Sunrise

Author’s Note: This story is based very, very loosely on “Subway Jack” by Joe R. Lansdale. As always, I do not lay claim to characters owned by Universal or RenPics. Just having a little demonic Halloween fun. And what’s a Halloween story without a few grisly slayings? Nothing is graphically described, but those of you with overly sensitive stomachs may want to give this a miss. Comments always welcome.

Their journey had been, while not technically hurried, one of purpose. The scroll that had found them was of a neutral tone and devoid of details, presumably in case it happened to fall into hands other than those of the intended. But the two warriors had discerned a sense of urgency behind the vague message, and they both knew the author would not have sent for them unless the matter was important. So they kept to a determined pace and a schedule designed to maximize travel time, not rushing but not allowing any grass to grow under their boots. Only when they crested the hill outside of the city did they pause, each man simultaneously coming to a halt and enjoying the welcoming view.

Corinth was spread out below them. It was a crowded, bustling city, but from a distance it appeared calm and enticing, gleaming under the rays of the setting sun. Promising a thriving market teeming with exotic treasures, food and drink to tempt any craving, beautiful women and the likely surprise encounter with an old friend or two. But mostly, it signaled the end of their journey. The castle towered over the city like a sentry protecting the people who dwelled within its borders, the blue-green of the ocean just barely visible behind its walls. It was their final destination, and no matter what trouble had summoned them to the castle, they knew that warm fires, hot food, cold ale, and soft beds awaited them. Sharing a glance and a knowing grin, the demigod and the hunter began walking once more, down the hill toward the great city. Thebes had ceased to be home for Hercules ever since Alcmene had died, and while Corinth could not replace that feeling in his heart, there was something comforting about returning to the familiar castle, one which he’d been visiting ever since he was a boy and Jason had been the young king. It may not quite have been home, but he felt at home there. And he knew Iolaus felt the same way.

They passed through the market quickly, or as quickly as they were able to navigate the crowds and the tired vendor who were packing up their stalls after a hard day’s haggling. Hercules tried to follow his partner, but Iolaus being slighter and stealthier in nature was able to slip through the throngs will relative ease and the demigod was quickly left behind. He managed to catch up with his friend, who was waiting for him on the other end of the street, and together they walked the home stretch, jostling each other playfully as they trotted up the road that led to the castle gates. They had been expected and were ushered inside with haste and escorted immediately to the great hall. Iphicles had been seated, studying a collection of scrolls, but he sprang up and rushed forward as soon as his guests were announced.

“Hercules!” he greeted his brother with obvious relief as he drew him into a hug.

The demigod was surprised, having expected a much more restrained, formal hello. True, he and Iphicles had worked through their adversarial relationship and had been getting along much better over the past few years, but they were still somewhat distanced from each other. They certainly didn’t hug. But Hercules returned the gesture, noting with concern that his brother felt thin behind his robes. The king let go and turned to the hunter, taking his hand not in a traditional warrior shake, but in a warm clasp between his own.

“Iolaus. Welcome. It’s good to see you both. I was afraid you weren’t going to make it in time.”

“In time for what?” Hercules asked.

A shadow passed over Iphicles’ face and his features darkened, but then he forced himself to relax and shook his head.

“You’ve had a long journey,” he decided. “I can’t lay my problems at your feet until you’ve had a chance to rest and eat. Your usual rooms have been prepared and I’ll send word to have dinner ready for you within the hour.”

“But don’t you want...?”

“There’s still a little time left, Hercules,” Iphicles interrupted him. “Go and enjoy yourselves now, while you can. We’ll talk later this evening, in the privacy of my chambers, and I’ll tell you everything then.”

“If you’re sure,” the demigod said uncertainly. The king turned his back on them and returned to his scrolls, effectively dismissing them. Iolaus glanced as his partner and shrugged, so they both left the hall and headed up the stairs to the rooms that they normally used when they visited the castle.

“What do you think is going on?” the hunter asked his friend as he paused in the doorway of his room.

“I don’t know,” Hercules replied. “But whatever it is, Iphicles is worrying himself sick over it.”

“Yeah, he looks terrible,” Iolaus agreed. “You can literally feel the tension radiating off him.”

“Not just him. Everybody in this castle. The air is thick with fear.” The demigod met his friend’s steady gaze with somber blue eyes. “I’m getting a bad feeling about this, Iolaus.”

“Uh oh,” the hunter sighed. For when the son of Zeus got one of those semi-divine “bad feelings”, it always meant trouble with a capital T. “In that case, I think I will do as the king bids and enjoy myself. Since this dinner could be our last.”

Hercules grinned, his foreboding mood lifted slightly by his always irrepressible partner.

“I’ll meet you in the dining room in ten minutes.”

The two warriors spent a few minutes cleaning up and washing away the dust from the road before regrouping downstairs around the banquet table. But they were both a bit surprised to find that they were to be dining alone.

“His Highness hasn’t had much of an appetite since the trouble started,” an elderly maid confessed haltingly when the demigod inquired of Iphicles’ whereabouts. It was not proper for her to speak freely about her king’s private affairs, but it was Hercules after all. She had known him for years, had watched him grow up alongside King Jason. The nice boy who had become a legend, hero to all of Greece. Not to mention the fact that he was family, and it was somewhat a relief for her to share her concerns about the king with his brother.

“What exactly is this ‘trouble’?” Hercules wanted to know. “What’s been going on here?”

“That is for His Highness to tell you,” the maid replied softly, excusing herself as she finished filling their goblets with water. Legendary hero, brother to the king or not. There were still some boundaries that she wouldn’t cross.

“I don’t suppose that’s put your bad feelings to rest, has it?” Iolaus asked sarcastically.

“Surprisingly, no,” Hercules said dryly. “And my patience is waning with all this secrecy. So hurry up and finish so we can go talk to Iphicles and find out what in the name of Tartarus has everyone in this castle so on edge.”

As the demigod half heartedly picked at his food, Iolaus compliantly wolfed down the rest of his dinner, his own curiosity warring with his insatiable appetite. When they were both sated, a guard appeared to summon them to the king’s quarters, announcing that he was waiting for them. Both warriors were extremely familiar with the castle and definitely did not need to be shown the way, so they waved off their escort and proceeded up the staircase to the east wing of the building. The two sentries posted outside Iphicles’ chambers detained them, and one of the men went inside to announce them. He returned a moment later, bidding them to go on.

Iphicles met them by the door, leading them through his sitting room and ushering them into the farther reaches of his chambers, through his opulent bedroom into a small alcove. In contrast, the offshoot room was very plain, but cosy. The chairs arranged in front of the fireplace were nothing fancy, but they were sturdy and comfortable and a pot of mulled wine was heating over the fire. Hercules and Iolaus both had a seat and Iphicles distributed drinks to each of them. They sipped the hot, spiced beverage appreciatively, watching as the king paced in agitation before them, downing his own drink in three big gulps, unmindful of the scalding temperature.

“I’m the king,” he muttered hoarsely as he bent over the fire to refill his mug. “I have a duty to my kingdom and my people. I’m supposed to lead them. Protect them! But I don’t know what to do...”

