Author’s Note: This story is an answer to the Gold Apple November 2004 challenge, which was to write a story with the title “That’s What Friends are For”. I make no ownership claims on Herc, Iolaus or the big, bad god of war. However, the monster is mine, all mine. Comments always welcome.
“Iolaus,” Hercules called out with undisguised amusement. “Slow down. You’re going to wear yourself out before we even get there.”
“I can’t help it, Herc,” the hunter sang out, bounding back to his partner’s side and literally vibrating with excitement. “Do you know how long it’s been since we’ve been to a festival?”
“Yeah, about 10 days,” the demigod said dryly. “The Spring Fling, remember?”
“That was just a little village party,” Iolaus argued. “This... This is different. A celebration to honor Aphrodite. The goddess of LOVE, Herc.”
“I am aware of my sister’s title.”
“A festival of love.” The hunter smiled, a dreamy expression softening his blue eyes. “Love is bound to be in the air. And I think we both could use a little love after stopping that war in Tiryns. So move your butt! Cythera is just up ahead.”
He started to bound forward once more, but was unceremoniously yanked back as the demigod caught his arm. Annoyed, Iolaus turned to demand what his partner’s deal was, but he immediately realized something was wrong as he saw his friend’s features harden.
“What’s up?” he murmured.
“Ares.” The name was spoken as if it left a bad taste.
Iolaus followed his partner’s gaze but saw nothing, realizing that the god of war was choosing not to make himself known to the mortal population.
“Any chance he’s here to enjoy the festival?”
Hercules studied his half brother who was standing before him, arms crossed over his muscular chest and glaring daggers in his direction.
“I’m thinking no,” he answered.
“Good luck,” Iolaus offered, giving his partner a pat on the back as he moved off. Experience had taught him to hang back and let the two of them duke it out, so he wisely got out of the way and began herding all the people traveling to the festival off to the side of the road. They were looking at him like he’d lost his mind but the hunter didn’t care, his main priority getting everyone out of the line of fire before the energy bolts started flying.
“Is there something I can do for you, Ares?” Hercules asked coldly.
“As a matter of fact there is,” the god of war replied in a deceptively pleasant voice. “We need to have a little brotherly chat. About my war in Tiryns that you ruined?”
“It’s over, Ares,” the demigod told him, weary of having this argument yet again. “Just let it go.”
“Well, if you insist.”
Hercules just barely managed to dive out of the way of the jolt of electricity that the god of war sent toward him. Undaunted, Ares strode forward to where his half brother was sprawled on the ground, becoming visible in the process. The travelers on the road finally saw for themselves that the strange man really had been trying to shepherd them to safety and most of them began to run toward Cythera, although a few hung around at a safe distance, watching in fascination as Hercules and Ares began pummeling each other.
They knocked each other up one side of the road and down the other with no signs of tiring. Their strength was equally matched and although Ares had divine powers, he chose not to use them except as an attention getter or as a distraction. It would have been too easy, and he much preferred to take out his brother the old fashioned way, since Hercules was the only one who could ever give him a good hand to hand fight. Iolaus watched the battle restlessly from the sidelines, cringing as his partner took some heavy blows and cheering when he landed some of his own. It was nothing short of torturous for him to have to spectate instead of fighting by his friend’s side, but he knew, good as he was, he was no match for the god of war. Ares would swat him away like a bug and he wouldn’t be helping Hercules any if the demigod was distracted, worrying about him and if he was hurt. But he knew that if the tide turned and things went seriously wrong for his partner, he wouldn’t hesitate to attack anyway.
The fight raged on for what seemed like hours, until a bright flash of light exploded between the combatants, temporarily blinding the hunter. At first he thought Ares had finally had enough and had decided to bail, giving Hercules a cheap, parting shot. But when the spots faded from his vision Iolaus saw both his partner and the god of war sprawled in heaps on the road, shaking their heads to clear the cobwebs. And a new presence was standing between them, glaring down at them with no small measure of disapproval.
“This doesn’t concern you,” Ares growled, painfully pulling himself up to a sitting position.
“Watch your tone with me, boy.” The king of the gods rose up to full height, his stern gaze sweeping back and forth between his sons. “I’m here to tell you that this stops now.”
“But...”
“No ‘buts’, Ares,” Zeus told him authoritatively. “Aphrodite just came to me in tears, saying that the two of you were ruining her festival. I don’t like to see my daughter in tears. And even more I don’t like her occupying my time with her never ending tantrums when I have work to do. So I promised her this is going to stop. And I’m ordering you two to a cease fire.”
“What a surprise,” the god of war muttered. “Little sis gets her way yet again.”
“I’m warning the both of you now,” Zeus thundered. “This is officially a day of peace and love. Both of you are forbidden to fight from this moment on until sundown. You will not so much as raise a hand to each other, or to anyone or anything else. There will be serious consequences for both of you if you are foolish enough to disobey.”
“Like what?” Ares challenged, clearly trying to call his father out on his blustering. It was the wrong move.
“I do not issue idle threats,” Zeus roared as a fearsome thunderbolt exploded into the ground behind him for emphasis. “If either of you disobey me, you’ll be spending a year in Tartarus.”
“Wait,” Iolaus interjected as the magnitude of the mandate hit him. “You can’t do this!”
“I have spoken.” And with that, the king of the gods vanished in a flash of lightening. Most of the time he maintained the guise of a harmless, if a bit lecherous, old man, and it was easy to forget the immense power he controlled until he let it be known. And when he did, not even Ares was willing to go against him. The god of war picked himself up, brushing the dust from his black leathers and pushing the dark curls back from his face as he looked down at his half brother, still sitting on the road.
