"Who?"
"Dragar, Hercules." Salmoneus rubbed his hands together slowly. "I heard him tell Aulma once that he'd gotten all tingly or something when he stepped into the arena at. .." He closed both eyes, Shook his head. "I don't remember. I thought he was talking about the excitement of performing."
After a long silence Hercules said, "I'm sure he was, Salmoneus. I'm sure he was."
10
"So," Salmoneus said with a broad grin, "what do you think? Not bad, huh?"
Much to Hercules' surprise, it wasn't. The arena was only half-filled, but those hundred or so adults and children seemed to be having a great time. Each of the dozen acts was greeted with warm applause, each performance cheered when it was over. Salmoneus acted as master of ceremonies, resplendent in a billowing gold robe, moving the performers on and off with practiced ease-Delilah the Contortionist was amazing; a little man who told slightly ribald, humorous stories delighted the adults and puzzled the kids; Clova and Aeton were impressive as they performed intricate tumbling routines, and juggled everything from large balls to squealing piglets; and Flovi, when he wasn't playing with a local band as accompaniment to the performers, was wonderful as a flute soloist.
At the same time Virgil walked along the rows, a tray hanging from a strap around his neck, trying to sell snacks wrapped in ribbons. The problem was, the kids' hands were quicker than his ability to catch them.
He also looked incredibly tired.
"You're last," Salmoneus said with a slap to Hercules' shoulder as he ran out to introduce the next act.
Hercules smiled gamely.
He felt like an idiot.
In one of the caravan's chests his friend had discovered a great long cape made of wool, dyed a vivid red, and weighing at least as much as four grown men. The idea was to show himself briefly at the end while Salmoneus extolled the Power Beast's strength and ferocity, and dared the local strongmen to test themselves.
Hercules had complained that it wasn't fair, that no one knew who he really was, but all Salmoneus had done was wink and say, "Don't worry, I have a plan."
That was what he was afraid of.
He moved closer to the tunnel's end, watching the audience as much as the acts. He had spotted Peyra earlier, sitting in the front row on his left, but was unable to get her attention.
Hidden by the heavy thatch, both tunnels were deeply shadowed; so he was, in effect, invisible.
Dragar was the last act.
After an introduction usually reserved for kings and war heroes, the magician strolled out of the north tunnel behind Aulma, who wore a dark blue cloak over what appeared to be not much at all. It was difficult to tell because she seldom stopped moving. With the band's spirited help, she danced most of the time, spinning around the arena in her bare feet, the cape opening and closing in a deliberate tease.
Dragar himself remained in the center, in a simple black robe. The shepherd's crook had been replaced by a staff Hercules reckoned was at least six feet high, made of gleaming black wood twisted in a tight spiral.
Affixed to the top was a globe of silver almost as large as the head of a man. It was smoothly sculpted into the head of a ram, thick horns curving back from its skull into crescents that ended in obviously sharp points just ahead of its jaw.
They were made of gold.
The audience was enthralled.
Dragar pulled doves from his sleeves, ribbons from the hair of those sitting in the front row, and scarves from empty air; fire burned in his palms, rose in spinning balls hatched from eggs Aulma handed to him, and was sketched in the air when he spun the staff over his head; he had children climb down from their seats to act as his assistants, giving them coins for their reward and, each time, a brightly colored scarf or ribbon he pulled from their ears.
He said not a word.
He let his magic speak for him.
And when he finished, the crowd came to its feet and cheered itself hoarse.
As the magician strode from the arena without acknowledging the response, Hercules realized that he, too, was applauding, and he didn't stop until he spotted Peyra again. She was on her feet with the others, but her face was pale, her lips bloodless, and her hands were folded protectively over her stomach.
She looked as if she had seen a ghost.
Suddenly Salmoneus was at Hercules' side, tugging at his arm.
"Come on, Beast, you're on."