“You did exactly what you should have done,” Hercules told his brother gently. “A wise king always knows when he needs help. And has no shame in asking for it.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Iphicles said hollowly, downing his second mug just as quickly as the first. “But I’ve got a council full of nobles constantly comparing me to the legendary Jason. They’re all on the edge of their seats, critiquing my every move and just waiting for me to fail. They’ve already been insinuating that I can’t handle the pressures of running a kingdom. Making snide remarks behind my back about how my demigod brother is the reason I’m in power and that I wouldn’t be able to lace my own gauntlets without the great Hercules behind me. And now with the first sign of trouble, I’m going to prove them right.”

“No offense, Iphicles,” Iolaus spoke up. “But your council is made up of morons. Believe me, they gave Jason the same hard time. He never listened to them, and neither should you. Your people are the ones who matter. And they aren’t going to care that you reached out to us. All they are going to remember is that their king stepped up to ensure their safety with whatever means he could.”

“He’s right,” Hercules agreed as he got to his feet and placed a restraining hand on his brother’s arm as he went for another round of wine. “And getting drunk is not going solve anything. Just sit down and tell us what’s going on. You know Iolaus and I will do what we can to help.”

Iphicles frowned briefly, as if getting ready to argue, but then he thought better of it.

“You’re both right,” he sighed, setting his mug down on the hearth and running his hands through his hair wearily. “I’m sorry. This thing has just got me all twisted around...”

“Then it’s high time to end it.”

The king nodded at his brother’s words and sank down into the vacant chair as the demigod resumed his seat.

“Someone is murdering people in my castle,” he blurted out.

“Maybe you should start at the beginning,” Hercules told him, exchanging a glance with his partner.

“It started three months ago,” Iphicles explained, restlessly getting to his feet and pacing before them once more. “One of the cooks was found dead in the kitchen. Not just killed. She was...” He trailed off, closing his eyes and wiping a hand over his mouth. “She was ripped apart,” he finished in a whisper. “The next morning a stable boy was found, killed in the same way. And the night after that it was a seamstress. And then one of my accountants. But then the slayings stopped, or so I thought. A month later it started happening again. Four more deaths over four days. Then another month went by and four more of my servants were killed. It’s a guess on my part, but the slaughters seem to cycle around the full moon. If that’s coincidence or if it has some meaning, I cannot say.”

“You don’t have any idea who might be doing this?” Iolaus asked.

“None.” Iphicles shook his head vehemently. “I’ve been all over this castle from top to bottom. Questioned everyone that lives or works here many times over. Doubled the guard infantry. All to no avail.”

“But surely someone must have heard or seen something suspicious,” Hercules argued.

“No, nothing.” The king’s voice rose as his agitation grew. “There’s never any witnesses. And I’ve sent scouts out into the city. There haven’t been any deaths like these outside my walls. The killer is here, Hercules. Right here under my very nose, taunting me! Everyone in this castle is terrified, and I can’t put them at ease.” He stopped pacing and turned to face his brother, suddenly looking older and tired. “And I realized that I can’t fight this enemy alone, because I don’t think it’s human.”

“Why do you say that?” Iolaus wanted to know.

“The brutality of these killings...” Iphicles shook his head sadly. “If it was a mortal, it would take time to do what he does to these people. And there would be evidence somewhere. Someone would have stumbled onto him, or would have seen something incriminating. I think this slaughter is being done by something with the power to pop in and out without a trace. Like the gods.”

“I wouldn’t put anything past the gods,” Hercules said with obvious distaste. “But this seems a little subtle for them. What would they have to gain?”

“Driving me mad?” The king laughed humorlessly. “Giving the council fodder for their suspicions? Bringing war to Corinth? Because it’s only a matter of time before my enemies get word that I can’t even prevent a murderer from wrecking havoc in my own home. What better time to attack than when the kingdom is weak and powerless?”

“Corinth is not weak or powerless,” the demigod reassured his brother. “And if the gods are behind this, we’ll get to the bottom of it.” He rose, clapping a comforting hand on Iphicles’ shoulder. “You aren’t alone in this anymore,” he said quietly. “Iolaus and I are going to help you figure this out, and put a stop to it. I promise.”

Iphicles reached up and placed a hand over the one on his shoulder, nodding gratefully at the demigod. Their relationship over the years had been tenuous, at best. But deep down he had always known that he could count on Hercules to be there for him when he really needed him. And the king of Corinth suddenly realized that no matter what nonsense the council wanted to spew, he wasn’t running to the famed hero of Greece and his battle partner to be bailed out. Instead, he was turning to his brother and his friend for support, and there was no shame to be had in that.

“Nice night.”

“Yeah,” Iolaus murmured, turning away from the window to face his friend. “Almost a full moon. Which means that if Iphicles is right about the lunar cycle being tied to the killings, there should be another attack tomorrow night.”

“I’d like to try and prevent that from happening,” Hercules announced.

“You and me both,” the hunter agreed. “There’s been too much death here already.” He was quiet for a moment, tapping his fingers on the window sill as he looked back out at the glowing moon. “Do you think he’s right? Do you think one of the gods could be doing this?”

“I’m not sure,” the demigod mused. “It’s possible.”

“But you don’t think so?”

“It just doesn’t feel like the work of the gods.”

“Well, it’s your family so you would know.”

“Please,” Hercules begged his friend with a pained look. “Do NOT lump me in with that freak show!”

“I just meant you get some kind of god vibe or something when they’re involved,” Iolaus placated him with a grin. “Want to check the castle one more time before we call it a night?”

“I’ll take the east side this time.”

“Herc...”

The demigod had started down the hall but turned back to meet his friend’s gaze.

“All joking aside, I’ve got a bad feeling about this, too,” Iolaus confessed quietly.

“Hunter’s instinct?”

“Something like that.”

“Yeah,” Hercules sighed, knowing that when his friend had a bad feeling, it usually meant big time trouble. And when they both had that same bad feeling at the same time... “Be careful.”

“You, too.”

The heroes parted ways, each one taking a side of the large castle, patrolling the dark halls and checking for any signs of trouble. It was late and the building was peaceful so they found nothing amiss. Most of the staff were sleeping better than they had in weeks, comforted by the fact that Hercules was there. But there was one who was seemingly not reassured by the demigod’s presence.

“Iphicles?” Iolaus started in surprise as he ran into the king, not expecting him to be prowling around in the dark. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s that damn moon. I couldn’t sleep.”

“You should try,” the hunter suggested gently, taking in his haggard appearance. “You’re no good to yourself or anyone else if you make yourself sick over this.”

“It’s just infuriating,” the king told him helplessly. “Not being able to stop this. People are dying in my own castle and I’m powerless to help them! Do you know what that’s like?”

“I have an idea,” Iolaus said, having felt powerless to help on more than one occasion. “But Hercules promised you that we’ll help you figure this out, and that’s just what we’re going to do. Come on, let’s sit here for a minute.”

