momentary confusion, causing others to push and stamp behind them. Dust rose from the sand as the furious horses milled and shoved, frustrated to be packed so tightly into the corner, unable to maneuver freely, desperate with their hunger, their desire for blood. Some skirted around the uncertain beasts who were stalled in the front ranks by the flying chain, trying to find room in the narrow confines of the corner of the arena to attack the men they could smell so near, darting fang-filled muzzles in for the kill.

"By the gods!" Iolaus heard Sim cry, as the younger man lashed out with his own shorter length of chain, striking a thrusting muzzle hard, drawing blood, horrified by the flash of fangs he'd seen. Mares, furious at being thwarted and driven back, rose on their haunches and screamed in rage, lashing out with their hooves.

"SIM! GET OUT OF HERE!" Iolaus cried out, having cast a quick look over his shoulder and noted that most of the men had already made it to the top of the thick stone wall. He let more of the rope chain loose as he whipped it in continuous motion around his head and lashing out again and again at the monstrous mares.

"Iolaus…!" Sim called back, tormented by indecision. It was killing him to leave his friend behind to face this mob of maddened, deadly, horses.

"GO!" the warrior cried back, not turning to look, not daring to break his concentration upon the beasts lunging and thrashing only a few short feet away. The horses were startled by the chains whipping them, but he knew they would not be held back for long.

With a last final quick look of agonized regret at his unbelievably courageous friend, Sim turned and bolted, leaping up to the wall, his out-flung arm caught by another who hauled him clear of the sand. Most of the other men had already dropped to the other side and while a few had waited, the rest had pelted off down the length of the arena walls, away from the crowds, desperate to escape.

The guards had been taken by surprise, and few had yet to set off after them…those that had were met by wild resistance, clobbered by chains wielded by frightened and determined men. When Sim looked back into the arena, just before he too dropped down to the other side of the wall, he saw Iolaus standing alone, the long rope of chain flying in a wide circle around him, lashing out at the horses, the metal glittering in the light. The warrior stood sturdy, and confident, feet wide apart, sweat already glistening on his taut body, focused on staying alive for as long as he could.

Just as Sim dropped off the wall, Iolaus heard that voice echoing across the arena, rising above the shrieking mares and the low thunder of their hooves in the sand.

"Stop this, Diomedes! Stop this now!"

And, unbelievably, incredibly, the warrior grinned, as he shouted out in response, "HERCULES!"

* * *

Hercules' head snapped up and around at the sound of that voice. His eyes raked the stands and the arena, his heart stopping in terror when he saw the lone slave battling the plunging mares…saw the tousled golden curls. "Iolaus!" he gasped, horrified. For a split second, he stood frozen, shocked to the core of his being at the sight of Iolaus, whom he'd assumed safe at home, battling alone against the more than fifty maddened, deadly mares.

Then, in a rage of all-consuming fear, he whirled and cleared the path between him and Diomedes, heedless of the guards he sent flying in every direction, some up into the stands, some down into the arena, drawing the attention of the milling mares at the back of the mob. In a flash, dozens of them wheeled to bear down on new prey. The guards on the sand scrambled to their feet, drawing swords, stricken with horror at finding themselves the 'dish of the day'.

Diomedes was howling with laughter, richly entertained by the unusual spectacle. Unconcerned about the loss of a few guards, indifferent to the panicked scramble of slaves up and over the wall, figuring there were always others who could be condemned to the pit, he felt only mild irritation knowing he'd have to fend off the demigod and miss some of the action.

The crowd's attention was divided between the drama on the sands, and the one playing out around the King. Hercules grabbed Diomedes, intending to shake him, throttle him into calling off the mares, ending the curse, but was unprepared to be met with a strength almost as great as his own. A hard right hook to the chin staggered him back, and then he was leaping forward again, blocking another swing, and landing one of his own, snapping the King's head back. The two demigods came together like raging bulls, slugging and kicking, trading blow for blow.

But, Hercules was fired by more than his strength. Driven by the soul-wrenching fear for Iolaus that pulsed through his body, he overwhelmed Diomedes, blocking another blow, moving in to clutch his nephew's throat in two large, powerful hands.

"Call them off, NOW!" Hercules screamed, terrified that any moment now, driven by hunger and fury, the mares would break past the valiant and desperate resistance Iolaus was making to hold them back, naked and alone, unarmed but for the flying metal chain.

But, Diomedes just laughed.

Beside himself with a wild urgency to force Diomedes to surrender and recant his curse, the demigod flung the King onto the hot sands, and leapt down into the arena behind him. The guards were battling with the bloodthirsty mares, screaming as they were overwhelmed, flesh, limbs, torn from their bodies. Blood painted the gleaming white sand, some splattering widely, some in horrible streaks as one body and then another was dragged into the milling throng.

Iolaus had been watching the drama across the arena with one eye while he danced and ducked, lashing out with the chains, shouting taunts at the mares, braving their mad lunges, meeting violence with violence. But his heart lurched when he saw Hercules jump into the arena, in front of a cluster of milling mares.

Having his best friend munched on by man-eating mares had not been part of his plan! Cursing under his breath, he whirled the chain with all his strength, then followed through, racing toward the mares, swinging the hastily looped metal rope hard against a muzzle that darted at him, fangs bared. When the horse snapped its head away from the blow, Iolaus leaped high onto its back, and scrambled onto his feet, already leaping onto another back, and another in the tightly packed mob, before the first horse had bucked in reaction to the sudden weight landing upon it.

Iolaus leapt from one mare to another, tottering to maintain his balance when one swiveled hard beneath him, trying to reach around with ravening jaws. One slip, and he'd be lost under their hooves, helpless to avoid their flashing, deadly fangs. Finally, he reached the far end of the mob that had thrashed and milled around him, trying to get close enough to bring him down. Slipping down to grip the startled beast with his knees, he grabbed a handful of mane and kicked sharply to drive the beast across the arena to the action on the far side. Only too aware he was now surrounded by death, he swung his chains at any who tried to nip at his legs and body as he plunged across the sands, racing ahead of the confused throng of mares behind him.

He crashed his mount into the twenty or so mares clustered around the bodies of the guards, trying not to notice the remains scattered on the ground between their hooves, or dripping from their muzzles. Forcing his way through, laying about with his chains to drive the horses back, he was desperate to get to Hercules, oblivious now to the nips and tears of fangs that got too close. Up ahead, he could see his friend contending both with Diomedes and smashing back the snarling mouths of any mares that lunged at him, fighting only with his bare fists.

Herc couldn't hold them back for long. Dammit, couldn't he have grabbed up a spear or sword? A shield? Something more than simply jumping in to face death armed only with his strength?

Diomedes had managed to keep Hercules between him and the mares, but the thrill of this day's entertainment had surpassed even his depraved threshold of bloodlust. He still had no intention of calling off his mares, but neither did he have any intention of being one of their victims. He scrambled for the wall when Hercules was distracted by one of the horses but Hercules turned and dragged him back, again having to half turn to beat off a mare. Stumbling, Diomedes caught up a sword left by one of the unlucky guards, and whirled back to kill the demigod who was keeping him from escaping, threatening his life.

"Herc! Look out!" Iolaus cried, leaping from the back of the mare, landing with a quick forward roll to carry him away from the stamping hooves and darting fangs.

