by By The Sword
He grabbed the ankle, and held it.
Stunned and slightly panicked, Zorin hopped on his other foot and tried to pull free.
Hercules rose.
As he did, Zorin jumped, and twisted, wrenching his trapped leg free while the other whipped around just an inch shy of Hercules' jaw. When he landed, Hercules was beside him. He pulled him up by the scruff, grunted at the wild blows that landed on his sides, and spun the man around.
Zorin saw the apologetic smile, and he saw the fist, and he had no time to react to either.
Over; it was over.
Hercules slumped heavily to the ground next to the unconscious Zorin and watched while a few more stragglers made their way out of the valley, toting their possessions, a few herding nervous cattle while a few more rode what horses hadn't already escaped. Only a handful bothered to look in his direction, and only a couple of them reacted when they saw their leader sprawled at his side.
It only took a look to keep them moving. Over; it was finally over.
Once he realized that, once the adrenaline had stopped pumping through his system and allowed him to think straight, he also realized something else-He hurt. He also ached pretty badly, and there were parts of him he wasn't sure were working the way they were supposed to work.
He didn't have to check to know his arm would be covered with welts from the rawhide lash despite the heavy guard, his back with bruises from the battering it had taken, and the rest of him he didn't even want to think about. Especially the bleeding cut on his shoulder.
The question now was . . . what to do with Zorin now that he had him. To leave him here and let him decide his future for himself was out of the question. Hercules already knew what that decision would be.
Killing him would be more permanent, but he had never worked that way; at least not with men. Monsters were something else, and he supposed he should be grateful there hadn't been any of them hanging around this time.
So then, what?
A good strong cell in a nicely maintained dungeon with some helpful but unsympathetic guards for dis-cretionary discipline should do the trick.
Which, of course, raised another problem—which dungeon? Whose dungeon? Whose guards? Who did he trust to continue the raider lord's education in his postwar life?
"You," he said to Zorin, "are more trouble than you're worth."
But a minute later a faint, mischievous smile twitched at his lips.
Two birds with one stone, as his mother used to say; two birds with one stone.
One of them a vulture, the other a rare bird with more plumage than sense.
Groaning aloud to make sure the gods knew he was doing this bit entirely on his own with no help or prompting from anyone, he pushed stiffly to his feet. A check of the valley entrance made him change his mind about going in to find a cart, a horse, even a wandering oxen with nothing better to do. This would have to be a two-foot job.
A loud martyred sigh to make sure the gods understood the sacrifice he was about to make, and he hoisted Zorin over his good shoulder, took a deep breath to get him started, and headed down the slope.
No one stopped him.
One battered and gray-bearded raider, lugging a side of beef on his back and another under his arm, jerked his head toward Zorin. "Dead, is he?"
"No."
"Too bad. You want me to do it for you?"
"No."
"Too bad."
Hercules grinned and moved on.
The weight, distributed as it was, wasn't as heavy as he would have thought. What bothered him was the pokes and prods of the studs in Zorin's armor. When he couldn't stand it any longer, he lowered the man to the ground and unceremoniously stripped him, leaving him wearing nothing more than a wrap of thin leather around his waist for modesty. He also tore from the man's shirt the cleanest strip he could find and wrapped his still-bleeding shoulder as best he could.
Then it was back on his other shoulder for Zorin, and back on the trail.
Sometime later, as the sky began to lighten around the edges of the mountains, Zorin moaned, tried to shift, and froze when Hercules' arm tightened its grip.
"You're hurting me," the raider complained.
"Then go back to sleep."
"Like this? Do you have any idea what I'm going to do with you when .. . where are my clothes?"
Hercules listened for a few minutes while Zorin, having given up all efforts to free himself, instead assaulted him with enough curses to damn an entire continent, enough invective to sear the soul of the most pious of men, and enough inventive threats of applied agony to make the worst of torturers beam with pleasure that the good guys didn't have a monopoly on imagination.
Enough, however, soon became enough.
He stopped, stood Zorin up, braced him upright with one hand, popped him on the jaw without so much as a look or an apology, picked him up, and moved on.
There were, he knew, some things even the son of Zeus didn't have to put up with.
By the time the sun had lifted the top of its arc above the mountain range, Hercules could see the new city spread before him. As much as he still ached, as much as he wished he could stop for a drink of water, he quickened his pace, lengthened his stride, and soon found himself on the road that led to the king's new palace.
Zorin, who had miraculously discovered a way to doze in his position, struggled a little once he realized where they were headed.
"Forget it," Hercules warned. "My knuckles aren't that sore."
Zorin laughed, coughed, laughed once more. "You don't get it, friend. This isn't going to work."
Hercules returned the laugh, but not the cough. "If you think I think King Arclin will release you after I leave, I think you had better think again."
After a moment's puzzled silence, Zorin said, "What?"
Not long after they reached the first of the huts, he gained a following, inquisitive children and curious young men who quickly passed the word of Hercules' prisoner.
