Timothy Boggs - Hercules Legendary Joureneys 03 (19 page)

When they finished, the silence lasted several heartbeats; when it ended, the explosion of adulation was enough to bring tears to the eyes of those whose eyes weren't filled with tears already from the ballad.

Flovi raced to the wall, reached out his arms, and Merta leapt into them. They embraced, they walked back to the center of the arena, and Flovi nodded to a suddenly excited band.

Five more songs. Enough flowers and scarves and coins to bury a small city.

Three encores, more flowers and scarves and coins, and Hercules began to think it would keep up until dawn.

Finally Salmoneus darted out of the other tunnel and, promising that the Fantastic Country Duo would return, hustled them off, then wisely waited until the applause ended before returning.

He stared at the south tunnel, touched his beard, touched his heart.

Hercules took a deep breath; now or never, Salmoneus, don't screw it up.

Salmoneus faced the audience.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, for your amazement and your astonishment, the Salmoneus Traveling Theater of Fun is proud to present that king of prestidigitation, that monarch of magic, that emperor of—"

He yelped when a small green fireball struck him in the rump.

Then Dragar stepped out of the tunnel, and all the torches went out.

Hercules felt the audience holding its breath in anticipation, uncertain whether this was part of the act or a prelude to another disaster.

Then Dragar said, "Behold!" And the torches flared again.

He stood in the center of the arena, appearing taller than usual in a dark blue robe fringed and hemmed with braided gold thread. His hair was covered by a silver skullcap, his feet by glittering silver-and-red boots. The darkness of his beard made his face ghostly white; the flicker of the torchlight in his eyes made them glow a pale yellow.

The only thing missing was Aulma and her dancing.

A smattering of tentative applause signaled the audience's continuing misgivings, and even when Dragar smiled, bowed, and plucked blindingly white doves from his voluminous sleeves, to toss lightly into the air, the people still held back.

Hercules could smell it.

It was fear.

Dragar didn't appear to notice. He continued his routine as if nothing were amiss—beautiful doves and gaudy scarves from his sleeves, liquid fire poured like honey from a small jug into a smaller goblet, ribbons from his beard, the now-familiar fireballs that floated over his head and exploded silently into sparks that the wind took into the clouds. The only time he lost the smile was when he walked over to the arena's edge and looked up at a child as if to ask for her assistance, and she cowered against her mother's side.

After a long moment Dragar laughed. "The child knows a charlatan when she sees one," he announced as he returned to the center. "I do believe she has guessed my secrets."

A few people laughed with him, and he acknowledged them with a modest nod.

"But I think," he continued, one hand stroking his goatee, "this will change her mind."

He reached into his robe, frowned as he pretended not to find what he sought, then uttered an "Aha!" as he pulled out the black staff with the head of the silver ram.

This time the applause was a little louder, but it sounded brittle.

Hercules braced himself, wondering if perhaps he had waited too long.

"Behold!" Dragar cried.

"Yes, behold!" Salmoneus cried as he trotted from the other tunnel, waving to the audience and grinning like a madman. "Behold the extra-special attraction we have created just for you, the good and wonderful people of Phyphe."

Dragar glared at him, too angry to speak, too astonished to move.

"One time only!" Salmoneus announced at the top his near-squeaking voice, ignoring the fuming magician as he trotted awkwardly around the wall, grinning wildly at the faces turned toward him, confused and wondering. "Absolutely guaranteed one time only!"

The crowd began to stir, amused by the way Salmoneus couldn't seem to keep his sandals on and run at the same time. "Never before seen by human eyes!" Dragar reached out to grab his shoulder, but Salmoneus skipped away, tripped, almost fell, and bowed comically at the giggles and applause that came his way.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the Salmoneus Traveling Theater of Fun proudly, and at great expense, presents .. . Dragar the Magician versus ... the Red Power Beast!"

And with a deep breath and silent prayer, Hercules stepped into the arena.

The audience didn't quite know what to make of it when they finally saw Hercules—if this was the Red Power Beast, where was that curly red thing he wore the other night? Where was the Beast? Where was the power? Unless, of course, he really was going to break a tree over his head, thus proving that he was a lot stronger than he looked.

Salmoneus couldn't smile any longer. He looked pleadingly at Hercules and raced off the floor.

Dragar only nodded. "So."

Hercules nodded. "Yes."

"You didn't die."

"You thought I would?"

"One can but hope."

Hercules shrugged.

Dragar laid a hand on his forehead, closed his eyes briefly, and exhaled loudly, making it clear he considered this less than a petty interruption.

"You can't fight me and win, you know. You've already seen that."

Hercules felt the stiffness in his shoulder and the faint throbbing in his head. But he shrugged as if to say that not every battle wins every war.

Dragar snorted. "You think your... your so-called divine status will be enough to stop me?"

"Oh, yes," Hercules promised him. "Oh, yes."

Only those in the first two rows could hear the exchange, and the arena quickly filled with the sound of those passing the conversation along to the rest of the crowd.

The whispering sounded like the wind.

"With what?" Dragar wanted to know. "Your thick skull? That ridiculous shirt? Or perhaps you're counting on those clumsy bare hands?"