Alerted to the danger, Hercules turned to grab at Diomedes' wrist, holding the sword back as he cast a quick look over his shoulder, his eyes widening in horror when he saw one of the mares bearing down on Iolaus, his buddy's attention distracted by having to warn him. Whirling, he pulled Diomedes around and threw him toward the horses as he cried to Iolaus, "DUCK!"

Iolaus hit the ground as Diomedes flew over his head, to crash into the mare that had been lunging for Iolaus. The warrior rolled and scrambled to bring himself closer to his friend, and Hercules reached down a hasty hand to pull him to his feet.

"You promised me you'd stay out of trouble," the demigod growled.

"Look who's talking," Iolaus quipped back as they both turned to face the raging horses converging upon them, Iolaus' steel whip flashing out, Hercules bashing a mare on the snout, driving it back.

Diomedes lashed widely with his sword and tried to scramble to his feet and get away from the horse he'd crashed into, but as he wheeled on his knees and tried to lurch away, the mare's mouth darted at him, determined to feast this day. He screamed as the fangs sank deeply into his shoulder, pulling him back…shrieked as another mare bit deeply into his arm, tearing it away.

The heroes heard the screams, and felt a grim sense of satisfaction that the evil King was a victim of his own cruelty, but they had no time to even cast one another a glance, or spare one for the Son of Ares, writhing in the sand, hidden by the milling bodies of the mares that had converged upon him. Iolaus had backed up toward Hercules, lashing out with his whip of steel, while the demigod struck out with unbridled strength at the mares that came at him. Back to back, the young warriors created a space of fragile safety as they battled on, grimly, determined to survive, each focused only on the desperate need to protect the life of his friend.

Finally, Diomedes' horrible screeching stopped, and but for the stamping of the hooves and the hard breathing of the heroes, the arena was silent, the spectators in the stands frozen and breathless as they watched with mingled horror and hope.

As the echoes of his screams died away, the mares stumbled into a dazed state, shaking their heads and manes, as if trying to clear their heads from a massive blow. Bloody fangs fell into the sand, and they snuffled, weak and unsteady on their legs.

The curse of Diomedes had died with him.

Hercules and Iolaus had just blown out a long breath of relief, when an enraged shout filled the arena, terrifying the observers anew.

"HE WAS MY SON!" Ares screamed in rage and grief, as he materialized for all to see, glaring at Hercules. "AND YOU KILLED HIM!"

"I didn't kill him…his own cruelty and evil killed him," the young demigod replied scathingly as he turned to face his brother, moving between Ares and Iolaus.

"A life for a life!" the God of War snarled, his gaze moving past Hercules to Iolaus. "You'll suffer as I suffer now!" He lifted his hand to cast a deadly bolt of energy at the small warrior who stood panting in the glare of the sun. Iolaus stiffened. There was no where to run, no way to evade the death that burned in Ares' eyes.

"NO!" shouted Hercules, moving forward to block the strike, one arm up. "This was your doing! YOU forced me into these labours! YOU took away my right to choose by threatening Iolaus' life. YOU HAVE NO RIGHT to strike him down now… you are responsible for your son's death by having forced me into doing Eurystheus' will!"

Ares hesitated as his burning gaze, blind with grief and hate shifted to the demigod. He took a long shuddering breath as he lowered his hand, his jaw tight, not wanting to accept the judgment…but knowing it was only the truth. He hadn't the right to place Iolaus in double jeopardy, for having been part of an action he, the God of War, had himself set into motion. Trembling with fury, shuddering with frustration and desire for revenge, he growled low in his throat, "This isn't over…you will pay for this, Hercules."

In a flash, the God of War disappeared…but the force of his threat remained.

"His son?" Iolaus whistled, looking back at the bloody mess that was all that remained of Diomedes. "Sheesh, Herc…you have one very weird family."

"Tell me about it," the demigod mumbled as he turned to inspect his friend, one brow quirked and shaking his head at his buddy's propensity to show up in the most unlikely of places. Iolaus sported a few scratches and gouges where a few fangs had gotten a bit too close, blood trickling down his left leg and right arm, the skin around his wrists and ankles was worn raw but otherwise, he just seemed filthy and …worn out. When Iolaus half turned away to stare at the now quiet mares, the demigod saw the traces of whiplashes across his back, and his unclothed body seemed thinner. Frowning in dismay, Hercules could see he was almost trembling with exhaustion. "You okay?" he asked, concern now in his voice.

Iolaus looked back and gave him a tired grin. "Yeah…you?"

The demigod nodded, but the worry didn't quite leave his eyes. "You seem to have misplaced your clothes…and you stink. Let's get out of here and get you a bath and something a little more decent to wear."

Pretending dismay, Iolaus looked down at his nakedness. "What…did I lose my loincloth?" he cried in mocked horror, then grinned, "Nope…still there." Giving Hercules a wink, he tied it more securely since it had slipped a little in all the excitement. "It's not like I'm showing off the best stuff," he observed, laughing back up at his friend, ignoring the only too true comments about how much he smelled. A bath would feel really good.

Hercules snorted, then unceremoniously picked him up to hoist him up over the wall into the stands, clambering up beside him. Putting out one hand to shove his buddy up the shallow steps to the exit, he murmured, a warm, teasing note in his voice, "Always showing off for the women…you have no shame."

Flexing his arms, pulling in his stomach, Iolaus quipped back, "When you got it, flaunt it!"

His buddy snorted, then started to laugh, only slightly hysterical in his relief.

It was only then that they realized the stadium was filled with delirious, screaming people, crying out their admiration and relief for what these two heroes had done that day.

* * *

They were thronged by grateful citizens as they made their way out of the arena. Even the guards seemed relieved that the terror of Diomedes' reign was over. As they pushed their way through, Iolaus heard his name shouted out, and he looked up to see Sim's face, almost shining in relief, blazing with a bright smile. Iolaus waved and motioned him to them.

"Herc…this is my old friend, Sim. He took care of making sure the others got away okay," Iolaus explained, as Hercules held out a hand to take the other youth's arm in a warrior's salute. "Sim, this is Hercules."

The demigod's eyes were welcoming, but he didn't fail to notice the signs of abuse on the other young man's almost naked body. "Someone else seems to have forgotten to get dressed today," he teased lightly with a smile. "Come on, let's get the two of you fixed up, and something to eat. I do believe you have an interesting story to tell."

The two former slaves looked at one another, and nodded, chuckling tiredly. "Interesting?" Sim reflected, "I guess that'd be one word for it."

The three of them were borne away by the exuberant and grateful crowd, and were feted like the heroes they were for the rest of the day and long into the night. Finally, when Iolaus and Sim were literally ready to drop from exhaustion, the delirious townspeople relented and escorted them to the best inn in town for the rest of the night.

At breakfast the next day, they were met by a delegation of townsfolk and peasants from the surrounding countryside. One diffident man stepped forward to speak for the rest. "You all know we're grateful, more than grateful, for what you did. But, er, there's one more thing we'd ask of you…."

Hercules nodded encouragely, "And that would be…?"

"Take those horses away from here," another chimed in. "We know it weren't their fault, being cursed by the King and all, but they ate some folks we cared a lot about…we don't never want to see those beasts again."

"I see," acknowledged Hercules, not really able to blame them. But, what would they do with a hundred horses?

"Sure…we can take them with us," Iolaus assured them, though he wasn't all that fond of the mares himself, considering his close encounters with them the day before.

