Peacock's Eye

Full many a gem of purest ray supreme
...The dark unfathom'd caves of ocean bear.

-- Gray, Eulogy Written in a Country Churchyard

Damastes was one with the shadows. They embraced him like a woman, welcoming his lean, lithe form as he slipped behind a stone pillar and melded his body against it. His skin was the color of burnished mahogany and his eyes glittered like black stones in the low torchlight. Garbed from head to foot in dark shades of gray, he could easily have been mistaken for a shadow himself.

A uniformed guard came within scant inches of his hiding place and passed by unawares. The tread of his booted footsteps against the stone floor was jarring in the silence found only in the very dead of night.

Damastes chuckled to himself. Who needed a lookout when the guards in this place tramped loudly enough to be heard in Tartarus?

He cautiously peered around the pillar and watched the guard disappear from view. So far he'd encountered only three soldiers keeping watch over the whole of the temple -- two at the entrance and this one walking rounds. Getting in without being seen had been almost disappointingly simple. Not much of a challenge for an experienced thief such as himself. The priests were either extremely foolish or foolishly arrogant to have assigned so few to the temple's protection. As if superstitious fear of the goddess alone was all it took to keep thieves at bay!

Well, this was one thief who had no use for gods or superstitions! He'd looted many a temple in his time and not a single deity had seen fit to strike him dead for the sacrilege. Of course, those had all been shrines dedicated to lesser gods...

There's no difference, he reassured himself, impatiently quelling the tiny nagging voice of reason.

One god was the same as another. He did not for a moment believe that they were so petty as to actually keep tabs on each and every shrine dedicated to their name. What utter nonsense! Besides, what possible use could the gods have for a few golden baubles and trinkets when they were powerful enough to command the lives of men?

He grinned to himself. There was no retribution here, divine or otherwise, as long as he kept his wits about him and escaped undetected by the temple guards.

Damastes waited a moment longer to be certain that all was clear, then eased out of the pillar's shadow and dashed across the open floor toward his goal -- the altar. A tier of three stairs rose from the floor of the cavernous temple to the alcove that housed the holy shrine. The approach to the altar was paved with colorful mosaic tiles which ended at the foot of an oblong sacrificial slab carved from a single block of dark green jade. Heavy chains of solid silver adorned the foot and head of the man-sized slab for those instances when the intended sacrifice felt inclined to leave before the conclusion of the holy rites.

The silver chains on the altar were worth a king's ransom but Damastes gave them little more than a glance. Instead, he went directly to the foot of the Peacock shrine that loomed over the altar and the whole of the temple. Smooth as glass to the touch, the statue was carved from a stone so dark that it seemed to absorb the light from the braziers on either side and offered back no reflection. More than 35 feet high from beak to clawed feet, the ebony Peacock's stone tail feathers fanned out into a span that brushed the temple walls on either side.

Damastes craned his neck back in order to see the monstrous head looming over him and caught a flash of brilliant blue. His breath caught in his throat as he beheld the reason he had come.

By the gods! The stories are true!

The statue's only touch of color was the Peacock's Eye, a flawless blue diamond the size of a man's fist.

I could buy a small kingdom with a rock that size! he thought with glee.

Eager to claim his prize, Damastes stepped within the shadow of the Peacock and soundlessly made his way to the rear. He uncoiled a length of rope from his sack and made certain that the tools he would need for the task were at his belt, ready to hand. The statue's finely detailed carvings made the edifice ridiculously easy to scale. In no time at all, he was astride the shrine's long graceful neck and within easy reach of its fabulous gem.

Ever cautious and mindful of his surroundings, he glanced down to be certain that no temple guards were within sight -- and suddenly gave a violent start that nearly unseated him. A pair of eyes, like those in a peacock's tail feathers, glowered up at him as he clung to his perch!

HERA was watching him!

He gripped the Peacock's neck and made ready to slide down its length for a hasty escape at the slightest movement from those hideously malevolent eyes.

An uneventful minute passed...then two. No lightening bolt from the heavens ripped his life away, nor did he hear any cries of alarm warning of his presence. Damastes allowed himself a nervous laugh as he realized he was merely looking at a bird's eye view of the mosaic tiles on the floor before the altar. Not discernible from the ground, it was probably intended to create exactly the reaction in a would-be thief that it had fostered in Damastes' own breast -- that Hera was watching the defilement of her temple.

Nice trick. It almost worked. Now -- say bye-bye to the pretty rock, thought Damastes arrogantly as with renewed bravado he began to liberate the gem from its mounting.

The task took a mere matter of moments; a twist of a knife here and a jiggle of a tool there and the diamond soundlessly popped out into his waiting hand. He slipped his prize into the leather skrip at his belt and swiftly lowered himself to the temple floor. Damastes left the rope and tackle in place. He didn't have time to retrieve it and what matter was it to him when now he had the means by which to purchase a hundred such tools?

He left the temple as he had come -- hugging the shadows. Creeping from pillar to pillar and then inching along with his back flat against the far wall, he encountered no guard or resistance as he made good his escape. The huge arched temple doors, open to the starry night, were within sight. Emboldened by his success, Damastes had a sudden driving urge to simply stroll out of the temple rather than escape through the hole in the foundation that had first admitted him into the sanctuary.

It was extremely tempting, but long years of experience and a few close encounters had taught him the folly of overconfidence. He made his way to a shadow-shrouded corner of the western wall and pried loose two stones from the foundation. They had been well oiled and glided easily across the floor with a minuscule scraping sound. He held his breath and waited but no alarm was raised. Just a few more feet and he would be home free with the world's most fabulous diamond in his possession!

Damastes dropped onto his belly and crawled through the opening into the crisp night air. The predawn breeze was chill and smelled of honeysuckle, fresh cut hay, and freedom.

With no guards in sight, he darted across the clearing that separated the temple from its surrounding forest. In a matter of moments he was safely away and well hidden by the thicket of trees.

He'd DONE it!!!

Damastes felt like crowing as he took his prize from his skrip and paused to admire the fist-sized gem within his palm. It was bigger and more beautiful than anything he had ever imagined! He held it up to the face of the near-full moon and looked into its crystalline depths. The diamond was stunningly beautiful, light blue with a slight flaw buried within like a living heart of dark green fire.

"Let's see who deserves the title King of Thieves now, Autolycus!" he thought triumphantly. He shook his gem-filled fist at the stars, as if they would relay his challenge to his rival. "Not even you would dare steal from under Hera's very nose! Hermes himself wouldn't dare such a feat!!"

"Hey! YOU!!"

Damastes' heart nearly caught in his throat. He whipped around toward the sound of the voice and found himself facing one of the temple guards! The man was just concluding setting his britches to rights and was glowering at the thief with open suspicion.

"Who are you? What're you doing out here?" demanded the guard as he laid a gloved hand on the hilt of his sword.

"I ... um ... I was on my way to make an offering to the goddess," said Damastes quickly. "Am I too early?"

"You don't look like no petitioner of Hera," said the guard critically. His eyes narrowed as something bright and blue caught his attention. "And what's that you got in your hand?"

"What, this?" Damastes quickly jammed the gem back into his skrip. "Just a piece of colored glass I found. Nothing important."

"I'll be the judge of that," growled the guard. "Hand it over."

"It's just a piece of glass. Worthless to --"

The guard drew his sword. Naked steel gleamed in the moonlight. "I said hand it over. NOW!"

"Yes, sir. Certainly, sir. I didn't mean to offend, sir." Damastes slowly reached for his skrip as if to remove its contents. With a sudden and quick flick of his wrist, the black hilt of a slender knife dropped into his hand from a hidden sheath. In a blur of motion, he snapped his wrist outward and released, throwing the deadly projectile at the guard's throat.

Damastes was a master of the throwing knife. No thief on this side of the Underworld could hope to best him in the art -- not even the accursed Autolycus. What Damastes aimed for he hit -- always. He fully expected the guard to drop gagging to the ground, his throat transfixed with the blade and his life's blood soaking into the soil. Instead, he watched in stunned disbelief as the blade suddenly twist to the right in mid-flight, as if swatted aside by an invisible hand! It flew wide and struck the guard in the shoulder. The blade imbedded itself in the man's heavy leather armor but did not penetrate to the skin.

With a roar of rage, the guard lunged for Damastes. The thief didn't wait to meet him. He sprang away and ran for his life like an arrow shot from a bow!

