The trail led across the curve of the mountain and down into a narrow gully - one that was decorated with carved images which loomed out of the darkness with menacing presence.
"Nice," Iolaus observed, staring up at the nearest statue; it was of a man - but one that stood pierced with javelins while stone ravens pecked at his eyes. Hercules merely shook his head and strode past, only coming to a halt when he reached the top of a flight of steps.
"This is it," he announced bleakly. Iolaus took one last look at the disturbing decorations and hurried to join his partner, finding him staring down the shallow staircase at the arch into which it descended. There was a breath of warmer air rising from wherever the steps led - it made the torch flicker fitfully and tainted the atmosphere with a faint but acrid scent. The warrior winced. That scent held familiar overtones - one’s he’d rather not have cause to remember.
"Sulphur," Hercules noted thoughtfully. "But not much. Whichever part of the underworld this is connected to, it’s a long way from Hades’ palace. And there’s something else ..." He paused to take a second breath and frowned at what it revealed. "History ..."
"History?" Iolaus echoed, leaning forward to take his own careful sniff. There was the unmistakable scent that hinted at the darker regions of the underworld - sulphur and charcoal and old blood mingled in equal quantities - and something else, something he’d not noticed during his brief stay in Hades’ kingdom. It was musty and held a hint of spice - not an unpleasant smell, but one that spoke of old rooms, locked and sealed for years, or of ancient tombs untouched by time - and stirred memories, although of what, he couldn’t say.
"The past is never lost," Hercules was saying, his expression unreadable in the flicker of the light. "Every moment is written in time ..."
Iolaus was ahead of him, finally comprehending some of what might have happened here - and why his friend’s voice held such a bitter note. "So that’s how come Hera’s been able to pull this little stunt. The earthquake must have opened up a crack right above the Abyss." He shook his head in irked realisation. "Even that deep down she’s found a way to be a menace. It figures."
The son of Zeus nodded slowly. "She can’t possibly be close enough reach the mortal world directly - not yet. But if there were someone, or something, willing to act as her focus ..."
"Periphas," Iolaus breathed. "Damnit. If he’s got a direct link to her -"
"No," Hercules cracked a small smile. "No. Not a direct link - just an open conduit. Close the gap, cut off the source of the power and - the sun comes up tomorrow after all."
"So what are we waiting for?" The warrior grinned and started down the steps; Hercules put out a hand and stopped him.
"You know," the son of Zeus said thoughtfully. "It might be an idea if you waited here ... "
What?
Iolaus gave his partner a suspicious look. "You suggesting I stay behind?" he queried, not quite believing what he heard. Hercules turned towards him, looking down at his friend with nothing but honest concern.
"Iolaus," he said. "Somewhere down there is a gateway that leads straight into the netherworld. One that overlooks the Abyss of time. The air is filled with malignant spirits - and there could be - anything - lurking in this darkness. I wouldn’t want - I don't want - "
"Herc," Iolaus interrupted firmly, "I just had this argument. Hell - I had to kick Orion’s butt so’s I could catch up with you. He wanted me to wimp out altogether. If you think for one moment that I’m gonna let you walk into that mountain without me to watch your back, then you don’t know me as well as you think you do. I know what’s down there. Look - " He wrestled for reasonable argument, seeing the anxiety that had settled in his friend’s eyes. Hercules was scared. For him. And understanding that only made the warrior more determined in his resolution. The son of Zeus was not invulnerable - and sometimes his concern for others blinded him to that fact. Someone had to watch his back, and Iolaus knew that he’d been elected to perform that task as long as he was able. Some day - and he didn’t know which day - it was probably going to get him killed. But he wasn’t afraid of that - only of failing the man he called his friend and having to live with the fact afterwards.
"There are some things I know I can’t do - and if you have to walk into Tartarus to close up that gap well - then I’ll just have to wait in this world for you until you’re done. But I’m gonna stick to your heels until I can’t follow you any further - and if you want to stop me you’re gonna have to punch my lights out. Which, " he pointed out hurriedly as Hercules actually considered this option, "would leave me here, unconscious, unprotected, and easy prey to whatever decided to wander by in the meantime ..."
He’d got him. His partner might be prepared to hurt him if it meant keeping him safe - but he’d never willingly leave him in danger, and definitely not without the means to defend himself. Besides - Iolaus saw the reluctant grin that curled onto his friend’s face and allowed himself to echo it - in the end, a man needed his best friend at his back, and Hercules was no exception to that rule.
What had Artemis said? My hounds run where they wish? Something like that. This one knew exactly where he had to be.
My choice, Herc.
Live with it, okay?
The steps had been hewn into the depths of the mountain at a shallow angle, creating a passage wide enough for three men to walk abreast and tall enough for Hercules to walk with the torch held high overhead. He led the way with caution, all his senses on alert and his heart pounding inside his chest.. The weight of the rock above them was nothing compared to the weight of malignity into which they now descended. It beat at his spirit, pressing down on his soul; they were walking through a torrent of power, moving against its current, and he forced himself forward with determined effort, feeling it surge and flow all around him.
