Timothy Boggs - Hercules Legendary Joureneys 03 (8 page)

A rasping chuckle, a shift of weight, and suddenly he had an idea.

"Don't hurt him."

Hercules turned his head as slowly as he could. Someone stood in the shadow of the trees. By the sound of the voice, it was a woman.

"Won't."

"Promise?"

"Of course I don't promise. He tries to get away, I'll have to ... you know."

Hercules felt rather than saw the shadow shudder.

"All right," she said reluctantly. "Just be careful, please?"

Something landed in front of his nose. He stared at it so hard he nearly went cross-eyed.

It was a feather.

I'll be, he thought.

The shadow left the trees, and he shifted his attention to the moon-drenched woman who walked cautiously toward him. Her long hair was dark and parted in the center, held off her face by a wide dark band—a
gently rounded face, despite the night,
clearly young, but not so young that he couldn't appreciate the beauty there.

She held out a hand. "Do you have to do that?"

' 'What do you think?' the rasping voice snapped. "He's a man. He'll cut us as soon as look at us."

It was enough.

"You know," he said, "it's been a long time, Agatra, but I don't think I've changed all that much."

He tensed as talons gripped more tightly, and a face appeared over his left shoulder. He almost went cross-eyed again, but he managed to smile. "Hi"

"You!"

"Who?" the woman asked nervously.

"Him," Agatra snarled, clearly disappointed she wasn't going to get to skewer anyone tonight. She did not, however, lift herself off his back. She climbed off, leaving, he was sure, several deliberate punctures along his sides. "Nuts."

Hercules waited a second before pushing himself to his hands and knees, then rocked back onto his heels and grinned at the Harpy squatting in front of him. "You look pretty good."

She glared at him. "1 should slit your throat and eat your innards."

"Agatra!" the young woman protested.

"She has a short memory," Hercules told the woman without taking his gaze from the Harpy. "I saved her life once, and she hates it."

Agatra lowered her head and spread her impressive wings. "Don't push it," she warned.

Hercules just grinned.

Some years before, in stark mountains that gave birth to winds that snarled with cold no matter what time of year, Hercules had come across a Harpy nesting area hidden deep in a cheerless valley.

Ordinarily he would have moved on immediately. Harpies were not the most even-tempered or hospi-table creatures in the world on the best of days, and he had, on more than one occasion, battled more than a few to save the lives of humans.

This time, however, he could not leave.

The valley was under siege by a number of satyrs, who seemed bent on complete extermination of the community.

The Harpies were outnumbered, many of them already gravely wounded, and it was clear that the satyrs were on the brink of achieving their goal.

He didn't know why, but he had waded into the battle without a second thought.

The satyrs who survived fled.

Except one, who had a badly wounded Harpy trapped in a niche between two huge boulders. The creature had little intention of making an easy kill. First it wanted torment and torture.

Hercules lost his temper.

The satyr lost its life.

' 'Who are you?' the Harpy had demanded weakly, bleeding from a score of wounds, one broken wing hanging grotesquely from her shoulder.

"Hercules."

"I'm Agatra," she had said, gasping. "I'll remember you. Now leave, before the others kill you."

He had, and until now, had not seen Agatra again.

The young woman introduced herself and glanced apprehensively at the village. "Maybe we should ..." She nodded toward the trees. "You know."

Agatra didn't move except to settle the feathers on her chest. "I'm not afraid."

Peyra sighed. "It has nothing to do with being afraid, Agatra. It has to do with our plan."

"What plan?" Hercules wanted to know.

"None of your business," the Harpy snarled.

"Agatra, come on," Peyra chided. "Maybe he can help us."

"He's a man."

"Well..." Peyra scanned Hercules boldly head to foot. "Yes, that's for sure."

"What plan?"

"Keep your mind on business," Agatra scolded.

"I am."

"Not that business, the other business."

Peyra, even in moonlight, clearly blushed.

Hercules, uncomfortable at the almost predatory look in her eyes and the way Agatra worked on her talons with a short piece of thin metal, suggested that they do as Peyra had suggested and get into the trees before they were spotted. He had no idea what they were up to, but he couldn't help feeling there was trouble involved.

There was always trouble involved.

The way things were going these days, he could smile at a squirrel and end up fighting a war.

Peyra insisted, and finally the Harpy trundled off, grumbling to herself about men, the long flight, and more men.

"I'm sorry," Peyra said as she and Hercules followed. "She's a little cranky."

"I know. I've seen."

"But we really could use your help, Hercules. Really."

Hercules shrugged. "I'd be glad to, of course, but I don't know what your trouble is."

"Frog," Agatra muttered. She had found a twisted oak at the edge of the woods and was perched on its thick lower branch, not three feet above Hercules' head.

"Frog?"

"Frog," Peyra confirmed, and patted her stomach.

Hercules stared.

Peyra gasped.

Agatra said, "Don't be silly, man. We're trying to get her husband back."

Hercules blinked. "Her husband?"

"The frog."

Hercules took a step back. "Her husband's a frog?"

"Well, he wasn't always a frog," said Peyra, insulted. "Why? Do I look like a frog, too?"

She's going to slap me, Hercules thought resignedly; there's a club, and now it's her turn to slap me.

"Oh, for crying out loud," Agatra snapped. "Will you two stop talking in circles? You're making me dizzy." She huffed to the ground and settled in front of Hercules. "Now, pay attention, man: This child and her husband were in Hyanth. They attended a performance of a traveling show. During the performance, a magician turned the husband into a frog" She nodded sharply. "Show him the frog, dear."