Unencumbered by armor, Damastes managed to steadily widen the distance between himself and his pursuer. He was just far enough ahead to have lost sight of the guard when he heard a chilling sound -- the blast of a horn ripped the quiet of the night. The guard had sounded the alarm! The hunt was on in earnest now, with Damastes the quarry. It wouldn't be long before they brought out hounds to track him down.

Damastes knew of a shallow stream less than a quarter mile away. Perhaps if he ran down the middle of it, the water would mask his scent from the questing noses of the hounds. It was his only chance. But first --

He pulled the gem from his skrip and looked at it one last time. If he was caught and found in possession of the Peacock's Eye, he truly was a dead man. Without it, he might be able to talk his way to freedom. True, it was highly unlikely after his assault on the guard, but Damastes was a man who was willing to risk the odds -- so long as they were in his favor. Kissing the gem good-bye, he hauled his arm back and threw it with all of his might into the forest. There was a distant rustle and muffled thunk as it landed somewhere in the darkness but Damastes did not pause to listen. He was off and running again, hoping to reach the stream before the dogs caught his scent.

A sparkle of blue in the moonlight and the soft gurgle of water guided him to the tiny waterway. It wasn't much -- just a trickle of water in a shallow bed barely three yards wide from bank to bank -- but it would serve his purpose. Without hesitation, Damastes stepped into the frigid waters and turned southward. The water surged around his feet but came no higher than his booted ankles. Using the waterway as his new path, the thief walked as swiftly as he dared downstream, praying all the while to Hermes that the water would mask his scent and that his passage would make no noise to draw attention to himself.

Stupid, stupid, stupid! he chastised himself as he trudged through the gently lapping waters. Couldn't be happy robbing wealthy merchants. Oh no! I had to challenge the gods themselves! IDIOT!

At least I'll come out of it with my life, he consoled himself. The sounds of pursuit and the baying of the hounds were now far behind. Damastes planned on leaving them even further before dawn broke.

To think, I actually had it right here in my hand. The Peacock's Eye! And now it's gone. Lost in some underbrush. DAMN! No one will believe me now when I tell them I --

Damastes stopped suddenly and frowned. His hand had brushed the skrip at his belt and found it bulging.

What the--??

Reaching into the small leather belt pouch, he gasped as his fingers curled around a familiar crystalline form. With utter amazement, he pulled forth the Peacock's Eye! The fist-sized blue diamond sparkled in the moonlight.

By the gods -- this isn't possible! I threw it away! How did it come back here?

He peered hard at the gem but it did not vanish like some magician's trick. It was quite real and very solid within his palm.

Perhaps in his rush to escape he had pulled something else from his skrip and thrown it into the forest. Perhaps ---

The water at his feet began to churn violently. It surged around his ankles and crept upward toward his knees. In the distance, the baying of hounds was suddenly drowned by a deep, almost angry rumble. Damastes turned to look upstream. A roiling wall of brown water thundered toward him, bearing with it rock and the raw stumps of uprooted trees. He turned to run but the mud of the once gentle stream-bed held him fast.

The roar of the water wall swallowed Damastes' scream as it caught him up like a rag doll and carried him away ...

In the small farming village of Palentros, the ruffians who frequently pillaged the little community in the name of the Warlord Febus were flying high -- literally.

"WhooooAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!" screamed a leather clad swordsman as he soared through the air, arms pinwheeling, until a very solid barn wall abruptly cancelled his flight.

"What in Tartarus is going on here??" growled Febus. Like a conquering general, he had entered the village in the wake of his army expecting to see screaming peasants fleeing in every direction from burning homes and harvest. Instead, he found every door and window shuttered against him and the earthen streets littered with the groaning bodies of his men!

The unmistakable sounds of battle came from the village square. As he angrily stalked toward the melee, he could see only eight of his men still engaged in a fight they were quite obviously losing.

Another man went flying outward from that roiling knot of humanity and landed with a jarring thud at Febus' feet. The Warlord reached down with a mailed fist, grasped the unlucky man by the collar of his leather jerkin, and yanked him to his feet.

"Aricus! What's happening?" he demanded. "Have the villagers mounted a defense? Did they hire an army? How many are we up against?!"

"Two," rasped Aricus around bruised and bloody lips. The skin around his left eye was blackened and rapidly swelling closed.

"Two legions? Two dozen men?" Febus gave him a violent shake. "Two what?!"

"Men!"

"Two -- MEN?!" Febus stared at the carnage around him then back at the battle in the village square. "Two men did this? Defeated 20 battle-hardened veterans? Impossible!"

As if in answer, three more of the Warlord's men went down. The crowd in the village square was rapidly thinning out.

"You don't understand," gasped Aricus as his leader's fingers closed around his throat. "It's Her--AACK!!"

"Idiots! Incompetents! I don't care if it's Ares himself!" Febus released his strangle hold on Aricus. The man greedily gulped in air as he sank to his knees. "I'll show them how to deal with two men!!" he declared and strode purposefully toward the scene of battle.

He was forced to step over nearly a dozen of his men sprawled battered and bruised along the village streets.

Only four remained standing to challenge the village defenders.

Febus was incredulous when he finally caught sight of the two warriors who had single-handedly defeated his army. The taller of the pair was a ruggedly handsome man less than thirty summers old. Straight brown hair fell to his shoulders and his deep blue eyes watched with open amusement as three of the bandits circled him in search of a good vantage by which to attack. A short-sleeved, light chambray shirt open from throat to waist revealed a broad chest and well muscled arms gauntleted at the wrists in black leather and silver. He moved with easy deliberation, keeping his opponents in sight at all times without any apparent concern or hurry.

In contrast, his companion was constantly moving, as if his compact form was full of pent-up energy crying to be released. He stood a head shorter than his friend and was lighter in coloring, with a mop of straw-blonde hair and pale blue eyes. Shirtless, he wore simple leather vest armor dyed purple and bore no visible weapon. Almost joyfully, he squared off against an opponent armed with a sword and nearly twice his weight.

"Stop dancin' and hold still so I can skewer you, little man!" grunted the swordsman as he swung his blade at the blonde warrior's head.

His opponent dodged the swing with ease and bounced from foot to foot. "Missed me!" he declared with an impish grin. "Want to try for best out of three?"

The frustrated swordsman was at the end of his badly frayed patience -- and his common sense. With a bellow of rage, he threw his massive weight behind a lunge intended to drive the blade through his opponent from chest to back.

"Whoops! Guess not!" The blonde warrior nimbly sidestepped. In a sudden and deliberate movement, he caught the swordman's extended arm beneath his left arm, pinning it against his side. In the same fluid motion, his right arm shot forward and delivered a sharp blow to the man's Adam's apple with the heel of his hand.

Gagging, the swordsman scrabbled for his throat with palsied fingers, dropped to his knees and then toppled backward unconscious.

The blonde warrior paused to consider the swordsman at his feet and seemed genuinely disappointed that his opponent had not held up so well in their exchange. He looked around for something else to do and grinned as he espied the three men beleaguering his companion.

Febus was furious!

"If you want anything done right, ya gotta do it yourself!" he snarled to himself, and unslung the crossbow at his back.

Partially concealed by the shadow of a building, Febus was uninterrupted as he deftly loaded the weapon with a heavy metal bolt. Setting the stock against his right shoulder, he sighted along the bolt's shaft and aimed for the blonde warrior's heart. With a gentle squeeze of the trigger, he let the bolt fly and knew it to be a good shot. The little guy would be in Hades before he hit the ground!

In the village square, Hercules was almost leisurely considering whether to take on the three circling bandits one at a time or all at once. He was getting a little weary of the fight and, frankly, he was hungry. The arrival of the ruffians had interrupted a very savory venison stew and a mouthwatering loaf of fresh bread at the local tavern, and Hercules wanted very much to be able to return to his meal.

Perhaps if he picked up the lead ruffian and used him to --

Hercules' eye caught the glint of sunlight on metal. It instantly drew his attention to Febus and the crossbow in the Warlord's hand just as the bolt was loosed.

"IOLAUS!"

With astonishing speed, Hercules flattened the three remaining ruffians with a single mighty sweep of his arm as he rushed to close the gap between himself and his friend. His hands flashed outward and closed around the shaft of the airborne bolt like the reins of a runaway horse, stopping the deadly missile in mid-flight a scant inch from Iolaus' breast.

"Hey!!" yelled Iolaus in angry indignation and turned to glower at Febus. "What are you trying to do -- kill someone?!"