He steered the king to a bench positioned alongside the wall that was illuminated in a shaft of moonlight, allowing him a good look at the stressed man. Freed from the fancy embroidery and the heavy fabrics of his royal attire and dressed in a pair of leather trousers and a simple linen shirt, Iphicles’ weight loss was prominent to the point where he looked wasted.

“You haven’t been sleeping or eating,” Iolaus chided him gently.

“My servants tell you that?”

“They didn’t have to,” the hunter told him. “You look like Tartarus, Iphicles.”

“You should stop worrying about me and just concentrating on finding whoever or whatever is murdering my people!”

The king started to rise, but Iolaus held him back.

“I’ll do both,” he stated firmly. “I’m not trying to give you a hard time, Iph. I’m being your friend here.”

“I know,” Iphicles whispered, glancing over at the man beside him. “You’ve always been a good friend to me, Iolaus. Probably better than I deserved.” He sighed, running a hand absently up his arm and pushing his sleeve back to gently rub his fingers over a bandaged wound.

“What happened there?”

“Oh, I nicked myself with my sword,” the king told him, a bit embarrassed. “It was stupid. It’s old, but the blade is deceptively sharp.” He unhooked the weapon hanging from his belt and passed it over to the hunter for inspection.

“This is incredible,” Iolaus murmured, admiring the elaborate hilt that had been forged into a complex geometric design. It was beyond his smithing skills, which was saying a lot for he’d always had a special talent for design. He removed the sword from its sheath, getting a feel for its balance as he heeded his friend’s words and treated the gleaming blade with caution. The sword was of an ancient style, but it was still in perfect condition and felt almost alive in his hands. “You know, I do have a birthday coming up...”

“Find the killer that’s terrorizing my castle and I’ll think about it,” Iphicles retorted wryly.

Iolaus grinned, glad to see him lighten up slightly, if only for a moment. He carefully resheathed the blade and handed it back to the king.

“Tell you what. Just get yourself something to eat and get a little rest and we’ll call it even, ok?”

Iphicles nodded and rose, slinging his sword over his shoulder.

“You are a good friend, Iolaus,” he emphasized. “And maybe I haven’t always given you reason to, but I hope you consider me a friend as well.”

“I do,” the hunter assured him. “Which is exactly why I brought up my birthday. I am expecting lavish gifts.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Iphicles promised him with a slight grin, suddenly feeling like things weren’t quite so dire. Iolaus just had that effect on people, and the king realized that was one of the reasons that Hercules kept the hunter close by his side, to be a light in the darkness that surrounded him.

The two road savvy warriors spent the day enjoying all that the castle had to offer, since such luxuries were rare in the course of their lives of constant travel. But they did not forget their place or their cause, and in the midst of apparent relaxation and contentment and indulgence, neither man failed to keep his eyes or his ears open. And as Apollo’s sun began to set and shadows began creeping into the land, a change came over the demigod and the hunter. It was not visible to those around them, for they seemed as unconcerned and carefree as ever as they teased and joked with each other over a hearty dinner. But both warriors put themselves on high alert - their muscles tense and ready to spring into action and their instincts and senses on overdrive. For they were of mutual agreement: nothing was going to happen behind the castle walls that night without their knowledge.

The evening wore on into night and the castle quieted as men and beasts alike finished with their day’s toils and yielded to Morpheus’ embrace. It took some convincing, but Hercules finally managed to persuade his exhausted brother to retire to his chambers for some much needed rest, promising that everything was under control. And as late night gave way to early morning, he and Iolaus patrolled the hallways, ready for trouble but finding none. When the rosy fingers of dawn began to chase away the gloom, they met up in the great hall, frustrated and discouraged.

“You ready to call it a night?”

“You sound disappointed,” Hercules told his friend.

“I just hate this waiting,” Iolaus said restlessly. “If something’s going to happen, let it happen already. I mean, what is this killer waiting for?”

A shrill scream of horror suddenly reverberated through the stone halls, and the demigod shot his friend a reproachful look.

“Hold that thought.”

Together they raced out of the hall, in the direction of the scream. A commotion led them to the kitchen where they found one of the cooks in absolute hysterics. She could only point toward the pantry. Hercules left Iolaus to try and comfort and calm her and made his way cautiously toward the pantry, taking a torch off the wall sconce to illuminate the dim room as he stepped inside.

“What is it, Herc?”

No answer came to the hunter, and his bad feeling suddenly quadrupled. But the cook was clinging to him, sobbing out her terror, and he was bound to her until more people arrived, drawn by the noise. Iolaus dislodged himself, passing the woman off to one of the guards before he hurried over to the pantry and entered to find Hercules kneeling on the floor.

“By the gods!”

“I’ve seen a lot of evil in my time, Iolaus,” the demigod said in a tortured whisper. “But this tops them all.”

The hunter lost his voice, his blue eyes wide with shock as he stared at the remains on the floor. What had been done to the victim was indescribable, the brutality unimaginable. The person before them was mutilated beyond identification. To the point where he or she didn’t even resemble anything human.

“Whatever this sick... thing used, it was sharp,” Hercules continued, a hint of rage growing in his voice. “And I’m starting to believe Iphicles. No mortal could have done this. Not without one of us catching him.”

Iolaus tried to speak, but nothing came out. He swallowed hard and cleared his throat and tried again.

“What is that?”

Hercules got to his feet and stepped carefully around the victim, holding the torch up as he moved farther into the pantry to examine the rear wall.

“It’s blood,” he confirmed. “Painted into some kind of symbol, but I don’t know what it is. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

“I have.”

The demigod turned back around and quickly approached his friend.

“Where?”

Iolaus took a deep breath and looked up to meet his partner’s gaze.

“Last night. On Iphicles’ sword.”

“Let us by.”

“I’m sorry, Hercules,” one of the guards spoke up, a bit nervously. When the cold blue glare came out, it tended to garner that reaction from people. At least from those with an ounce of sense or self preservation. “We have orders that the king is not to be disturbed.”

“Look, I’m not in the mood to play this game,” the demigod insisted impatiently. “You’re going to let us through, either willingly or unwillingly. You decide if you want to do this the easy way or the hard way.”

“The king is not well,” the second guard spoke up, almost pleading with Hercules to understand the awkward position he was putting them into. “The healer is in with him and he was very clear that no one was to bother them.”

“Let. Us. Through.”

The two guards glanced at each other and then guiltily stepped back, knowing there was no point in trying to resist. Of course they would give their lives for their king, but they knew that Hercules meant no harm to his brother. Keeping him at bay was a futile effort, so they figured they might as well save themselves the pain of trying. The demigod brushed past them and Iolaus followed, giving the two men a sympathetic shrug as he went by.

The healer was exiting Iphicles’ bedroom as they entered.

“How is he?” Hercules demanded.

“He’s very sick,” the old man replied absently. “I’m not sure of the root cause of the illness, but I can treat it all the same. Now excuse me. I have herbs to prepare.”

The healer bustled off, too elderly and self-important to be the least intimidated by the demigod’s size or dark mood. Hercules let him go and approached his brother’s bedside, but the king waved off his concern so he decided to plunge ahead with the matter at hand.