"Stay close," he advised, hoping that he could shield his friend from the worst of the effect. He heard his partner snort softly.
"Any closer and I’ll be riding piggyback," came the retort, then the man added, after a beat: "No offense intended."
It wasn’t much of a jest, but it helped. It really helped.
Trust Iolaus ...
He’d wanted the man to wait outside - he’d wanted to protect him. But he was decidedly glad that the warrior was still at his heels, watching his back; it felt good to have him there, to feel the certainty of his faith and friendship.
"None taken," Hercules allowed warmly.
Things scuttled away from the approach of the light as they descended further into the depths. There were side tunnels - not many, but enough to cause concern. They passed each one with wary steps, alert for attack and seeing nothing but darkness ooze from the carved archways.
Dark can’t hurt you, Orion had said.
But this one might ...
Hercules picked up his pace, suddenly aware that there was light ahead. A lurid, unhealthy light, but a light all the same. There were a few more steps, a stretch of level passage - and he was walking into a vast hall, one lifted on arching pillars and lined with the gleam of obsidian. The light came from a series of torches, held in sconces that circled each pillar - and from the glow of some malignant energy that flickered and pulsed in patterns on the far wall.
The patterns of peacock feathers, etched out around an imposing throne.
And between the throne and the marble floor there lay a gaping fissure, a yawning chasm ripped through the roots of the mountain.
"Paydirt," Hercules declared, stepping away from the direct line between throne and tunnel and feeling the pressure of surging energy lessen a little. He gestured to Iolaus to take the other side of the hall and the man circled round warily, eyeing his surroundings with suspicion. "This is too easy," the son of Zeus called across and his partner threw him a pained look.
"Tell me about it," he breathed caustically. "I don’t think anyone was supposed to get this far."
"Probably not," Hercules agreed, half under his breath. Something moved on the far side of the hall. A shadow shifted in the dim light. There was the sound of dry wood being rubbed against dry wood - or old leather ...
"What the - Iolaus!"
The warning was barely in time. The warrior turned at the shout - then threw himself forward as a huge claw reached out from behind a pillar and snapped shut only inches from his tumbling form. The claw was followed by the rest of the beast, an armored many legged giant that scuttled out across the marbled surface, its tail arching up and over, some ten feet into the air.
A scorpion.
Of Styx.
The great granddaddy of them all ...
Hercules powered forward, gritting his teeth as he ploughed through the current of power that streamed down the centre of the hall. The scorpion was snapping at its intended victim, driving him backwards, its claws barely deflected by desperate swipes of a defensive sword. Each backward step was taking Iolaus closer and closer to the lurking edge of the chasm, a situation he seemed only too aware of as he dodged and ducked but could not sidestep the assault. Another snap - and the armoured pincers closed on the sword blade, jerking it out of its wielder’s hand and sending it spiraling into the pit. The beleaguered warrior took one more step back - and stopped, glancing over his shoulder at the gaping ravine that awaited him.
"Hang on!" Hercules called, leaping forward to wrap his arms around the creature’s arching tail so that he could try to drag it backwards. It shook him off with an easy shrug, letting out a deep howl of protest. He fell back on his butt, momentarily relieved to see the monster begin to turn in his direction - then realised the inevitable result of his intervention.
"Iolaus!" he yelled, half warning, half note of despair. He sat and watched events play themselves out in slow motion, his breath caught back in his throat, his heart slammed to a horrified halt. The beast was swinging round, its legs scrabbling at the marble - and the weight of its barbed tail was bearing down on the trapped warrior, whipping out with lightning speed, aimed to strike, guaranteed to sweep him from his feet even if the deadly sting failed to meet its target.
Iolaus had nowhere to go. His head darted one way, then the other. There was death hurtling towards him - and a drop straight into Tartarus yawning at his heels. He threw one final glance in his friend’s direction, shrugged - then turned round, took one reckless step forward -
- and jumped, launching himself from the very edge of the gap, leaping out with a wild cry that echoed and re-echoed through the hall. The barbed tail of the monster swept out, over the edge, and whispered past his shoulders, his momentum carrying him forward just far enough for the blow to miss. For one long second it looked as if he were actually going to make it ...
And then he was scrabbling desperately on the far edge of the chasm, half hanging above the drop, his fingers slipping and sliding on the polished marble surfaces, his own weight pulling him backwards as his feet failed to find a purchase.
"No..." Hercules breathed, willing him to find a hold, to hang on. He scuttled back as the monster advanced in his direction, but he couldn’t tear his eyes from the effort filled struggle as his best friend slid closer and closer to his death ...
"Hold on, Iolaus," he called, forced to finally look away as the giant scorpion bore down for an attack. "Just hold on ..."
There are moments in a man’s life when everything clicks into sharp focus; when perception achieves a crystal clarity and the precise combination of circumstance and action mesh into a perfect comprehension of events. This was one such moment. The fingers of his right hand, which had been sliding, like the left, with distraught inevitability, closed over a jutting projection, right at the very edge of the broken stone. The left hand found no such luck; it lost its tentative grip on the smooth surface and he dropped a little further, pain jarring through the tensioned stretch of his arm, which was suddenly the only thing keeping him from eternity.
