Timothy Boggs - Hercules Legendary Joureneys 03 (20 page)

There were, Hercules reckoned, a number of ways he could handle this situation.

He could run, but Dragar had stationed himself at the south tunnel, the Eye firmly in hand; and at the other end, Aulma and Salmoneus still cowered near the tunnel's mouth, too terrified to move. Besides, that would only postpone the problem, not solve it.

He could sprint around the arena's circumference in the hope that the creature would follow, get dizzy, and be too weak to resist very much when Hercules broke its fat ugly neck. That, however, depended
on
the assumption that Hercules was faster than the beast. And based upon the speed with which it charged, that wasn't very likely.

Giving up was out of the question.

Fighting being the only viable option left, Hercules charged the Beast himself and, at the last second, vaulted cleanly over its head, just as the immense teeth snapped at where his midsection had been.

Hercules landed lightly and whirled, arms spread; the Beast skidded to a halt and thumped easily against the wall, its spiked tail gouging furrows out of the stone.

Without looking, Hercules called, "A club, a sword!" to those still in the tunnel.

They didn't move.

"Anything!"

They still didn't move.

The Beast prowled, its head swaying side to side as it gauged the distance to Hercules' throat, its fur still rippling as if it were a living thing unto itself.

No one in the audience made a sound, or moved a muscle.

When the Beast charged again, Hercules did as well, and again he leapt over the great head and gnashing teeth.

A third time worked just as well; the fourth time, he almost tripped; the fifth time, he realized he was getting winded, and only luck prevented the Beast from snapping off his foot.

On the sixth try he noticed almost too late that the creature kept its forequarters high, the better to spring up and around, the better to try to use its forepaws to disembowel him as he passed over. Instead, Hercules darted to its right and threw himself onto its back, wrapping his arms around its neck and his legs around its chest.

The lion-beast bellowed, snapping its head frantically from side to side in a futile effort to take a piece of Hercules with each bite.

It bucked, it ran, it bucked, it stopped short and ran again—nothing worked.

But Hercules wasn't able to slow it down either. The neck was too thick and muscled for easy stran-gulation, and it didn't take a genius to understand that he was trapped. Letting go would throw him to the ground, and the thing would be on him before he could recover; yet staying on wouldn't last much longer, because his arms were already strained to the limit, and they would soon lose their strength. Unless his legs did first.

The Beast solved the problem for him—after spinning in a clumsy circle as fast as it could, it lost its balance and toppled onto its side. Hercules grunted as he hit the ground, and grunted again when he lashed out with his boots, catching the Beast square in its exposed belly as he rolled away.

His arms were scraped; one cheek felt as if it had been ground with a fistful of gravel. He pushed himself up, and fell immediately to one knee when his right leg gave way.

The Beast, confused for a moment when it realized its rider was gone, lifted its muzzle to the sky and roared.

Dragar laughed.

Sweat spilled into Hercules' eyes, and he wiped it away impatiently with the backs of his hands. It wasn't until he looked at his palms that he realized it wasn't sweat at all; it was blood-It had caught him; sometime during that awful dance, it had caught him with a claw.

To make matters worse, he was more winded than ever, and as he watched the Beast stalk him, tail high and eyes gleaming, he thought he heard someone call him from behind.

He shook his head—
Don't bother me, I'm trying not to die out here.

The Beast charged, and stopped abruptly less than twenty feet away. It cocked its head and stared at him with one eye.

"Hercules!"

It was Aulma, and he shook his head again, sharply.

"Don't hurt him!"

That was enough to make him look over his shoulder and ask her with a single glance if she was out of her bloody mind.

She was still with Salmoneus, still crouched against the wall. One finger pointed. "Virgil," was all she could say.

Frowning, Hercules looked at the Beast, and knew with a sinking heart what she meant—if he killed this creature, he would be killing Virgil as well.

But if he let the thing live, it would kill him, and Virgil would still die, along with everyone else.

He could hear Aulma weeping; he could sense the people of Phyphe trying not to scream; he could see Dragar strutting at the mouth of the other tunnel.

With a hand on his knee he pushed himself up, shook the hair from his eyes, and swallowed the bile that had risen in his throat.

The Beast's haunches began to quiver; its tail sliced through the air; its nostrils flared as it caught the scent of its prey's blood.

Hercules lifted his hands and beckoned:
Come on, come on, let's get this over with.

Like all good creatures that had decided on their next meal, it obliged. With a ground-shaking roar.

Hercules didn't run. He spread his legs slightly, and waited, watching, measuring, not bothering to tell himself that he had one shot, and one shot only. It was, under the circumstances, considerably more than self-evident.

At ten feet away the Beast leapt, claws out to slash, mouth open to rend and tear. But its angle was such that Hercules couldn't do something clever like duck, or leap over it, or fall down and let it sail helplessly overhead.

Hercules didn't duck, didn't fall down, didn't leap—he turned sharply and stepped back, taking the Beast's shoulder against his chest while, at the same time, bringing his right fist down on its skull. The resultant collision knocked him a good six feet through the air, and when he landed on his back his lungs forgot to work.

He wheezed, he gasped, he forced himself onto his side, and then to his hands and knees.

The Beast still stood, but it swayed, unable to get all four legs in order.

Light-headed and dizzy, Hercules staggered toward it, ignoring Dragar's scream of rage, ignoring Aulma's scream for mercy.

He stood over the Beast and said, "I'm sorry, Virgil," and brought his fist down again.

The crunch was loud enough to be heard in the top row.

The Beast closed its eyes and, after a long second, collapsed with a sigh.