“I guess the fun’s over for now. I’ll see you at sundown, brother, and we can continue our discussion then.” And with a disturbing cat who ate the canary grin, Ares vanished.
Iolaus sighed, running a hand nervously through his unruly curls before he went to stand next to his friend.
“You ok, Herc?” he asked, concerned that his partner hadn’t moved.
“Fine,” the demigod muttered. “But I don’t know for how much longer.”
The hunter sighed again and lowered himself down to the dusty road to sit beside his friend, clapping a supportive hand on his shoulder.
“Yeah, Zeus really did it this time, didn’t he?”
Maybe Ares wouldn’t be able to take any shots at Hercules, but it was a sure bet word of this mandate would be around Olympus faster than Salmoneus on a dinar. And there were lots of other gods who wouldn’t hesitate to come after the demigod while his hands were figuratively tied. He had been left defenseless, which was a temptation that certainly couldn’t be refused.
“I have to get out of here,” Hercules said suddenly as he got to his feet.
“What? What are you talking about? Where are you going?” Iolaus demanded as he sprang up and trotted after his friend.
“I don’t know. But if I’m going to be a target, I at least need to get away from people so nobody gets hit in the crossfire. Just go on to the festival, Iolaus. I’ll catch up with you later.”
“How hard did Ares hit you?” the hunter snapped, pulling on his friend’s arm to try and get him to stop. “This is the perfect chance for one of the gods to try something and you want to go off alone and paint a bullseye on your chest?”
“Iolaus, I’m not allowed to even defend myself,” Hercules said angrily, frustration making him lose his temper.
“So you’re going to run away from the only one who can defend you?” Iolaus shot back, just as angrily.
The demigod’s shoulders slumped and he ran a hand over his face. He wasn’t worried about himself. Rather, he was worried about his friend. Knowing that Iolaus wouldn’t hesitate to stand up to whatever the gods threw at him, and knowing he’d never forgive himself if his partner was hurt in the process.
“I don’t want you to stick your neck out for me,” he told the hunter quietly.
“Oh, please,” Iolaus scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Don’t give me that crap, Herc. We look out for each other. That’s what friends are for, remember? And I’m not going to leave you alone to get the semi-divine stuffing beaten out of you. Look, we’re stuck in this situation until sundown. But it’s almost noon now, so let’s just go on to the festival and try to enjoy it. Whatever happens, we’ll deal with it.” The demigod didn’t move, so the hunter caught his arm again, giving it a little tug. “Come on. I’m hungry.”
Never in his life able to ignore that infectious grin, Hercules gave his partner a small smile in return and let himself be led down the road to Cythera.
The celebration was definitely an elaborate affair, but that made sense as Aphrodite wouldn’t have stood for anything less. Flowers and brightly colored cloths were draped over everything that would stand still and the finest wine was being poured as rich, decadent pastries and sweets made the rounds. Bejeweled, bedecked people laughed and danced all around, and love was most definitely in the air, most likely due to the goddess, herself, who moved through the city, delighting in being the center of attention. Hercules had been hoping to get his sister on his side, since her interference had gotten him into this mess in the first place. But Iolaus wasn’t so optimistic, well remembering how Aphrodite had bailed on him when the metal panther came after them in Hephestus’ cave. And neither of them had ever put much faith in the help of the gods, so they resolved to do what they always did. Trust themselves and each other.
Both warriors tried to enjoy the festival, but it was easier said than done. They were constantly looking over their shoulders for the expected attack, too on guard to be in much of a party mood. But if Iolaus’ excitement for the celebration had waned, Hercules’ had disintegrated into nothing. The demigod was quiet and on edge, even sulking a bit and refusing to get even a shred of enjoyment out of the festivities, his worry being all consuming. If any fun was going to be salvaged from the day, they were going to need drinks. So the hunter dragged his partner to one of the taverns, hoping that an ale or two would help them both to relax a little.
It was crowded, but Hercules managed to find a table as Iolaus wormed his way up to the counter, eventually making his way back with four mugs and two girls on his arms. Not really much of a drinker, the demigod sipped at his ale to hide his grin as he watched his friend flirting outrageously with the dark haired Melantha. But when his storytelling got too out of hand, Hercules felt the need to intervene, turning to the fair Kalika beside him and setting her straight on how the events his partner described had really gone down. That launched a good natured argument between the two heroes that set the ladies giggling and did much to relieve the tension hanging over their heads. The demigod did start to feel better and graciously rose to go get a second round. As he moved away from the table he overheard his friend begin the story of his mishap with Artemis’ bow. But Hercules didn’t stop him, smirking to himself because he knew there would be plenty of time when he returned to tell the girls about what happened to Iolaus and Autolycus when they went off to return Hermes’ sandals and met up with Ares along the way.
Ares. Some of his good humor left him and he frowned slightly as he made his way up to the counter, not quite as easily as his smaller friend had done. But he pushed the thoughts of his ever annoying half brother out of his head as he ordered another round of drinks. He’d deal with the tempestuous god of war at sundown. Now, he had other things to think about. Like mortifying his partner in front of the lovely women he was trying so hard to impress.
Hercules pushed away from the counter with the mugs balanced carefully in his arms, but half of the ale ended up on the floor as something solid crashed into his back. The demigod turned to see a dirty looking thug glaring at him, his own ale pooling on the floor at his feet.
“Excuse me,” Hercules told him, even though the collision hadn’t been his fault. But the other man apparently didn’t see it that way.
“Look what you did,” he seethed.
“I’m sorry,” the demigod sighed, trying to stave off the trouble he couldn’t afford to get into. “Look, how about I buy you another a drink and we just forget about this?”