The stink of Tarterus was stronger here and he risked a glance down, wishing he hadn’t. There was nothing below him. Nothing at all. Just a yawning emptiness from which the faint screams of what might be tortured souls drifted upwards like siren song.
This is it, Iolaus thought, oddly calm about the realisation. He’d taken a calculated risk - and lost - but that still had to better than just standing there waiting for death to claim him ...
His grip on the rock edge was a scream of agony centred in the taut muscles of his forearm; his fingers were clenched so tight they were locked against the marble as if they’d become part of it. His whole weight depended on that contact. No matter how hard he scrabbled there was nothing else on which he could gain a grip, nothing to anchor him or with which to drag himself out of the situation. He was dangling over oblivion, the final moments of his life purely to be determined by how long he was able to hold on.
Or perhaps by the moment when Hercules managed to tip the monstrous scorpion over the edge and back into the hell from which it had sprung ...
He resigned himself to his fate and focused on that issue instead. He could hear the sounds of combat as it struggled back and forth inside the echoing tomb; the low snarling growls of the creature and the grunted gasps of the man. The screech of claws on marble surfaces and the impact of fists on armoured hide.
"Iolaus!" Hercules’ voice called his name, an anxious request over the sounds of conflict.
"I’m okay!"
A lie. He wasn’t okay and he wasn’t going to be. But he knew his partner was in no position to rescue him and, dangling feet first over Hera’s place of exile as he was, there’d be no point in his calling on other powers.
Sorry, Missy, he breathed, a regretful message to the one goddess who might be listening, even if she couldn’t help him.
He risked another glance downwards, wondering exactly what it was that awaited him below. If he fell - when he fell, his mind insisted on pointing out - would he tumble into the darker part of Hades’ kingdom, close to the precipice of eternity? Or would he find himself falling forever, into the Abyss of time itself?
The thought of Tartarus - the place where the Titans were bound, where doomed souls wandered in endless torment - sent a shudder down his spine. He’d spent a short time as Hades’ guest, but it had only been in an ante-chamber of the underworld, a place to await judgment, not somewhere that it was meted out ...
Would Hades judge me if I fell into his realm?
Somehow he doubted it.
Missy cannot reach beneath cloak, Orion had said. Cannot come here. Here queen of heaven rules. You die today, she claim you. She who hates Huntress. Hates Hercules. Would enslave you forever …
He’d thought it a threat, mere words meant to frighten him. But - hanging there, with the scent of the netherworld in his nostrils and the heat of Hera’s power licking at his heels - he realised that the Hunter’s warning had been deadly serious. Hera would be waiting for him, her desire for revenge against Hercules too strong to let his best friend’s mortal soul slip through her fingers - particularly when that mortal soul had been marked - claimed - by Artemis, whom the Queen of heaven hated with almost equal malice.
I suppose I could always jump.
Suicides always ended up in Tartarus. He might stand a chance of escaping Hera’s clutches that way - but it wasn’t really that much of a choice. Even if she let him take it ...
Uhuh, Iolaus. Bad idea.
The usual punishment for a suicide was to suffer their choice of death over and over again - which meant he really might end up falling forever, voicing an endless scream as he hurtled towards infinity.
"Hang on, Iolaus. I’m coming ..." Hercules’ voice was drowned by another screech from the scorpion. The dangling warrior winced.
"Just watch out for that sting!" he yelled, not wanting his friend to endanger himself for his sake. The ground shook as hero and monster fought for dominance. Iolaus’s grip slipped the barest distance and his heart skipped an unwitting beat. He closed his eyes and forced himself to stay calm; if he was going to die, then he ought to do it with dignity.
Come on, Iolaus. Remember who you are.
The son of Skouros. Grandson to Leandra. Partner - no, brother to Hercules.
Argonaut.
Hero.
The seventh hound of Artemis.
Well - for the past two weeks, anyway ...
The ground shook again. He slipped a little further. The son of Zeus was battling for his life up there - and every victory he gained was sending his friend a little closer to his doom.
Don’t blame yourself, Herc, he requested silently. I chose to follow you down here ...
Another impact.
Another.
He winced at each tremor, his fingers clenched with terrified desperation. He didn’t want to die. And certainly not like this, a helpless sacrifice to Hera’s malice, destined to become her slave.
This isn’t fair!
He’d earned a place in the Elysian fields, hadn’t he?
He’d fought at Hercules’ side, defended the weak and the innocent and done his best to live as man should - despite his early stumbles, the mis-steps of his youth. He hoped - he’d hoped - to see Anya that one more time. To greet his father in the golden meadows. To sit with Alcemene - and with Deienara and her children, weaving them true tales of the labours of Hercules.
And perhaps - just perhaps - to hunt in the wildest of forests beside the goddess who had given him back his heart ...
The monster screamed.
The ground shook with the force of titanic struggle.
