Timothy Boggs - Hercules Legendary Joureneys 01 (5 page)

No wonder there weren't any more of them out there; there didn't need to be.

"Nikos," he said when the innkeeper came up beside him, "do you have someone you trust to take over your inn for a few days?"

Startled, Nikos nodded. "But why?"

Hercules pointed to the remaining prisoners. "We're taking them on a trip."

"We are? Where?"

"King Arclin," he said. "We're taking them to King Arclin."

"You know," said Nikos, late the following afternoon, "I'm not really a fighter."

Hercules simply moved his head in an automatic nod. The innkeeper had been building up to this ever since they had left Markan, and he figured he had better let the man speak now, or he'd be at it all night and neither one of them would get a wink of sleep.

"Really. I'm not."

Hercules had borrowed an open, two-horse wagon from one of the merchants, and the three remaining raiders were now in back, tied, grumbling about the dust and the ruts and the lousy food service, of which, as a matter of fact, there hadn't been any. Generally behaving, that is to say, like prisoners who had no intention of giving their warders an easy time of it. Especially their leader, Theo—Theo the Mangier, he called himself, for reasons Hercules decided he didn't want to know.

' 'I mean, the club is okay for what it does, you see. But that's not the real me."

Hercules, the reins easy in his hands, made several wordless but respectful noises.

"You see, the real me is more what you call your basic peace-loving man, you see what I mean? The club is only a symbol. The most I ever used it for was whacking a table now and then to keep the rowdies from tearing up the place. I never would have used it. I don't think I could."

"You were all right last night, pal," Theo the Mangier grumbled sourly. He struggled with his bonds a little, but more out of a sense of obligation than any real hope of breaking free. Thick rope tightly wound about a man's chest and ankles tended to do that to a prisoner.

Nikos looked over his shoulder. "Oh, well, that was different. I mean, you were trying to kill me, weren't you?"

"Damn straight."

"Well, there, you see? Self-defense. Any man can engage in self-defense without losing his peace-loving nature, you understand? Wouldn't be natural otherwise."

The Mangier shifted uncomfortably, trying to force more room between himself and his compatriots.

They would have moved, too, if they could have. They couldn't. The wagon was too small, barely wide enough for the three of them to stretch out their legs. If their knees bent a little. And they weren't too fussy about sudden cramps.

"What I see," the raider said, "is that peace-loving men are sheep, who don't deserve to have a life."

Nikos frowned. "Well, that's a matter for debate, don't you think?"

Theo growled.

"Exactly." Nikos grinned.

Exactly what? Hercules wondered, but didn't ask. If he asked, Nikos would probably tell him. And take his time about it, too.

As it was, they still had another day's travel ahead of them, and he wasn't all that sure the entire trip would be uneventful. Not that he didn't mind traveling; he did it all the time. It was, as a friend of his once said, part of his job description. What he did mind, however, were the horses. He seldom rode them. He walked everywhere it was possible to walk, riding only in emergencies, and even then he would have preferred that while riding he be unconscious.

He wasn't afraid of the beasts; he just didn't trust them very much. They had disturbing tendencies to stop short for no clear reason, and never mind the poor saps riding on their backs who, when the horses stopped short, generally weren't on their backs anymore.

He clucked softly. The two blacks shook their heads and pulled a little faster.

At least he didn't have to ride over mountains, or forge raging rivers, or cross rickety bridges over thou-sand-foot ravines. Most of the countryside had thus far been rolling pasture and meadowland, the forest having long since fallen away to the foothills in the hazy distance. A comfortable breeze kept the flies away, and its direction kept the dust from choking them. Even the road itself wasn't all that bad, what with ruts at a minimum and rocks pretty much all harvested for well walls, pasture boundaries, and such.

' 'Has it ever occurred to you,' Theo snarled,' 'that Zorin is probably looking for us?"

"Good grief, no," Nikos said, twisting around now, one arm resting on the board that served as the driver's backrest. "He'll be too busy trying to figure out what he should do about Hercules."

The other raiders mumbled.

Theo scowled. "Come on. You think Zorin is afraid of Hercules?"

"If he's smart, he would be."

Theo laughed derisively. He glared at the others, and they laughed, too. "Zorin isn't afraid of anything, my friend. Not even the gods."

Nikos huffed. "That's because he hasn't met Hercules."

"Even then."

"Oh, I don't think so."

"My hat."

Nikos frowned. "What?"

Theo said, "My hat. I can't see. My bloody hat's fallen over my eyes."

Hercules couldn't help it; he looked. And it had. He looked back to the road that led them away from the setting sun and thought, I have fought against veritable armies; I have battled a couple of gods and more than my share of monsters; I have been bloodied and had some bones broken, I've been chained and whipped and nearly drowned, and come close to ending up in the Elysian Fields more than once . . . and this is where it all leads?

To a man who calls himself Theo the Mangier and complains about his stupid helmet? He should look in a stream sometime—those horns made him look like a sickly goat.

Nikos leaned over and straightened it.

"Thanks," said Theo.

"A peace-loving man," said the innkeeper, "always knows how to keep his customers happy." Then he turned to Hercules. "Really. I'm not a fighter."

"All right, Nikos, all right," he said wearily. "What's the point?"

"Ah. Well, you see, the point is, we're going to the king, right?"