Quickly Hercules put up a hand. "Don't bother. I know what a frog looks like."

"It's yellow," the Harpy said in disgust. "A really ugly yellow."

Peyra sniffed back tears. "I don't want any trouble, Hercules. All I want is my Garus back."

Hercules looked at the darkened town. "And you think you'll get him back here?"

Her nod was tentative.

Hercules suggested quite sternly to himself that asking the question he was about to ask would only add to the problems he already had with Salmoneus. Add to them, complicate them, and, as usual, make his life miserable.

Peyra moved toward him and placed a soft hand on his chest. "Will you help me?"

Agatra groaned.

Hercules looked down into her eyes.

"Please?"

You know, he told himself when he discovered that a good part of him wasn't paying any attention, this really isn't—

She parted her lips ever so slightly.

Oh boy, he thought.

"The magician," he said hoarsely, and cleared his throat. "Do you remember the magician's name?"

Of course she does, you idiot, that inner voice sneered.

"Dragar," she answered breathily.

He would have laughed if it had not been for the plea in her expression, and the single tear that glowed in the corner of her left eye.

"I don't think so," he said gently.

"It was."

He put his hands on her arms, and instantly snatched them away when she leaned closer. "Peyra, listen, the kind of magic you're talking about is powerful stuff. It's the kind of magic reserved for the gods."

"I know," she said sorrowfully, but not so sorrowfully that she didn't rest her head against his chest and slip her arms around his waist.

"I've met this Dragar. He has good tricks, but I don't think he's smart enough to do what you say he did."

"But I saw it," she whispered, and tightened her arms.

Hercules couldn't help it—his arms embraced her.

"Careful," Agatra said disgustedly. "You'll squish the frog." And she added, "The one what's your husband, in case you've forgotten."

Peyra immediately jumped back, flustered, embarrassed, fussing with her hair.

Hercules reached out and grabbed her hands to keep them still. He smiled. "Look, I think you've somehow made a mistake. Dragar is, from what I've seen, very, very good at what he does. But he does tricks, not real magic. Don't you think it's possible you've been fooled?"

Peyra didn't hesitate: "No." She reached into the pouch at her waist and pulled out a yellow frog, which immediately rolled onto its back and stuck its legs out stiffly. "This is my husband." She sobbed as she slipped the amphibian back into its hiding place. "All I want is for Dragar to change him back. That's all.

Nothing more."

Hercules looked to Agatra and asked
Do you believe this story?
without saying a word.

The Harpy nodded curtly.

Still, he wasn't sure. The power they attributed to Dragar was highly improbable. Even Hera wouldn't bestow such magic on a mortal, not even on her worst day.

But he had long ago learned that improbable did not mean impossible.

At that moment he recalled the list of disasters Salmoneus had recited. The drunken fights didn't concern him; the flood and the pillar of fire did.

If they were true, this went far beyond changing a kid into a frog. A really ugly frog.

With one hand to his mouth, he stared across the open field to the dark bulk of the arena, and the buildings beyond it.

"I can't promise anything," he said at last.

Peyra nearly sagged to her knees in relief.

Agatra snorted.

"You'll need a place to stay," Hercules said. "Trouble is, the town's full."

"Already have one," Agatra answered. She explained that they had found quite a comfortable cave near the waterfall. When he objected, more out of politeness than anything else, she reminded him that she wasn't exactly the usual tourist and would no doubt cause unnecessary trouble.

Peyra would stay with her.

Her tone brooked no argument, and since Peyra offered no opinion of her own, he had no choice but to accept the arrangement.

"The first performance is tomorrow afternoon, late. I'll meet you at the pool after sunset, let you know what I've learned."

Agatra grunted her acceptance and vanished into the shadows.

Peyra hesitated, then hurried up to him, kissed him soundly on the lips, and vanished as well into the darkness.

Hercules didn't move.

Although he often made light of Salmoneus' penchant for finding trouble without half trying, this was markedly, and ominously, different.

Signs and portents, he thought.

A breeze touched his face, and he turned away from it with a shudder.

It was too much like being touched by death.

Hercules stood outside the entrance to the Phyphe arena, his right hand absently rubbing his left arm as he felt an inexplicable reluctance to proceed any farther.

The clear morning sky had grown overcast, softening shadows and giving the intermittent breeze an unseasonable chill. A flock of birds flew over the town, their cries distant and melancholy. Somewhere behind him a horse whickered softly.

It was one of those odd moments in time, when everyone suddenly found other things to do, and he was alone, trying to shake off the uncomfortable sense that the town was deserted.

The arena's outside walls were smooth and wind-worn, at least twice again as tall as he was. He could see straight down the twenty-foot tunnel to the arena floor, and across to another entrance directly opposite.

All perfectly normal, all absolutely empty.

He felt foolish, and glanced over each shoulder, sure that someone was watching, that he was the target of some bizarre trick.

Ordinarily he would have laughed it off and strode right in; ordinarily he would have figured that somehow Salmoneus was to blame.

He didn't.

Last night he had awakened an hour or so before dawn, not from a dream, but from the certainty that something had happened. His skin had been pocked with gooseflesh, and he could hear the restless stirring of animals in a nearby stable.

His first thought had been that the earth had moved. Not a quake, but a brief, slight shudder. He would have passed it off as the remnant of a dream had he not heard, in the dark, a distinct scrabbling sound. He used a flint carefully to light the candle by his bed, looked around, and saw tiny pieces of dirt and stone slipping off the windowsill to the floor.