“Iphicles, where is your sword?”

“My sword?” the king echoed weakly, frowning at his brother in confusion.

“Yes. Where is it?”

“Why do you want....”

“Please, will you just tell me where it is?”

Iphicles winced slightly at the forcefulness of his brother’s tone, but he turned his head and waved toward the corner where his sword was propped up against a chest.

“No, not that one,” Iolaus clarified. “We need the fancy one that you showed me the other night.”

“Why?”

There was no mistaking the mask of suspicion and mistrust that descended over the king’s face.

“Iphicles, please,” Hercules reasoned with him, gentling his tone. “There was another murder last night. We need to see your sword.”

The king stared back at his brother for long moments. Then he slowly reached under the furs that covered him and drew out the leather sheath. Hercules held out his hand, but Iphicles didn’t relinquish the blade, cradling it against his chest possessively as he glared at the hunter.

“You want it for yourself,” he hissed in a low voice.

“No, I want to help you, Iph. We aren’t going to take it from you,” Iolaus reassured him, catching what he thought was a hint of madness in the king’s fevered eyes. “We just need to look at it for a second. Then we’ll give it right back. I promise.”

Something seemed to come over Iphicles and a sudden calm replaced the wild look in his dark eyes.

“Who died?” he whispered, turning his gaze to Hercules.

“We don’t know yet,” the demigod told him. “It looks like one of the serving maids but it’s going to take a little time to figure out exactly who it is.” He didn’t bother to add that the only way to ID the body was going to be to do a head count of the staff and determine who was missing. But he didn’t need to give out those details. The king had seen the other victims and his imagination was well equipped to draw a mental picture.

“How did this happen?” Iphicles murmured sorrowfully. He glanced back and forth between his brother and his friend. “You were supposed to stop this from happening again! You both promised me!”

“I know,” Hercules sighed, placing a restraining hand on the king’s shoulder to halt his struggles to rise. “And I don’t know what happened, Iphicles. I walked past the pantry all night long and never saw or heard anything. Whoever is doing this is fast and strong and probably has the power to come and go at will, just like you said. Iolaus and I are both sick over this, but I promise you now, brother, we are not going to rest until this is over. No matter what it takes.”

“Here.” Iphicles held the sword out to the demigod. “Take it. Take whatever you need. Just stop these murders, Hercules.”

“We will,” the demigod vowed, but his attention was mostly focused on the blade in his hands. He was not the sword afficionado that his partner was, but he still took a moment to admire the incredible craftsmanship on the golden hilt. Then he carefully unsheathed the weapon and examined it. “There’s nothing here.”

“That’s impossible,” Iolaus insisted. “I saw the mark on the blade, plain as day.”

“The imprint? It’s only visible at night. The light of the moon makes it glow like white coals.”

“You’ve seen this symbol?”

Iphicles had his eyes closed and his voice had been dreamy, like he was on the edge of sleep, but he snapped awake and alert at his brother’s sharp words.

“Of course I have.”

“The same symbol on your sword was on the wall next to the woman we found this morning,” Iolaus informed him. “Written in her blood.”

“Just like all the others,” Iphicles mused.

“And you don’t find that odd?” Hercules demanded incredulously.

“I assumed it was the killer’s sick way of taunting me,” the king explained, glancing at both of them in turn before his eyes widened in angry indignation. “Wait a second. You can’t possibly think that I had anything to do with these deaths?!”

“What I think is that you’d better start at the beginning,” the demigod told him. “Where exactly did you get this sword?”

“It was a gift,” Iphicles snapped, not bothering to hide his insult. “From the king of Byzantium. His land was ravaged by a civil war and I sent him aid. In return, he sent me this sword that he said had been in the royal family for generations. And I don’t see what this has to do with the maniac that’s rampaging through my castle!”

“Maybe nothing,” Hercules allowed. “But I’ve never put much stock in coincidences. When did you get this gift?”

“A few months ago.”

“Right around the time the killings started,” Iolaus pointed out.

“You are both crazy,” Iphicles declared in exasperation. “I was here asleep last night. And the sword was with me. So neither it nor I were involved in any murders. And that’s the end of this interrogation!”

“I just have one last question,” Hercules persisted. “Why were you sleeping with your sword?”

The king hesitated and frowned as he thought about it. Some of the defensiveness drained away as he met his brother’s calm gaze with a look of confusion.

“I don’t know.”

“Ok,” the demigod said, nodding at Iolaus. “Just try and get some rest, brother. We’ve got a murderer to track down.”

“What are you thinking?” the hunter whispered as they left the king’s bedroom.

“Right now, I don’t know what to think,” Hercules said wearily, coming to a stop as they reached the two guards, still at their post. They both assumed an air of apprehensiveness, but the demigod held up a staying hand, not wanting to cause them more trouble. “Hide this somewhere out of the king’s reach,” he told them, giving them the sword he still carried. “And I don’t want him left alone. Put another guard in the room with him.” The two men glanced at each other, not sure if they should be taking their orders from Hercules or not. “Please,” he went on earnestly. “I’m asking this for Iphicles. His safety depends on it.”

“We’ll see it done, Hercules,” one of the guards assured him, deciding to trust him.

“Thank you.”

“Herc, slow down,” Iolaus complained, trotting to keep up with his partner as he began moving off down the hallway with long strides. “What was that all about? You don’t really think Iphicles is a part of this, do you?”

“All I know is that there is something very wrong going on inside these castle walls,” the demigod muttered. “And until we find out exactly what that is, nobody is safe.”

“So what’s the plan?”

“We go to Sicyon and we get some answers.”

“Sicyon?” The hunter’s brow furrowed until he remembered the large temple that resided in the town. “You think Ares is involved? That symbol isn’t his mark.”

“No, but if that sword does have something to do with this, I’m betting he’s going to know about it.”

“Probably, but what makes you think he’ll even talk to us?”

“Oh, I know how to get his attention,” Hercules promised, a wicked gleam shining out of his blue eyes.

Iolaus leaned up against the wall of the temple, crossing his arms as he watched his partner overturn a heavy altar. Hercules kicked at the debris he had created, then moved to the far wall and began ripping down the decorative shields that lined it, tossing them carelessly over his shoulder.

“If you have a death wish, I can think of much less painful ways to die than what I’m about to do to you!”

Ares materialized before them in a flash of hot light, fury on his face and electricity crackling in his fingers.

“Well, I would have asked you nicely to drop in, but this was just more fun.”

The demigod had expected more banter from his half brother, but the god of war surprised him by sending a lethal bolt his way. Fortunately he still had a shield in his grasp and he was able to deflect the blow up through the roof of the temple.

“Ares, this isn’t necessary,” Hercules tried to reason with him. “I just want to talk to you. We don’t have to fight.”

“Oh, but we do,” the god growled, rotating his broad shoulders to loosen up for the imminent battle. “You destroyed my temple.”

“Yeah, and you can put it back together with a wave of your hand.”

“And I can also do this with a wave of my hand.”