The man reached out, knocking the mugs out of Hercules’ hands and sending them clattering to the floor.
“How about I take it out of your hide?”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Hercules muttered. He turned and tried to walk away, but the irate patron grabbed his arm and attempted to spin him around, with little result.
“Is there a problem here, Herc?” Iolaus suddenly appeared at his friend’s side.
“Stay out of this, Shorty,” the thug sneered. “This is between me and the tree trunk here.”
“No,” the hunter said through gritted teeth, fuming at the insidious insult to his height. “I’m between you and the tree trunk now. And he doesn’t want to fight you.”
“He doesn’t have a choice.” The man pulled back his arm, but his punch was caught firmly in the hunter’s fist.
“It’s the two of us against you,” Iolaus told him, hoping he could intimidate the man into backing down. “So why don’t you just get out of here before you get hurt?”
“Who said I was alone?” the thug gasped, yanking his hand out of the hunter’s painful grip and shaking it slightly. At his words, four more men fell in behind him, gazing at Iolaus in a predatory fashion.
“Can’t believe I didn’t see that coming,” the hunter whispered to himself as he reached behind him and gave Hercules a shove, pushing him back out of the way. The demigod obediently retreated, knowing that his partner was more than capable of handling a simple tavern brawl, but still hating the fact he could do nothing to help.
Iolaus deftly ducked a wild swing, grabbing the man’s flailing limb and flipping him over his shoulder to land heavily on the floor. He turned to face the guy’s three friends, who were staring at him in shock. Sensing the thug rising behind him, the hunter kicked back, not needing to look to catch his opponent square in the gut. He turned as the man struggled to his feet, and one more well placed kick sent him flying backwards, crashing into a table and collapsing into an unmoving heap on the floor.
The other three came to their senses and came at him. One grabbed him and shoved him roughly up against the counter, but Iolaus ducked under his swing and brought his fists down on the man’s shoulders. Then using the bar as leverage, the hunter hoisted himself up and planted both booted feet firmly into the guy’s chest, sending him staggering back. He pushed away from the counter and did a handstand, effectively catching the other two in the face as he swung his legs up. They fell back and the first of the three came at him again, catching him with a lucky punch. But he blocked the next one and flat palmed the guy in the diaphragm before unleashing a spin kick that sent him careening into a table, hitting the ground amidst splintering wood.
The other two were trying to double team him, but Iolaus caught the first one with repeated knee to the gut action before a hard kick took him down for good. Then he launched himself at the last man standing, rolling and springing to wrap his legs around the guy’s torso while he pummeled his face. When the thug fell, the hunter gracefully dismounted, giving him one last blow to the head for good measure.
“Behind you,” came Hercules’ warning.
Iolaus turned to see the man who originally started all the trouble on his feet, swaying but apparently not ready to accept defeat. He took two steps and launched himself in the air, connecting solidly with the slow learner and sending him sailing over the counter to land behind the bar.
“Well?” the hunter demanded, brushing off his hands in satisfaction.
“It was ok,” Hercules teased his friend. “A little too flashy for my tastes.”
“Like I’m going to take style tips from a tree trunk,” Iolaus retorted, grinning as the rest of the tavern patrons began to congratulate him and the girls they had been entertaining came forward to let their awe over his bravery and skill be known.
But once they’d helped the fortunately understanding tavern owner straighten up as much as possible, the two warriors slipped away from the adulation, ducking outside to have a private word.
“Herc, those guys were dead bent on fighting you,” Iolaus pointed out. “To the point of irrationality.”
“I know,” the demigod agreed, his blue eyes thoughtful. “This smells of Strife’s influence.”
“I guess it’s too much to hope for that Aphrodite’s off having another temper tantrum for Zeus, demanding that he order Strife to butt out.”
“I’d wager she’s too wrapped up in her adoring legions to give much thought to anything else,” Hercules speculated grimly. “And I’m pretty sure it’s too much to hope for that this is all Strife has up his sleeve.”
“That’s a safe bet.” Iolaus rubbed his jaw as he considered their options. “Maybe you were right. Maybe we ought to just get out of here and lay low for awhile. Then at least whatever they decide to spring on us, it won’t be in the middle of a crowd of innocent bystanders.”
“Good idea. We can wait this thing out in the woods.”
Hercules turned to go, but he realized his partner was not following. He glanced back, seeing that Iolaus was looking over the festival with a longing he could not hide. Grinning broadly, the demigod took a step toward his partner, clapping an understanding hand on his shoulder.
“Why don’t you go and get us some food to take along?”
“I’ll be right back,” Iolaus beamed, quickly getting lost in the crowd as he dashed toward the rows of food vendors to pick up some of the delicacies he’d barely gotten the chance to sample. Hercules chuckled and wandered over to the cluster of booths on his right, not really interested in the crafts and trinkets for sale but needing to kill a little time while he waited for his partner. But after a few minutes, a low murmuring got his attention and he looked up to see a group of tough looking men striding toward him, roughly shoving through the crowd. Mercenaries, his heart sank to realize. Most likely hand picked by Ares. Since they were obviously looking for him, he stepped out to meet them, hoping that they would focus on their target and leave the civilians alone.
“Hercules,” the leader acknowledged, grinning wolfishly at him. “We’ve been looking for you.”
“You found me,” the demigod said neutrally as they formed a circle around him.
“And now that we have, there’s not going to be anything left of you for anyone else to find.”
Hercules ignored them, only half hearing their taunts as his mind spun rapidly, trying to think of a way out of his predicament. Cheiron had taught him long ago not to rely on his divine strength, but to use his mind above all other weapons. But the demigod wasn’t sure how to apply those teachings now. With the gods backing them, these men were not going to be talked out of killing him. And he wasn’t sure exactly what his father classified as “raising a hand”. Surely he couldn’t be expected to just stand there and take their blows, could he? Anger flared up inside him as he silently cursed the gods and their useless rules. Although meant to help, they usually ended up causing ten times more trouble.