And, so they did, Sim and Iolaus mounted and Hercules striding alongside, they herded the animals south, on the long trek back to Thebes. It was, necessarily, a leisurely trip, and the truth was, the youths enjoyed it. Along the way, Hercules and Iolaus got caught up on their respective adventures, and Hercules learned about Sim's background. Shaking his head, he tried not to sound judgmental, but he did encourage the youth to find another line of work. The demigod was less reticent about his scathing observations on Iolaus' idiocy in falling into Sarazan's trap. Agreeing with him, Iolaus could only shrug and muse that he'd learned his lesson…sniffing at the two snorts of disbelieving derision he got in return.

Hercules and Iolaus both particularly enjoyed the journey, so reminiscent of other travels. Though neither put it into words, they were each only too aware that this might be their last trip together, and they wanted it to last.

By the time they'd gotten back to Thebes, the last of the mares had slipped away or been set free by their two riders. Nobody in the southern hills of Greece or the plains of Lamia would know anything of their history, grateful only to find such fine horseflesh running wild and apparently free for the taking. The travelers stopped off, to chase the dust from their throats at their favourite tavern, where Iolaus and Sim spotted their old friend, Malthius. For a moment, Mal stared at them, as if they were apparitions, shades from the other side. Then a face that had been gray and lined with anxiety flushed with unembarrassed joy as he broke into a bright smile and leapt to his feet to greet them, wild in his enthusiastic relief to welcome them home.

There was much back-slapping and happy grins as the foursome settled down to catch up, Malthius marveling at the stories, flinching with sympathetic winces and suitably horrified expressions as the details came out. He'd tried to stammer an apology for having failed Iolaus, but his young friend just waved it off, assuring him there was nothing he could have done, absolving him readily of any blame or wrong-doing.

Finally, Mal and Sim wandered off, to let their other friends learn the good news that he and Iolaus had returned safely, and Hercules and Iolaus set off to see the magistrate. The older man rose in relief when Iolaus walked in the door…though he'd scoffed a little at Alcmene's worry when the young man had first disappeared, he'd come to share her concern for this fine youth he'd come to both like and admire over the years. Appalled at the tale of Sarazan and her husband, he made a few notes then called in a couple of local guards, telling them to round up the militia to bring the lady in to the jail…and her husband, too, if he was in town. Turning back, he assured Iolaus he'd let him know when the trial would be held though it might be months away if the merchant was on one of his long voyages, so that he could give his testimony, and then sent the two youths home.

"Alcmene is worried sick about you," he informed Iolaus, "and you, too," he added as he turned to Hercules. But, he was immediately sorry when he saw the young men's faces fall, instantly regretting the fact they'd caused her any grief. "But, she'll be right as rain as soon as she sees the two of you," he offered to reassure the young heroes, "so off with you both!"

The magistrate had understated Alcmene's anxiety. As the days, and then the weeks had dragged on, she'd become increasingly distraught, the more so when Hercules did not respond to her letter. She couldn't understand what was keeping him, why he didn't at least write, knowing he'd have to be as worried as she was about Iolaus. Had something happened to him, too? She'd worked herself into a state of nearly constant panic as the days passed, helpless to do anything to alleviate her anxiety, doomed to wait for word, hoping desperately that they were alright.

When the two young men rounded the house and came upon her in the garden, she looked up at them, frozen for a moment in stunned disbelief, and then she was running to them, weeping with relieved joy, hugging them both tightly. That night, she fussed over them both, shamelessly spoiling them, overwhelmingly happy to have them both home…and safe. Hercules and Iolaus indulged her, neither of them revealing what they both knew. That Hercules would have to leave again in the morning. His labours were not yet finished.

The next day, Iolaus walked along with Hercules until they'd reached Corinth, Iolaus having decided to spend some time visiting Jason. Alcmene had been almost heartbroken to see them both leave again so soon, but she reluctantly accepted that Hercules still had a vow to fulfill, must as she despised it. And, part of her was glad to see Iolaus going with Hercules, again unaware that he'd only be going part way. She always felt better when the stalwart and brave young man was with her son…felt Hercules was safer somehow…and so was Iolaus, when the two of them were together.

As they walked along the dusty roads, ambling slowly in the heat of the day, Iolaus finally broached the subject that had been plaguing him since Ares had appeared in the arena, but which he hadn't had a chance to raise, what with either Sim or Almene being present. "So…it was Ares who threatened to do me in," he said, not looking at Hercules who was half a step behind him.

"Yeah," the demigod acknowledged, knowing there was no further point in trying to avoid talking about what had driven him into the vow in the first place.

Iolaus half turned to glance at his friend as he continued walking, "You won't let him get away with that again, right? You won't let Ares or any of the others blackmail you again?" His words were phrased as questions, but sounded more like statements of fact.

Hercules glanced at his friend and bit his lip, shrugging a little, not sure what to say. He knew Iolaus hated it, hated being caught in the middle, hated being treated like a helpless pawn, but he couldn't imagine ever risking his best friend's life.

Iolaus sighed in the silence, and turned away, walking wordlessly ahead for a long time. He was caught in a muddle of emotion. Anger, that Hercules wouldn't fight back. Frustration, that he was being used…and guilt, too. But, most of all, he was filled with an empty, aching feeling. He was going to have to walk away…going to have to separate himself from Hercules, so that his best friend wouldn't be forced into actions just to save his life. Head down, he swallowed and blinked hard, not wanting Hercules to see how upset he was, had bad this hurt.

But, the demigod wasn't blind…and he felt the same ache. He'd made the same decision. Hercules knew he couldn't let Iolaus stand by him if it meant he was a constant target for the gods.

Unable to put their decision into words, still hoping some unlikely solution would occur to them, the two young men continued their journey in silence for the rest of the day. Two days later, when the towers of Jason's castle came into view, Iolaus stopped, knowing Hercules was going to be going on alone from here. Turning to his friend, he looked up into Herc's eyes as he said, "When you're done, come back here. Don't just take off, okay? Let me know you're all right…and we'll decide what to do then."

Hercules looked down at Iolaus' earnest face, and nodded. "Okay…whatever we decide to do…we'll decide together."

It was the best they could offer one another. They hadn't needed to put the dilemma into words. They knew each other too well, knew what the other was thinking…and knew they were coming up with the same answer, for the same reason, to protect the other one. Hercules knew Iolaus would want to stay with him, but for the way he was being used against him. Iolaus knew Herc didn't want to split up, but he wouldn't accept the risk to Iolaus' life, and the price of staying together would ultimately be at the cost of Herc's freedom of choice. Neither solution, staying together, or going their separate ways, would be without grief or pain. But, in honour of their friendship, out of respect for one another, they both acknowledged that neither of them had the right to make this decision alone. It was too important. It meant too much. Gods, it meant their whole lives, their future, and what it would hold.

Iolaus watched his best friend walk off down the road to the southwest until Hercules was out of sight. Then he turned to head into Corinth.

* * *

By the time Hercules had made it back to the isolated valley, Eurystheus had come to his decision. He'd received the note for Hercules that Alcmene had sent, and though he'd hesitated to invade the young man's privacy, he was worried and felt he should see what the note contained. He was shocked and saddened to read that Iolaus had disappeared and that Alcmene feared for the youth's safety. Frowning, Eurystheus remembered the young warrior, how much he'd come to admire him, both from the brief visit and from all Hercules had told him about Iolaus. And, he wondered. Wondered if the gods had somehow conspired to hurt the youth anyway…and the thought made him deeply angry.