Hercules looked at his hands. They were indeed empty; he had left the makeshift club back in the tunnel.

You know, his inner voice said, sometimes I wonder how you made it this far.

Idiot
was the mildest thing he called himself then, plus a few things he knew would make his mother pass out.

But aloud he answered, "Sure."

Dragar rolled his eyes in disgust and lifted the staff over his head.

Hercules took a step toward him. "One chance," he offered mildly. "One chance to change your mind, Dragar, and stop this before someone gets hurt."

Dragar bared his teeth. "Hurt? Oh, my dear Hercules, if these peasant dolts only get hurt, they'll feel blessed by the gods."

Hercules felt his chest tighten as he glanced around him at the several hundred faces turned toward him—men, women, children, all leaning forward, their expressions intense.

Then a querulous voice called from the front row, "Excuse me? Mr. Dragar? You want to repeat that, please?"

Dragar swiveled his head around and glowered.

"Only fair, you know," the voice continued. "I mean, that Beast fellow doesn't look like much, you know what I mean? Beefy, but not terribly smart. Hardly worth the money. The least you can do is speak up."

Beefy? Hercules thought; hardly worth the money?

"Like
this?"
Dragar bellowed, thunder and lightning in his voice, amplified to such a degree that a few people uttered soft screams, and a few more covered their ears. The voice didn't answer; Hercules figured it belonged to the skinny guy now slumped over the wall. "One chance," he repeated. "Die," Dragar sneered. And the Eye of the Ram opened.

Bolts of fiercely orange light tried to spear Hercules' chest, but the arm guards deflected them one by one into the ground.

Fireballs circled like hawks over his head, but again the arm guards scattered them into sparks.

Hercules circled sideways to his left, and the bolts and fire followed; he changed direction, moving faster, ducking and dodging while the sorcerous missiles exploded against the base of the wall.

The audience finally applauded; this was more like it.

Dragar's eyes narrowed in frustration. The faster he attacked, the faster Hercules moved out of way.

Hercules, for his part, smiled mockingly, hoping the man didn't yet understand that stalling had become a major part of his plan while he figured out what the rest of it was.

Meanwhile, Dragar's impatience was Hercules' strongest ally, and he used it by skipping a few steps while, at the same time, deflecting all that the sorcerer threw at him.

Dragar growled and bared his teeth again. His arms had a difficult time holding the ram aloft, and his aim suffered for it. Now the fireballs and firebolts more often than not slammed into the cobblestones.

Hercules bowed, although he kept his head up, his gaze on Dragar's narrowed eyes.

Some of the audience tittered, recognizing in this the bumbling magician they had seen in the first show.

"One chance," Hercules offered.

Dragar snarled, and out of the Eye snaked a long purple flare that pinwheeled low, then high, then whipped past Hercules into the wall.

He grunted and stared at his upper arm.

The audience saw the blood at the same time, and most of them belatedly understood that this wasn't an act at all.

Hercules gripped his arm just below the wound, willing the pain to a place where he couldn't feel it. He barely deflected the next attack, and the attack after that.

Dragar paused, breathing heavily, frowning as he considered his next move.

At the same time there was a palpable shift in the audience's reaction; a few tried to climb over the walls in back, not wanting to take a chance on the usual exits.

Dragar raised his arms again and shouted, "No!"

The staff spun; from the Eye came a continuous flow of glaring white that ended only when Dragar brought his arms down and set the butt of the staff on the ground near his right foot, his left hand pom-pously on his hip.

"You will go," he said, "when 1 say you can

go."

Hercules looked to the top of the arena and had to tighten his jaw to keep from groaning: a slow-moving white wall surrounded the coliseum. Every few seconds a blue or red spark flared and died within it.

There was a moment when he thought the crowd would stampede, but a gesture from Dragar soon had them all seated again. And silent.

"Now," the sorcerer said, and snapped his fingers. "You wanted a Beast? You shall have him."

A figure stumbled out of the tunnel, dazed, barely able to keep his feet.

"No!" Aulma cried as she ran into the arena. "Please, no!"

Salmoneus was right behind her; he grabbed her shoulders and held on, but it took Flovi's help to stop her.

Virgil Cribus moved stiff-legged toward Dragar, but he looked at Hercules, begging for help.

Dragar stopped him with a gesture, and the Eye opened again.

White light from it formed threads, a dazzling web that covered the young man before he could move.

Then the strands fell away in pieces, each one turning to brief flame as it hit the ground.

"Now, there," Dragar said smugly, "is a Beast."

It was at least three feet high at the shoulders, with the head and mane of a black lion. The body was that of a great mountain wolf, its gleaming black pelt rippling as it padded around the outside of the arena, pointed ears laid back, its long tail hairless and thick

and covered with spikes that resembled a cobra's fangs.

A steady low growl came from deep in its throat. Its claws were so long they sounded like whip cracks against the floor each time it took a step.

When it spotted Aulma, pressed in terror against the wall, Salmoneus right beside her, it shook its huge head, tongues of fire flying from its mane.

When it spotted Hercules, it roared.

And as it roared, it charged.