Hercules, meanwhile, explained to Zorin that he had already figured out Arclin and Zorin's plan to expand the kingdom and share the power and wealth. He also explained, since talking helped pass the time, that it hadn't taken him long to figure out how Arclin had achieved his crime-fighting reputation. Which, he added ominously, would not stop; it would just take another, more desirable direction.
Zorin laughed.
Hercules threatened to pop him.
Zorin grumbled into a sulking silence that lasted only long enough for him to overhear the whispered taunts and jokes the ever-growing crowd had begun to make at his expense. His invective returned, but Hercules ignored it, since it only served to make the people giggle, then laugh, then make hasty bets whether or not it was physically possible to do some of the things the raider suggested.
Although there was sore temptation, Hercules refused to smile. The man's humiliation was a bonus to his defeat, yet he didn't want to goad the crowd on by signaling his approval. Sooner or later one of them might remember what they all had had to suffer at Zorin's hands.
That things would get nasty, quickly, was probably a vast understatement.
"I have riches," Zorin said desperately when they reached the open band of grassland between the new city and the palace on the rise. "You can have half."
"Thank you, but no."
"Three fourths, then. I have to have something for my troubles."
"No. I have all I need, thank you."
At the base of the steps he put Zorin on his feet, grabbed him by the nape, and began to climb; the raider, being given no choice, stumbled along at his side.
"This is insane," Zorin snarled. "You don't know him like I know him. You've never dealt with him before. I can tell you now he'll never agree to whatever it is you want."
"Sure he will."
Zorin tried a feeble punch, and had to be held up when an elbow jabbed him none too gently in the ribs.
A crowd had begun to gather at the top of the steps, and Hercules r
ecognized the captain of the guard hurrying down to meet them. The soldier seemed concerned until he realized who Hercules held at the end of his grip, then wavered between terror and abject horror.
"What... what... ?"
Zorin aimed a slap at Hercules chest. "Kill him, Captain," he ordered. "Kill him." Which would have sounded a lot more impressive if he also hadn't sounded as if he were being strangled.
The captain looked from Hercules to Zorin and back again, climbing backward as he did since Hercules hadn't bothered to stop. "I. . ."
"The king," Hercules said. "While you're thinking about what you're going to do—and I don't advise you to do it—take me to the king."
"Do and you're a dead man," Zorin swore.
Without breaking stride, Hercules popped him, slung him over a shoulder, and nodded that he was ready now, carry on, I'll just follow along.
The captain, dumbfounded but definitely without the incentive to argue, led Hercules through the whispering members of the court, through the towering gates, and across a broad stone courtyard into the palace itself. They climbed another flight of stairs, marched down a tapestry-lined corridor whose east side was mostly open to the morning, around a corner, another corner, down another corridor, and down another flight of stairs.
"Are you lost?" Hercules asked.
The captain smiled apologetically. "Sorry. I'm just nervous. This is a first, you know."
Hercules stared.
The captain paused, tapped his chin thoughtfully with a finger, then nodded once and eventually led them to a plain, large oak door.
He asked Hercules to wait just a second, pulled the door open, and slipped inside.
Seconds later Hercules heard, ' 'He did . . . what? And you haven't killed him?"
This is getting tiresome, he thought, and entered the throne room without an invitation.
King Arclin II, puffed with indignation, sat rigidly on his throne, wearing a voluminous white gown embroidered with blinding silver and tiny gold stars. The captain knelt before the dais, quivering violently.
"You!" the king said, just a half note above a squeak. "How dare you!"
Hercules marched down the center of the room, dropped Zorin beside the captain, stepped up to the throne, reached down with both hands, and picked the king up so that they were facing each other.
The king squawked a garbled order to the captain, who, except for the quivering, didn't move a muscle.
"It's very simple," Hercules said in his most intimidating deep voice. "I know what you've been up to, I know what you two have planned, and you know now that it isn't going to work because I know it, too."
Arclin's face reddened, and his feet kept trying to find something to stand on. "This is . . . I'll have you
... my people ..."
Hercules shook him a little.
Arclin sputtered, and his crown fell off.
"How old are you?" Hercules asked, inspiration abruptly drawing the intimidation away.
The king said, "You're tearing my royal robe."
Hercules smiled, and carefully lowered the king back onto his throne. "You're not yet twenty years, am I right?"
Arclin fussed with his clothing, refusing to answer, then yelped, stood, turned and picked up his crown, put it on, and sat again.
"I'll bet your father was pretty hard on you, wasn't he? The old king."
"You can say that again," Arclin said. Then he looked around Hercules and added, "Oh, Captain, do get up. And find some chains for that man there. Big chains. Heavy chains. Really, really heavy chains."
Hercules tapped his shoulder to regain his attention, and the young king started, wide-eyed, frightened.
"The people here, they loved him, didn't they? Your father, I mean."
Arclin pouted. "Yes, I suppose so."
"He never had any trouble, did he?"
A moment: "No. I suppose not."
"So you're mad because they don't love you like they loved him."