For all the more than a month after that, until Hercules had arrived, he'd mulled over the single idea he'd had that might break the deadlock in which the gods held the right of sway over the demigod's actions. Unconsciously hoping that the youth would be found, was somehow still safe somewhere, unaware that in his thoughts he still pictured Iolaus as Hercules' partner and therefore still at risk of being used as a pawn in the future, Eurystheus just assumed there was still a need to solve the dilemma that confronted the two young heroes. Though he realized his idea would leave the young warrior at enormous risk unless it worked, he could think of no other solution.

When he saw Hercules stride into the yard, he came out of the house to meet him, sorrowed that his first words must be the news that Iolaus was missing.

"Hercules," he called out, "There's been word from your mother, more than a month ago now…I'm sorry, it seems Iolaus has disappeared."

For a moment, Hercules had stiffened at the worry in Eurystheus' eyes, the concern in his voice, but then he relaxed, realizing the man was offering old news. "It's alright," he replied, coming to meet Eurystheus. "Iolaus and I met up in Thrace…he's back in Corinth now."

The older man visibly relaxed, relieved and Hercules was grateful for this sign of concerned interest in Iolaus' well being. Climbing up the steps to the house to stand beside the chieftain, he told his friend, "Diomedes is dead…and the curse on the mares has been lifted. No one else will die because of them."

Eurystheus smiled at that, the lines of his face relaxing as he slapped the younger man on the back. "Well done, lad! Well done! Come in and tell me all about it!" Motioning Hercules into the house, he decided to wait until morning before assigning the final labour to the demigod. The youth should be rested when he learned what it would be, not exhausted from a long journey. It would be hard enough for him to bear the last task.

* * *

The next morning, at breakfast, Eurystheus turned to Cleandra as he said in a strangely sober tone, "You'd best be saying good-bye to our young friend. Hercules will be leaving this morning."

The old woman was torn…glad to know the lad's labours were done, sorrowed to know he'd be gone. Hercules was stunned by the words, then grinned, grateful to know it was over, as he stood to hug the woman who'd been so kind to him.

Brushing away sudden tears, Cleandra stepped back from his embrace, looking earnestly up at him, "You're a good man, Hercules. I never believed that you deserved to be punished by the gods but I'm glad that it brought you here, so that we could come to know you. Be safe, my son…" her voice cracked on the term of endearment she hadn't meant to use but felt with all her heart, "and let us know, from time to time, how you're faring."

He smiled at her, embarrassed by her open affection, but grateful for it. He'd come to care for her, too. Resting a hand on her thin shoulder, he squeezed it gently, as he replied, "I'm glad, too. Not only did I get the chance to do a little good, but I got to know…and love…you. I'll miss you, Cleandra…I'll think of you often."

Confused, she bit her lip and nodded, blinking rapidly to clear her eyes. She gazed at him a moment longer, then with a slight nod toward Eurystheus, she turned and left the room. Hercules looked after her, a fond look in his eyes, then turned to sit back down, looking across the table at Eurystheus, his smile fading as he took in the man's grim expression. "What's wrong?" he asked.

Eurystheus sighed and tapped his fingers on the table, looking away to steel himself for what was to come. "I've been giving your situation a lot of thought, Hercules. I'm a pious man, and I believe the gods do us great good, bringing bountiful harvests, good fortune, fine days, love...but I also know they are capable of great arrogance. What they have done to you, what they have threatened to force your compliance is wrong." Looking back at Hercules, he could see confusion in the young man's eyes. "It won't end here, they'll continue to threaten to kill Iolaus to keep you in line…and you both know it. I'm certain that Iolaus hates being used against you, and feels guilty about it. It was only too clear while he was here that he admires, respects and loves you…and that he'd gladly continue to risk his life to stand by you, except for the threat his presence risks for you."

Hercules looked away and nodded. "I know. I can't let him stay with me. It's too dangerous for him," he agreed quietly, grief in his voice.

"How can you be certain he'd be safe wherever he is?" Eurystheus demanded, his voice stern. "You told me last night how he'd walked straight into danger to track down his friend, ending up enslaved. And then, he apparently was willing to sacrifice his own life to get the other victims of Diomedes' sick spectacle away safely. Whether he's with you or not, he's careless of his own life, too willing to sacrifice it to save others. And, even if he doesn't get himself into dangerous situations, with you or not, the gods know you care for him…they'll threaten his life anyway."

Hercules took a deep breath and swallowed hard at Eurystheus' cold summation of Iolaus' odds of survival, regardless of what they decided. He felt cold as despair plucked at his heart. Wordlessly, he shook his head. He couldn't save Iolaus from himself, though that thought left a deep ache in his chest and the metallic taste of fear in his mouth. But, he could at least save his friend from the gods. Looking away, he knew he'd made his own choice…he and Iolaus were going to have to go their separate ways. There was no other solution to the box the gods had made for them.

The older man studied him, compassion, mingled with his own struggle for certainty, in his eyes. "Last night, when you told me how you and Iolaus came to be at the same place, at the same time, I marveled at the coincidence, the impossibility of it all. The odds, Hercules… imagine the odds that you would each be there, at the precise moment when each of you needed the other!" His voice was compelling and drew Hercules' eyes back to him. Intense, almost with a sense of awe, Eurystheus continued, "I have struggled for weeks to understand, to decide if the two of you have a shared destiny…or if the trials of the gods were meant to drive you apart, to find your own paths. But, now I am convinced… the two of you are meant to travel the same road. Only the Fates could have arranged your reunion in Thrace. Only the Fates! Do you understand?" he demanded, his gaze searching the younger man's eyes.

He could see Hercules was confused by his words, grappling with the idea that he and Iolaus shared a destiny, believing it could never be possible, not now. The pain of it was in his eyes…the pain of knowing he faced a future alone, without Iolaus…but the risks to his friend were just too great. "But…what choice do I have?" the young demigod replied finally, grief in his eyes, but his voice resolute. "If I, if either of us, is going to be able to do any good in this world, we have to split up, take our chances on our own. If we stay together, the gods will continue to make me choose between their demands and his life. I can't…I won't risk his life that way. I will always choose to back down, to save him. I know it, he knows it…the gods know it. It's impossible…there is no other way."

"No, Hercules, you are wrong," Eurystheus sighed, knowing the moment had come to intervene, to restore these two young men to the destiny they shared together, for good or ill. He hesitated a moment more, wondering if he was about to do the right thing. If he was wrong, the terrible thing he was about to do could never be excused or forgiven. Swallowing, he straightened, a determined look coming into his eyes. This was necessary. This was the role the Fates had woven for him. There could be no other answer to the challenge the young men faced. As he continued, his voice was unyielding, uncompromising, "You have no real choice, Hercules, neither you, nor Iolaus. You must face the gods the next time they make the threat… you must refuse to bow to their will."

Hercules' head snapped up at that as he gazed unbelievingly into the other man's eyes. "What?" he demanded. "Refuse them? Knowing they'll kill him, right there and then! I can't do that!"