“I hope you’re watching this, Zeus,” Hercules muttered under his breath as the leader stepped up to him and balled up his fists. The demigod braced himself, feeling the impact of the punch but not as much as the mercenary had. He stepped back, a little disconcerted to realize his opponent had abs of steel and hitting him had been like hitting a solid wall. But he recovered quickly, motioning to the man next to him who was brandishing a huge club. Hercules couldn’t help inwardly wincing. This one was going to hurt.
“Here, hold this!” The club dropped to the ground as the surprised mercenary caught the bundle of hot food that was thrown to him by the blur that streaked by, and the leader staggered back, not knowing what had hit him but well aware that something had by the blood gushing from his nose. The band of rogue soldiers gaped in disbelief at the small man who was dwarfed by the demigod, but who was fiercely standing before him in a protective stance all the same. He drew his sword and glared at them, defiance shining from his blue eyes. “Anything you morons have to say to my friend here, you can say to me first.”
“You’re dead,” the leader obliged him, swiping at his shattered nose with the back of his hand.
“Iolaus....” Hercules began in concern. His friend was good. Great even. But alone against an army of trained soldiers?
“Herc, I’ve got this,” the hunter told him, his voice brooking no argument. “Now get out of here.”
Reluctantly, the demigod moved away. The mercenaries let him pass, their attentions on annihilating the cocky little pipsqueak who had dared to insult them, considering it a warm up for the main event. They closed up the tight ring around the hunter, leaving Hercules on the outside to watch, worry heavy on his face. Iolaus dared to spare him a reassuring glance, which distracted him enough to leave him open to attack. Two of the mercenaries grabbed him and tossed him onto the hard ground, knocking the wind out of him and causing him to lose his grip on his sword. Another of the men grabbed the blade and tossed it away as the first two hauled him back up to his feet. But recovering quickly, Iolaus elbowed one and kicked the other, effectively freeing himself.
They started coming at him, and he kicked behind him and used that momentum to swing his leg in front and connect with another. These men were skilled soldiers and a lot harder to defeat than witless thugs in a drunken tavern brawl. So Iolaus relied heavily on his Eastern teachings, knocking three of them back with one spin kick. He dropped another to his knees and springboarded off his back to connect with the guy who had recovered his club. Forcibly ramming head first into another, he bounced back and rolled across the ground to evade two men with slashing blades. Then he was up, taking both of them out of commission.
At first it seemed that the hunter was untouchable. But the mercenaries were strong and had the advantage of numbers on their side, and as they ganged up on Iolaus more of their blows started to find their mark. He staggered a little but shook off each punch and kick as he began lashing out in fury, losing the finesse of his Eastern techniques as he struck out wildly with everything he had. But for every one he knocked back, two more came at him and a solid kick sent him crashing into one of the craft booths. Hercules started forward but managed to restrain himself as he saw his friend moving. Iolaus dizzily got to his feet, but he did not come up empty handed. There was a glaze to his blue eyes, but a solid board in his hands that unerringly began breaking wrists, shattering kneecaps, and thunking skulls into oblivion. Until finally every last mercenary was either unconscious on the ground or slinking off to lick his wounds. But the hunter didn’t seem to realize the fight was over as he stood tensely, swinging the board violently at the person who grabbed his shoulder.
“Whoa, Iolaus, it’s me!” Hercules shouted as he ducked under the wood.
The hunter looked at him blankly for a second, and then awareness crept back into his eyes. He shook his head to clear it and tossed the board away.
“Are you all right?”
“Yeah, fine,” Iolaus murmured. He was feeling a little punch drunk, but that would pass. “I don’t suppose there’s anything left of my dinner, is there?”
Hercules laughed, looping a gentle arm around his friend’s shoulders as he waved at the remains of the bundle of food that had been scattered and trampled into the dirt.
“I think we’re going to have to get you a replacement.”
“You’re buying,” the hunter told him as he found his sword and slid it back into its sheath.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” the demigod assured him. After all, the hero never had to pay.
Hercules hadn’t forgotten the original plan to get out of Cythera, but he felt that his friend definitely had earned some food and a little rest and he wanted to check him out and make sure that he was really all right before they went anywhere. Iolaus reluctantly submitted to his partner’s examination, for he was told there would be no dinner until he did. The demigod finally assured himself that his friend had some cuts and bruises and would probably be a little sore in the morning, but his injuries were minor. Then they both ordered a meal and found a reasonably quiet place to sit down and eat, but Hercules’ appetite was somewhat lacking.
“Iolaus, I hate that you had to do that,” he began after long, silent moments of picking at his food. “It was killing me watching you fight all those men when I was helpless to do anything.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” the hunter said wryly.
“That’s not what I meant,” Hercules sighed. “Obviously you can handle yourself. But we always fight back to back...”
“Not always,” Iolaus reminded him. “It wasn’t easy for me to stand back this morning while you were fighting Ares. I worry about you, too, you know.”
“I do know. But I’m also worried this is just the beginning and things are only going to get worse...”
“You’re probably right but you have to let me handle it. I mean it, Herc. I can do this for a day when the gods are caught off guard and scrambling to make use of a very short window of opportunity. But think about what they could do with a whole year’s time while you’re out of commission. I know you aren’t worried for yourself, so stop and think about mankind. How they are going to suffer at the hands of the gods without you to keep them in line. In a year’s time all of Greece could be in turmoil and I can’t keep up with that. So, please, just promise me that you won’t do anything stupid and you’ll let me take care of things today.”
