The Pillars of Hercules (50 page)

“But he’ll join forces until we’ve got our hands on it?”

“Presumably,” said Kalyana. “But I would not turn your back on him.”

Eumenes smiled grimly. “Does he have anything that passes for a map of Hades?”

Kalyana nodded. “Quite a detailed one from the sound of it. Though they lost it when the ship went down. He keeps saying that the lowest level is death.”

“Like we needed him to tell us that.” Eumenes turned to a member of his bridge-crew. “Full throttle,” he said. “Keep an eye on that archway.” Sailors adjusted controls; a rumbling went through the craft as the ironclad plowed into the whitewater rapids that were surging out of that arch. But suddenly another sailor rushed onto the bridge. Eumenes recognized him—he was the one who spoke Phoenician.

“Aren’t you supposed to be with the Carthaginian?” he asked.

“Sir, sorry sir. But I was just talking with him about the Persian ship.”

“What about it? It sunk. No longer a problem—”

“Sir, he said it had underwater capacity.”

All conversation on the bridge stopped. Eumenes turned to Kalyana. “You should have found that out,” he said calmly.

“Hanno and I were talking about Hell, not—”

But Eumenes was already talking over him, giving orders. “Get more men onto the rear-observation platform. Anything they see in the water that’s the
slightest bit weird,
we’ll use the Greek fire. Now
move
.”

As sailors raced from the room, the Carthaginian entered, bedecked in a splendid Macedonian cuirass, the two slingers behind him, seemingly content to remain half-naked. Eumenes glanced at him: “And someone ask this guy
what else that ship can do
.” Kalyana began talking in Phoenician but the Carthaginian wasn’t listening—he was just looking at the edifice that towered over them and babbling in his own language. They’d almost reached the tower’s arch.

“What’s he saying?” asked Eumenes.

“Same thing he told me earlier,” replied Kalyana. “The lowermost level is death.” Understanding suddenly dawned in his eyes but Eumenes was already yelling the order: “Reverse full speed!
Reverse full speed!”

That was the moment the
Xerxes
rammed the ironclad.

Once they’d gotten close enough to the tower, Barsine and Eurydice had decided that there weren’t going to be any automatic defenses and there was thus no point in using the ironclad as a stalking horse. So they hit the ironclad from the side, the
Xerxes’
ram slicing straight through the weak point between two of the metal plates, smashing into the hybrid wooden-metal framework behind them. Within moments, the
Xerxes
had thoroughly embedded itself in the side of the ironclad; water rushed in and the ship started to list just as Lugorix, Matthias, Barsine and Eurydice scrambled out of the hatch and onto the platform of the
Xerxes
.

It was only now that they were right next to it that Lugorix truly realized just how much bigger the ironclad was—twice the height and three times the width, lined with gunnery and observation slits. But the ship was in trouble, and he could hear pandemonium within. Matthias clambered up next to him and aimed a crossbow that Eurydice had radically modified at the archway overhead, at the window above it, lining it up—

“Do it,”
hissed Lugorix.

Matthias fired. The bolt shot upward, its spikes burying itself between the keystones of the arch. Eurydice grabbed Matthias; Barsine grabbed Lugorix; both men grabbed onto the rope and then Matthias pulled the second lever attached to the trigger; next moment, they were all hauled upward as the miniature flywheels that lined the crossbow began spinning, the stricken ironclad-
Xerxes
combo dropping away from them, its forward momentum carrying it inside the archway and out of sight.

“Sucks to be them,” said Eurydice.

“How about we focus on
us?”
asked Barsine as they reached the upper portion of the archway. Lugorix placed one foot on a keystone, reached out toward the window. His hands closed around the edge. He levered himself around and onto the sill, found himsef staring into a tunnel leading into the tower’s interior. He reached out his hand, grabbed that of Barsine, helped her inside, then did the same for Matthias and then for Eurydice. They stared into the darkness of the tunnel.

“A light would help,” said Eurydice.

“You sure about that?” asked Matthias. “After those damn creatures earlier—”

“Those are outside the tower,” said Barsine. She fumbled with something—and suddenly the blueish light of Damitra’s amulet filled the tunnel.