And his fingers finally lost their tentative grip.
He threw his head back to voice an angry yell of defiance - only to have all the breath in his body jerked out of him as his descent came to an abrupt and unexpected halt. There was a hand encircling his wrist. A strong, massive hand with fingers like bands of iron and a skin as dark as ebony.
Above it loomed an equally dark face, lit by a broad, white toothed grin.
"Told you," a deep voice announced. "Today not good day to die."
Orion? He had no breath to give voice to his question, but his astonishment would have been written all over his face. The grin widened. The Hunter stood up - and lifted his dangling captive up out of the ravine in one easy fluid motion. Iolaus found himself standing on solid ground, the broad shoulders of the giant looming over him.
"Long way down," Orion noted thoughtfully, glancing over the edge.
Iolaus nodded, bemusedly. "Yeah," he agreed, reaching to rub at his strained shoulder and staring at his rescuer with dumbfounded reaction.
The ground shook.
There was a savage roar of protest - and then the two of them were scrambling up onto the raised dais as the flailing body of the monstrous scorpion slid in their direction, its legs scrabbling at the edge of the chasm, its tail lashing out across the gap. Iolaus dived for the ground, feeling the wash of air as the barbed stinger slewed over his head for a second time - and then Hercules kicked home his attack and the thing was gone, a tumbling, angry shape descending into the depths of the pit.
"Good," Orion growled with satisfaction. "Very good."
Iolaus crawled forward to catch one last glimpse of the creature, seeing it writhe and twist as it fell.
"Hope it knocks Hera back on her butt," he muttered, still unable to believe that wasn’t him tumbling into the darkness. He lifted his head to find a pair of distraught blue eyes, staring at him over the gap. It was clear - from the look that had been settling on those strong features - that Hercules had been convinced he was, and the expression of sheer, delighted relief that blossomed across the man’s face was a joy to see.
He didn’t have to bother looking for words - everything that the son of Zeus needed to express at that moment was written in that jubilant grin. Iolaus began to answer it with one of his own - only to have it degenerate into a fit of the giggles as comprehension caught up with events. He rolled over onto his back and wrestled for breath, gasping and laughing with almost hysterical reaction.
I’m alive.
Gods. I’m alive ...
Which - for a man who’d just resigned himself to becoming the plaything of a very vengeful goddess - was more than a relief. It was a revelation.
"Crazy," he heard Orion conclude and he glanced in the Hunter’s direction, finding the giant shaking his head in quiet disbelief - although he wore a wry smile rather than the disapproving frown that Iolaus had been expecting.
"Stay there," Hercules advised from the other side of the chasm, his voice equally amused. "I’m going to take a look around."
"‘Kay," the warrior called over, tipping his head back to the stone and taking a minute to recover his equilibrium. Hysterics aside, it felt pretty good to be lying there, aware of every bruise he’d acquired that day - along with the pained protest of his arm and shoulder and the fact that the surface of the marble dais was ice cold ...
He shivered, reaching to ease a few more of the kinks out of his shoulder and rub the circulation back into his arm. Orion was watching him: just standing there, watching, his amber and ivory trappings reflecting red gold in the eerie light. For the first time since they’d met, Iolaus actually saw the Hunter rather than just his shape and shadow. He cut an impressive figure even in that macabre glow; he was built to match his height, supple lines backed by hard muscle - and his skin gleamed as if he’d been dipped in liquid pitch.
Or a starlit sky ...
"Thanks," Iolaus breathed, putting unqualified gratitude into the word, knowing - although he didn’t know why - that he owed his soul to this paradoxical demi-god, who - over the past few hours - had despised him, threatened him, and finally insulted him.
Orion shrugged. "Least I do," he dismissed, reaching down to offer the recumbent warrior his hand. Iolaus took it warily and found himself lifted back to his feet with the same easy assistance that he was used to getting from Hercules. A slow smile parted dark lips, flashing white teeth with feral pleasure. "Little Hero."
The words raised the warrior’s hackles with instinctive reaction; would-be bullies had been throwing that phrase at him for most of his life. Mockingly. Intending it to hurt. Accusing him of reaching beyond his capabilities, confusing his lack of inches with a lack of inner mettle. Right now it felt like a slap across the face.
"Now look here," he reacted, stepping close enough to jab the Hunter in the chest and scowl menacingly at him. "I may be little - but I gave you a run for your money today and you know it. What is your problem, anyway? If you don’t think I’m worthy of Missy’s mark then say so. It was her idea. Not mine. I didn’t ask for this. Gods," he swore, wrestling with a sudden sense of injustice, "I’m only mortal. You’re a true Hound of Artemis ..."
He turned away as he said it, realising - with a sinking heart - that that was it exactly. He was only mortal. And while he might aspire to a lot of things, he knew perfectly well that a place on Olympus was always going to be beyond his reach.
"I am Hunter." Orion’s hand was on his shoulder, turning him back, turning him to meet dark eyes that held an unexpected warmth. The Hunter lifted his other hand to touch - first his own chest, then that of his company with comradely affirmation. "You Hero. Missy named you well." He smiled - one of those fierce smiles that was both indulgent and dangerous all at once. "She know. Now I do too."