Hercules also turned to face the Warlord and with angry deliberation snapped the metal bolt in half with his bare hands.

Febus was not a stupid man. He fully realized that no mere mortal could catch a crossbow bolt in mid-air, much less snap it in two as if it were a twig! Still, he was not about to let some overgrown muscleman get the better of him. It was a matter of pride! Tossing aside the crossbow, Febus reached for his sword.

"Not very bright, is he?" observed Iolaus when he realized the Warlord meant to continue his attack.

"They never are," sighed Hercules.

"Need a hand?"

"Nope."

"Sure?"

"Yup." Hercules tossed aside the broken pieces of the crossbow bolt. "I'll be right back."

"Okay."

Hercules and Febus met in the heart of the village square beside an ancient well encircled by a knee-high stone wall. For a brief moment the two men faced each other, each assessing the strength and weakness of the other. Suddenly, Febus charged forward. Two-handed, he brought his arms up and over to swung the edge of his broadsword in glittering arc intended to cleave Hercules from left shoulder to right hip.

He never had a chance to complete the move. Hercules stepped under Febus' upraised arms. Suddenly standing chest to chest with the startled Warlord, Hercules reached up and captured both wrists in one mighty hand. With the other hand he grasped Febus' belt and effortlessly hauled the bellowing Warlord up over his head.

"I think it's time you cooled off," said Hercules and tossed him into the well. Several long seconds passed before he heard the echo of a resounding splash from the bottom.

"Herk! BEHIND YOU!!"

At Iolaus' cry of warning, Hercules whipped around and plucked from mid-air the throwing dagger that had been speeding toward his unprotected back. From the relative safety of several feet away, the last of Febus' men hauled back to let fly with another blade.

Suddenly Iolaus was there, rearing up behind the man in time to catch the upheld wrist in both hands. He gave the captured appendage a sharp twist and forced the whole of the arm behind the man's back until the deadly blade was pointing skyward.

"Didn't your mother tell you it's impolite to point?" demanded Iolaus, and delivered a punishing rap to the base of the man's neck with his elbow. The would-be assassin crumpled bonelessly forward, the dagger falling harmlessly to the ground.

Dusting off his hands, Iolaus stepped over the prone body and rejoined Hercules beside the village well. He glanced over the wall and looked into the inky depths. Iolaus couldn't see Febus but he could certainly hear the outraged cries of the floundering Warlord.

"Whoa!" he winced. "Someone should wash that guy's mouth out with soap!"

"Why waste perfectly good soap?" grinned Hercules. "I think that will hold him for a little while, don't you?" He clapped a companionable hand on his friend's shoulder. "Come on. Lunch is getting cold."

Just a few leagues to the west of Palentros, lunch was also uppermost in the mind -- and rumbling tummy -- of a traveler trudging the road to Helispont. Unfortunately for him, he had polished off his last crust of bread and bit of dried venison the night before and there was nary an inn or tavern in sight.

Not that he could have afforded a meal even had he been able to find an establishment to serve him. Simply put, business was bad. In fact, it was wretched.

Salmoneus gave a heavy sigh as he thought back on his last venture. It had seemed like such a splendid idea, too. And so timely! A chariot without horses! No more mucking out stables or covering the expense of feeding and stabling the horse. No more getting kicked while trying to harness the ornery beasts or getting trampled. The chariot was self-propelled by the charioteer engaging an ingenious system of pulleys. Originally the pulleys had been designed to be hand operated, but since that detracted from the necessity of steering, they had been converted into a pair of pedals that could be operated by foot. Instead of standing, for the first time a charioteer was given the luxury of sitting in the reversed basket -- which came in dazzling sapphire blue or fiery red (silver decorative piping optional).

Unfortunately, the device was made almost entirely of metal, including the chains that drove the mechanism. In order to get the pedals to move and engage the device, one had to have a very strong constitution -- and the strength of Hercules if they hoped to carry a passenger larger than a baby.

Although a promising idea, ultimately the venture had been a total loss. It hadn't helped that horses seemed to universally hate the contraption, as if the filthy beasts were actually aware of the potential competition. Whenever one drove by, announcing its presence with a loud clack-clack of the drive chains, every horse in the vicinity seemed compelled to kick it off of its wheels -- driver and all. Two demands of remuneration of damages and one promise of physical harm from irate customers were more than Salmoneus could afford. He'd had to sell his inventory off as scrap metal to cover the damages and barely got out of town with his personage intact.

All it needed was a little more work, Salmoneus grumped to himself. One day the entire known world would be filled with horseless chariots. Why, one day they wouldn't even need the charioteer!

Unfortunately, that time was not now and Salmoneus found himself once more on the road in search of a new product line. Not that it bothered him over much. He was, after all, a traveling salesman at heart and the road wasn't all that terrible a place to be. He wasn't prosperous enough to rob and at least here it was unlikely to find someone chasing after you demanding a refund.

Maybe I should have come up with some sort of catchy name for it, he mused. He'd been in the business long enough to know that marketing and packaging were everything. Sometimes a snappy or clever name was all it took for an item to become wildly popular -- and profitable. Supposing, of course, one had a product to name which, at the moment, he did not.

A salesman with nothing to sell. How embarrassing!

Salmoneus' tummy rumbled again, more insistent. As far as his body was concerned, at the moment food was more important than commerce.

"What do you expect me to do about it?," he demanded of his complaining anatomy. With the exception of a few trees and an occasional craggy tooth of rock to break the earth's crust, the gently rolling countryside was open terrain for as far as the eye could see. There wasn't a single edible plant in sight and any self-respecting quail would see him coming a mile away.

It's not as if I couldn't afford to miss a meal or two, he thought as he laid a consoling hand against his ample, but insistent, stomach. Not that he was fat. A bit on the portly side, perhaps, but never fat.

His stomach continued to rumble. With a martyred sigh, Salmoneus left the dirt road and trudged toward the bank of the river it paralleled.

At least he could get his fill of water. If he drank enough, maybe he wouldn't feel quite so hungry. He had a fleeting, ludicrous image of himself sloshing into Helispont and couldn't suppress a grin.

At this point in its long, winding course from the distant mountains, the river was little more than a brook. The water was shallow -- barely ankle deep -- and less than ten feet separated its shores. Kilting his robe around his knees, Salmoneus cautiously made his way down the embankment toward the muddy shore and the softly gurgling water beyond. Try as he might to keep to the spongy grass, cold mud still squelched beneath his sandals and managed to insinuate itself between his toes.

"One of these days I am really going to have to invest in a sturdy pair of -- WHOA!!"

Salmoneus' left sandal slid on the mud and skidded out from under him. Arms flailing, he tried to regain his footing but only succeeded in overbalancing himself further. The right foot slipped and followed the left, tumbling Salmoneus backward onto the seat of his robe with a jarring and ignoble splat.

"YeeeOWW!" yelped Salmoneus as something small and sharp bruised his already aching posterior through his clothing. He hurriedly rolled onto his knees and glowered at the twin-crescent moon depression he'd made in the soft, muddy ground. A glint of blue winked at him from the mud, as if sharing a private joke.

All thoughts of his complaining stomach and bruised posterior vanished as he reached out and freed the object from the mire. With a frown, he buffed the object on a sleeve. Cleaned of muck and held aloft to the sunlight, it gleamed bluer than the brightest sapphire.

Salmoneus' eyes became as wide as saucers. "By the gods!" he breathed as he stared in awe at his prize. Lying within the palm of his hand was the largest, most impossibly blue diamond he had ever laid eyes upon.

"This must be worth a fortune! Two fortunes! A DOZEN fortunes!" he exclaimed aloud. "It has to be at least -- what? -- 45 carats? This must be the grand-daddy of diamonds! Why, half of this rock could buy me a kingdom! Two kingdoms! What the hell? I could buy two kingdoms and a small country with this beauty!!" He looked deep into the gem's beautiful blue crystalline depths and saw for himself a future of luxury. "No more traveling the roads, getting drenched in downpours or chasing after quail. No more bad food, bandits or running from irate customers. I can afford to be a fat and happy merchant!"

With a cry of joy, he threw his hands to the heavens. "Thank you!" he declared. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" As emphasis, he began to kiss the gem. The gods had truly smiled upon him! They could have chosen anyone to find the trinket, and they chose HIM -- Salmoneus!! They had guided him here, to this place, at this time, to find this most wondrous treasure--

But why?

