Timothy Boggs - Hercules Legendary Joureneys 01 (18 page)

The sword reflected the fire; the rawhide keened through the air.

"It's pretty sad, isn't it, when you can't even fight your own battles. When you have to hide behind the beaten backs of a hundred men in arms."

Zorin came on, and now Hercules could see his face—it had been severely burned, and was mottled with livid red splotches. Some of his beard was gone, and both his eyebrows. There was filth in his hair.

Hercules rolled his shoulders to keep them loose. "Are you sure you don't want any help?"

"I don't need help," the man snapped.

Sword and rawhide, crossing each other.

"Suit yourself."

The white smile again: "I always do."

Yet Hercules had already seen it, the fury that made the man's limbs a little stiff, the pain that prevented him from complete concentration . . . and the doubt. No one had challenged him like this before, and no one, especially not just one man, had strewn such havoc as would defeat a small army.

That doubt was Hercules' most important ally.

He watched it all build without moving an inch, hoping his face didn't betray his own nervousness.

Suddenly Zorin boiled over, and charged with an enraged scream.

Hercules easily sidestepped the blind run, tucking away from the reach of the sword and, at the same time, slapping the man's back. Deliberately lightly. Just enough to make him stumble as he whirled to charge again.

This time Hercules took the charge on the rawhide side, using his arm guard to take the brunt of the vicious lash, causing it to wrap around his forearm. The metal balls sparked their own brand of fire, but he yanked the rawhide free of Zorin's grasp, quickly unwrapped it, and tossed it aside disdainfully.

"A mild diversion," Zorin said, panting slightly, swaying to keep on his feet.

"Yes, you are," Hercules told him.

Zorin's eyes widened, his lips drew back, and he came at Hercules in a rush, sword slashing wildly, the tip slicing Hercules at the top of his left arm. Hercules grunted at the pain, instantly buried it, and faced the next rush, this one somewhat less fast, somewhat less strong. The night had tired them both, but Hercules wasn't encumbered by the weight of sword or armor.

Or of mindless fury.

He sidestepped again, and tapped the back of Zorin's skull. Hard enough, this time, to send him sprawling on hands and knees.

But he kept hold of the sword.

"Stand still!" Zorin demanded as he stood.

Hercules shook his head. "I don't think so."

But he did.

Zorin charged, the sword only barely held at his waist, and Hercules feinted a sidestep to draw the tip away, then closed with him, hard, slapping the weapon free while wrapping his arms around him. Zorin's momentum took them to the ground, where his frustration gave him more strength than Hercules would have credited him with. They rolled and grappled down the path, Hercules squeezing while Zorin pounded mercilessly on his back and tried to tear out his throat with his teeth.

Smashing into a large bush finally stopped and separated them.

Zorin got to his feet first and aimed a vicious kick at Hercules' stomach. Hercules rolled, catching the boot on his hip, wincing as he sat up on his heels just as another kick came at his face.

He grabbed the ankle, and held it.

Stunned and slightly panicked, Zorin hopped on his other foot and tried to pull free.

Hercules rose.

As he did, Zorin jumped, and twisted, wrenching his trapped leg free while the other whipped around just an inch shy of Hercules' jaw. When he landed, Hercules was beside him. He pulled him up by the scruff, grunted at the wild blows that landed on his sides, and spun the man around.

Zorin saw the apologetic smile, and he saw the fist, and he had no time to react to either.

Over; it was over.

Hercules slumped heavily to the ground next to the unconscious Zorin and watched while a few more stragglers made their way out of the valley, toting their possessions, a few herding nervous cattle while a few more rode what horses hadn't already escaped. Only a handful bothered to look in his direction, and only a couple of them reacted when they saw their leader sprawled at his side.

It only took a look to keep them moving. Over; it was finally over.

Once he realized that, once the adrenaline had stopped pumping through his system and allowed him to think straight, he also realized something else-He hurt. He also ached pretty badly, and there were parts of him he wasn't sure were working the way they were supposed to work.

He didn't have to check to know his arm would be covered with welts from the rawhide lash despite the heavy guard, his back with bruises from the battering it had taken, and the rest of him he didn't even want to think about. Especially the bleeding cut on his shoulder.

The question now was . . . what to do with Zorin now that he had him. To leave him here and let him decide his future for himself was out of the question. Hercules already knew what that decision would be.

Killing him would be more permanent, but he had never worked that way; at least not with men. Monsters were something else, and he supposed he should be grateful there hadn't been any of them hanging around this time.

So then, what?

A good strong cell in a nicely maintained dungeon with some helpful but unsympathetic guards for dis-cretionary discipline should do the trick.

Which, of course, raised another problem—which dungeon? Whose dungeon? Whose guards? Who did he trust to continue the raider lord's education in his postwar life?

"You," he said to Zorin, "are more trouble than you're worth."

But a minute later a faint, mischievous smile twitched at his lips.

Two birds with one stone, as his mother used to say; two birds with one stone.

One of them a vulture, the other a rare bird with more plumage than sense.

Groaning aloud to make sure the gods knew he was doing this bit entirely on his own with no help or prompting from anyone, he pushed stiffly to his feet. A check of the valley entrance made him change his mind about going in to find a cart, a horse, even a wandering oxen with nothing better to do. This would have to be a two-foot job.