Despite Aulma's scream of despair, Hercules turned and marched toward Dragar. "Now it's you," he said, his voice low and steady.

Dragar grinned and pointed the ram at Hercules' heart. "You've forgotten something, haven't you?"

Aulma screamed again, hoarsely, harshly.

The audience stirred as well—soft cries and whimpers and not a few muffled screams of its own.

Hercules didn't stop.

Dragar backed up, disbelieving. "You're insane, Hercules. I can kill you with a single blow."

Hercules didn't answer.

Another scream, hoarse and harsh, as Dragar lifted the staff over his head with both hands, muttered a word, and opened the Eye.

"Insane!" he yelled.

Hercules neither swerved nor flinched as he watched the silver head swing in a wide circle before it paused, trembling; he kept his gaze on Dragar's face, puffed and red with rage and madness.

"Not another step," Dragar warned, voice quivering.

"Your turn," Hercules told him.

Dragar's eyes widened, his mouth opened, and he bellowed as he brought the Eye down toward Hercules' head.

And bellowed again when something huge and dark swept out of the sky and snatched it from its hands.

"No!" he screamed, reaching toward it desperately.

Hercules hesitated, momentarily confused, until Agatra dropped the staff into his hands and flew away.

Dragar gaped, hands up in a quaking plea for mercy, clasping in prayer as he dropped to his knees.

Hercules stood over him, no expression on his face.

The arena quieted.

Hercules turned the staff over in his hands, admiring the spiral wood, the workmanship of the skull, the tingling he felt as its power ebbed and surged.

"Anything," Dragar begged, nearly weeping. "I'll give you anything you want."

Hercules nodded at the ram. "It's all in here."

"Yes. Yes, I swear it. You ..." He stretched out a hand. "You give it back, and I'll grant you anything you want."

"I see."

Dragar's smile was obsequious and sickening. "Anything, Hercules. Anything at all."

All in here, Hercules thought; it's all in here.

He reached down with his free hand and grabbed Dragar's robe, yanked him to his feet, and dragged him to the arena's center. Then he switched his grip to the back of the man's neck, squeezing just hard enough to let the sorcerer know how easily it could be snapped.

He pointed at the fallen Beast. "Say the word, Dragar."

Dragar sputtered and squirmed, but lay a palsied hand on the spiral staff and whispered something Hercules didn't understand.

The white threads gathered over the Beast again, fell apart, and Virgil lay unmoving on the cobblestones as Aulma dropped to his side and cradled his head in her lap.

"The wall," Hercules said.

Another word, and the white wall vanished, letting in the wind.

"We work well together," Dragar dared to say. Then he lowered his voice: "Anything at all, remember? Anything—you just name it."

Hercules squeezed, and Dragar whimpered, hunching his shoulders and clutching at his stomach with a free hand.

Agatra settled on the ground, away from the others. She said nothing; she didn't have to.

"Peyra?" Hercules called.

A faint voice answered, "Over here."

He turned, dragging the sorcerer with him, until he spotted the young woman, pushing her way through the crowd down to the front row. He gestured, and two large men lifted her under the arms, swung her over the wall, and lowered her gently to the ground.

Hercules nodded, and she reached into her pouch.

"The word," he ordered Dragar.

It was said, and Peyra couldn't move when she saw her husband sitting at her feet, wan and thin and dazed, but plainly still alive.

Anything,
Dragar mouthed when Hercules finally looked at him again.

In disdain Hercules shoved him away, and showed him a fist when he made to lunge for the staff. Dragar dropped instantly to his knees again, hands clasped. "You and I, Hercules, you and I. You know it, you know it."

Hercules gripped the staff with both hands, held it up, and shook his head. "It's beautiful."

"It's the most beautiful thing on this earth."

"And it's all in here, all you learned, all in here."

Dragar nodded eagerly.

"And you burned the scroll that taught you."

Again Dragar nodded. "It's . . ." He stopped, and the horror that crossed his face made Hercules smile.

"No."

Hercules raised his arms, and Dragar's gaze fixed on the ram. "If you die, it would take someone a long time to learn its power, 1 suppose."

"You wouldn't." Dragar looked at the others one by one. "He wouldn't." He turned back. "You're Hercules. You don't kill people, I know that. I've heard the stories, I know that."

The silver ram's head rotated as Hercules turned the staff. "That's true. Most of the time." His expression hardened. "Most of the time I kill monsters."

Dragar watched the ram.

"Like you, Dragar. Like you."

Dragar threw up his hands and screamed as Hercules brought the Ram down, twisting it aside at the last moment to slam it on the ground.

•

•

•

There was no smoke, no fire, no rending of the air. The Eye of the Ram shattered as if made of common clay, and the pieces rolled and bounced across the ground. Before they vanished. One by one.

Dragar wept bitterly and begged for mercy.

Agatra made her way over and looked at him with contempt. "You didn't do it," she said to Hercules.

"I did what had to be done, nothing more."

She harrumphed. "Men. Can't trust them to do anything right."

Hercules couldn't bear to look at the sniveling Dragar anymore. "Oh ... do what you want. He's all yours, I can't abide him."

Dragar snapped his head up. "What? I'm what?"

Agatra unfolded her wings, rose slowly, and said, "I'll give you a head start." She shook her head sadly when Dragar tried to run before he'd even managed to stand. "Pathetic," she said. "It's almost too easy."

"Then don't do it," Hercules suggested. "He probably doesn't like to fly."

"Are you nuts?" she answered, and swooped after the sprinting magician, snared his shoulders with her talons, and lifted him shrieking over the wall and into the night.