"As I said, you have no choice. This is your final labour, Hercules. I order you to refuse them the next time they threaten to kill Iolaus if you fail to bow to their will. If you refuse this order, you will be in violation of your oath to do my will, and his life will be forfeit. Either way, his life is at risk," Eurystheus directed, his voice hard though there was kindness, even compassion, in his eyes. It was done, he'd assigned Hercules his last labour. For good or ill…it was done and would not be revoked.

Appalled, enraged, Hercules stood so sharply his chair fell back with a crash. "You can't do this!" he raged, towering over the other man, his fists clenched, fighting the urge to smash them into Eurystheus' face. "You have no right to order me to condemn Iolaus to death!"

Unperturbed, knowing the demigod would never hurt him, Eurystheus gazed up at him, wishing there were another way. But, if there was, he couldn't see it. "Hercules, listen to me! I have not condemned Iolaus to death, though he might die. I have ordered you fight back! If you don't, they will control you, destroy all that you might be. If you don't, Iolaus will come to hate himself, and you, for making him the reason for whatever foul things they demand of you. If you don't, he will die anyway. Hercules, you have told me yourself of Ares' threat, that it is not over between you, that he will make you pay…how else than by taking Iolaus' life and letting you know it was because of you?"

Hercules wheeled away, rigid with anger and horror. Gods, how could he do this? How could Eurystheus do this to him, condemn him to choose between two unacceptable options. Refuse this labour, violate his oath, and Iolaus would be killed in retribution. Agree to it, and be trapped into refusing to bow to the next god's threat to Iolaus' life. The threats weren't empty…they would immediately lash out to destroy his best friend, immolate him in a flash of burning power. He heaved for breath, trying to contain the anger, the helpless, hopeless fire that ate at his heart.

Eurystheus watched him struggle for control, and sighed heavily. Softly, he said into the silence, "I sincerely hope this will not cost Iolaus his life. He's a fine man, one of the most courageous I've been graced to know. But the Fates have woven the two of you into a corner…one from which you must fight your way out. I'm sorry…deeply sorry, if this results in his death."

"Sorry?" Hercules breathed, shaking his head as he turned to face the older man. "Sorry? He doesn't deserve to have his life placed on the altar of your will, or the will of the gods. He doesn't deserve to be sacrificed for the sole crime of being my friend. For being brave and loyal." Hercules' voice cracked and he looked away, still rigid with anger and fear.

He was trapped. There was no way out. Either way, whatever he did, Iolaus would pay the cost. Gods, it was a nightmare. He turned to glare for a long moment at Eurystheus, and he lifted one heavy fist, closer to committing cold-blooded murder than he'd ever been. Eurystheus stared up at him, calmly, certain of the decency at the core of this angry man, despite the horrific future with which he had just been burdened, despite the maddened fire of hatred he could see in the young demigod's eyes. Hercules struggled within himself, wordlessly, ruthlessly, defeating the insanity that threatened to engulf him. Killing Eurystheus would change nothing, perhaps only condemn Iolaus sooner. With a grunt of hateful disgust for the man he'd come to almost trust, his arm fell to his side and Hercules strode out of the house, away from the homestead.

Away from the man he'd begun to consider a friend, but who now was the man who'd condemned his best friend to death.

When the door slammed shut behind the furious demigod, Eurystheus leaned his elbows upon the table, burying his face in his hands. It was the only possible option…but that brave young blond warrior might die and the decent, good-hearted Son of Zeus would be left bereft, hating him for all eternity. Forced to such an impossible choice, if he lost his best friend, the one who Eurystheus had come to sense was in some way the demigod's foundation, Hercules, too, might well be destroyed.

Eurystheus was a hard man. But, bearing the weight of the responsibility of the actions he was forcing to a fateful confrontation, acknowledging the hateful future his decision might bring into being, he wept.

* * *

For the whole of the three days that it took him to race back to Corinth, Hercules struggled with the dilemma, the box, he'd been put into. He couldn't believe Eurystheus had done this to him…to Iolaus. Gods, what was he going to do? How could he save his friend?

He couldn't…not unless…he stood between Iolaus and Ares, because, of course, it would be Ares who came, ruthless and seething with a desire for revenge. He'd order something terrible, something that would require Hercules to act against his deepest convictions, like start a war, or become a warlord, and Ares would threaten to kill Iolaus if his command was refused. Either way, he'd have his revenge…either way, he'd cause Hercules unspeakable horror. But, Ares wouldn't know that the decision had already been made for Hercules, that he was destined to refuse whatever the God of War demanded of him.

Hercules vowed he would stand between his best friend and a furious God of War…putting his own life on the line.

Ares would have to kill him before Hercules would let him destroy Iolaus.

* * *

Jason, Iolaus and half a dozen of the royal guard were just returning from a hunt when they saw Hercules cresting a hill to the west. The King grinned as he and his soldiers drew up, when Iolaus, unable to wait, wheeled his horse to race across the fields to meet his friend.

Drawing up hard on the reins, Iolaus slid from his mount, jogging the last few steps. "Herc! Why are you back so soon?" he asked, his voice hopeful, his eyes still clouded with wary concern. "Is it over? Have you finished your labours for Eurystheus?"

Hercules looked down at Iolaus, his heart twisting in his chest at the sight of those clear blue eyes, so trusting and hopeful, so worried about him. Shaking his head, he murmured quietly as he looped an arm around Iolaus' shoulders, turning him back to walk with him toward Jason. "Not quite. I've one task left to do."

"Damn it," cursed Iolaus. "I was hoping it was done. So, what is it this time?" He was worried. Eurystheus had sent Herc after those man-eating mares, yet another task that could have gotten him killed. Gods, he hoped this last one would be more along the line of cleaning out stables.

"I'll tell you about it later," Hercules replied, his voice sounding oddly strained. Iolaus flashed him a quick look of alarm, frowning at the haggard look on his best friend's face. His heart sank. Whatever it was, it must be bad. He couldn't remember Herc ever looking this…sick…before. Sick with fear…and something else. Anger?

But, his tall buddy wasn't talking. When they reached Jason, Hercules greeted his old friend, but distantly, as if his thoughts were elsewhere. Jason studied him, knowing something was badly wrong. "What is it, Hercules? What's gotten you so worked up that you're as tight as a drawn bow?"

The demigod just shook his head as his teeth caught his upper lip and he looked away. "It's not over yet, Jase," he said, his voice haunted, knowing Iolaus would have explained about the labours he'd been forced into. "But…I'll finish it soon, one way or the other. I will finish this."

The King of Corinth studied him for a moment, gazing down thoughtfully from his mount, his eyes dark with worry, the wind ruffling his fair hair. Then the tall, strong young ruler straightened as he asked, "Will you come back to Corinth with us, if only for the night?"

Shaking his head, Hercules responded, "No…no I have a feeling that this is going to blow up soon. I don't want anyone else in danger."

Iolaus' head came up at that, and he looked sharply at his friend. "Danger? Soon? What in Tartarus is going on, Herc? What's that guy demanded from you this time?"

Hercules turned his head to look at his best friend, his jaws tight with fury and fear as he studied Iolaus, standing so confidently, his golden curls glinting under the sun, his blue eyes blazing with anger at the danger Eurystheus had ordered Hercules to face. Not knowing…not knowing his own life was held in the balance. Without answering him, the demigod turned back to Jason, lightly slapping the neck of his friend's mount as he said, "I'm sorry, Jase, that I can't come back with you…I'd like to. Remember that."