Another bolt came flashing toward Hercules and he narrowly managed to dodge it. Realizing that Ares was going to be irrational until he calmed down, the demigod began to advance, intending to try and subdue his half brother long enough to get him to listen to him. They circled each other warily, then the god attacked. Hercules repelled him and then went on the offensive, and the two began exchanging crushing blows and knocking each other all over the temple.

Iolaus watched with mild interest for a few minutes, then he glanced up at the patch of sky visible through the new hole in the roof and noticed the afternoon was growing long. Time to move things along. He pushed off from the wall and walked over to where his partner was on the ground, locked into a stalemate with the god of war. The hunter drew his sword, but instead of using it to help his friend he began to trace a pattern in the pile of spilled powdery incense that covered the marble floor. Ares at first paid him little attention, but when his glance finally landed on the symbol he stopped struggling. Hercules thought he had given up, but then the god of war sucker punched him with his elbow and stood up, towering over the hunter.

“Where have you seen that?” he demanded.

“On a sword,” Iolaus replied, not the least bit intimidated. “In Corinth.”

Ares ran a hand over his beard in what appeared to be a nervous gesture. And from the hunter’s point of view, it almost looked like a hint of fear flashed in his dark eyes. Which was the point that Iolaus’ bad feeling reached an exponential level.

“We wanted to know what you could tell us about it,” Hercules spoke up, pulling himself to a sitting position and dabbing gingerly at his split lip.

“Well you could have just asked,” Ares said distractedly, his gaze riveted to the design. “All this wasn’t necessary.”

Iolaus grinned at his partner and got a glare in return as the demigod grabbed his outstretched hand and got to his feet.

“So what do you know?” he asked, rubbing at his sore jaw.

“This is the symbol of an ancient presence,” the god of war began. “A demon, for lack of a better description. Older than the gods. From the time even before the titans, I think.”

“How is this demon connected with the sword?” Iolaus wanted to know.

“That’s hard to explain,” Ares answered. With a sweep of his hand, his temple was restored and he began to pace around the righted altar. “This demon dwells in another dimension that parallels ours. And the sword is the doorway that lets him cross between the two. If the blade tastes blood and does not kill the one it cuts, it releases the demon and allows him to enslave the sword bearer.”

“So it’s a possession?” the hunter inquired.

“Not in the typical sense. The demon absorbs the sword bearer’s life force and uses that to transform himself into our world so he can feed on mortal blood. And his appetite is insatiable.”

“Sounds like you two have a lot in common,” Hercules muttered sarcastically. “I’m surprised you aren’t better friends.”

“This thing is nobody’s friend,” the god of war warned them with utmost seriousness. “I admit, I thought he had the potential to be an ally. And that thinking turned out to be a big mistake. He answers to no one and acknowledges no rules or codes. This demon only lives for death.”

“What does the moon have to do with it?” Iolaus asked.

“It gives him strength,” Ares explained. “The weaker the moon, the more vulnerable he becomes.”

“Which is why he only appears when it’s full,” Iolaus summarized. “To minimize the risk of someone stopping him.”

“Moon or no moon, I’m going to stop him,” the demigod vowed.

“You can try,” Ares scoffed. “Like your little pal said, he’s not going to appear unless the moon is full strength, in which case his strength will outmatch yours. He can’t be contained, and forget about destroying the sword. Zeus himself tried and failed centuries ago. The best he could do was to banish it from Greece’s shores.”

“Well, it’s back,” Hercules declared in mounting frustration. “And now this demon is enslaving Iphicles.”

“Iphicles?” The god of war frowned. Not that he put much value on mortal life, but there was always something about the brooding half brother of Hercules that he liked the look of. “Pity.”

“What do you mean, ‘pity’?” the demigod demanded.

“I mean that the king of Corinth is done for,” Ares clarified cruelly, delighting in being the bearer of bad news. “You can’t stop this demon. And with every transformation, Iphicles is going to grow weaker until his energy is spent and his life force is depleted. Then the demon will be trapped back in his own dimension until a new sword bearer is enslaved.”

“No, I don’t believe that,” Hercules insisted vehemently. “There has to be a way to stop this demon.”

“Don’t let me keep you from trying,” the god of war said magnanimously, daring to hope that perhaps the demon could finally succeed at ridding the world of his despised half brother. “But do let me know how it turns out, will you? A kingless Corinth will be ripe for attack by an army of restless Myceneans.”

“He did help us,” Iolaus pointed out, reading his friend’s mind as Ares vanished with a triumphant smirk.

“I guess he did,” Hercules allowed. “So I suppose it would be petty and juvenile of me to do this.”

“Petty, yes,” the hunter agreed as the heavy altar was tipped over once more. “But juvenile would be more along the lines of rearranging all his armor into suggestive poses.”

“Don’t give me ideas,” the demigod warned his partner. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

As they left the temple, both warriors glanced up at the sky and became concerned as they took in the time of day.

“We aren’t going to make it back to Corinth before dark,” Iolaus pointed out.

“I know,” Hercules sighed. “We’re just going to have to do the best we can and hope we make it before the demon strikes again.”

“Well, since we’re in such a hurry, I guess that means open reigns, right?”

The demigod stared mistrustfully at his partner as he climbed up into the chariot that they had borrowed from the royal stables. Hercules had never been a fan of horses, always choosing to walk even when he had the opportunity to ride. He had just never felt comfortable astride the animals, or even riding behind them in a wagon. In contrast, Iolaus had been born to ride. He was perfectly at home in the saddle and content driving a wagon. But his true passion lay in charioteering. Flying along at breakneck speed with the wind in his face and the chariot rocking wildly under his feet, threatening to tip with every turn or bump in the road - it was Hercules’ worst nightmare and Iolaus’ greatest thrill. On the journey to Sicyon the hunter had taken it easy, mostly due to repeated threats and complaints. But now, with time as a factor and speed a necessity, his face was lighting up with the promise of a real run.

“Iolaus, you do not sacrifice safety for speed,” the demigod threatened ominously.

“Will you quit worrying and just get your butt in here?” Iolaus told him impatiently. “You’re wasting time and we have a demon to stop.”

“That demon is going to be the least of your problems if I get knocked out of this thing,” Hercules hissed, climbing gingerly aboard and feeling the chariot sway under his weight. But Iolaus just laughed and flicked the reigns, ignoring his partner’s muttered curse as they rocketed off down the road.

“I’m never riding with you again,” Hercules grumbled as they exited the stables.

“You’d better not let it get out that the mighty Hercules can’t handle a little chariot ride,” Iolaus teased him.

“Hey, I handled it just fine.”

“I suppose that’s why there’s indentations on the side where you were white-knuckling it?”

“Well if you wouldn’t drive like a maniac I wouldn’t have to hold on for dear life,” Hercules admonished him. “And you’d better hope that I am immortal, buddy, because that ride just took ten years off my life.”

“I could give you back ten years if we had our own chariot,” Iolaus rationalized. “We’ve probably wasted ten years of our lives walking, Herc. Think of all the time we could save if we had one of these babies to zip around in.”

“Keep it up, funny guy, and you’ll be zipping around in the dirt.”