"Right."

"Ha!" Theo said.

"Now, when we get there, the king will want to hear the whole story, right?"

"Right."

"Ha!" Theo said.

"And when he hears the whole story, he'll be upset because Zorin's back in his kingdom. Plying his trade, so to speak. The king, the gods love 'im, he'll have to send out part of his army—which isn't all that big in the first place, since we're such a small kingdom in the second place—to try to drive Zorin away again-Right?"

Hercules agreed, although it took him a moment.

Theo said, "You wish."

Nikos sighed. "And that means he'll want us—you and me, that is—to be a part of that army. On account of what we've already done. And I can't be, you see. I have a business to run. I'm not a professional fighter—"

"Got that in one." Theo sneered.

"—and I have a young son to take care of. Why, any one of Zorin's men would see through me in an instant, and then who would take care of Bestor? Who would keep him from living in the streets and becoming an urchin?"

"Nikos..." Hercules began.

"I'd probably have to carry a sword, too."

"Nikos."

"And wear armor and things. I hate armor. Have you ever had to wear armor, Hercules? It binds. The leather's not so bad, I guess, but to wear one of those breastplates? Forget it. I mean, you can barely breathe in the stuff."

"If you're a man," Theo said, "you can breathe."

"No," Nikos said, ignoring the raider, "I don't think I can do it."

Hercules had been afraid of this. The innkeeper's nerves had been twanging like the strings of a badly tuned lyre ever since the sun had been high. Now that they had to find a decent place to camp for the night, simply touching him on the shoulder would probably send him shrieking off the wagon and into the hills.

"Maybe you won't have to fight," Hercules said calmly.

Up ahead, he noticed a small stream near a stand of oak, not far off the road.

"I won't?"

"No, my friend, you won't. I'll see to it."

Nikos sagged in relief. "Oh."

"Besides," Theo scoffed from the back, "you'd be dead in an instant, one look at Zorin and his fire.

Cowards are like that. They die easily."

He laughed.

His men laughed.

Nikos reached down into the gap beneath his legs, pulled out his club, turned, and whacked Theo none too lightly on his skull. "Peace-loving men," he said smugly in the abrupt silence, "don't have to take any crap from a man who can't keep his stupid horns on."

The fire was low and warm, the stars high and cold. Beyond the reach of the flames, the stream babbled softly. The horses had been unhitched and led away to be tethered in a rich grassy area, the raiders were still in the wagon bed, snoring, and Nikos had wrapped himself a furry cloak and was even now mumbling, "Not a fighter," in his sleep.

Hercules took the first watch.

He sat with his back against a half-buried boulder, a similar cloak borrowed from Nikos' pack around his own shoulders, listening to the night.

Listening for sounds that didn't belong.

He didn't expect Zorin, or any of his men, to try to rescue the raider trio. From all he had heard these past two days, the man would just as soon let them die. But King Arclin ought to be able to garner useful information from them; enough, perhaps, to better protect his people.

From all Nikos had told him, Arclin was a fairly content man. Others in his position might well cast a covetous eye on any or all of his neighbors. A kingdom this small, however, was not only easy to defend, it was easy to govern. And with a small population, most of it doing rather well, there was little threat of rebellion.

King Arclin was not as famous as, say, Midas, or other kings of renown, but even Hercules had heard of his vaunted army. Fierce. Veterans all. Canny about using their numbers to the greatest effect. And un-waveringly loyal to their sovereign-It appeared to be the perfect situation.

So why, then, Hercules wondered, did he feel as if he were about to make a major mistake?

He yawned, and stretched.

He wasn't, he told himself as he shook his head sharply. This was no mistake, it was good sense. Give the king needed information, make sure he understood it was from the people at Markan, and the people of Markan would have a ruler in their debt.

Perfect sense.

He scowled briefly.

What you are is, you're tired, right?

Right.

You need a decent night's sleep, you know you're not going to get one because there's no way you'll be able to depend on the innkeeper to stay awake for more that five minutes, and so your brain is working overtime. Creating problems where there aren't any so you'll have something to do while you watch the fire, and the shadows.

While you listen to the gentle voice of the stream.

While you listen to the sound of a night bird gently fluttering its wings from one hunting ground to another.

The horses shied; one of them whickered quietly.

Night bird?

He listened more closely, then slowly, without making a sound, used the boulder to prop himself into a watchful half crouch, using the huge rock as his shield.

What night bird has wings that flap that loudly?

Theo the Mangier snorted in his sleep.

The horses shied again, this time more urgently.

Cautiously, Hercules peered over the rock, but could see nothing but the dark. The moon was gone, and the fading firelight didn't reach very far in any direction now. When he stared too long, things began to move out there where he knew nothing was.

He rubbed his eyes, checked again, and again saw nothing out of place.

When he turned back, all he could see was a lump that was the sleeping Nikos, and beyond that, the near side of the wagon, over which poked two metal-ribbon helms and a pair of dented horns.

He heard the wings again.

A signal? Men sneaking in through the grove? Ordinary bandits, or had he been wrong about Zorin?

He reckoned there was a good fifty feet between himself and the club Nikos had left on the driver's seat.

He listened.

He braced himself.

The wings stopped, and a slightly high voice complained, "You know, Hercules, for a demigod, you're a hell of a hard man to find."