“I promise,” the demigod said softly, knowing that his friend was right. “I just hate that you got dragged into this mess...”
“I didn’t get dragged into anything,” the hunter told him, pausing to take a sip from his goblet of water. “We’re a team, Herc. If one of us is in a mess, then we both are. And you know you’d do the same for me. You have on many occasions. It’s just...”
“What friends are for?” Hercules finished for him, repeating one of his earlier statements.
“Yeah.” Iolaus pushed his plate away, his blue eyes serious and shining with deep conviction as he caught and held his partner’s gaze. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you, Herc.”
“I know you’re not,” the demigod whispered, his own blue eyes shining with pride and love and belief in the man sitting across from him. “And I’m glad you’re in this mess with me, because I don’t know what I would have done without you.”
Before the hunter could respond, they were interrupted by the two women they had met earlier in the tavern.
“I’m so glad we found you,” Melantha panted. “There’s someone here...”
“Looking for Hercules,” Kalika interrupted anxiously.
“Of course there is,” the demigod sighed.
“Can’t a guy get a break?” Iolaus scrubbed a hand through his hair with a sigh of his own.
“I thought you just had one,” Hercules teased him.
“You are SO gonna owe me for today.” But the hunter grinned back and stood up, taking Melantha’s hand and letting her pull him along to the waiting stranger as Kalika did the same to Hercules.
There was no mistaking the new foe. The armor covering him couldn’t mask the fact that he was as tall and as muscled as Hercules. His face was obscured by a helmet, only a slit allowing a glimpse of his cold, glittering eyes. He held a staff in one hand, and a peacock feather that was attached to the end of the weapon waved gaily in the breeze. The fact that he was obviously one of Hera’s goons did little to bolster the hunter’s confidence, but with no other recourse he drew his sword and stepped forward to face the man, if it even really was a man.
“Ok. Let’s get this over with.”
The armored figure didn’t move. He didn’t even acknowledge that he’d heard.
“I know you want Hercules but you’re going to have to go through me first,” Iolaus told him impatiently.
“As you wish.” The deep voice was accompanied by a slight nod of accommodation, and in the blink of an eye the hunter found himself dumped on his butt in the road.
“Well, that was easy,” he muttered sarcastically to himself as he scrambled back up to his feet and threw himself in the warrior’s path. Only to again be dispatched with what seemed to be little more than a flick of the man’s wrist. Hercules began backing away from the advancing threat and the rest of the people watching gave them all a wide berth. “Hey!” Iolaus shouted out, halting his opponent. “We’re not done yet.”
This time his sword blocked the staff and he held out a few seconds, but the armored warrior had incredible speed and strength and skill. The hunter tried everything he could think of, but he kept finding himself crashing back to the ground almost as soon as he got to his feet. He was persistent, but his foe quickly began to grow impatient with the nuisance. Instead of just tripping him up, he began using his staff to batter, the blows intending to knock Iolaus down and keep him there. But he kept painfully getting up, although his efforts were only serving to distract the warrior for a second or two before he continued on toward his target.
Hercules had stopped moving and his furious gaze locked onto the dark eyes just barely visible behind the iron. He had initially wondered why this warrior carried no other weapons, but it was now obvious that he didn’t need them. The demigod had no doubts that the man was skilled in using his staff to deliver lethal blows. A fact Iolaus didn’t seem to be grasping.
The hunter attacked the warrior again, a surge of adrenalin lending him strength as he saw that Hera’s champion had reached Hercules. His sword clanged again and again against the metal armor, but it was solid and he didn’t even make a dent before he was swatted away with a heavy crack of the staff against his ribs. Iolaus fell back on the ground, his eyes widening in horror as he saw the staff raising up in the air, the warrior preparing to unleash a killing blow on his partner. With one arm wrapped around his chest, the hunter heaved himself up, ramming his sword deep into the unprotected flesh under the man’s arm. The warrior lurched to the side, jerking the sword out of Iolaus’ hands. He didn’t quite see what happened next as spots began to dance before his eyes and he quickly sunk back down to the ground, trying to suck some air into his lungs. Hercules’ worried face swam into focus. His lips were moving but a buzzing sound filled the hunter’s ears and he couldn’t make out the words. But he knew the question his friend had been asking.
“I’m all right, Herc,” he gasped out. “Just give me a second, ok?”
The demigod gave him a few minutes to lie there and rest, keeping the encroaching crowds back so his partner could have some air and a little time to pull himself together. And eventually the pain faded some and breathing became easier, and Iolaus waved his friend back over to him to help him sit up. He didn’t complain this time as Hercules checked him over, and the demigod was relieved to see that things were not as bad as he had feared. The staff had caused more bruising and he sympathized with the soreness his partner would be feeling in the morning, but nothing appeared to be broken and when he pulled Iolaus to his feet the hunter was steady and balanced, some of his usual good humor already returning.
“Is he dead?” he asked as his gaze raked over the crumpled body lying in the dirt.
“Yeah, he is,” Hercules confirmed. “Guess that means you’ll be on Hera’s hit list now.”
“Can’t be any worse than not being on her hit list,” Iolaus snorted.
“Good point,” the demigod agreed, clapping a hand on his friend’s shoulder.
“Ow,” the hunter complained, glaring at his partner and ducking away from him, turning instead to the lovely Melantha who was gently raking her fingers through his tousled curls, combing the dust from his golden locks. She invited him back to the tavern for a drink and he was ready to accept, but a panicked shout stopped them all in their tracks. A young man came barreling into view, calling out for Hercules. The demigod intercepted him and made himself known.