“Yeah?” Iolaus taunted him challengingly. “I’d like to see you try.”

Within moments the demigod had the hunter above his head, ready to make good on his threat.

“Stop! Wait!”

“What?”

“Full moon,” Iolaus gasped out, pointing up at the sky. “Demon... mission... Iphicles...”

“I suppose you’re right.”

Hercules lowered his partner down to the ground, but as soon as the hunter had his footing he crouched down and spun, sweeping the demigod’s legs out from under him.

“Sucker!” he called out gleefully, already running for the castle. Hercules sprang up and tore after him with murderous intent, but by the time he caught up with his friend in the great hall his vengeance had cooled and both warriors became serious, focusing on the deadly matter at hand as they climbed the stairs and headed for the king’s chambers.

“You guys again,” Iolaus said in surprise, taking in the familiar two sentries still standing their post. “What is this? The longest detail in history?”

“We requested another shift when ours ended,” one of the men explained, glancing at his partner. They had talked it over and agreed to put their trust in Hercules, who spent his life protecting Greece and surely would do no less for his own brother. But their immediate supervisor had an ego complex where the demigod was concerned, automatically mistrusting him on principal and mocking him to the rest of their unit. So they decided to keep to their post, rather than relinquish it to comrades who felt the same as their unit commander and would make things harder for Hercules, or worse, hinder him out of misplaced pride. “If our king is in danger, we cannot stand down.”

“Has there been any trouble tonight?” Hercules asked.

“No. We arranged for a guard to sit inside like you asked, and it’s been quiet ever since you left.”

“What about the sword?” the demigod pressed.

“Our man inside has it.”

The two heroes exchanged twin “uh oh” glances and left the sentries, rushing headlong into the king’s quarters. They were stopped in their tracks in the sitting room as they came upon the guard, or what was left of him. Hercules managed to tear himself away after a moment and continued on into the bedroom, calling out for his brother. It took Iolaus a minute longer as he futilely tried to comprehend the horror that was strewn about the room, his eyes drawn to the massive bloody symbol that was covering an entire wall, drying stickily in the faint glow of candlelight. But he managed to get a grip on himself, beating back the nausea that churned his stomach as he turned away from the grisly scene and followed his friend into the bedroom.

“How is he?”

“Alive, but he’s unconscious,” Hercules replied worriedly as undid the bandages on his brother’s arm. Revealing that the sword nick that he’d sustained three months ago was still raw and festering.

“I’ll go get the healer,” Iolaus announced. He was loathe to have to go back through the sitting room, but that sight was almost preferable to having to look at Iphicles’ drawn, ashen face and the fear and the guilt that was shining so painfully out of his best friend’s blue eyes.

There was a slight sound behind him. Someone had come out on the balcony, but Hercules didn’t need to turn his head to identify who it was.

“I love this time of day,” he said softly. “Just before dawn. When the shadows are fading and the light is growing and the world is just moments away from beginning to stir. It’s so peaceful that you can’t help but believe in the day, you know? Even if you know it’s all going to go to chaos, the calm before the storm is still enough to give you hope that everything’s going to turn out all right. Do you understand what I mean?”

“Yeah, I do,” Iolaus replied. “Listen, Hercules, I talked with the guards. They said that the healer had been in with Iphicles and left not long before we got there. So there wasn’t much of a window at all where he was alone with the man who was killed. Pretty much confirms that this demon works fast.”

“I don’t suppose they heard anything while their comrade was being ripped apart in the next room?”

“Not a sound. They don’t understand it, and they are both pretty shaken up over this. I told them it wasn’t their fault.”

“It’s not,” Hercules sighed, glancing down at the sword he was gripping tightly in his hands. The one he’d found in his brother’s bed. And the one he should have taken better pains to secure. “It’s mine.”

“Don’t start that,” Iolaus told him wearily, stepping forward to stand beside him. “Nothing that’s happened so far is anybody’s fault. This demon is the only one to blame. And it’s easy to say now ‘oh I should have..’, but at the time we all did the best we could with the information we had, which wasn’t much. Now that we know what we’re up against, we can be prepared and keep this from happening again.”

“I just wish I knew how.” The demigod sighed again and glanced at his partner, noting that his hair was damp, as if from recent bathing. Immediately he understood what his friend had been doing while off on his own. “You took care of the remains?”

“Some of the servants are still cleaning up, but I handled the worst of it before they were called in,” the hunter told him uncomfortably. “They’ve all already seen so much of this slaughter, I couldn’t do that to them again.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Hercules asked gently, knowing that the task had been a soul wrenching one.

“No,” Iolaus replied firmly. As he’d tried to piece together the slain man he’d been made aware exactly what the demon had done to him, getting an in depth look at the depraved brutality as opposed to just a general picture. It was something he’d never forget, and something he knew was going to haunt him for a long time. The least he could do was spare his friend the same images, so he changed the subject. “What did the healer say?”

“That Iphicles is dying,” the demigod said flatly. It hadn’t been news to him, given what Ares had already told them in his temple.

“Did you tell him why?”

“I started to, but then I realized how crazy it all sounds. He thinks Iphicles is being poisoned by something, and I let him go on thinking it. In a way, I guess he is.”

“Hercules,” Iolaus began quietly, “you don’t think Ares was right, do you? I mean, you CAN stop this demon, can’t you?”

“I’ve always found a way before,” the demigod stated. Not boastfully, but as a matter of fact. “But there’s a first time for everything. This demon is undeniably powerful and something besides Ares is telling me he’s not going to play fair. If he really is indestructible...”

“Iphicles isn’t going to survive another transformation, is he?” the hunter asked.

“No, I don’t think he is. So I have to beat this demon. I don’t have a choice.”

“Neither of us do anymore.”

A silent communication passed between two pairs of blue eyes. And after a moment’s hesitation, Hercules held out the sword in his hands, offering it to his partner. Iolaus took it and unsheathed it. What he initially had admired now filled him with dread, knowing now the evil that was disguised in the thing of beauty. But taking a deep breath, he cupped his hand around the blade and jerked the sword across his skin.

The demigod slid an arm around his friend, pulling him to his side in a half hug. They stood, side by side, enjoying the calm before the storm and trying to muster the hope that everything was going to be all right. Two sets of blue eyes focused on the glorious sunrise, grateful for the distraction so neither had to look at the thin line of blood that was welling up out of Iolaus’ palm.

“Hey,” Hercules greeted his friend as he approached the metal bars of the dungeon cell. “How are you doing?”

“I’ve only been in here since dusk and I’m already going stir crazy,” Iolaus complained. “It’s going to be a long night.”

“This was your idea,” the demigod reminded him. “And it’s a little overkill if you ask me. It’s the demon we need to worry about, not you.”

“I know, but I’ll just feel better about this if I’m contained where you can keep an eye on me. How’s Iphicles?”

“Better,” Hercules told him. “He’s still very weak but he’s awake and his wound is even starting to heal. How’s your hand doing?”

“It’s a little sore,” the hunter shrugged. “But overall I don’t feel any different. I’m almost starting to think Ares was making it all up.”