A loud martyred sigh to make sure the gods understood the sacrifice he was about to make, and he hoisted Zorin over his good shoulder, took a deep breath to get him started, and headed down the slope.

No one stopped him.

One battered and gray-bearded raider, lugging a side of beef on his back and another under his arm, jerked his head toward Zorin. "Dead, is he?"

"No."

"Too bad. You want me to do it for you?"

"No."

"Too bad."

Hercules grinned and moved on.

The weight, distributed as it was, wasn't as heavy as he would have thought. What bothered him was the pokes and prods of the studs in Zorin's armor. When he couldn't stand it any longer, he lowered the man to the ground and unceremoniously stripped him, leaving him wearing nothing more than a wrap of thin leather around his waist for modesty. He also tore from the man's shirt the cleanest strip he could find and wrapped his still-bleeding shoulder as best he could.

Then it was back on his other shoulder for Zorin, and back on the trail.

Sometime later, as the sky began to lighten around the edges of the mountains, Zorin moaned, tried to shift, and froze when Hercules' arm tightened its grip.

"You're hurting me," the raider complained.

"Then go back to sleep."

"Like this? Do you have any idea what I'm going to do with you when .. . where are my clothes?"

Hercules listened for a few minutes while Zorin, having given up all efforts to free himself, instead assaulted him with enough curses to damn an entire continent, enough invective to sear the soul of the most pious of men, and enough inventive threats of applied agony to make the worst of torturers beam with pleasure that the good guys didn't have a monopoly on imagination.

Enough, however, soon became enough.

He stopped, stood Zorin up, braced him upright with one hand, popped him on the jaw without so much as a look or an apology, picked him up, and moved on.

There were, he knew, some things even the son of Zeus didn't have to put up with.

By the time the sun had lifted the top of its arc above the mountain range, Hercules could see the new city spread before him. As much as he still ached, as much as he wished he could stop for a drink of water, he quickened his pace, lengthened his stride, and soon found himself on the road that led to the king's new palace.

Zorin, who had miraculously discovered a way to doze in his position, struggled a little once he realized where they were headed.

"Forget it," Hercules warned. "My knuckles aren't that sore."

Zorin laughed, coughed, laughed once more. "You don't get it, friend. This isn't going to work."

Hercules returned the laugh, but not the cough. "If you think I think King Arclin will release you after I leave, I think you had better think again."

After a moment's puzzled silence, Zorin said, "What?"

Not long after they reached the first of the huts, he gained a following, inquisitive children and curious young men who quickly passed the word of Hercules' prisoner.

Hercules, meanwhile, explained to Zorin that he had already figured out Arclin and Zorin's plan to expand the kingdom and share the power and wealth. He also explained, since talking helped pass the time, that it hadn't taken him long to figure out how Arclin had achieved his crime-fighting reputation. Which, he added ominously, would not stop; it would just take another, more desirable direction.

Zorin laughed.

Hercules threatened to pop him.

Zorin grumbled into a sulking silence that lasted only long enough for him to overhear the whispered taunts and jokes the ever-growing crowd had begun to make at his expense. His invective returned, but Hercules ignored it, since it only served to make the people giggle, then laugh, then make hasty bets whether or not it was physically possible to do some of the things the raider suggested.

Although there was sore temptation, Hercules refused to smile. The man's humiliation was a bonus to his defeat, yet he didn't want to goad the crowd on by signaling his approval. Sooner or later one of them might remember what they all had had to suffer at Zorin's hands.

That things would get nasty, quickly, was probably a vast understatement.

"I have riches," Zorin said desperately when they reached the open band of grassland between the new city and the palace on the rise. "You can have half."

"Thank you, but no."

"Three fourths, then. I have to have something for my troubles."

"No. I have all I need, thank you."

At the base of the steps he put Zorin on his feet, grabbed him by the nape, and began to climb; the raider, being given no choice, stumbled along at his side.

"This is insane," Zorin snarled. "You don't know him like I know him. You've never dealt with him before. I can tell you now he'll never agree to whatever it is you want."

"Sure he will."

Zorin tried a feeble punch, and had to be held up when an elbow jabbed him none too gently in the ribs.

A crowd had begun to gather at the top of the steps, and Hercules recognized the captain of the guard hurrying down to meet them. The soldier seemed concerned until he realized who Hercules held at the end of his grip, then wavered between terror and abject horror.

"What... what... ?"

Zorin aimed a slap at Hercules chest. "Kill him, Captain," he ordered. "Kill him." Which would have sounded a lot more impressive if he also hadn't sounded as if he were being strangled.

The captain looked from Hercules to Zorin and back again, climbing backward as he did since Hercules hadn't bothered to stop. "I. . ."

"The king," Hercules said. "While you're thinking about what you're going to do—and I don't advise you to do it—take me to the king."

"Do and you're a dead man," Zorin swore.

Without breaking stride, Hercules popped him, slung him over a shoulder, and nodded that he was ready now, carry on, I'll just follow along.

The captain, dumbfounded but definitely without the incentive to argue, led Hercules through the whispering members of the court, through the towering gates, and across a broad stone courtyard into the palace itself. They climbed another flight of stairs, marched down a tapestry-lined corridor whose east side was mostly open to the morning, around a corner, another corner, down another corridor, and down another flight of stairs.

"Are you lost?" Hercules asked.

The captain smiled apologetically. "Sorry. I'm just nervous. This is a first, you know."

Hercules stared.