“There’s trouble,” he panted.
“No, it’s handled,” Hercules told him, optimistically hoping that the dead warrior was the subject of the warning. The youth followed his gaze to the slain figure on the road, his brow wrinkling in confusion.
“No, there’s trouble at the beach,” he explained. “A monster.”
The demigod looked helplessly at his partner who rolled his eyes heavenward.
“This is turning out to be a very long day,” he murmured wearily. Turning to Melantha, he kissed her on the cheek and asked for a rain check on the drink. She wanted to go with him but he persuaded her to stay in town where she’d be safe. Reluctantly she agreed, hugging Kalika as they both waved goodbye to the heroes and wished them luck.
“Look on the bright side,” Hercules encouraged his friend as they hurried after the young man toward the beach. “The sun is starting to set.”
“Apollo sure is taking his time,” Iolaus grumbled. “Hey, you don’t think anyone got to him do you? You know, so he’d fake a broken chariot wheel or something to make the day last longer. Because I have to tell you...” The hunter trailed off, struck speechless as they arrived at the shoreline and caught their first glimpse of the monster.
“Uh oh,” Hercules whispered, his heart skipping a beat. Iolaus was good, but...
It had been a glorious day in Cythera and Aphrodite’s celebration had extended down to the ocean. Many people had been windsurfing in tribute to the goddess’ passion, and many more had wandered down, generally in couples formation, to sit on the sand and watch the golden sun sink down behind the waves. But that romantic scene had abruptly ended when a colossal crab emerged from the depths of the sea, scattering the happy couples and crushing the surfers’ vessels in its giant claws
“What did you do to piss off Poseidon?” Iolaus asked his friend.
“Nothing that I know of,” Hercules answered, perplexed.
“Well, maybe it’s not one of his. I mean, maybe he didn’t send it on his own. He might owe Ares a favor or something...”
“Iolaus,” the demigod interrupted his speculating friend. “Does it really matter?”
“No, not really,” the hunter sighed. “Any ideas?”
“Find a giant pot of boiling water?”
“Thanks,” Iolaus told his partner as he drew his sword. “That’s a big help.”
Resolutely he began marching across the sand to try and deal with the mammoth crustacean. The creature was fast but fortunately not very agile and it was limited in its range of motion, hindered by its thick exoskeleton. But the chitinous shell also afforded it a large measure of protection and the hunter quickly sheathed his sword, since it was about as effective as a toothpick in hacking away at the monster’s armor. With no other ideas forthcoming, he was forced to run back and forth between the crab’s legs, dodging the crushing claws as he frantically tried to think of something.
Hercules was almost beside himself, pacing along the sand in agitation as he cursed his inability to help his friend. He glanced over the crowd that was eagerly watching, giving them a subtle glare. It had been the same all day. People gathering to watch the hunter risking his own life to protect theirs. Scores of them, and not one soul willing to offer the least bit of help. But the demigod could hardly chastise the masses for not getting involved when he was regulated to the sidelines, himself. So he turned his attention back to his partner, murmuring quiet encouragement.
“Come on, Iolaus.”
The hunter dove headlong into the sand, the clacking pinchers nipping at his heels. He came up grasping what appeared to be a length of seaweed, and Hercules immediately understood what his friend had in mind. Problem was, he couldn’t execute his plan while running for his life. The demigod hesitated for only a split second before he began striding toward the creature. He was forbidden to fight it, but Zeus had not issued any mandates against acting as a distraction. So he got the monster’s attention and began his own game of tag, keeping just out of reach and being extremely careful not to do anything that could be considered “raising a hand”.
Iolaus took advantage of the precious few seconds he had while he was off the crab’s radar. He took a sturdy piece of wood that was a remnant of somebody’s smashed windsurfer and planted it firmly into the sand. Tying the stringy seaweed to the post, he stretched out the length along the sand and gave a wave to his partner. Knowing that all was ready, Hercules began to move around the crab until he lured it around to face the other direction. He began to lead it a few feet down the beach, past Iolaus with both of them hoping the creature would keep its focus on the moving target. It did, and when it reached the hunter’s trap he jerked the seaweed taut and hung on for all he was worth. The momentum of the giant crustacean still yanked him to the ground and pulled the makeshift rope from his hands, but not before he succeeded in tripping up the beast. Floundering, the crab staggered and fell heavily to the sand.
Water’s buoyancy afforded the aquatic creature a certain measure of grace, but on land it was heavy and ungainly and it began struggling in an effort to get back up onto its spidery legs. Iolaus sprinted across the sand to one of the bonfires that was still burning, although it had been quickly abandoned by the couple who’d lit it when the party crasher had arrived. Grabbing up a flaming piece of driftwood, the hunter ran at the crab, stopping just out of reach and whipping the brand at its head while lamenting the fact that he didn’t have his bow. But the firewood was just as good as a flaming arrow would have been, for it unerringly hit the monster dead center in one of its stalked eyes. The crab recoiled, scuttling sideways across the sand, using its legs to propel rather than to walk. It paused, rubbing at its eye with its antennules and evidently deciding that it was time to go home. The giant creature pushed itself toward the water, and it was soon lost beneath the waves of the sea.
“Old hunter’s trick?” Hercules asked with a grin as he rejoined his friend.
“The modified version,” Iolaus grinned back. “Uncle Flatus never really had one specifically for angry shellfish of gargantuan proportions.”
“And here I thought a good hunter was always ready for anything,” the demigod teased.
“In theory,” the hunter told him, rotating his throwing arm slightly. “But I don’t think I can handle anything else today.”
“It’s almost over,” Hercules consoled him, feeling his own relief at that thought. “Look.”