“I guess we’ll find out.” The demigod held up the sword. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Too late now if I don’t,” Iolaus pointed out. “So just give me the thing and let’s invite Mr. Bad Attitude out to play so that you can teach him to stay in his own backyard.”

Hercules slid the sword through the gaps in the bars and after only the briefest hesitation, the hunter took it. He set the weapon down carefully in the corner and then turned back to his partner.

“Hey! Did I ever tell you the one about the cyclops, the satyr and the three legged dog? You’re going to love this! So a cyclops walks into a tavern...”

The demigod bit back a sigh and pulled up a chair to make himself comfortable. Iolaus was right - it was going to be a long night.

It had been a long, sleepless night. Hercules remained ever vigilant outside the dungeon cell as his partner had paced restlessly around and around the small confines. When the silvery moonlight crept in through the small, barred window, Iolaus unsheathed the sword and they both plainly saw the symbol emblazoned on the blade, glowing and pulsing under the lunar illumination. But the demon was not summoned. The hunter ran out of jokes and not long after ran out of patience. A taut silence descended over the dungeon as the two warriors waited on pins and needles for their foe to appear. But the sun dawned to find them both disappointed and exhausted from the hours of tension, and with an air of dejection Hercules rose and stretched and opened the door to let his friend out.

They discussed it over breakfast and hit upon a working theory. Iphicles confirmed that every time the demon had made an appearance, he had fallen asleep and awoke to the havoc without remembering anything happening in the meantime.

“It sounds like this demon isn’t strong enough to take hold of a conscious mind,” Hercules speculated. “Maybe he needs to wait for the sword bearer’s control to be lost through sleep before he can make the transformation.”

“This is the kind of plan I like,” Iolaus grinned. “I can just kick back and have a nap while you do all the work.”

But despite his initial enthusiasm, kicking back turned out to be harder than the hunter had anticipated. A comfortable bed had been set up in the small, sparse dungeon cell, but Iolaus couldn’t relax, even though he hadn’t had more than a few hours consecutive sleep since he’d arrived at the castle. He was just too keyed up - the warrior in him alerted to the danger that he knew was lurking close by. As the hour grew late, Hercules finally went off in search of the healer and shortly returned to his friend with a sedative potion to help things along.

“Do you think the king of Byzantium knew what the sword was when he sent it here?” Iolaus asked his partner.

“Iphicles doesn’t think so, but he’s going to check into it,” Hercules answered, holding out the mug. “Here, try this.”

The hunter took it, but did not drink.

“Herc, I’m not sure I should do this,” he began uncertainly.

“It won’t be that bad,” the demigod assured him. “We made it with honey.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“What do you mean?”

“What if we’re right and this demon can’t transform as long as I’m awake,” Iolaus theorized. “If that’s true, than you don’t have to fight it. We have a way to keep it at bay.”

“So you’re saying that you’re going to become nocturnal?” Hercules asked wryly.

“I’m saying that there are ways to work around this,” the hunter stressed in total seriousness. “We have options other than you having to battle it.”

“What? You don’t have faith in me?”

“Of course I do,” Iolaus said impatiently. “But, Herc, I saw what this thing did to those people. It’s fast and strong and brutal and if the same thing happened to you... Why should we even risk it?”

“Because I don’t want you to have to live the rest of your life trying to keep a demon at bay,” Hercules told him, growing serious as well. “It might work for a little while, Iolaus, but as time goes on and this demon gets more desperate to come through the doorway, he’s not going to follow the full moon timetable. He’s going to take chances and become unpredictable and someone is going to get hurt. And even if he can’t transform through you, we don’t know what the strain of being tied to him is going to do to you physically. You shouldn’t have to bear that burden. And if we don’t get him tonight, then it might be another month before we get the chance. So let’s just end it here and now, ok? Let him out, and I’ll find a way to destroy him.”

The hunter nodded, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly. Then he threw back the draught in three large gulps and handed the mug back through the bars. His anxious anticipation grew even stronger and for a time he paced restlessly around the cell. But the potion finally began to work and his limbs grew leaden and his eyes grew heavy and he stopped and leaned up against the bars of the cell.

“This is it,” he murmured, looking blearily at the demigod who came to stand in front of him. “And you don’t know how much I hate not being able to be at your back. Herc, please be careful.”

“I will,” Hercules promised him, reaching through the bars to place a hand on his shoulder. “Now quit worrying and go lie down before you fall down.”

Iolaus grinned at the words that were full of fondness, but his blue eyes did not reflect his smile, although they did radiate that same fond affection.

“I’ll see you later.”

“You got it, buddy,” the demigod vowed as his friend turned away and stretched out across the bed, shooting one last glance at the sword in the corner before his eyes closed and he relaxed into slumber.

Hercules wasn’t quite sure what he expected to happen, but he had expected something. He waited at the ready, but his friend slept on peacefully and the night passed quietly, the silvery, glowing moonlight crossing from one end of the cell to the other. After he realized that things weren’t going to immediately jump off, the demigod turned away from the bars of the cell and retreated to the chair that he’d left over by the wall, figuring he might as well get comfortable while he waited. And there he spent the next few hours being very annoyed at the demon’s lack of consideration and a bit envious over his partner’s restful repose.

As the night wore on and even the rats decided to stop scrabbling and turn in, Hercules reclined back against the wall and began to work on a plan B. It was going to be a long, uncertain month before the next full moon. Full of anxiety over whether the demon would strike out unexpectedly before then. Worrying about Iolaus and what being bound to the sword was doing to him. And wondering about the inevitable confrontation and if, as Ares had claimed, the demon really was invincible. The demigod tossed that thought aside almost as soon as it entered his mind. Everyone and everything had a weakness. The trick was just staying alive long enough to figure it out and apply it. Brute strength was nothing without brains - a fact he’d learned back when he was a child.

Rubbing his hands tiredly over his face, Hercules stifled a yawn and tried to focus his weary thoughts on how they could lure the demon out. Asking Zeus would probably be a waste of time since he didn’t respond to provocation the way that Ares did. The king of the gods could not be manipulated, but if he had indeed banished this foe once he might be sympathetic to their plight and for once answer his son’s call. It might be worth a try, for Iolaus’ sake.

The demigod suddenly leapt to his feet as a slight noise by the stairs commanded his attention and sent his warrior instinct into overdrive. Cautiously he took a few steps forward, not seeing anything out of place and being inclined to dismiss the noise as a stray vermin. But when he turned back around, his heart froze as he saw that Iolaus was no longer there. The door was still closed, but the cell was empty. And the empty sword sheath lay discarded on the stone floor.

Hercules dove out of the way a split second before the blade skewered him from behind, his semi-divine sixth sense warning him of the danger. He rolled and sprang to his feet, getting his first look at the ancient demon and immediately understanding why Ares had been nervous.

The demon was monstrously huge with muscles that bulged to the point of being grotesque. He had a vaguely human shape, but was hairless with pointed ears and a mouth full of dagger like teeth that he bared with a blood curdling hiss. But his eyes were the worst, opaque and milky and glowing hotly like the moon in the night sky. Hercules blanched slightly, but there was no time to be repulsed. The demon whirled toward him with superhuman speed, the gleaming sword in his hands singing as it slashed through the air.