The thought popped into his head with all the sharpness and clarity of stepping on a tack in the middle of the night.

Why leave it for him to find? Why would the gods suddenly smile when previously they'd always seemed to delight in frustrating him? For that fact, which of the gods would have a reason to suddenly and inexplicably grace him with such a divinely perfect gift?

Not Hera, that's for sure! thought Salmoneus with a derisive snort. He had no illusions about how the Queen of the Gods felt about him after that little fiasco with Pyro and her missing treasure trove.

Then again ... maybe Hera had *everything* to do with his finding it.

Eyes suddenly wide with alarm, Salmoneus stared at the gem as if it might bite him. What if it was poisoned or cursed or belonged to some giant or dragon who was looking for it even now? Someone or something that would like nothing better than to chomp on a plump merchant traveling alone and undefended on the road. That would be exactly the sort of thing to brighten Hera's day -- and ruin Salmoneus'.

Even worse -- what if the gem was made of ordinary glass?!

His inexplicable panic just as quickly became disappointment. Once more he held the gem up to the sunlight and peered into its depths. A green image seemed to flicker within its heart but otherwise it was clear and flawless. He could actually see through its facets and see reflected therein the movement of water at the edge of the embankment.

Salmoneus' dreams of wealth and comfort burst like a bubble.

"What am I thinking? It's glass. It has to be glass," he sighed. "I mean, who ever heard of a diamond as big as a man's fist lying on a river bank?"

Disgusted, he hauled back his arm with the intent of throwing it into the river.

Wait a minute...

The faintest glimmer of an idea gently tapped at the back of his psyche, staying his hand. Slowly, he lowered his arm and considered the bauble with a very thoughtful expression. If he thought it was a diamond, perhaps someone else would, too! Say, someone less familiar with gemstones and more likely to believe an earnest salesman with a glib tongue?

The kernel of a new merchandising idea began to form in Salmoneus' mind. Everyone knew how expensive gemstones and precious metals were. Only kings, nobility, wealthy merchants, and successful craftsman could afford such jewelry. But what if they became available and affordable to the common man? Not the real thing, of course, but a product close enough to be mistaken for the real thing by a blushing bride-to-be or the wife on that special anniversary?

It could work. Even better still, it could be profitable!

"Perhaps the gods have smiled on me after all!" exclaimed Salmoneus. Beaming happily, his good spirits restored and his rumbling tummy forgotten, he opened his belt pouch and dropped the Peacock's Eye inside.

Within the Temple of Hera, all was dark and subdued. The thick marble walls were windowless, as if sunlight was a trespasser to be banned at all costs. Torches in wall sconces and burning braziers provided the only illumination for the worshipers. It was the way Pylus liked it. Hera's high priest thought it an appropriate atmosphere for a temple dedicated to the dark-hearted, unforgiving Queen of the Gods.

A tall man in his middle years with pale green eyes and sandy hair turning to gray, Pylus cut an imposing figure in his gold and jade-green robe of office. No servant of Hera was as powerful as he, nor as dangerous. There was nothing he wouldn't do for his goddess -- absolutely nothing. In the neighboring village, it was whispered that years ago Pylus had even murdered his pregnant young wife to prove his devotion to Hera, spilling her blood without regret on the temple altar to further his ambition. He served Hera with fanatical devotion, and she in turn showered him with power and wealth. It was a good match.

"Pylus!"

Standing upon the high altar beneath the shadow of the temple's blinded Peacock shrine, the High Priest turned and arched an eloquent eyebrow. Baldur, captain of the temple guards, marched briskly across the marble flooring, leading a pair of soldiers bearing a heavy load between them. He was a broad-shouldered, burly man who bore a lattice of whitened battle scars on his heavily muscled arms. His square jawed face resembled that of a bulldog, with small black eyes set beneath heavy brows and thinning black hair brushed across a low forehead. He was a ruthless brute who reveled in bloodshed and liked nothing better than to dispense pain -- exactly the sort of man Pylus had always envisioned as the captain of Hera's temple guard. So long as he got the chance to rough up and kill a prisoner or two, Baldur was a completely satisfied and utterly devoted soldier.

Baldur came to a crisp halt at the foot of the altar steps, his helm tucked beneath his left arm in deference to Pylus more than any respect for the goddess he served.

"You bellowed?" asked Pylus with a wry grin.

"We found him, Your Grace." Baldur stepped aside and with a curt motion of his hand directed the soldiers to drop their burden. It hit the floor with a soft squelching thud.

Pylus looked at it with interest. What had first seemed to be little more than a sodden sack of potatoes limply unrolled itself at his feet upon impact and proved to be a water-logged corpse. He descended the steps to peer closely at the remains and delicately nudged the bloated body with the toe of his boot. "Who was he?"

"A small time thief by the name of Damastes with delusions of being the next Autolycus."

"Indeed! And he thought to make a name for himself by stealing an artifact from the Temple of Hera?" The priest laughed. "Idiot. One reason Autolycus remains the King of Thieves is because he knows which gods to avoid." He cocked his head and sighed. "I suppose you found him like this?"

"Yes, Your Grace. The dogs found him downstream, at the bend," replied Baldur. "He was already dead," he concluded, almost apologetically.

"Pity. He would have made an excellent sacrifice." Pylus looked beyond Baldur to the two solders. "Remove it and feed it to the dogs."

The soldiers swiftly collected the bloated, ragged form between them and carried it off. Baldur remained standing at the altar steps, rigid and at attention.

"You have said nothing of the Eye," said Pylus conversationally.

"No, Your Grace."

"I take it, then, that it wasn't on the body when you found it?"

"No, Your Grace." Baldur shifted uncomfortably. "We searched for it, but -- "

Pylus held up a hand to stop the flow of words. "It wasn't to be had. I know."

For the first time since his entrance, Baldur's dark eyes shifted to meet the High Priest's gaze. "You know?"

"I know," nodded Pylus and shrugged. "It is of little consequence." He lifted the hem of his robes and once more ascended the steps to the altar. When he turned back to address his underling he couldn't repress a grin. "Why such a long face, Baldur?"

"But...the Peacock's Eye! It's gone forever!"

"Gone? Nonsense! Have you no faith in the goddess?" Pylus laughed. "The Eye goes where Hera wills it. The design is hers, and all goes according to plan."

The High Priest reached into his sleeve and drew forth a slender black chain. Holding it aloft for Baldur to see, he gently touched the small, round green stone that depended from it and set the pendant to gently swinging. "Take this. Wear it at all times." The priest extended his hand outward and dropped the pendant into the captain's waiting palm. "When Hera is ready, it will lead you directly to the Peacock's Eye."

Without question, Baldur slipped the chain about his neck and tucked it within his jerkin. "How will I know when--"

"You'll know," Pylus assured him. His expression suddenly hardened and his voice became deep with authority. "But remember this! When you find the one who holds the Eye, he must be brought here to me -- alive!"

Baldur frowned, clearly disappointed. "Yes, Your Grace."

"I didn't say you couldn't hurt him," Pylus consoled him with a thin smile. "Only that he need be alive and aware. Hera has special plans for him..."

The gods could not have provided a better day for traveling. It was nothing short of glorious! The road was clear and dry, cutting a path across gently rolling hills and meadows that stretched to the horizon. The sun rode high in a cloudless blue sky and a light breeze perfumed with a breath of meadow flowers tickled the tall grasses of late spring.

An excellent day indeed -- supposing, of course, the traveler actually had a destination in mind. Which Hercules and Iolaus did not.

"We haven't been to Troy for a while," suggested Iolaus as he ambled along at Hercules' side. The strap of his travel pack was slung comfortably over his left shoulder and he carried his scabbard in his hand rather than at his belt. It was a quirk he had never outgrown.

"One small problem with that," replied Hercules with a teasing smile. "Troy is to the west. In case you haven't noticed, we've been headed east for the past two hours."

"Well, duh!" exclaimed his friend with mock exasperation. "It's not as if we couldn't turn around, you know."

"And pass through Palentros again?"

"Why not?" grinned Iolaus. "You've gotta admit, the tavernkeeper made a great venison stew."

"And two very beautiful daughters who still have stars in their eyes," laughed Hercules. "Lets' not and say we did."

They walked another mile in companionable silence, enjoying the day and the simple pleasure of each other's company.

"Syllabus?" suggested Iolaus, resuming the conversation. "Or what about Helispont?"

"Mmmm. Possibly. Antioch?"