"Know what?" Iolaus asked warily, staring at the giant with disconcerted eyes. This wasn’t the reaction he’d been expecting ...
The smile widened. "That you are Hound. In here." His finger jabbed at the warrior’s heart. "Fierce. Loyal. Brave ..." Orion chuckled softly. "Crazy."
Iolaus found himself smiling back, despite his misgivings. He did have a reputation for recklessness. And maybe he’d been reading the Hunter wrong ... Comprehension suddenly dawned: this man was the leader of Missy’s pack, and he’d had been treating him like a raw recruit, pushing him, needling him to find his limits. "You - you’ve been testing me," he realised, unsure whether to feel angry or complimented. "You bastard," he exclaimed. "I ought to kick your butt into the Abyss!"
The smile became a grin. Orion tipped back his head and laughed. Once. A short bark of sound filled with delighted pleasure. "You try," he growled. Their eyes met - dark ones written with feral challenge, blue ones flashing with indignant fire - and for one long moment they stood poised in mutual confrontation, each trying to gain the measure of the other, neither willing to back down or look away ...
Then the Hunter was nodding in quiet approval, the challenge in his eyes replaced with appreciation. He lifted up his right hand and spat in his palm, holding it out with expectation. Iolaus looked down at the hand, then back up at its owner. It was more than an offer of peace - or even apology. It was an acknowledgment of something more; of his membership in an elite company, a warriors’ brotherhood to which a goddess had elected him on a whim and for which its principal member had apparently now judged him worthy.
A honor that might be hard to live up to ...
But, hey - he deserved it, didn’t he?
He grinned, spat in his own palm, and seized the outstretched arm in a firm warrior’s grip. Orion’s fingers closed with equal firmness, sealing the covenant, affirming the bond between them. "Good," the giant grinned, giving a final manly squeeze to the captive forearm before he let it go. Iolaus suppressed a wince and grinned back, dropping his arm behind his back so that he could surreptitiously wiggle his fingers and make sure they all still worked.
"Not best place," the Hunter went on to say, turning to stare up at the pattern of peacock feathers that outlined the throne behind them both. "But - good time, yes?"
"Yeah," Iolaus agreed, taking his own thoughtful look at the decorations. "Especially since we could still both end up in her hands before the night is over."
Orion gave him a startled look. "You think?"
The warrior shrugged, stepping up to impertinently perch himself on the throne so that he could get a comfortable look at the rest of their surroundings. "Well - unless Herc can figure some way to seal up this hole - yeah, I do. Just because he - " and he indicated Hercules’ presence at the far end of the tomb with a jab of his finger, "- got rid of the watchdog doesn’t mean something worse isn’t going to crawl up here any minute. Not to mention the things that already have crawled out and are busy wandering around out there."
"Ah," the Hunter noted, nodding sagely. "You have point."
"And this - power, or whatever it is that Hera’s sending, is going somewhere. Someone persuaded those bones to get up and walk. We’re going to have to deal with them, too."
"We do that," Orion decided.
"You think?" Iolaus asked, deliberately throwing the man’s words back at him. Dark lips curled in a confident smile.
"Yeah. I do ..."
"How dare they!" The angry cry resonated around the ruined walls with disbelieving indignation. Periphas reached out a shaking hand and curled his stick like fingers around the broken jawbone that one of his warriors was holding out for his inspection. "Who do these people think they are? Heroes?"
His finges clenched with anger. The remains of the jawbone collapsed into fragments and dust. The skeletal figure that had brought it took a wary step backwards.
"They just got lucky, that’s all," the sorcerer sneered, brushing the bits of bone from his fingers. "But their luck’s about to run out, right?" He laughed, unpleasantly. "Let ‘em be heroes. I love heroes. For breakfast ..."
He laughed a second time, striding down off the dais and into the waiting ranks of his followers. "Listen up, guys," he announced imperiously. "We’re gonna pay a visit to the neighbours. Impose on their hospitality a little. Not that they’ve been very - hospitable - so far. You know what I want?" he asked, leering at his troops with evil pleasure. "I want Dinæ to greet me with music. My kinda music. The screams of the terrified. The howls of the disposed. The gibbering of the conquered.
"I want that town to know who I am. I’m gonna drink the soul of any man who dares to stand against me. Dinæ is gonna make me strong. They’ll learn who’s their master soon enough. And I’ll tell ya something else, too." His smile curved into wicked satisfaction. "I’m gonna teach whoever did this - " and he pointed at the shattered bones that now lay abandoned on the marble behind him, "- that the one thing they don’t do, is mess with my boys ..."
Deathly white arms raised swords skywards in silent triumph, saluting their master with eager response. The slack faced corpses that shuffled behind the gathered ranks added a slurred cheer.
And Periphas lifted his staff above his head with both hands - and laughed, and laughed, and laughed ...