They both gazed out over the water, watching the red ball sinking down into the horizon. Less than an hour until the demigod was free. Surely it was over and the gods admitted defeat. But a bright flash of light exploding next to them proved how wrong that line of thinking was.
“Strife,” Hercules spat in disgust. “Why don’t you just do us all a favor and go back to whatever hole you crawled out of?”
“Why don’t you make me, Jerkules?” the godling retorted nastily.
“You know he can’t fight you,” Iolaus pointed out wearily. “So if you’re here to throw down with someone, it’s me.”
The demigod reached out and squeezed his shoulder gently, trying to discourage him. Not a god. That’s where he drew the line. But fortunately Strife was not interested in the hunter.
“I don’t think so, Shrimp. This is between me and the ‘hero’.”
“Goodbye, Strife,” Hercules told him firmly, turning his back on the godling as he started walking back up the beach. After a moment, Iolaus followed.
“That’s it?” Strife followed, sneering at their backs. “What’s wrong, Pretty Boy? Afraid you’ll mess up your hair? Break a nail?” Getting no response, he reached out and gave the demigod a hard shove. “Hey! I’m talking to you.”
Hercules stumbled but Iolaus reached out and caught him before he fell. And while he was definitely itching to give the irritating little immortal a good beating, he just righted himself and spoke calmly.
“It won’t work, Strife. You’re not going to goad me into fighting you.”
“Why? Because you know I’ll wipe the beach with you? That’s it. You’re scared, aren’t you? Mr. Tough Guy of Greece is afraid to fight me.”
“Yep, that’s it,” Hercules agreed amiably, refusing to be baited. “I’m afraid to fight you. Now if you’ll excuse us, we have a festival to get back to.”
“Hey, I understand,” Strife said, oozing false sincerity. “I know why you’re in a hurry to get back. I saw you earlier with that blond bombshell.”
The demigod stiffened slightly and a hard edge crept into his voice.
“What about her?”
“Nothing, I think it’s great.” The godling shrugged, then a twisted grin split his pale face. “Well, not for her, of course.”
“Is that a threat?” Hercules demanded as he stopped walking, his fists clenching. Iolaus put a hand on his arm, trying to get him to keep moving, but the demigod pulled away from his partner.
“No, it’s not a threat. Just an observation. You do have a reputation, don’t you, Herc?” Strife giggled maniacally before he continued. “All the chicks you dig end up dead sooner or later. Your first wife. And then of course the lovely Serena. You were right next to her and you couldn’t protect her. I slipped right on by. And I can do it again...”
Quivering in fury, the demigod started to lunge toward the godling. Only Iolaus tackling him at the waist and knocking him down to the ground prevented him from venting his rage on Strife’s head and thereby condemning him to exile in Tartarus.
“He’s not worth it, Herc,” the hunter panted, restraining his friend and giving him a sly wink in the process. “He’s not even a real god.”
“Iolaus, don’t do this,” Hercules whispered urgently, his anger immediately turning to fear as he realized what his partner was up to.
Predictably, Strife bristled at the insult and Iolaus continued.
“I mean, come on, you were kicking his ass back when we were kids. He’s a wimp. I bet he knocks himself out when he’s shadow boxing.”
Ignoring his friend’s hushed pleas to stop, Iolaus kept up his verbal taunts and Strife became more and more infuriated until his control finally snapped.
“That’s it, Blondie!” he yelled. “You’re mine!”
They faced off, circling each other warily. The godling began flailing his arms and shrieking, presumably as a display of his fearsome skill and power. Iolaus glanced over at his friend who shrugged in confusion, so the hunter merely reached out and popped his opponent with a strong jab to the jaw. Strife shook his head in surprise, having been sure that a mere mortal wouldn’t be able to touch him. But the stinging blow rapidly convinced him he needed to get serious.
The godling kicked out and Iolaus blocked it before dropping down to the sand and sweeping his legs out from under him. Strife landed hard on his butt but he jumped up and attacked, both fighters lashing out with a series of punches. The hunter finally managed to take a step back and he unleashed his most brutal spin kick on his foe, dismayed that Strife was only stunned for a split second and recovered almost immediately. Iolaus ducked under a wild swing and hurled himself at the godling’s torso, reaching behind him to land a hard punch to the kidneys. Then with a mind numbing uppercut, Strife went down again. Angry now, he got back up to his feet and attacked, managing to somehow get his hands on the wily hunter.
Iolaus felt himself lifted and then slammed hard into the sand, knocking the wind out of him. He tried to roll clear but Strife followed, kicking him repeatedly in his already abused ribs and delighting in his groans of pain. The godling attempted to pounce on him, but the hunter blocked him with his feet and sent him sprawling back. Iolaus got up but almost immediately found himself back on the ground. Fortunately, Strife was enjoying himself and decided he wanted to teach the mortal nuisance a lesson, as opposed to finishing him off quickly. He didn’t attack, but stood over his opponent, sneering down at him as he started to egg him on. But Iolaus didn’t listen to his taunts, instead closing his eyes and taking a few deep breaths. He centered himself and distanced himself from his own pain and fatigue, and then he rose with new determination.
With a yell, Iolaus launched himself through the air, catching Strife in the chest and sending him flying. When the godling collected himself and came after him, the hunter backhanded him hard, making him see stars, and then continued to punch. But Strife caught his arm and flipped him over his shoulder. Iolaus rolled and jumped up, turning and running back at his foe and tackling him to the ground. He tried to pin the godling down, but Strife slipped out of his grasp and managed to reverse their positions, getting the hunter in a head lock, his arm tight against his throat.