Before Hercules knew it, he was in the open, keeping his head down as Salmoneus began his pitch. A few laughed, a few hooted, and he could also hear several distinct growls of He don't look so strong.
Thank the gods, he thought, Iolaus isn't here; I'd never live this down.
The band played raucously, and Salmoneus spread his arms and announced that for tomorrow's performance, the mighty Red Power Beast would bend an iron bar with his bare hands.
Hercules stared at him.
The crowd didn't believe it. Loudly.
"Okay," Salmoneus said with a laugh. "You're right, ladies and gentlemen, that's too easy for the Beast.
How about breaking a timber over his head?"
The stare became a glare.
The crowd laughed.
Undeterred by the skepticism, Salmoneus suggested lifting an ox with one hand, hefting a wagon, or breaking a tree in half. He would have gone on, but Hercules had had enough. He flipped the cape back over his shoulders, grabbed Salmoneus by his belt with one hand, and with a humorless grin, lifted him effortlessly over his head.
"Hey!" Salmoneus yelped, arms waving, feet kicking. "Hey, wait a minute!"
The crowd cheered, the band played, the crowd left, and Salmoneus said, "You can let me down now."
Hercules looked up at him. "Break a timber over my head?"
Salmoneus instantly held out his palms. "Just a thought, just a thought. So they'll know you're strong, you see?"
"I think we've covered that now."
Salmoneus closed his eyes tightly and groaned. ' 'I think I'm getting air sick."
A voice called Hercules then, and he saw Peyra standing at the south tunnel.
He started over.
"Hey!" Salmoneus said.
Without looking, Hercules opened his fingers and kept moving, enjoying the sound of Salmoneus landing hard on his feet, then harder on his rump. He unbuckled the ludicrous cape and tossed it aside, took Peyra's arm, and said, "Let's go for a walk."
"But Hercules, it's—"
"Not here," he told her. "Later. When we're alone."
"It's him," she said dully, her hands twisting in her lap. "I'd know him anywhere."
They sat on the grassy bank of the waterfall pond, hunched against the growing twilight.
Hercules plucked a handful of grass from between his legs and, after staring at it for a moment, scattered it over the water. "He's very good at what he does."
She looked at him expressionlessly. "You still don't believe me."
"I've seen magicians before, Peyra. Some not as good as Dragar, some better. It's all tricks and illu-sions, not real magic at all. Aulma and all that dancing—all she did was distract the people from looking too closely at what Dragar was doing." He paused as he watched the blades of grass spin with the current.
"But I have to admit that I'm not as sure of that as I used to be."
She said nothing.
A bird called softly in the trees behind them, and they were far enough from the waterfall to hear the occasional croaking of a bullfrog and the splash of a fish.
"So what do we do now?" she wanted to know.
He scratched through his hair from back to front, frowned, and finally shrugged with one shoulder. "I need to talk to him, 1 guess. I need ..." He inhaled deeply, let the breath out slowly. "I need to be sure."
"Then what?"
"Then I suppose I need to do something about it."
"Like what?"
"I don't know."
"Why?"
"I haven't gotten that far."
"Why?"<
br />
He looked at her. "You know, you sure do ask an awful lot of questions that I don't have answers to."
"I do?"
He grinned, and she giggled. "Sorry." Then, sobering quickly, she took light hold of his arm. ' 'Just be careful, all right? I don't want him turning you into a frog, too." Before he could answer, she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, blushed, and scrambled to her feet. "I'd better go. Agatra will be worried."
As she made her way back toward the path, he watched and wondered if the Harpy's cave suited her.
Then he wondered what he would do next. Talk to Dragar, obviously, although he knew it wouldn't do much good. The magician would hardly admit to possessing such skills. And, even if he did, it was no crime.
It was what the man intended to do with the skills that Hercules needed to know.
He tossed another handful of grass into the pond, stretched, and decided he might as well head back.