"The hunting's pretty good there," agreed Iolaus but didn't seem too enthused with the suggestion. "Parthia?"

Hercules shrugged noncommittally. "We haven't been to Delphi in a while."

"I'd rather not." Iolaus grimaced. "Remember what happened the last time we were there?"

"I'm sure she's forgiven you by now."

"Yeah, well ... if it's all the same to you, I'd prefer to wait a while longer. A lot longer!"

"You'd be perfectly safe," grinned Hercules. "The Oracle isn't known to leave the Shrine. Well ... maybe not more than once in a lifetime."

"Well how was I to know she was ... um ..."

"Yes?"

"Never mind!" Iolaus' face flushed red. "Can we just drop it?"

Hercules spread his hands in surrender but it was a little while more before he was successfully able to wipe the smile from his face. "Doesn't Thesily have a festival coming up?" he asked.

"Not for another moon," replied Iolaus, and sighed.

Between them, they named more than a dozen cities and villages as potential candidates. None met with much enthusiasm and, two miles later, they were no nearer to deciding upon a destination.

"I've got an idea! What do you say to paying a visit to my cousin, King Orestes?" volunteered Iolaus. "It's been a while since I've seen him ... and Niobe." There was a distant, almost longing gleam in his eyes as he thought about the beautiful Queen of Attica.

Hercules pretended not to notice. "There's always Corinth. We could see how Iphicles, Rena and the baby are doing."

"That's an idea." Iolaus seemed to have shaken himself free of his reflection. "Or we could just go fishing. I know this great little island off the coast of --"

"Or we could just go home," concluded Hercules with a smile.

"Now there's a novel concept!" Iolaus shared his smile. "It beats wandering around aimlessly. Besides, I suppose it might be nice to see if my house is still stand--"

"HERCULLLEEEESSSSSSS!!"

The two friends stopped in their tracks and turned toward the cry to see a man speeding toward them over the gently sloping hills.

"Of course," concluded Iolaus with a martyred sigh, "we could just wait here and see what catches up to us."

Hercules shielded his eyes against the sun to get a better look at the runner. "He's not coming from Palentros," he observed.

"Uh-huh." Iolaus sought, found, and promptly sat himself down upon a convenient boulder. He rested his travel pack on the ground at his feet, leaned his sheathed sword against it, and folded his arms across his chest. "Want to wager what the trouble is this time?," he asked conversationally as they waited for the runner to reach them. "Five dinars says it's bandits."

"Does it matter?"

"Not really," he admitted. Whatever the nature of the trouble headed their way, Hercules would do everything in his power to help -- and Iolaus would be right there beside him.

Not that anyone ever seems to remember that, he thought with an inward sigh.

Iolaus didn't begrudge Hercules the fame and adoration of the masses. After all, he was Hercules! But sometimes -- well, maybe a little more than sometimes -- Iolaus wished folks would remember that the Son of Zeus almost always had a trusty companion who shared his battles and adventures, not to mention a hefty portion of the danger.

"Message for Herculeeessssss!"

The runner was a wiry youth not more than 20 summers old, deeply tanned and possessed of extremely well-muscled legs. Fair of face with clear hazel eyes and curling brown hair, he wore a golden circlet set with a pair of etched wings about his brow. His tunic was a crisp white bordered in silver thread and emblazoned with a signal of wings and staff. The symbol of the Messengers guaranteed safe passage anywhere in the world. It was said that to interfere or harm a Messenger was to risk the wrath of the god Hermes himself.

"I'm Hercules."

"Good day, sir! I have a message for you!" The youth did not seem the least bit winded from his race across the hills. Almost leisurely, he reached into a pouch hanging on his belt and brought forth a sealed scroll. He also brought forth a small tablet and charcoal pen. "Sign here please."

Hercules obliged, marking the tablet on the indicated line and returning it to the runner.

"Thank you, sir," said the youth cheerfully. "And may I say, it's a great pleasure to meet you!"

"Thank you," said Hercules politely.

Iolaus rolled his eyes and made a rude noise.

The Messenger paused to look closely at the man with the bright blue eyes and unruly blonde hair. He frowned, as if trying to place a familiar face. "Pardon me, but you wouldn't happen to be Iolaus of Thebes, would you?"

"As a matter of fact, I am," he replied, a bit taken aback.

"How fortuitous!" exclaimed the youth as he dipped back into his pouch. "I have a message for you!"

"You do?" Iolaus eagerly popped up from his perch on the boulder.

"Oh no ... wait," said the Messenger after rummaging about a bit, clearly frustrated. "I'm afraid I don't. I appear to have been wrong. Sorry!"

Iolaus was crestfallen but tried to keep the expression from his face. "That's okay. Mistakes happen," he said magnanimously, and started to return to his seat.

"No, you don't understand. What I meant was, I don't have one message for you. I have two!"

"Two?!" Iolaus perked right back up. As the Messenger extracted two scrolls from his pouch, Iolaus favored Hercules with a broad grin. "I have two messages!"

"Here you are, sir. If you'll just sign here ... and here ..." He indicated the appropriate lines on the tablet and watched closely as Iolaus signed his name. "Thank you, sir."

"Thank *you*," said Iolaus, and handed the Messenger a dinar for his trouble. The youth bowed his thanks, tucked the coin into his belt, and with a parting wave, sped off down the road.

Hercules and Iolaus looked at each other expectantly.

"You first," said Hercules with a magnanimous sweep of his hand. "Since you're important enough to have *two* messages."

"Right!" Iolaus eagerly broke the seal on the first scroll, unrolled it and allowed his gaze to skim over the lettering inked on the parchment.

"It's from Astraea," he said, his handsome features alight. "She wants to know if I'll be coming back through her village anytime soon. She ... um ... misses me."

"Astraea? Astraea..." Hercules stroked his chin, apparently deep in thought. "Wasn't she the scholar in that little village north of Carlynia? The one with the big--"

"HERK!" exclaimed Iolaus, scandalized.

"What?!" Hercules' expression was all innocence. "Abacus! I was going to say the girl with the big abacus!" He grinned at Iolaus' skeptical expression. "You know, you should really get your mind out of the gutter. Who's the second message from?"

"Wha--? Oh, right!" Iolaus tucked Astraea's message under one arm and began to break the seal on the second. He suddenly stopped and peered hard at the rolled parchment, then looked at the scroll in Hercules' hand. "Hey! I think these are from the same person."

Hercules compared his scroll to the one in Iolaus' hand. "You're right. It's the same seal."

They broke the wax seals together, unraveled the scrolls, and read them simultaneously.

"It's from Echidna and Typhon!" exclaimed Iolaus.

"'You are cordially invited to be a guest at Obie's first birthday party,'" Hercules read aloud. "Gifts optional."

"Wow, has it been that long?" Iolaus shook his head in amazement. "Hard to believe it's been a whole year since Obie was born. Where'd the time go?"

"Sounds like a destination to me," said Hercules with a grin. "What do you think? Want to go?"

"Sure! Why not?" laughed Iolaus. "After all, it isn't everyone who gets a personal invitation from the Mother of All Monsters!"

"And I'm sure you wouldn't mind stopping by Plynth on the way and seeing Briana again," concluded Hercules mischievously.

"That, too," conceded his blonde buddy as he slung his travel sack over his shoulder and retrieved his sword. Suddenly he paused and frowned. "Uh-oh. I just thought of something."

"I'm way ahead of you," said Hercules. "What do you buy a one year old with eighteen tentacles for a birthday present?!"

Salmoneus' day was rapidly digressing from bad to worse.

It was as if the world had suddenly gone mad -- and all if it intent on plaguing him personally! Starting off the day without food and less than a dinar to his name was nothing compared to the small ills and discomforts that had befallen him since finding the lump of blue glass on the riverbank.

His mud-sodden clothes had taken forever to dry, chilling him to the bone and chaffing the skin of his legs into a painful, angry red rash. Walking in his sodden attire rapidly became a distinctly uncomfortable proposition. Tired and walking somewhat bow-legged to avoid chaffing the rash, Salmoneus decided that the best solution to his problem was to find a secluded area off the road where he could allow his robes to dry in the sun. Shortly thereafter, he found a thorn hedge practically made to order! Shielded from the road and the prying eyes of travelers, Salmoneus had gratefully stretched out on the soft mossy ground and, with his arm across his eyes to shield them from the bright afternoon sun, napped.