“Iolaus!” Hercules called out, looking frantically at the sun. Just a sliver remained above the water, and in another couple of minutes it would be gone. But that was two minutes Iolaus didn’t have. “Zeus be damned,” the demigod decided as he began to spring forward, knowing that any punishment his father decided to inflict upon him would pale in comparison to watching his best friend die right in front of his eyes.
“Herc,” Iolaus gasped out. “Stop!”
Hercules stopped, but his anguished blue eyes locked onto his partner’s.
“Let me help,” he pleaded.
“No!” The word came out in a squeak as Strife tightened his grip. Hercules watched in horror as his partner turned red, then blue, unable to get any air. And as he started forward once more to intervene, Iolaus suddenly caught Strife with an elbow in the solar plexus, breaking his iron grip. The hunter scrambled away, sucking in deep lungfuls of air as his opponent did the same though the godling recovered first and came after him, ready to put an end to their battle once and for all.
But Iolaus surprised him with a violent head butt that left his brain rattling inside his skull. Before the godling could gather his wits, the hunter clasped his hands together into a big fist and swung, putting all of his strength into the blow that caught him square in the face. Then grabbing him by the hair, Iolaus yanked Strife’s head down to connect with his knee. Having had enough, the godling reciprocated with a blow of his own. One that crackled with electricity and sent the hunter sailing across the sand where he landed in a heap and stilled. But before he could gloat, Strife found himself unceremoniously hoisted into the air.
“Nice night for a swim, don’t you think?”
A punch with the divine strength of the gods behind it sent Strife plunging into the sea. He struggled back to shore, dripping wet and covered in seaweed, but as his gaze flittered between the dark sky and the rising moon and one seriously ticked off demigod who was suddenly free from Zeus’ mandate, Strife wisely decided to retreat in order to live to fight another day. So with an infuriating giggle, the godling vanished, leaving Hercules feeling very unsatisfied.
But the demigod had more important things to worry about than Strife. He approached his fallen friend, kneeling down beside him and placing a hand on his shoulder.
“Iolaus?” he murmured, giving the limp form a little shake. There was no response and he started to worry, but Hercules quickly became distracted by a bright flash that illuminated the dark beach. He got to his feet, almost glad to see his half-brother. For although he generally tried to avoid them, at that moment the demigod had a lot of pent up stress that he needed to vent and he was actually in the mood for a fight. “Ares,” he acknowledged icily. “Here to finish what we started this morning?”
“It may surprise you, but no,” the god of war replied. “Thanks to our father’s intervention earlier, I had to find some other way to occupy my time. And let’s just say that I managed to get caught up in our sister’s celebration.”
“You’re telling me you bought into a festival that honors love?” Hercules demanded skeptically.
“Thanks in part to an Amazon,” Ares told him with a sly grin. “She convinced me there’s something to this ‘make love, not war’ philosophy. As long as it’s only one day per year, of course. But since the day isn’t over yet...”
“I get the point,” Hercules said quickly, not wanting to hear any details. “So why are you here?”
“I just wanted to let you know that I haven’t forgotten that our little ‘discussion’ wasn’t finished,” the god of war explained, his dark eyes narrowing sinisterly. “But it will be soon. Very soon.”
“Can’t wait,” the demigod muttered in disgust, blinking against the bright light as his half brother vanished.
“Herc?”
“Right here, Iolaus.” Hercules knelt beside his friend once more. “Are you ok?”
“Promise me something?”
“Anything, buddy.”
“Next time I want to go to a festival, talk me out of it, would ya?”
“You got it, partner,” the demigod chuckled, helping his friend sit up. Iolaus was a mess, but Hercules soon determined that his friend was hurting, but not hurt. Nothing some rest and a little TLC wouldn’t cure, so he got the hunter to his feet, keeping one arm looped lightly around his shoulders as they headed back to town.
Rooms at inns were a luxury the two wandering heroes could seldom afford, but Hercules felt that his partner had earned a little luxury after what he’d gone through. Fortunately there was still a room available despite the festival crowds, and the demigod made a few arrangements and soon had his partner resting upstairs in a soft chair with a tankard of water. Iolaus was tired and sore and didn’t even bother with the pretense of putting up a fight as Hercules cleaned him up and bandaged his ribs. He leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes as the demigod worked on him, but once the ministrations stopped he cracked a swollen eyelid slightly to see his partner staring at him with an odd look.
“What?”
“I’m just wondering why I’m here,” Hercules said softly, giving him a little smile. “You took on the best the gods had to throw at me today, Iolaus. And you won. You don’t even need me around.”
“Sure I do,” the hunter argued. “It’s a lot less painful when we work as team, Herc. Trust me.”
“I do,” the demigod whispered, but his partner read the deeper meaning behind his words.
“I know,” Iolaus replied, his words almost lost behind a big yawn.
“You aren’t too tired for one more adventure, are you?” Hercules asked him casually.
“What are you talking about?”
“Melantha’s waiting next door,” the demigod explained with a grin. “She’s got a little food and a little wine and I think she’d be willing to try and work some of the stiffness out of those muscles for you.”
Iolaus’ blue eyes lit up, some of the fatigue leaving him. He grinned back and carefully got to his feet, favoring some of his more painful injuries but not about to let them hinder his enjoyment of the rest of the festival.
“A good hero never keeps a lady waiting,” he joked as he headed for the door. “Don’t wait up.” But Iolaus paused, turning back to his friend. Hercules had known exactly what he’d needed after a very long, hard day and the hunter was grateful to his partner for setting it up. “Thanks, Herc.”
“Don’t mention it, buddy,” Hercules told him warmly. “After all, that’s what friends are for.”
Finis
Disclaimer: No massively proportioned, ill tempered crustaceans stolen from Poseidon were harmed during the writing of this story.
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