Twilight had hazed the air, and the overcast sky was already dark. A cloud of gnats danced over the water's surface; from the shallows fish leapt for their evening meal.
He heard the cry just as he stood.
Frowning he hurried toward the path, stepping around a bush in time to see Peyra being dragged into the woods by a man in dark clothing.
Hercules ran, swerving into the trees before he reached the two figures. The man made no attempt to cover Peyra's mouth; he had one arm around her waist and half-dragged her along, ignoring the flailing blows from her hands and feet.
"Hey!" Hercules called.
Peyra screamed.
The man didn't stop, even though it was obvious he wasn't going to get very far.
Hercules reached them in seconds, grabbed the man's shoulder, and, at the same time, realized what he gotten himself into.
Uh-oh, he thought when something hard slammed into the back of his left leg.
A streak of fire raced from his thigh to his shoulder, and he fell onto his back, gasping in pain. Suddenly a huge knobbed club swept out of the dark. He managed to roll aside just a split-second before it would have crushed his skull.
There was no time for relief—the club tried again, and he rolled to his right this time, and lashed out with one foot. He missed the assailant, but the club missed his head and he was able to spring to his feet.
Peyra was on the ground not twenty feet away, keening in fear, with her arms tucked over her head protectively, her legs drawn up to her chest.
The trees here were tall, the lowest branches high and thin, and the air was more like dusk than by the water, like looking through a black-speckled veil. There were only a few low shrubs, nothing Hercules could see that could be used as a weapon.
Which was too bad, because there were four of them, all wearing dark brown clothes with knee-high boots, all carrying thick, knobbed clubs.
He was surrounded, turning slowly to try to keep all of them in sight at the same time, looking for the weak link, the one who seemed the most nervous or the least comfortable with his weapon.
There wasn't one.
"Nuts," he muttered when they all charged at once.
11
The rules of engagement in a situation like this were simple: if the enemy is organized, well armed, and clearly motivated toward mayhem, run until you can figure out what to do next; if the enemy is disorganized, armed but not heavily, and even the slightest bit uncertain, stick around and fight; and if the enemy is armed but obviously much too confident in its ability to bring down the target, use that confidence to even the odds as much as you can.
Hercules had no intention of running.
He picked the man facing him and met charge with charge, ducking under the swinging club, and straightening as he cupped a hand under the man's jaw. He lifted and turned and threw, hoping to take at least one of the others out.
He didn't.
The thrown man pinwheeled harmlessly over their heads and, amazingly enough, landed lightly on his feet. Meanwhile, a blow stunned Hercules' left shoulder just as he parried another with his arm guard.
That blow stung his arm as well, and he couldn't help it—he dropped to one knee and shook his head quickly to clear it.
Not quickly enough.
A club landed solidly across his shoulders, driving him to both knees. He grabbed an ankle in front of him and yanked, toppling the attacker. As a third blow caught his back without much force, he dragged the struggling man to him and snatched his club away.
"Ha," he said.
"Ha, yourself," a familiar voice answered, and whacked his wrist, sending the captured club spinning out of reach.
This is not going well, he thought, and launched himself backward, colliding with the man just behind him. But the man didn't fall; he just danced to one side until he regained his balance.
A club bashed the ground beside Hercules' chest. He rolled out of the way of two more blows, came up against a bush, and used it to pull himself shakily to his feet.
One of the men grinned at him, the gap between his front teeth visible even in the dusky light.
"You," Hercules said.
Sid nodded. "That's right." His grin widened. "You remember my brother Chicus, I suppose?"
Hercules didn't look; he ducked, and the breeze of a passing club ruffled his hair.
When he straightened, he was surrounded again.
"This is a little different than robbing wagons," he said. "Or drugging people."
"More fun," Chicus answered from his right.
Sid tapped his club on the ground. "No more talking, big man. We talk, you look for a way out, we get lulled into not thinking clearly, and you get away. Or hurt us." The gap seemed to widen. "Not this time."