The tomb had been built to last, the cavern hewn out of solid rock and the pillars left to provide support for the weight of the mountain above them. The quake seemed to have done very little damage to the place; only two of the pillars had toppled, and both of them were close to the crack which had opened up across the width of the floor. Hercules came back from his inspection and walked to where the chasm vanished into the rock, frowning at the way the crack continued up the wall. The stone had been forced apart at floor level, but the roof still seemed to be intact - which meant that the whole space had to be in tension, the ponderous bulk of the mountain peak pressing down on it from above.
A shadowy shape, scarcely a foot long, crawled out of the darkness and over the edge of the pit; he paused to kick it back where it had come from and it gave a startled shriek as it fell.
"We have to close this up," he muttered, striding along the edge of the chasm to check the other side of the tomb. The impact of channeled power hit him as he drew level with the throne and he gritted his teeth and pushed through it, feeling it surge around him with malevolent force.
Wait a minute …
He’d been trying to work out how to bring down the roof without becoming a permanent part of the solution. While there was a good possibility that pushing over a few of the pillars would destabilise the whole structure, there was an equally good chance that doing so would drop the ceiling on the head of the man doing the pushing. But what if the push came from something else?
He glanced over the width of the ravine - finding an inevitable smile as he registered where Iolaus was currently sitting - and measured the size and weight of the marble slab that supported the throne. If that were laid just so …
He nodded satisfaction with the idea, turning to judge the angle that was needed to inflict maximum damage.
This might work ...
And if it didn’t, then he’d just have to find a way to block off the tomb from the outside. A small avalanche would probably do it.
But could he move the marble dais all by himself?
He turned back to reassess the potential weight and remembered that - on this occasion - he wasn’t the only man in the room blessed with the strength of Olympus.
He’d been too busy to take much notice of Orion’s arrival; he had only a vague recollection of a dark four footed shape loping down one side of the tomb while he’d wrestled to keep shearing claws from closing on his waist. But the giant was there - standing next to the carved throne and looking for all the world like some exotic bodyguard protecting a dissolute king. Except, of course, the man who occupied the throne was neither a king, nor particularly dissolute.
Well - not much anyway …
It had been the Hunter who had rescued his fellow hound from a precipitate plunge into the pit, of course - an action for which Hercules was more than grateful. He’d thought, in the moment when the monstrous scorpion had made its own flailing descent, that he’d sealed his sword brother’s death warrant - and to look up and see him there, that familiar and dazzling grin lighting up his face, had been a moment of utter and wondrous relief. He’d been lifted from dark despair to jubilant certainty all in the space of a heartbeat - but then, that was one of the things Iolaus did; he was a bright light in a dark world and to lose him would be like losing the sun from the sky.
Speaking of which …
Hercules took another step back - then broke into a run, hurdling the yawning gap with a long athletic leap. Iolaus rolled his eyes at the ease of the jump and shook his head, letting out a deliberately wounded sigh. Hercules grinned, recognising the reaction as an affectionate acknowledgment of the skills and strengths that he couldn’t help but possess; Orion looked a little puzzled.
"Shows me up, every time," Iolaus noted, his complaint laced with mock forbearance. The Hunter’s puzzlement deepened for a moment - and then he smiled, understanding the joke.
"He son of Zeus," Orion pointed out. "You - "
Iolaus grinned. " - a hound of Artemis?" he completed cheekily. A dark hand lifted with sudden menace, snapping sideways as if to strike the man for his impudence. Hercules tensed in alarm, only to relax as the intended blow ended with the broad hand tousling a blond head with playful vigor; the warrior ducked to escape the attention, his hand batting at a muscled arm with little effect. "Hey. Hey. Stop that ... "
Hercules shook his head at the sight, amused - and pleased that, whatever might have been the cause of it, the tension between the two had clearly resolved itself. He’d suspected that the Hunter might have been testing his friend, measuring his entitlement to the honor he’d so recently received. He’d not been worried that his partner might prove unworthy of his sister’s gift, but a little anxious that the need to do so might drive him to reckless action. What had he said? I had to kick Orion’s butt so’s I could catch up with you.
Now that would have been something worth seeing ...
"When you two have quite finished," he said quietly, gaining immediate attention from both of them. "We have work to do."
"You got an idea, Herc?" Iolaus was on his feet and looking at him expectantly. Hercules nodded.
"I think so. Orion - if you and I put our backs to the wall do you think we could push this slab across the gap?"
Orion glanced down at the stone beneath his feet, then back, at the carved wall and the glimmer of energy that pulsed across it. "We try."
"Good. Iolaus - I want you to grab one of those torches and make sure there’s nothing lurking in the exit tunnel to slow us down on the way out. If this does what I think it will, Orion and I will need to get out fast."
Another man might have expressed indignation at being given a duty that so obviously got him out of the way of the main event - but Hercules had known Iolaus a long time. Long enough to know that he understood when to stand aside and let Olympian muscle take centre stage. This wasn’t a slur on his ability to contribute, just a rational distribution of tasks according to individual ability. Besides - given the possibility that anything might still be lurking out in the dark - it was also an expression of confidence in his skill and courage. Iolaus nodded, accepting the request without a moments hesitation.