“Guess the
Xerxes
won’t be needing that anymore,” said Eurydice.

“None of those bastards down there will be needing anything again,” said Barsine.

The ironclad’s throttle was on maximum now, as the ship desperately tried to make some kind of landfall before it went under. Because go under it clearly would: the Persian ship had embedded itself below the waterline and the list to the side was becoming ever more critical, the helmsman compensating at an ever greater angle to keep the ship going straight. And now soldiers were on top of the ironclad, looking for survivors from the Persian ship’s crew; with them were sailors with torches. In the flickering light, Eumenes could make out a vast and cavernous chamber: the carved vaults of the ceiling sweeping overhead, with platform-jetties at each corner, each one with stairs winding up into darkness. Eumenes pointed at one of the jetties; the ship slowly turned toward it.

But then the black-powder bomb in the nose of the
Xerxes
detonated.

It had been Eurydice’s idea, of course. Barsine had hated the idea of assembling a live hi-ex device on her ship, but Eurydice had convinced her that once they lit the fuse they’d have at least a few minutes. The force of the blast tore what was left of the front of the
Xerxes
to pieces, ripping more of the ironclad’s side away, almost breaking that ship’s spine and knocking everybody on board off their feet. Just as Eumenes regained his, the ironclad smashed into the corner of the room, the engines still going as they shoved the nose of the ship ever further forward onto the platform—

“Shut it off!” he screamed. One of the sailors who’d been thrown against the controls managed to do do just that. The clanking of the engines died away; the ironclad was now tilting at a thirty degree angle and sinking rapidly, sliding back off the platform. Eumenes had no idea how deep the water was in this place and he had zero intention of finding out. He threw open the top hatch. In short order he and Kalyana and Ptolemy and Hanno and the slingers were up on the sloping roof of the ironclad, along with about fifteen of the commandos. The others were either still below deck, or had been knocked into the water.

And the men down in that water were curiously passive. They just
lay
there, as though they weren’t even trying to swim. None of them were shouting for help. Several were already drifting under. Eumenes caught a glimpse of one of those blank faces and then he understood.

This was, after all, the river Lethe.

“Their minds have been
wiped,
” said Ptolemy.

It wasn’t like anyone was planning to take a dip in the first place but now they knew the full penalty for doing so. Struggling to keep his balance, Eumenes led the others along the roof of the ironclad toward the stairway in the corner. Two sailors lost their footing, slid into the water—their screams cut off even as they hit. The water must be working on touch alone, thought Eumenes. It would be hard for this to get any worse.

He had rarely been more wrong.

Suddenly something enormous erupted from the water, something that dwarfed the ironclad, a leviathan-like grey-green scaled body from which were unfurling way too many… at first Eumenes thought they were snakes.

But then he realized they were necks.

Several of them were swooping in toward him.

It was then that he made the decision that would save his life. The natural response was to get out of there as fast as possible—just start running up those stairs. But Eumenes realized that the necks were easily narrow enough to follow. And maybe they were long enough too…

“Phalanx,”
he yelled to those who had made it to the platform. Those who hadn’t were getting plucked straight off the sinking ship by those snake-necks—or pulled straight out of the water. Either way, they were being devoured wholesale. The hell of it was that it was only when they were being eaten did those who had been mindwiped scream. Eumenes’ commandos turned on the stairs, clustered around him, locking shields as the first of the necks came at them. It wasn’t much of a phalanx. It wasn’t intended to be—they only had a small number of men, and they certainly hadn’t brought their
sarissae
. But they would fight together. The first of the necks came darting in.

And at last Eumenes saw what the heads were.

He froze for a moment in his tracks but fortunately the soldier being targeted didn’t—in fact, he was the only among them who was beyond any such emotion, and now he lashed out with his sword and severed the head from the neck with a single adroit swipe. The head hit the stone floor and rolled into the water; the neck thrashed about, blood spraying. But there were many more necks behind that and the creature itself was now pulling itself toward the mini-phalanx—which started to retreat, Eumenes anchoring the left and Ptolemy the right, up the stairs, weapons out and shields locked the entire way. The slingers remained in the rear, flinging rocks over the heads of the Macedonians with good effect, scoring direct hits on two of the heads. The last glimpse Eumenes had of the ironclad was of it settling onto the side, crewmembers abandoning it out the side-portals only to be consumed almost immediately by the monstrosity.