Hercules glared; the man knew too many rules himself.
Sid raised his weapon, a signal to ready the next charge, and Hercules braced himself. His only hope was, again, to concentrate on one of them, get his club, and even matters up.
The obvious target was Sid.
Sid knew it. He winked, lost the grin, and brought the club down—
Just as a hoarse, lingering, unearthly cry tore through the forest and froze them all.
"What in—?" Chicus said nervously.
The horrid cry sounded again, this time from directly overhead, and before any of them could move, a large dark shape exploded out of the high branches. One of the men shrieked in terror, brandished his club, and shrieked again when Agatra snared the cloth at his shoulders with her talons and began to carry him away.
Evidently, however, the man weighed more than she had bargained for. He was also busy flailing and thrashing and kicking and wriggling. As a result, she wasn't able to gain much altitude, nor was she able to move in a straight line.
Struggling to maintain control, she veered too close to a tree and the bandit thumped against the bole, yelped in pain, thumped against the next one, yelped, and continued in a succession of veering, thumping, and yelping until they were out of sight.
"Sid," Chicus said, his voice nearly squeaking in fear as he exchanged wide-eyed glances with the third man. "Sid, we—"
"Shut up," Sid snapped, squinting in the direction his man had gone.
"But—"
"I said—"
He didn't finish.
He couldn't.
Hercules stood directly in front of him, one hand on his club wrist, the other gathering a fistful of shirt.
Hercules smiled.
Sid winced.
This time Hercules checked over his shoulder, saw the other two stumbling toward him, and aimed as he lifted, turned, and tossed, following up on the throw by running after Sid in hopes of liberating one of those clubs. By the time Sid reached the ground, however, Chicus and the other man were gone, stepping nimbly to one side to allow their leader an unceremonious landing on the very large exposed roots of a very large tree.
You guys are fast, Hercules thought, and jumped back from a swinging club, jumped back again, and would have been forced to dodge a third tim
e had it not been for Agatra's return.
She hovered over them, sending the third man into a frenzy of club swinging and eerily silent dodging, while Chicus darted out of the way and pulled Sid to his feet.
"Enough," Sid snarled.
Hercules agreed.
He strode toward them, staring, not flinching when Chicus raised his weapon, not blinking when Sid growled, howled in frustration and rage, and charged.
Hercules took the club's blow on his right arm, grabbed Sid's shoulder with his left hand and flipped him onto his back, then stepped over and caught Chicus' club on its way down.
For a moment they froze as Chicus strained to free his weapon, but he soon realized the futility of it, and smiled wanly before letting go and spinning around to run.
Hercules tapped him on the head. "With the club.
Chicus hunched his shoulders, staggered one more step, and collapsed.
But not before Sid, in a move born of the desperation of a man who just couldn't catch a break, wrapped his arms around Hercules' leg and tried to pull him down.
"Oh, please," Hercules said.
Sid growled, squirmed, and managed to coil himself around the other leg.
"Hercules?"
He looked around until he saw Peyra, sitting up and frowning.
"Are you all right?" she asked, puzzled.
He looked down while Sid tried to bite through his boots. "Sure."
"I thought I heard Agatra. Where is...?"
Hercules had completely forgotten about the remaining bandit. As best he could, with Sid snarling and gnawing on his boot, he turned, grinned, and pointed. "There."
Agatra had somehow wrenched the club from Sid's last man, and now hovered above him, doing her best to beat him senseless. The problem seemed to be one of coordination and skill—she was not used to using both wings and arms simultaneously, and her swings were vicious but wildly off the mark, each one sending her into a spin that, at one point, had her flying upside down.
The bandit was too terrified to notice the advantage he'd been given; he raced from one tree to another, arms wrapped over his head, moaning entreaties to the gods for protection.
"Will you hold still?" she yelled.
Timothy Boggs - Hercules Legendary Joureneys 03 Page 7