Unfortunately, the idyllic spot Salmoneus had chosen turned out to be the home of a swarm of very agitated ants who did not much appreciate having their hill invaded. He awoke to the stinging bites of a small army of black insects crawling over his legs and arms and down the back of his neck. Shrieking, he leaped to his feet and furiously flapped his arms in a frenzied attempt to dislodge his minuscule tormentors. It took the better part of an hour to rid himself and his clothing of the last of the nasty little biters.

On the road once again, miserable, hungry, and looking more like a vagabond than a salesman, Salmoneus managed to place several miles between himself and the ant nest before he realized that he'd lost his last dinar somewhere along the way. All he had left was his badly soiled robes and his belt pouch, empty but for the weight of the blue bauble he'd found on the riverbank.

Salmoneus frowned. Maybe the damned thing was cursed after all! Certainly it had brought him nothing but bad luck from the moment he'd set eyes upon it.

He opened his belt pouch and began to reach inside. A startlingly vivid mental image of something biting his questing fingers gave him pause.

"Now you're just being silly," he admonished himself aloud. "It's just a piece of glass!"

With determination, he grasped the fist-sized lump and drew it forth into the diffused light of the late-afternoon sun. It was no less brilliant than when he had first set eyes upon it hours before. It winked at him invitingly, speaking softly to his mind of avarice and greed.

"No. NO!" Salmoneus shook his head violently from side to side, as if he could physically dislodge the dark thoughts that sought to lodge there. "I've had enough ... of ... YOU!" he cried, and pitched the stone away from himself with all of his might.

It glittered as it flew and disappeared into a copse several yards away with a rustle and plop.

"That ought to take care of -- YOWWWW!!"

The hedge suddenly erupted into a flurry of dark feathers and wings. Squawking loudly, a quail the size of a small dog shot toward him like a stone from a sling. Salmoneus backpedaled from the feathered furry as it attacked his legs and ankles.

"Get away from me! Shoo! SHOO!!" Salmoneus kicked out with a sandaled foot and missed the murderous fowl intent on goring his bare toes.

Who ever heard of a killer quail, for crying out loud?! He'd caught and eaten many a quail in his lifetime, but this was the first time one had tried to return the favor!

The bird darted in and pecked his left shin.

"OWWW! Hey! Cut that out!" Salmoneus whipped around and frantically sought something he could use as a weapon. He stooped down long enough to scoop up a handful of rocks, but not fast enough to avoid getting his hand pecked.

"Get away from me!" he cried, and threw a rock at the bird.

It sidestepped, neatly and deliberately. Salmoneus threw two more stones but the bird avoided each with almost calculated ease, then paused long enough to actually look at him. The fowl's eyes glowed green with otherworldly intelligence. Suddenly, with a scream that was more human than bird, it launched itself directly at Salmoneus' face!

With an answering shriek, Salmoneus dropped the rocks and threw up his arms, palms outward across his face, to ward off the fury of beak and claws. In the next instant, something round and solid struck the center of his right hand. His fingers closed about it reflexively and --

-- silence.

No beak tried to peck at his arms. No claws raked his face. All was still, save for the whisper of the wind through the trees and across the grasses.

Salmoneus opened first one eye, then the next, and cautiously peered around his arms. The homicidal quail was gone. He didn't wait around to see where it had gotten to. Turning on his heel, Salmoneus wasted no time putting the road and distance between himself and his latest torment.

A little more than a mile later, he huffed and puffed his way to a fallen log and plumped himself down.

"Has the whole world gone crazy?!" he panted.

He winced as pain shot through his shoulders. His right arm was suddenly stiff and sore, hanging rigid by his side. Only then, when he paused to look, did Salmoneus realize that his right hand was clenched in a fist so tight that it bled his knuckles white. He could not seem to open his hand and was forced to pry open his own fingers, as if the appendage had suddenly developed a will of its own.

Fear stabbed his soul when he saw the blue gem that lay within his palm...

Atrius was having an extremely profitable day. In just one morning, he and his small company of bandits had successfully looted a farm of 22 dinars and 3 chickens without the owners being any the wiser. The rag tag group of ruffians now had money in their pockets and a full meal in their bellies. As far as Atrius was concerned, thieving didn't get much better than this...

"Atrius!" Felyn ran into their small encampment, his black eyes bright with excitement. "You ain't gonna believe dis, but der's a fish on the road wit out a net!"

"He's got it right for a chance," said Meraus, close on the heels of his companion. "There's some fat merchant strutting down the middle of the road, plain as day, as if he owned the damned thing."

"No guards? No travel companions?" demanded the bandit chief.

"Nutin' and nobody," replied Felyn.

This was too much good fortune to believe! Hermes must surely be smiling upon them!

Atrius tossed aside the chicken wing he'd been gnawing on and jumped to his feet.

"How many pack animals?" he demanded.

"Well ... um ... none, actually. But he's kinda plump! Could be hidin' money in those fancy robes of his."

"And he's got a money pouch," concluded Meraus. "Can't really tell from a distance, but from the way it swings on his belt, I'm betting it's pretty heavy."

"Gold, mebbe?" asked Felyn eagerly. "Do ya think he's got gold?"

"He'd better, if he wants to keep his eyes to see tomorrow's sunrise," said Atrius with a nasty grin. "Round up the others and tell 'em we've got us a guest to entertain!"

Salmoneus trudged down the road with the weight of the world on his shoulders or, rather, in his belt pouch. The glittering blue bauble he'd found by the riverbank had rapidly gone from being an enterprising new marketing idea to a talisman of ill fortune and fear. Unfortunately, it looked as if he was well and truly stuck with the cursed thing. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get rid of it! He'd thrown it into bushes, into the river, left it in the bole of a tree, and even buried it; but each and every time the fearsome gem returned to his hand or his pouch like a burr. It was here to stay, and so was its malice.

"What did I do to deserve this?" Salmoneus woefully demanded of the heavens.

"Just lucky, I guess," replied Atrius as he stepped out onto the road. He gave an almost imperceptible nod of his head and four more bandits appeared to surround the merchant.

"Welcome to my part of the world," continued the bandit chief magnanimously. "And my section of the road. If'n you're wanting to pass us by, you're going to have to ante up a little bit of a fee." He looked meaningfully at Salmoneus' belt pouch. "Sayyyyy, everything ya got in that fancy little leather bag of yours?"

"What, this old thing? You got it!!" Almost joyfully, Salmoneus yanked the pouch from his belt as if it were a burning coal and eagerly offered it to the bandit. "It's yours!"

Atrius took a step back and blinked at Salmoneus in open surprise. He'd robbed many a merchant in his day and not a single one of them had parted with their gold without at least some minor protest. Certainly they'd never handed it over willingly, nor so eagerly!

"What do you take me for -- an idiot?" Atrius slapped the skrip from Salmoneus' hand, dashing it to the ground.

Felyn eagerly scuttled after the fallen pouch and reached for it.

"Leave it!" barked Atrius. "Did you hear the sound of coins when it fell?"

"Uh ... no ...," replied Felyn as he scurried back into position.

"What merchant do you know who'd give away his money like it was a Solstice gift?"

"One who hates the sight of blood?" ventured Salmoneus hopefully. "Especially mine?"

"Sorry to disappoint you," growled Atrius. "No merchant traveling alone ever carries his wealth in plain sight. They hide it. Usually sewn into a belt or clothing." He gave Salmoneus a wicked grin and prodded the merchant's ample girth with the point of his sword. "Maybe we should gut you like a fish and see what's inside, ay?"

"Maybe you should try fishing somewhere else, friend," said a reasonable voice.

A tall, broad-shouldered figure stepped out of the roadside copse of trees that had served as the bandits' hiding place only moments before.

"Yeah? Who do you think you are?" demanded Atrius of the lone man.

Salmoneus could hardly believe his eyes. Finally, some good fortune for a change!

"Hercules!!" he exclaimed joyfully.

"Hercules?" echoed Atrius as he scowled at the newcomer.

"That's Hercules?!," snorted Meraus. "Yeah, riiigggght. And I'm his little blonde sidekick, Eyos!"

"Actually, that would be me." Said a calm tenor voice less than an inch from Meraus' ear.

The startled bandit whipped around in time to glimpse twinkling blue eyes and a mop of unruly blonde hair seconds before his vision was filled with a fist. The punch struck him hard between the eyes and dropped him like a rock.

"And the name's Iolaus," concluded Hercules' little blonde sidekick.