That sounded a little too final, a little too much like 'good-bye' to sit lightly with either Jason or Iolaus. But, before the King could protest, Iolaus grabbed his friend's arm and pulled him around to face him. "I don't know what this is about Hercules, but whatever it is, I'm going with you this time, like it or not."

Hercules looked into those determined eyes and flinched before he looked away, saying distantly, "You have no idea how much I don't like this, Iolaus…no idea."

"Well, tough…I'm coming," the young warrior stated belligerently. Looking up at Jason, Iolaus assured their friend, "We'll back, Jase, to let you know what this is all about. Don't worry."

"Oh…I'll worry, all right. In fact, I think I should come with you," the King replied, scowling heavily.

"NO!" Hercules protested, wheeling back to face Jason, frightened that he might place his second oldest and closest friend in deadly danger. It was more than enough to risk Iolaus…he couldn't endanger both of their lives. "No…."

Thinking Hercules was refusing him as well, Iolaus handed his reins to one of the mounted guards and signaled the King to go. "We'll be all right, Jase…Herc's right. You have a kingdom to take care of," he said, his voice deliberately light. If he and Hercules were going to fight over this, best if they did it with no witnesses.

Understanding, nodding reluctantly, Jason motioned his men to head off. "Be careful," he ordered, "both of you." Then he wheeled his mount away, thundering toward the castle in the distance.

Hercules stood, rigid as a statue, watching Jason and his men ride away, wishing with all his heart he could order Iolaus to safety, force him to be anywhere else but with him. But, he couldn't. If Iolaus had a hope of surviving this, it would only be if Hercules could stand between him and death. To do that, he needed to keep his best friend close by.

Iolaus tilted his head a little as he studied his silent friend. "I'm going with you, right?" he challenged, expecting an argument.

But Hercules just gritted his teeth and nodded. "Yeah," he sighed, then turned to face his friend, "this time I want you with me."

Disarmed, surprised, Iolaus was caught off balance. Recovering, he replied, "Well…good. I'm glad you see sense. So, what's the labour? And, this is the last one, right? After this, you're done?"

Hercules nodded, looking away. "Yes, after this, I'm done." Without another word, he turned and headed away from Corinth, back toward the forest the hunting party had just left. He still hadn't decided whether to tell Iolaus or not…but figured he'd better. The last thing he wanted was for Iolaus to believe that he'd casually choose Iolaus' death rather than submit to the demands of a god. Especially if it went bad, and they were the last words Iolaus ever heard him speak.

Iolaus jogged to catch up with him, puzzled at his friend's behaviour. "For the love of Zeus, would you tell me what's going on? What are we up against this time?" he demanded, beginning to feel irritated.

Hercules paused and turned to face his best friend. "You told Eurystheus, didn't you? You were the one who told him I agreed to do his bidding because otherwise your life would be forfeit."

Iolaus stopped short at the anger in his friend's face and voice. Shrugging, he replied, "Well, yeah, I did. I figured he should know you didn't deserve what Apollo had ordered you to do, that you didn't have any choice…that you did it to protect me."

Hercules nodded as he looked away, blowing out a tight breath. He'd figured it out on the way back to Corinth. Eurystheus had never before told him what he'd learned from Iolaus, so the demigod had been unaware that Eurystheus had been mulling over their dilemma until he'd been shattered by the man's conclusions. But, it was the only way he could have found out. Apollo sure wouldn't have admitted to it. Still looking out over the horizon, the demigod continued, his voice distant, "Eurystheus decided that he had to come up with an answer for us. He understood, like we do, that it wouldn't end…the threats. So he came up with this last labour to finish it."

"Really?" Iolaus replied, liking the sounds of this. He sure hadn't been able to come up with a solution. "That's great, good for him! What do we have to do?" But, if this was good news, he wondered why Hercules seemed so tense. Like an animal caught in a trap.

The demigod looked down at the ground, then back into his friend's eyes. "If I refuse this labour, my vow would be unfulfilled, and you'd be killed in retribution. So, I have no choice."

Iolaus felt cold at the bleak look in his best friend's eyes, as if Hercules was struggling with some soul-destroying agony. Frightened now for his friend, badly frightened, he murmured quietly, "What has he told you to do, Herc?"

"The next time a god threatens to kill you if I don't accede to his wishes, I'm to refuse," Hercules replied, his voice low, thick with sorrow and fear.

Iolaus' face went blank as the meaning of Hercules' words sank in. His eyes shifted away, his lips parted as he thought about it, then he swallowed and nodded. Turning back to face Hercules, his gaze was clear and direct, his voice strong, as he replied, "He's right. I told you that in the first place. You have to refuse. It's the only way to end the blackmail."

Hercules reached out and grabbed Iolaus by the shoulders, shaking him slightly as he demanded, his eyes bright with sudden tears, "Will you listen to yourself? Do you know what you're saying? Your life, Iolaus…he's ordered me to put your life on the line! And…I can't refuse. Either way, you're caught in the web!"

Iolaus brought his hands up to grip Hercules' wrists, standing his ground, understanding now only too well why Hercules had been acting so strangely. "I know," he said quietly, calmly. "But, it's been inevitable, Herc, at least ever since Hera learned that you'd fold to protect me. We both know this can't go on…you can't give up everything you are, every good thing you can do in this world, just to protect a single life, my life. Herc…you tried, remember? You tried to talk me out of traveling with you, you told me that it would be dangerous…that you didn't want to risk anything happening to me. But…I decided to stick with you anyway. Herc, I'm not stupid…I knew what I was doing, what it might cost someday. You've done everything you could, given up your strength, sworn away your freedom to protect me. I don't want that…I never wanted that. We've come to this because the gods are…well, the gods. They want their own way, whatever it takes. And because of the choices I made. You've just been caught in the middle…."

Hercules shook his head, his throat too tight with grief and fear to speak, his grip tightening on Iolaus' shoulders, hearing the absolution, unwilling and unable to accept it. Gods…Iolaus was telling him it was 'okay'…but it wasn't…it never would be.

Gently pulling Hercules' hands down from his shoulders, releasing his grip on his friend's wrists, Iolaus sighed, hating the pain in his buddy's eyes, knowing it was for him. "It'll be Ares. He wants you bad after Thrace. I knew then that he'd come after us as soon as he could. Oath or not, he'd have been after my blood. So, what's the difference? Trying to force you into something you'd hate to do will only be an excuse for him to attack me."

Sighing, Hercules swallowed and looked away, nodding his agreement as he remembered his vow to himself to meet Ares head-on. He'd given his strength and his freedom to protect Iolaus. He'd give his life if he had to. "Yeah…I know," he murmured hoarsely, but his shoulders straightened with grim determination.

Suddenly, Iolaus was furious for the pain the gods rained on his friend, furious at the game, the impossible choices Hercules was faced with. Well, he'd be damned if he'd just be a pawn. Ares might take him down, but he'd go down fighting. Pulling Hercules back to face him, he uttered his own vow, "He'll come, and he'll likely come soon. And we're going to fight him, Herc. Together. I'll be damned if I'll just sit and wait for the thunderbolt!"

Hercules just looked at him, and nodded quietly, not willing to share his own plans for how the inevitable encounter would play out. Iolaus would only protest and do something stupid…no, brave…to try to stop him.