“I am in deep trouble,” Hercules panted to himself as he just narrowly avoided the onslaught. As a precaution, he’d had Iphicles give the word to all guards and servants to stay clear of the dungeon, not wanting any more innocent people to get hurt and believing that he could handle things on his own. But as the demon came at him again, not giving him a second to catch his breath, the demigod suddenly wasn’t so sure of himself.

He grabbed up the heavy wooden chair as a defense, but it was reduced to splinters in his hands in mere moments. And still the demon attacked, grinning dementedly as if he was enjoying the unexpected and unaccustomed pursuit. Hercules retreated with an impressive display of acrobatics, but the demon just would not let up. No matter which way he moved, the demon was on him when he landed. It was a pace he couldn’t keep up, and the blade finally found his flesh, leaving a burning slash across his left bicep.

The demon finally paused, his eyes glowing even more brightly as he eagerly licked the blood from the sword. Hercules was winded and he wasn’t even close to having a plan, but he knew that whatever he was going to do, he had to do it now for he wasn’t likely to get another chance where the demon was distracted. So mustering his strength, he stopped running and charged, plowing headlong into his adversary. It was like hitting a rock wall and he was momentarily stunned, but he felt himself falling and heard, with great satisfaction, the sound of a sword skittering across the floor.

Hercules willed the world to come back into focus as insanely strong hands grabbed him. He reciprocated and managed, for a second, to get the upper hand. But he knew it was not going to last long. The demon’s strength was greater than his, the giant hands crushing him painfully. It was only a matter of time, but the demigod refused to give up and maintained his hold with a burst of adrenaline, desperately trying to think of a plan.

The room began to grow darker, and for a moment Hercules thought he was losing consciousness. But then the body under his hands seemed to deflate and the grip that was crushing him loosened and he realized that the demon was weakening. The demigod tried to get a better hold on his foe, but the demon bucked out of sudden fear and managed to tear himself loose. From his position on the floor, Hercules could see out through the bars of the window in the empty dungeon cell. A cloud had passed in front of the moon, blocking its brilliance. And the demigod realized he had found the demon’s weakness.

Getting to his feet, Hercules chased after the demon who had been going for the sword. He retrieved it before the demigod could stop him and turned with a grimace of pure evil. Hercules ducked under the slash that was meant to decapitate him, and he caught the demon’s arm on the return swing. They were locked in a power struggle with the deadly blade between them, and the demigod began to tremble with the effort to hold the monster back.

The dungeon began to grow lighter as the cloud began drifting away from the face of the moon. And the demon’s unnatural strength began to return. He grinned obscenely, clacking his dagger teeth together as he pushed back against Hercules’ arm, bending it back. And the demigod knew it was his last chance. With a cry of determined anger, he twisted and jerked and somehow managed to pry the sword out of the demon’s hand, immediately thrusting the blade back into the wall of muscle and flesh.

The demon roared and reached for him, but the sword began to erupt in flames and soon he was engulfed. With a deafening scream, he exploded in a massive burst of fire and energy. Hercules’ last conscious thought as he was propelled backwards through the air was of Iolaus. Wondering if he had just doomed his friend to a lifetime in a foreign dimension. Or worse.

“He’s coming around.”

The pain in his head made Hercules think twice about struggling back to the waking world, but as the recent events started to penetrate the haze, he forced his eyes open and took in his surroundings. He was still in the dungeon but a pillow was cushioning his aching head and the wound on his arm had been stitched and bandaged. The two guards that had been so zealously guarding Iphicles were hovering around him and they helped him to sit up as the healer began fussing over him.

“I’m fine,” he insisted, trying to wave the old man away. “What about Iolaus? Where is he?”

“Right here.”

The hunter stepped forward, looking a little rough around the edges.

“Are you all right?” Hercules demanded, taking in the bandages swathed around his friend’s torso under his vest.

“I’m ok,” Iolaus replied, his eyes assuring his partner of his sincerity. “Just a little rib thing from meeting the wall up close and personal. One minute I’m dreaming of playing pirate and slave with Nebula, and the next I’m kissing stone. Talk about a rude awakening.”

“It wasn’t any more pleasant seeing it coming,” the demigod said with a grin as he struggled to his feet, accepting a hand up from one of the guards. “And really, I’m fine.”

The healer didn’t want to accept his declarations and seemed intent on examination. Hercules looked to his partner for help.

“He heals fast,” Iolaus assured the old man, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement. “That knot on his head will be gone by the time we get upstairs. Which I think we should do, because I could go for some breakfast.”

The healer caved under the hunter’s charms and relented. As the guards went ahead, assisting the old man up the stairs, the two warriors hung back to have a moment alone.

“So, you did it,” Iolaus surmised.

“Yeah,” Hercules sighed, relief washing over him as the realization dawned that the demon was gone and he and his partner were still there, relatively unscathed. “I guess I did.”

But the hunter knew him better than he knew himself and could clearly read the hesitation and residual fear in his friend’s demeanor.

“How close was it?” he asked gently.

“Too close,” Hercules murmured. He knew he’d been lucky and that things very easily could have gone the other way, and that was going to take a little time to work through. “But the important thing is that you and I are both ok and that demon isn’t going to be feeding on anyone ever again.”

“I’ll second that,” Iolaus agreed. He turned and fixed a cheeky grin on his friend as they headed for the stairs. “Maybe next time you should channel the demon and let me do the fighting.”

“And what would you have done differently?” the demigod wanted to know.

“I wouldn’t have lost any blood,” the hunter affirmed, nodding toward his partner’s bandaged arm.

“Is that so?”

“I’m a smaller target, not to mention faster,” Iolaus insisted. “And if all else failed, I could always outrun him by chariot.”

“Smaller and faster?” Hercules challenged as his hand shot out and grabbed his friend, putting him in a headlock. “You wouldn’t have lasted two seconds with that demon with reflexes like this.”

“Ow, Herc, watch the ribs,” the hunter yelped.

Immediately the demigod let go, a guilty apology on his lips. But Iolaus just laughed and sweeped at his legs, just hard enough to knock him off balance but not hard enough to make him fall.

“Sucker!”

Hercules just shook his head as his partner began bounding up the stairs as fast as his bruised ribs would allow him to go. The demigod followed, but at a leisurely pace, not bent on revenge. He’d let Iolaus get away, lull him into a false sense of security. There would be time for retribution later, when he was least expecting it. For now, Hercules just wanted to savor his victory, celebrate the fact that good had triumphed over evil, and enjoy a little breakfast with his brother and his best friend under a glorious sunrise, basking in the glow that everything was going to be all right.

Provided that he could somehow manage to convince Iphicles that despite Iolaus’ best arguments, he did not need a chariot for his birthday.

Finis

Disclaimer: No bloodthirsty demons or chariot-phobic demigods were harmed during the writing of this story.

Home

The Iolausian Library