Atrius heard Meraus' body hit the ground. Suddenly the day wasn't so perfect any more.

"Well? Don't just stand there, you idiots!" he shouted at his men. "Kill them!!"

Hercules sighed, shook his head disapprovingly, then strode purposefully forward. Sword in hand, Atrius moved to meet him with two of his men by his side. In spite of the unfavorable turn of events, the bandit chieftain was feeling confident.

After all, he told himself, what chance does a single, unarmed man have against the three of us with swords?

A few yards away, Felyn drew two wicked daggers from his wrist-sheathes and turned to face Iolaus. Grinning, he began to whirl his hands before him until the blades were little more than a blur of metal slicing the air.

Dropping into a defensive stance, balanced on the balls of his feet and hands poised before him, Iolaus caught a glimpse of Salmoneus standing gapping like a fish in the center of what was about to become a violent fray.

"Uh, Sal?" he offered, looking past Felyn's shoulder. "It might be a good idea if you got out of the way."

"What -- ? Oh, right! You don't have to tell me twice!" exclaimed Salmoneus, and darted off the road and into the stand of trees.

"He won't get far," said Felyn with a grin as he advanced on Iolaus with his scything blades.

"Ever see him run from a creditor?" quipped Iolaus although his gaze never left the whirling cutlery.

Felyn offered no response other than to advance, his weasel face alight with anticipation of carnage. The pattern of his swings effectively protected him from chest to waist and he felt supremely confident that he had left no opening for his unarmed opponent to exploit. If the fool tried to attack him with his bare hands, he was going to get himself cut into shreds.

Unfortunately for the narrow-minded Felyn, he hadn't taken into account the possibility of a little fancy footwork. Blades whirling, Felyn rushed Iolaus. To his surprise, the blonde warrior didn't give ground. Instead, he *dropped* to the ground, balanced in a squatting position on his left leg and kicked outward with his right. Iolaus' booted heel connected squarely with Felyn's left kneecap, shattering it. In the same movement, Iolaus pivoted, shifted his weight onto his right foot and used his left leg to snap a high kick into Felyn's groin. Dagger blades flew off into space as the bandit lost his grip on them and fell screaming. He rapped the back of his head on the ground and sprawled unconscious, momentarily free of pain.

At the same moment Felyn and Iolaus were squaring off, Atrius and two of his men faced Hercules. With a sword-wielding bandit flanking him on either side, Atrius charged his unarmed opponent. He threw his weight behind a forward thrust intended to disembowel. A few steps behind, his companions prepared to hack and slash whatever remained.

Hercules waited and timed his move. Just when it seemed Atrius' sword would impale him, he twisted his body to the left so that he was standing sidewise, offering a much narrower target. The bandit chief's sword sliced empty air and the momentum of the thrust brought its wielder within easy grasp. Hercules caught Atrius' sword arm in one hand and gave it a twist. With a cry of pain and surprise, Atrius dropped his weapon. His fingers scrabbled empty air as he sought the dagger at this belt.

"Looking for this?" asked Hercules conversationally, holding aloft Atrius' missing knife. Hercules' right arm flashed outward and used his new found weapon to neatly parry the swordstroke of a charging bandit. He followed through by slamming the unfortunate ruffian in the temple with the hilt of the dagger and knocking him clean off his feet.

The second charging bandit skidded to a halt less than a foot from Hercules, his expression clearly one of doubt as to whether this was the best course of action. He chose retreat as the better part of valor, turned on his heels, and began to run for the safety of the trees. Hercules shifted his grasp on Atrius and effortlessly lifted the loudly protesting bandit chief over his head.

"Have a nice flight," said Hercules as he threw Atrius away.

"Whoooooaaahhhhhhh AAAAHHHH -- OOOFFF!!" screamed Atrius as he flew through the air and slammed into the back of his fleeing minion.

The two bandits fell to the ground in a pile of ungainly arms and legs and skidded several more feet into the trunk of a very solid tree.

"Have I ever mentioned you'd be a natural at horseshoes?" asked Iolaus as he critically observed the aftermath of his friend's throw.

"I tried it once," admitted Hercules as he dusted off his hands. "When I was six. It didn't go very well."

"What'd you do, throw the horseshoes too hard and break the pole?"

"Well, no. I sort of ... broke ... the horse."

"Huh?"

"I threw an entire horse."

"You WHAT?!" exclaimed Iolaus, incredulous.

Hercules shrugged. "Well, no one ever told me it was just the shoes..." His blue eyes twinkled, giving lie to the mock chagrin in his tone.

"Yeah, well ... you know what part of the horse you're full of, don't you?" laughed Iolaus.

"Speaking of which," said Hercules. "Where's Salmoneus?"

"He was right here a minute ago." Iolaus looked around but saw only the unconscious bodies of Atrius and his men sprawled along the road. "I saw him run into -- Whoa!"

As he started toward the copse of trees where last he'd seen Salmoneus, Iolaus almost lost his balance as his foot slipped on something soft and lumpy.

"What's this?" he wondered aloud as he bent down and scooped up a worn leather belt pouch. It was a simple thing but well made, embroidered in tan and amber stitching. From the weight of it, he guessed it held something the size of an egg.

"It belongs to Salmoneus," said Hercules, brows furrowed into a frown. "I gave it to him about two years ago for his birthday."

"You never gave *me* a money skrip for my birthday."

"You never have any money."

"Oh yeah. Good point..."

There was concern in Hercules' deep blue eyes as his gaze continued to search the road and landscape for some sign of his merchant friend. "It's not like Salmoneus to just run off like that."

"I wouldn't worry about it. He probably smelled a dinar somewhere."

Hercules was unconvinced. Somewhere deep inside him a feeling of dread was stirring, as if something had just gone very, very wrong.

"He'll be fine," said Iolaus as he laid a comforting hand on his friend's arm. "He's probably running a little scared is all. Once he realizes these guys aren't gonna cause him any more trouble, he'll be back. If I know Sal, he'll probably turn up just in time for dinner. Besides," concluded Iolaus as he jiggled the money pouch in his free hand. "He's not likely to leave this behind!"

"You're probably right," sighed Hercules.

"I know I'm right." Iolaus tucked the abandoned money pouch safely within his travel pack. "Come on. We've got a birthday party to get to, remember?"

Hercules nodded, but could not help feeling as if he were overlooking something vitally important...

As Captain of Hera's temple guards, one of Baldur's favorite monthly duties was the observation of Tith Day in the neighboring villages. It was the perfect opportunity to flex his sadistic streak and wreck some havoc with the locals. There was nothing he enjoyed more than terrorizing a few defenseless peasants, especially when he had an army at his back and the odds in his favor. It also helped ease the boredom. Very few people were brave enough -- or stupid enough -- to challenge Hera's temple guards, so Baldur was often forced to go in search of trouble. Once every three months, on Tith Day, Baldur and a handful of his men chose a village at random to collect tribute to Hera. If they were displeased with what the village had to offer -- which was always the case -- they would help themselves to whatever was available to "balance" the collection. Nothing and no one was safe; not livestock, dinars, food or the women. But on those dread occasions when Tith Day fell within the week of the Dark Moon, the "collection" usually included the "arrest" of a protesting villager or visiting stranger who would then vanish into Hera's temple, never to be seen again.

This month it was Vrydon's turn. A sleepy little village nestled in the bend of the river with a population of less than two score, it had been mercifully spared Tith Day for the better part of a year. Now, less than three days away from the dark of the moon, the simple people of Vrydon were beset by the fearful visage of Baldur and a dozen of his men riding into the heart of the little community.

Elias saw the cloud of dust long before the first horse hove into view around the bend in the road. A farmer all of his life, he was a stout man with broad shoulders made muscular through years of hard labor at the plow and skin tanned brown from long hours in the sun. Forty and three summers old, his short, sandy hair was going gray at the temples and a fine lattice of wrinkles lined his hazel eyes. Elias was Vrydon's village elder and the only person to stand up to Baldur during his last raid. The puckered flesh of the burn scar on his right shoulder shone pinkish white against his tan skin, etching a warped, obscene outline of a peacock. The brand was a cruel and painful reminder of Baldur's reward for defiance. It had nearly killed him. Sometimes, Elias wished it had.

"Elias, what are you doing?" Helena, Elias' wife of twenty-five years, tugged at his shirt sleeve. "Come home. Come home!" she pleaded, her brown eyes anxiously watching the rapidly approaching dust cloud.