"You lost sword," Orion pointed out. His hand dropped to his belt. "Take this."
He handed over a long bladed hunting knife, its hilt carved from ivory. Iolaus took it carefully, inspecting the blade before he slid it into his own belt for safe keeping. "Thanks," he said. He took a step forward to look down into the waiting depths, then glanced up at his partner, a twinkle in his eye. "Remember Halyzia?"
The son of Zeus smiled, knowing exactly what the man referred to; he stepped to the edge of the dais and turned his back to the throne, reaching back over his shoulders with both hands. Strong fingers curled around each wrist and he lifted, timing the action to the man’s jump so that - for a moment - he held his partner aloft in a perfectly balanced hand stand. "Ready?" he asked, looking up at brilliant blue eyes that were lit with their usual spirited fire.
"Ready," Iolaus grinned.
Hercules threw him away.
Literally. He bent his elbows the barest distance and pushed; the balanced acrobat went flying in a high arc, arching his back and twisting in mid air so that he could tuck into a controlled somersault. The arc took him over the gaping chasm and a good ten feet further. He tumbled twice in the air and landed like a cat, unfolding so that he hit the ground feet first. He turned to flash a triumphal grin at his partner, hoiked a torch from the nearest sconce and headed for the exit at a run.
Orion stared after him. "It’s - a pretty good way to get over walls," Hercules explained with a shrug. The Hunter gave him a thoughtful look.
"Mmm," he nodded after a moment. "Would be." He turned and walked to the far end of the dais, planting his feet firmly against the marble and his back against the carved stone. Hercules took up a similar position on the other side and, with a nod of agreement between them they began to push.
Hard.
With determined effort and every inch of their strength.
For a long moment nothing happened, until, almost imperceptibly, the dais began to move …
Iolaus stalked back up the entrance tunnel with wary steps, trying to keep his back to the rock wall as much as he could and jumping at his own shadow as the torch sent it flickering around him. His attention darted this way, then that; he turned and turned again, every nerve on edge and his skin crawling with anticipation. The side tunnels were no longer just dark archways leading nowhere; they were gaping mouths, waiting to swallow him whole …
Another flickering shadow caught his eye and he jerked in that direction, his heart reacting with a desperate lurch inside his chest. The movement shifted him away from the wall and into the centre of the tunnel; he just as quickly leapt back for the meager safety of the wall. The brooding sense of menace that had filled the tomb now swirled around him with malevolent force, buffeting at both body and spirit. He knew he’d felt it when they’d made their descent, but he realised now that Hercules’ broad shoulders - along with his inimitable aura - had probably been shielding him from the worst of it.
Come on, he chided himself, setting his shoulders with stubborn determination and easing himself closer to the tunnel entrance. It’s not that far …
A low rumble of sound - the sound of grinding stone - shivered through the chilled air, echoing and re-echoing around him and filling the arching tunnel with a sense of gut-churning terror. He reacted with a start of alarm, desperately pressing his shoulders back against the cold rock wall until his panicked senses placed the sound and comprehended where it came from. He forced himself to relax, taking a deep breath to calm his pounding heart, and risked a glance back down the tunnel.
"It’s okay," he gulped a little breathily. "Everything’s okay …" He resumed his wary progress, the torch held out in front of him and his free hand resting on the smooth hilt of Orion’s hunting knife. The surge of sound followed him, wrapping him in an insistent, painful moan. The sense of effort it conveyed helped steel his resolve. Somewhere behind him two men he was proud to think of as his brothers were desperately struggling to close a door that should never have been opened - and they were relying on him to make sure that nothing lurked to ambush them on the way out.
Nothing did.
Nothing in the tunnel, at any rate. It wasn’t long before he found himself creeping up the shallow steps, his head beginning to ring with the magnified echoes of protesting stone. The noise was bad enough to wake the dead - a thought that made him wince as he slid closer to the entrance. The arch that opened onto the outside world yawned above him, its shape purely defined by the way that the flicker of the torchlight struck at it; beyond it there was nothing but darkness, a world steeped in an unending night.
Iolaus hurried forward, glad to have reached his goal. The impact of menace had lessened a little, and he almost welcomed the sharper bite of the outside air as it enfolded him. The lurid light of the torch bounced and flared within the narrow gully, throwing multiple shadows across its rising cliffs.
"Now that wasn’t so bad," he concluded cockily, turning to look down into the gaping mouth of the tunnel with a relieved grin. He climbed the next three steps backwards, the step onto the fourth starting the twist that would complete his rotation - and collided with something that shouldn’t have been there.
Something - what’s more - that wouldn’t let him go afterwards …
"What the - ?"
His hip, shoulder and arm had met sticky resistance. The torch was equally caught, snatched up by the unexpected barrier. He turned his head, finding himself staring at a narrow strand that lay, glistening, only an inch of two from his face. One of many; they radiated out from a point centered somewhere above his head, forming a taut curtain anchored to the rock wall on either side of him. The network was barely visible, even in the gutter of the torch, but the shape and the nature of it was unmistakable.