"Well..." Arclin glared, then fell back wearily. "Yes. I try, you know. I want them to have more land to live on, I want them to have more money, I don't tax them all that much . . . and all they ever say is, 'Well, he's not like his father, is he?' all the time. Do you know how frustrating that is?"
Hercules couldn't help a quick laugh. "Believe me, Majesty, I know exactly how frustrating that is."
Arclin frowned, then looked at the ceiling. "Oh. Oh, yes, I guess you might."
The captain and a score of his men returned with enough chain to sink a fleet.
"All right," Hercules said, ignoring the clatter and complaints behind him, "here's how it works, and I'm only going to say this once. Pay attention to what you have and forget trying to take over the world.
At least," he added with a wry smile, "for now.
"And stop trying to be like your father. You're not. You're you. Pretty obvious when you think about it, but sometimes recognizing the obvious is the hardest lesson to learn. You do what you think is right, what you think is best for your people, and if your father taught you anything at all, everything will be just fine."
Arclin squirmed. "Yeah. I guess."
Hercules leaned closer, and lowered his voice. "Don't guess. Because if you don't do it, little majesty, I'm always closer than you think."
He smiled, but there was no humor.
Arclin blanched.
The captain gratefully announced that the prisoner was ready for taking to the dungeon.
Arclin looked at Hercules, wondering, then shrugging. "I hate it when I'm not right," he said, although he said it with the ghost of a smile.
Hercules straightened and held out his hand.
Arclin blanched.
Hercules laughed.
The captain, begging enough forgiveness to choke a temple, wanted to know what they should do with Zorin.
A long silence, a longer debate Hercules saw in the king's expression.
Then: "Lock him up, Captain. Lock him up." And he added, "And listen to me very carefully—he will not escape. Whoever he once was, he isn't Zorin any longer."
Then he shook Hercules' hand.
A strong grip, Hercules noted with pleasure; the kid will do all right.
Graciously, and with a regret that took him by surprise, he begged off an invitation to a feast the king decided to have that very night, in celebration of Zorin's capture and the end of his reign of terror. There was a long road ahead, he explained, and he wanted to get on it before the sun rose much farther.
"A lady?" the king asked hopefully.
Hercules paused at the throne room door. "No, Majesty, just another promise to keep."
Arclin waved.
Hercules returned the wave and left.
•
•
•
An hour later he found the captain of the guard and said, "If you don't get me out of this maze, and right now, I'm going to dent you."
That night he camped alone, lying on his back, staring at the moon and the stars. The solitude was wonderful, the fact that he didn't have to do anything, save anyone, fight anyone, was more wonderful stiff.
He had stopped early, had dozed a while, but the same weariness that weighted his eyelids refused to permit him the sleep he sorely needed.
Which, he thought sourly when something twinged in his left leg, was probably not the best choice of words he could have come up with.
"Lazy, are we?"
Hercules didn't bother to turn his head. "Did you get the Fire back?"
"Has the world blown up?"
"I hope he was properly grateful." He shifted just enough to able to stare at the wings on Hermes'
sandais. It was unnerving; in his exhaustion, it looked as if they were staring back. Both the wings, and the sandals.
"He said to tell you he owes you one."
"At least one."
"He's also going to find another summer home. He says that one was too noisy."
Hercules yawned so loudly his jaw popped
. And those damn wings were still looking at him.
"And Aphrodite wants to know when you're going to come for another picnic. She thinks she has Hephaestos almost convinced to give this world another chance."
Hercules smiled. "A miracle. I'll go as soon as I can. Next season, maybe."
Hermes leaned over so Hercules could see him. "She'd like that, I think." His expression sobered. "Are you all right?" The face disappeared for a moment. "Gods and little fishes, man, you're not all right, are you? Who dressed this wound here? Disgusting. Where's the ointment for those cuts and scratches?" One of the sandals stamped the ground angrily. "I have never in my life seen a man who needs a nursemaid more. Honestly. Some people."
"Hermes." Hercules yawned again. "Hermes, go. And thank you for all your help."
"No problem. I'd say no sweat, but I just came from the forge. Honestly. Do you think it would kill him to have just one fan lying around?"
Hercules drifted as Hermes went on, thinking it curious that a pair of snakes with nasty red eyes were able to fly in front of him like that. Without wings. A lovely pattern, though. An intricate pattern. Difficult to follow. He must remember to ask them how it was done.
But first he needed to rest his eyes and...
... when he opened them again, and the sun was up.
The sun was up, his muscles weren't sore, there was no gash on his shoulder, and most of the cuts and scratches had already faded.
By his side lay one of Hermes' special meals, cold but delicious.
"Thanks, brother," he whispered as he took to the road again. "I guess I owe you one, too."
Bestor was the first to spot him as he approached the village; before he had reached the square, he suspected the entire community had left home and shop and farm to greet him. Their effusive thanks was embarrassing, and he was grateful when they finally allowed him to take a seat by the well.
"Bones," Bestor announced, grinning broadly. "I have bones." He reached into the folds of his shirt and pulled out a pair of bones through which a hole had been bored and a leather thong attached. "A toy, see?"