But, he'd forgotten how well his friend knew him, how well Iolaus could read unspoken words in his eyes. Suddenly alert, his own eyes narrowed, Iolaus growled, "I said together, Herc. And I meant it! You're not going to sacrifice yourself to save me…that's what you 'figured', wasn't it? That you'd save me again, even if it cost you your own life? Well…forget it, pal. Uh uh. No way. If the bastard takes us, he takes us both. You hear me?"

Hercules shook his head at his partner's insistent determination to risk death, accepting there was no way he could stop Iolaus from acting as he saw fit, from simply being who he was. Unable to help himself, he grinned crookedly as he reached for Iolaus and drew him into a strong hug. "You're a little confused, aren't you, buddy? I'm the bastard, remember?"

Iolaus tensed for a moment, resisting the embrace, then he giggled. "Oh yeah…I forgot. Silly me."

They stood together, held close by the moment, wordlessly acknowledging what they faced…and what price they might have to pay for their friendship, each of them sorrowing for the other. But, then, uncomfortable with the emotion, needing to distance it, Iolaus pulled away, hitting his forehead with the palm of his hand. "Idiot. I'm an idiot!"

"You've just figured that out?" Hercules asked fondly, wondering what his friend was referring to.

Iolaus cast him a withering look as he said with an exasperated sigh, "I just let Jason ride off with all the game. Now we have to catch something for dinner tonight! Come on…it'll be dark soon and I'm hungry."

Hercules followed Iolaus as he led the way at a fast clip toward the forest, studying his friend as they strode along. So strong, so resolute…marching forward as if they hadn't a care in the world beyond snagging a rabbit or pheasant for their campfire. Nodding to himself, he accepted his buddy's terms. If they couldn't win this round, they'd go out together…win or lose, back to back, they'd do this together.

It was only later, as they were finishing up the last of the partridge, that Iolaus said quietly, "I don't plan for us to lose, Herc…so we'd better figure out how we're going to do this."

* * *

They were striding through the forest late the next afternoon, when Ares made his appearance.

Pausing, in the lead, Iolaus snapped, "You are SO predictable, Ares!"

The God of War quirked an amused brow, unfazed, knowing he held the winning hand. Crossing his arms, he stared down at the loud-mouthed, and soon to be very dead, mortal. "Am I…runt?"

Iolaus bristled, but he carried on, his voice scathing, a look of disgusted contempt on his face, "Oh yeah. Let me guess…Eurystheus told Apollo that Herc's 'labours' are finished, right? And Apollo couldn't wait to tell everyone on Olympus that the big guy is open season again. And here you are, so eager to make the next threat you can hardly stand it. Right?"

"Well, when you're right, you're right," Ares drawled with a smirk, flexing his muscles. Hercules had laid a hand on Iolaus' shoulder, as if to silence him, as he moved ahead on the trail, standing just slightly ahead of his friend, between Iolaus and the powerful god…a stance that was to become an unconscious routine from this day forward.

"So…what's it to be, Ares? What deal did you have in mind this time?" the demigod demanded, his voice low with fury, his eyes blazing.

Smiling in satisfaction, Ares rubbed his hands together, as if thinking about it. "Well, let's see. You know, of course, if you refuse, your little buddy will be toast?"

"Uh huh," Hercules grunted.

"My buddy's no muscle-bound dummy, Ares," Iolaus taunted, stepping a little to the side so that he had a clear view of the God of War. "He figured it out all by himself."

Shifting his gaze to Iolaus, Ares laughed, his eyes glinting with malice as he replied, "You know, I almost hope he refuses…I'd really like to never see you again."

"What's the deal, Ares?" Hercules cut in, his voice hard, uncompromising…which gave the God of War pause. Somehow, he hadn't expected them to react this way. He'd expected…what? Fear maybe? Resignation? Anger? The little guy was giving him a hard time as if he didn't realize he could be dead in the next few minutes…and Hercules looked almost aggressive, not beaten. Gazing at them with wary speculation, he suddenly realized they were going to fight him, and smiled at the thought. This was going to be even more fun than he'd imagined.

"Okay," Ares replied smugly, shifting his stance a little, unconsciously getting ready for an attack, "I want you to lead an army against Corinth…and then I want you to burn Thebes to the ground…or…I barbecue the weasel."

Hercules closed his eyes and looked away, having to swallow before he could get the word 'no' past his suddenly dry throat. This was it. And they'd played it wrong. He could see that Ares was waiting for them to fight back, ready for them to come at him.

They'd forgotten he wasn't a fool.

Iolaus waited as the silence lengthened, tense. Gods, Herc wasn't going to fold, was he? Surely he couldn't actually consider attacking Jason or their home town!

Ares, too, waited, frowning. Maybe he'd called it wrong after all. Maybe his loathed half-brother would actually agree to the demands. Well, fine…this was only the beginning. If he fulfilled this little mission, there'd be another…and another. Hercules would end up being his personal slave…and someday, when the time was right, he'd still toast his little buddy.

Finally, the demigod straightened to stare hopelessly at his brother. "Alright," he said, moving slowly, as if beaten, toward Ares, narrowing the distance between them, "tell me where to find the army you want me to lead."

Ares relaxed, licking his lips in delight at the mastery he now held over the demigod, not missing the look of absolute consternation on Iolaus' face. 'Now, isn't that sweet,' he thought disparagingly, 'the little worm was actually ready to face death rather than have his big buddy bow to me.'

Iolaus was floored. Herc couldn't refuse the order Eurystheus had given him, Iolaus knew that…either way, Hercules was forfeiting his life…. Then, in a flash, he understood what Herc was doing. Moving farther to the side and a little forward, closer to Ares, Iolaus called out to his partner's back, his voice almost shrill, appalled by the choice his best friend had just made, distracting the god from his gloating gaze at Hercules. "Herc, you can't! Gods…don't do this!"

Ares had turned his head to look over at Iolaus, and was smiling widely in triumph when Hercules' powerful fist connected with his jaw and sent him flying several feet into the air to crash hard against a tree. The demigod was already moving in as the God of War crashed to the earth, stunned, but gamely leaping back up onto his feet, his arm back to cast a bolt of blinding power at the demigod.

But, he was clobbered by a well aimed, heavy rock to the side of his head. It didn't hurt so much as distract him, and Hercules pounded into him again, slugging him hard in the gut, twice, before the demigod picked him up and hurdled him into another tree several yards away.

Furious now, almost incoherent with rage, Ares bounced back, striding toward his brother, cursing the mortal and thinking about how much he was going to enjoy tearing him limb from limb as soon as he'd dealt with the demigod. He wouldn't kill Hercules…the rules forbade it. But, he'd hurt him…and then make him watch his good ole buddy get fried!

Hercules stood, waiting for him, holding his eyes. Ares was hauling back an arm to throw a bolt of energy at him, when his legs went out from under him. Iolaus had thrown a loop of twisted vines he'd fashioned the night before, to trip the god, and bring him crashing to the ground. Hercules was moving immediately, lashing out with a heavy boot when his brother tried to scramble to his feet, catching Ares hard in the ribs, hurting him this time, the kick so powerful it slammed the God of War across the forest floor, through several bushes until he came up hard against a tree.