“Any idea what the fuck it is?” said Ptolemy.

“Does it matter?” muttered Eumenes.

“I am thinking it is the guardian,” replied Kalyana.

Master of the obvious,
thought Eumenes. They had just reached the top of the flight of stairs when the necks came at them again. Eumenes was starting to realize that one of the key advantages to being in a phalanx was not being one of the guys in the front row. They were the ones doing most of the fighting, and so far their shields were holding up. But then a neck darted low and bit a commando’s leg off beneath the knee. He fell forward screaming, and in the next instant all the necks were fighting over his still-twitching body. Eumenes stepped into the gap he’d left, took advantage of the distraction—

“There’s a door behind us,” he snarled. “Everyone through.”

They backed through. As the heads finished eating, two of the soldiers slid the stone door shut. The heads began hammering against the other side, but they weren’t getting through.

“Not that way, at any rate,” said Ptolemy.

Eumenes nodded. As usual, the two of them were on the same page. They had to assume this creature could reach any portion of this tower. But right now, there was only one way to go.

“Upward,” muttered Barsine.

“You okay?” said Lugorix.

“Not feeling… so good.”

Not that any of them were. The narrow tunnel had given way to a wider corridor lined with carvings that ranked among the more disturbing Lugorix had ever seen. Creatures of all descriptions consumed each other and humans; some of those humans were laid on altar-blocks, their hearts being ripped from them by jackal-headed priests. It was enough to make anyone a little queasy. They could hear noises emanating from somewhere below—screams and shouting conveyed by some corridor or air-vent. It sounded like combat. Perhaps the crew of the ironclad were giving a good accounting for themselves.

Problem was, the noise was getting closer.

They reached a door sealed and covered with runes. Eurydice said she thought those were runes of warning, but Barsine was adamant: there was a staircase on the other side that led to the upper chambers to which they were trying to get. So Matthias sliced away the seals with his
xiphos
and Lugorix opened the door to reveal a circular stairwell.

And a giant snake coming up it.

“Shit!”
yelled Matthias, leaping back.

“I’m on it,” said Lugorix. He raised Skullseeker, stepped forward as the monstrosity sidled up the stairs toward him. He couldn’t see its head and fangs amidst the shadows, but he really didn’t need to—all he had to do was time his blow. Which meant waiting for it strike. It moved in steadily.

Then suddenly darted forward with unbelievable speed, aiming straight at his chest—but Lugorix was already stepping to the side and swinging his axe, shearing through flesh and bone. With a gurgling cry, the head of the creature bounced at his feet. He looked down at it.

“Taranis save us,” he said.

It was human.

Not only that, but it was beautiful—the most beautiful face he’d ever seen, the face of a young man in the flower of his years, a mop of curly blond hair constrasting horribly with the blood pouring from that head’s severed base. And then the mouth opened limply in death and Lugorix could see row after row of razor-sharp teeth within. The others stared over his shoulder—at the gorgeous face, at the monstrous trunk of a neck. Then Lugorix kicked the head down the stairs.

“Let’s go,” he said.

They started up. Lugorix was helping Barsine as they did so—she had an arm around his shoulder, and was clearly in some distress, looking pale and dizzy. Lugorix put that down to what they’d just seen.

“Got the feeling there’s going to be more of those things,” he said.

“Let me confirm it for you,” said Eurydice. “That thing’s the hydra.”

Matthias frowned. “The
what?”

“Or the monster Cerberus, who Orpheus snuck past. Or Geryon, who Hercules subdued. Ever wonder why so many of the creatures described in the myths of Hell have got multiple heads?
Because it’s the same animal we’re talking about
. And I don’t know if it can regrow them, but I’ll bet it has a shitload more.
So how about we pick up the pace?”