His mouth went very dry.
"Oh-oh," he registered, holding himself very still while his eyes flicked around with anxious alarm The shadow of the web danced and trembled on the rock wall beside him; his own was a looming shape tangled in its delicate lace.
Except that the trap itself was far from delicate. The strands might be no thicker than fishing line but they were as strong as steel - and the glistening substance that coated them was stickier than tar. He let his fingers sip from the handle of the torch and tried to gently peel his arm away from the network of strands. It gave a little, then sucked him back, setting the whole construction quivering and lifting his heart into his mouth. He froze a second time, every muscle tense, and his breath locked tight inside his lungs.
He’d been in this kind of situation before. He knew he was in trouble.
Real trouble.
Because where there was a web -
- there had to be spiders to spin it.
Big spiders.
Arachne’s brood. Or worse.
Maybe even Arachne herself …
Now, don’t panic Iolaus. Whatever you do, don’t panic.
It was hard not to. Those moments he’d spent in the she-spider’s clutches had given him nightmares for days afterwards, recalling what it felt like to be bound, helpless to defend himself, unable to even move as a slow and obscene death crept towards him on long slender legs ...
He dragged in another determined breath and looked up, seeing the cold sorcerous light that flared from the torch flicker across the web, leaving it unharmed - and then glimpsed that same light reflected from a cluster of gleaming eyes as their owner scuttled overhead.
His heart skipped a beat.
Something clacked close by in the darkness, jerking his head in that direction; something else whispered across the rock to his right, snapping it back in alarm. He knew the sound, even above the dull rumble that still drifted from the tunnel mouth. The sound of velvet clad feet. Too many velvet clad feet. The shadows of outspread, angular limbs and a bulky, bloated body fluttered briefly in the pool of lurid light, only to be swallowed up by the gloom.
They were all around him.
He was well and truly caught. Pinned - tethered to their silken trap by his own stupid inattention.
All it would take was one bite.
One bite to freeze his blood and chill his limbs.
Leaving him helpless, silently screaming as they gathered to share their feast ...
"Gods," he swore, tugging Orion’s knife free from his belt and clenching his fingers around its carved hilt. A sudden anger surged up inside him, white hot, fierce enough to dispel the icy fear that had held him in thrall. He was a hero, wasn’t he? A Hound of Artemis. He might have been ready to roll over and die when there was nothing but the yawning depths of the Abyss waiting to claim him - but if these creatures were after blood then they’d have blood of their own to spill. Let them come. They’d find out the hard way that the fly they’d snared had a sting of his own ...
A low pitched sound of protest came from the stone as cold marble slid across the rock floor. Hercules grimaced with effort, his muscles bunched and his breath tight. On the other side of the dais Orion was pushing with equal exertion, attacking the task with little grunted gasps for air. Inch by pained inch they extended their legs, using the weight of the mountain behind them to force the stone forward. It moved reluctantly, grinding its way over the bare rock beneath and filling the chamber with rumbling echoes. By the time the two men were at full stretch, the huge slab of marble protruded a good two feet over the gaping chasm; Hercules dropped to the scoured ground and put his hands to the task, forcing the stone to move further and further across the gap. The vibration that juddered under his palms began to pick up another resonance - the power that had been streaming out of the abyss was now impacting against the marble and being forced around it before it could escape.
"This work," Orion called across, the muscles in his forearms knotted up into tight cords and sweat gathering along them like fat globules of rain. Hercules nodded, too breathless from effort to speak; he shook the sweat from his eyes and leaned into the task with renewed determination.
Just a little further …
Pain was pounding through his arms, twisting at his shoulders and back. His lungs were filled with dry fire and he was soaked in perspiration. He went on pushing, feeling the rumble of misplaced energy as it thrust against the underside of the slab.
Just a little further …
The rumble became a shudder. The dais suddenly became much easier to push, the weight of it lifted and supported by the impact of forces that rose from the depths. The two men exchanged a glance, forcing one more effort to move the marble forward, making sure that it lay squarely over either side of the ravine. It lay there, quivering - like the lid of some huge cooking pot that was barely holding down the simmering boil of whatever lay beneath.
Hercules paused to gulp in much needed air. Orion was busy doing the same.
"Come on," the son of Zeus gasped, recovering sufficiently to speak again. He leapt onto the shuddering slab and crossed it at a run, feeling it surge and lift beneath his feet. The Hunter was right behind him; they raced across the floor of the chamber, hearing the rattle and thump of displaced stone - and then the grinding squeal that marked the moment when the heavy obstacle was finally thrust away by the power it had sought to confine.
The marble dais flew up and over as if it were no more than a sheet of parchment tumbled in a gust of wind.
Power flared across the intervening space, striking at the running men and sweeping them forward, driving them into the tunnel as if they were dead leaves caught in the same breeze.
Stone hit stone.
Pillars shattered under the impact.
The roof groaned.
The mountain shook.
And everything fell down …
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