A stern-faced woman stood behind him, unseen. She was not pleased. This was the thief who had stolen her bow, leading to considerable chaos. What was he doing here, acting solemn in her now desecrated Temple?

She listened—and was surprised. Oh, she could hear the craftiness in his mind—his eyes searched everywhere, looking for an advantage, something that might prove useful, and she sensed his supreme confidence that if he could find such an object, he could steal it with impunity. That irked her.

But his thoughts and intentions were more. She already knew of Velaska—not just this insane attack on her Temple, but also Velaska's turning on her Amazons, and she knew it was all because Velaska had gotten hold of some ambrosia. That was an unacceptable situation, for such an undisciplined mortal to ascend to godhood: no good could ever come of it.

Now she heard the thief's frightened thoughts. Most clearly she saw—because it was part of a heartfelt plea to her—her own Queen, full of life and the joy of being reunited with Xena—and the thief's fear for her, threatened by the homicidal lunatic Velaska. He spoke low a remarkably humble and fervent prayer for the Amazon Queen's safety.

That alone would have impressed the stern goddess, but she also read his intentions: he planned to place himself in the way of Velaska, distract her from her hunt. He was frantic with fear for himself and, at the same time, there was an unassailable certainty in him, that he had to do this, coming from his steadfast regard for her Queen and Xena.

It was that paradoxically unwavering calm deep inside the otherwise nervous thief that decided the goddess. She sighed, realizing how this must be done—he was a thief, after all. She let fall a bit of rock from the now wrecked ceiling of her Temple, onto a statue of one of her immortal attendants.

The thief glanced in that direction, and as Artemis had intended, saw the glisten of a precious stone—white crystal flashing many colors—in the pendant worn by the statue of a lovely maiden—a pendant not part of the stone, but added later. His opportunistic gaze immediately assessed how he might reach it, but she sensed doubt in him—he was in a hurry, and saw no use for the shiny gem in his current brilliant plan. Then he caught sight of markings below the statue: the sacred attendant's name, Polyboia, and a verse about her magical ability to capture anyone's attention.

The thief looked puzzled, about ready to give in to his anxiousness to be off, when Artemis sighed in impatience again and gave the thief the inescapable desire to have that pendant.

He immediately proceeded to climb behind the statue, suspending himself between it and the wall right behind it, using feet and elbows only. Shortly, he was able to reach around the shoulder of the stone maiden with his left hand and lift the pendant over her head.

As soon as he touched it Artemis let him know its powers: when his pursuer glimpsed it, she'd forget her hunt for a time, and be drawn to a new one. She heard his exultant thought—useful!—as he dropped to the ground, ready to run out the back of the Temple. Artemis spoke from behind him.

"She will kill you." It was a casual observation, and as she said it she allowed the thief to see her. He startled—he was a jumpy one, wasn't he?—and looked back at her, astonishment in his eyes.

"Artemis," he acknowledged softly. Then he registered her words, and shook his head with a slight, grim laugh. "Not right away, I'm afraid."

That was true enough, Artemis thought.

Then his manner changed, and his eyes and voice were pleading. "Artemis, Gabrielle's in danger. Please protect her."

"I cannot do much," Artemis said coldly, but then, relenting slightly at the desperate entreaty in his face, she added, "But, I will do what I can."

He bowed his head in gratitude. Then he tucked the pendant into his vest, and smiled at her. "Thank you." A moment later, he turned to run out the back of the Temple.

As he left, he caught sight of the fountain. She watched as his thirst drew him to make a cup of his hands and drink, and she bristled in irritation. How insolent, to presume to drink those sacred waters! She prepared to stop him in order to punish—then she remembered his frantic plea for her Queen, and her ire cooled. Oh, why not. She grudgingly admitted to herself that the courage she saw in him—and his desire to help her Queen—made him worthy to drink, though he did so not knowing what he did.

It could not save him, of course, if the mad one caught up to him. But she could allow it to strengthen his stamina as he ran, and to ease the hurt Velaska would inflict.

"Autolycus, swift flight and thought to you," Artemis intoned, as he ran into the forest.