This time, a little dazed, the God of War looked around for the irritating mortal. This had gone too far, and the runt was going to pay for his sneaky, pathetic attacks. Spotting him, enraged that the squirt was actually laughing at him, Ares hauled off and sent a blinding blaze of energy toward Iolaus, but the mortal flung himself aside at the last moment, and the bolt blew through the trunk behind him, causing the tall oak to crash resoundingly back into the trees behind it.

"Aarrgghhh!" Ares screamed in frustration, flinging another blast at the infuriating shrimp. But, Iolaus dodged behind yet another tree, again narrowly missing being cremated on the spot. Meanwhile, the furious, distracted, god had forgotten his brother…a mistake.

Coming at him from the side, Hercules whirled and kicked him in the gut and then slammed a fist into Ares' face, knocking his head back hard against the tree, stunning him. Ares staggered around, blood now streaming from a cut lip, his face bruised, as he lunged at Hercules. The two powerful brothers grappled like maddened behemoths, slugging one another, their terrible strength unleashed as they pounded into one another's bodies, until Hercules shoved Ares backwards…and he fell over the mortal who had crawled up behind his knees.

Iolaus dove off to the side, out of the way, as Hercules moved in again, lashing out with his boots, catching Ares again in the ribs, lifting him off the ground with the brutal power of his kick to fly once more into a thick tree trunk. Ignoring his own bruised and battered body, uncaring of the waves of pain he felt from Ares' blows, Hercules leapt after him, moving in fast, fists flashing, desperate to win this battle, to drive Ares off.

The god was immortal, but not immune to pain…not when the blows were delivered by someone who more than matched his strength for all that Hercules lacked his other powers. Blood was streaming from a cut on Hercules' lip by that time, his own face bruised and one eye swelling from the blows he'd taken from his brother. His body felt as if it had been trampled by a raging bull. But, nothing was going to make him quit. No way was he going to lose this battle. Ares had to learn, they all had to learn, that nobody threatened Iolaus. Nobody. Not without facing all the wrath he was capable of dealing out.

It was an uneven battle from the beginning. Ares was driven by hate. Powerful hate, frightening in its intensity. But, only hate.

Hercules was driven by love. His best friend's life was on the line. Iolaus' very existence was the prize to be gained by this final labour, and the demigod was almost incandescent in his will to win, filled with an almost unholy joy to finally be fighting back.

If Ares lost, he'd lose a little pride…a little of his cocky assurance that he could have whatever he wanted.

If Hercules lost, he lost everything that mattered to him…though he'd not given a second thought to the fact that he, himself, might die.

Ares wanted to win.

Hercules knew he couldn't lose.

Ares lost.

Bruised, battered, bleeding, the God of War finally retreated, gasping, wiping sweat from his eyes, only to take another powerful hit. Disgusted, frustrated, tired of the abuse he howled as he vanished in a cloud of smoke. There'd be another day, another time to make these two pay with blood.

Hercules whirled around, not trusting him, expecting Ares to appear from another quarter…but he and Iolaus were alone in the darkening forest. Swaying, the demigod sagged down to one knee, one arm tight around his chest, hurting badly from the damage his brother had done.

Iolaus moved in quickly to support him, and eased him to the ground, scared. He hadn't been able to believe the abuse Hercules had taken during the long desperate battle…it awed him, and made him humble. And he grieved for it, knowing Hercules had suffered the earth-shattering blows for him. Rifling in his pack for a rag, pulling his waterskin from his shoulder, he wetted the cloth and gently cleaned the blood from his buddy's face. Dazed, Hercules fumbled to push him away.

"Easy, Herc, I'm just cleaning you up a bit," Iolaus murmured. Finished clearing away the blood and sweat, he inspected his best friend's face, and decided no bones were broken, as incredible as that seemed, and the wounds were superficial. Continuing his inspection, he gently prodded at Hercules' ribs, eliciting a hiss of protest. Iolaus winced in sympathy, as he said quietly, "Got a couple of cracked ribs there, big guy. We'd better get you back to Corinth so Jason's healer can bind them properly."

"Fine," mumbled the demigod, but he just continued to lie there, glad to just be still, to not have to absorb any more of Ares' brutal punishment.

Iolaus gazed him silently for a long moment, sitting back on his heels, wondering if Hercules had suffered internal injuries. Frowning with concern, but his voice light, as he forced a teasing tone, "So…you just going to lie around for the rest of the day? What are you waiting for? What? It's getting dark and you want your dinner, is that it? Oh right…hunting is my job. Well, fine, leave all the work to me…I'm used to it. Gods, you'd think you'd had a hard day…."

Hercules chuckled weakly, then bit back a groan as he held up a hand in surrender, "Alright! Alright! I'll get up…just…give me a minute, would you? Gods…nag, nag, nag…whine, moan and complain…never a minute's peace…."

Relieved that his buddy was teasing back, if a little weakly, Iolaus grinned and pulled his pack and waterskin over his shoulder. Rolling forward onto one knee, he gently took hold of one of Hercules' arms, and supporting his friend's shoulders, helped Hercules to sit up, and then to struggle to his feet, to lean heavily on his shoulder. "You gonna make it?" Iolaus asked, wishing Corinth was a little closer, wondering if he really had to make Hercules travel that far tonight. Gods, he looked completely exhausted. "If you think you're okay, we could camp here for the night."

Hercules cast him a bemused glance, his lips quirked in a resigned smile as he replied wearily, "You couldn't think to ask me that before you dragged me to my feet?"

"Does that mean you're okay?" Iolaus asked, unrepentant.

Hercules chuckled then winced again, one hand coming up to gingerly touch the cut on his lip, his grip around Iolaus' shoulder firmer than the warrior liked…Herc was barely able to stand up. Sighing, the demigod felt his own ribs, twisted his neck a little as if to loosen a kink, then looked down at Iolaus, his gaze a little hazy from pain. "Yeah…I'm okay…or, I will be if you let me lie down again."

Iolaus relented with an indulgent smile. He eased Hercules back down, and drew a blanket out of his pack, shaking it to cover the exhausted demigod, tucking it in solicitously under his chin and around his shoulders. Then, he rolled his own blanket and gently tilted Herc's head to lay it under him, as a pillow. Patting his friend's shoulder gently, thinking Hercules had already drifted off to sleep, exhausted by the desperate battle and weakened by the painful blows he'd absorbed, Iolaus murmured, "Well…you've earned the right to a little rest, I guess. You won, Herc…thanks." His voice had been soft, but it cracked with his gratitude to his friend, for being willing to put his life on the line, willing to take such abuse to save his life.

Hercules grinned crookedly as he opened one eye, "Uh uh. We won," he murmured back, well aware that his friend's actions early in the battle had given him the edge. "The gods won't try that threat again!" Then, with the warm chuckle of his friend's voice in his ears, and a vague thought that he maybe, just maybe, he should thank Eurystheus some day for forcing him to fight for their freedom from the gods' power over them, he drifted into Morpheus' welcome embrace.

Iolaus sat beside him for a long time, keeping watch until night had stolen the last of the day, listening to his buddy breathe softly, to be certain that Hercules really was okay. Finally, reassured when Herc continued to sleep peacefully, he stretched out close beside him in case further trouble showed up, his hand on his sword, determined that they'd have to go through him to get to Hercules.

As he drifted off to sleep, Iolaus thought again about what Herc had said and smiled softly. 'We won.'

'Well, of course we won,' he thought drowsily just before Morpheus also claimed him for the night. 'Together, we're an unbeatable team….'

Finis