"No," he said firmly. "This can't go on. It has to stop!"

"Elias, please!" begged his wife. "You are but one man! This time they'll kill you!"

"Someone has to stand up to them."

"Why must it be you?!" she cried and tugged harder at his sleeve.

Elias glanced around at the simple wooden huts that made up his little village. All of the doors were bolted closed from the inside and the windows shuttered, but he could still make out a pale white face or two as they peered out at the approaching mayhem. The streets were deserted. He and Helena were the only living souls standing beside the well in the tiny square.

"Who else will stand up to them?"

"It is suicide!" sobbed Helena. "Please, come home. I don't want to lose you!"

"If I turn my eyes and ignore what they do, then you will have already lost me. No. I will not be that sort of man." He gently plucked her hand from his sleeve, brought it to his lips and kissed her work-roughened fingers. "Remember always that I love you."

"Husband, I shall not leave without you," she said as she grasped his hand firmly. "If you will not allow me to talk you out of this madness, then I will join you in it."

"Helena, no! That was not the -- "

"Hush..." she said, and laid a lovingly gentle finger to his lips to stop the flow of words. "It is already too late."

The thundering sound of horses drowned her last words as Baldur and his men road into the village square.

"Well, well, well!" crowed the Captain of Hera's guard as he reined in his horse less than a foot from where Elias and Helena stood. "Look what we have here! A welcoming committee!" He grinned. "Nice of you to come out to meet us, Elias. Who's the wench? An offering to Hera, perhaps?"

Elias stepped forward, placing himself between Helena and Baldur. "You are not welcome here," he snapped. "We will *not* worship Hera in this village."

"Oh, I think you will," said Baldur with a wicked grin. He turned to look over his shoulder at his men. "Milos! Drusus! Take the woman."

"NO!" Elias turned to Helena. "Run!" he cried. "Run!!"

"But...!"

"DO IT!" he fairly screamed, and pushed her as if to start her on her way. He did not watch to see if she obeyed, but rather reached into his shirt and pulled forth the dagger from the sheath that had been concealed therein. "If you want a sacrifice for your bitch goddess, come and take me!"

Baldur sat back in his saddle and laughed. "Nice little pig sticker you've got there."

Milos and Drusus dismounted and drew their longswords.

"A bit short on reach, don'tcha think?," he observed with amusement. "Still, it might be fun to watch you hacked to bits. Or maybe you'd rather stick around long enough to watch us have a little fun with your wife?"

"Leave her ALONE!" roared Elias as he launched himself at Baldur.

He was intercepted by Milos, who with a single swing of his sword was able to knock the dagger from the farmer's hand. Drusus stepped past Elias and used the flat of his blade to strike him in the small of his back, knocking the villager to his knees.

"Nice try, Elias, but hardly as much fun as last time," said Baldur. "Unless, of course, we can improvise. What do you think men?"

There was chortling consent to the proposition.

"Suggestions?"

"I say we cut his ears off and feed 'em to him," said Drusus brightly.

"We could brand the other shoulder," suggested Milos. "Or maybe his face?"

Other suggestions equally cruel and gruesome were readily forthcoming from the remaining guards. Not one of them realized that Baldur was no longer listening.

With a start of surprise, Baldur suddenly felt as if a block of ice had been pressed between his leather armor and the bare flesh of his chest. His blunt fingers grasped the chain around his neck and tugged. As the chain came out of his shirt front, the bone numbing cold came with it.

Hera's pendant was glowing.

"I still like the idea of carving him up," Drusus was saying. "I could start right here..." he giggled as he lay the point of his sword against Elias' groin. "Just a little nick and -- "

"Leave him," ordered Baldur.

"What?" Drusus couldn't believe his ears. "But Baldur! He's -- !"

"I said LEAVE HIM!" roared the Captain of Hera's guards.

Drusus and Milos instantly backed away from Elias as if from a live coal.

"Mount up," barked Baldur. "NOW!!"

Without further protest or hesitation, the pair did as ordered and fell into position behind their Captain. The remaining men offered no comment, though they exchanged questioning glances behind Baldur's back. None of them understood why the sudden change in plans but there wasn't a single man among them willing to risk Baldur's wrath. The last man who had disobeyed an order had ended up gutted on Hera's altar.

Holding the glowing pendant by the chain around his neck, Baldur allowed it to sway gently to and fro. It circled lazily and then slowly but perceptibly began to waver in an east/west direction. With each arc of the pendant's swing toward the east, the green stone shone more brightly.

Pylus was right. It was pointing the way!

With a barking laugh of triumph, Baldur spurred his horse forward, leading his astonished men on the path toward the Peacock's Eye...

"Still looking for Salmoneus?"

Hercules glanced at Iolaus. "Am I being that obvious?"

"It's either that or you've suddenly developed a consuming passion for horticulture," Iolaus gently chided. "I don't think a single tree or shrub has escaped your notice since we hit the road again." He looked closely at his friend. "You're really bothered by his running away, aren't you?"

"Not his running away. His not coming back," replied Hercules. "And I can't shake this feeling... It's as if I'm missing something important. Something that should be right in front of me!" Frustrated, Hercules couldn't quite find the right words to describe the inexplicable feeling of foreboding that had to begun to grow after the fight with the bandits. Still, he felt compelled to try to explain to his silent companion. "It's like looking directly at a beautiful painting but catching sight of something out of place and ugly from the corner of your eye ... lurking ..."

"Uh, Herk? I think I've got a problem here ..."

"I know what you're going to say," sighed Hercules. "Salmoneus has run away before. But he's always come back as soon as it was safe!"

"...Herk?... "

"It just isn't like him to vanish altogether." He glanced at his companion. "I'm afraid that something's hap -- "

Iolaus was no longer by his side.

"HERK!!"

Hercules turned toward the sound of Iolaus' voice and discovered that his friend had stopped several feet back. It took another moment for him to register the fact that the blonde warrior was substantially shorter and knee deep in mud!

"IOLAUS!"

"No, stop!!," cried Iolaus as Hercules ran toward him. "Don't come closer! It's quicksand! You'll get trapped, too!"

"Quicksand?" All Hercules could see was grass and earth except for a goopy, slimy mass of mud that formed a tight circle around Iolaus. "That's not possible! It's the wrong kind of terrain."

Iolaus, now waist deep in mire and sinking fast, still managed to give Hercules an excuse-me-but-what-do-you-call-this look. "Can we discuss the finer points of geology *after* you find something to pull me out of this?" he asked testily.

"Oh, right." Hercules quickly scanned the ground and saw nothing that would be suitable. Unfazed, he ran to the nearest tree, jumped up and caught the lowest bough in his muscular hands. He snapped it free of the trunk with ease and ran back to his mired friend with the five foot length of tree branch.

The cold, sucking muck was up to Iolaus' armpits as he reached for the lifeline. He caught the end of the branch in both hands.

"Ready?"

"Got it," nodded Iolaus.

Hercules heaved backward on his end of the branch, perhaps a bit harder than necessary. Iolaus shot out of the mire with a slurping *POP* and flew several feet through the air before landing with a squelch and a grunt in the middle of the dirt road. Dust billowed up around him and lazily drifted down to settle in his hair to complete his coat of grime.

"Are you all right?" asked Hercules with concern as he grasped Iolaus' muddy hand and hauled onto his feet.

"Just bruised my ego." Iolaus spat out a chunk of dirt. "Thanks," he managed and grimaced before spitting out more earth. "How could I have missed something like that?" he chastised himself. "I've never missed a -- "

Hercules' hand on his shoulder stopped his flow of words in midsentence. "Look," he said in response to Iolaus' questioning expression and nodded toward the mud that had almost claimed his friend.

"I've already had a look, remember? Up close and personal." Still, Iolaus grudgingly turned. His eyes grew wide in open disbelief. "But ... that's not possible!"

The quagmire was gone. In its stead was unblemished grass and bone dry earth. Hercules walked over to the spot that moments before had tried to swallow Iolaus and crossed over it without mishap. It was solid and substantial, without even so much as splotch of mud to indicate it had ever existed.

"I don't understand. It was right there!" Iolaus looked up at Hercules with wide blue eyes. "Wasn't it? I mean, just look at me!" He held his arms away from his sides to display his mud encrusted body.

"It was there," said Hercules with a grim expression.

"So ... what's going on?"

"The gods are at work. I can feel it."

Iolaus threw up his hands. "Oh, great! Just what we don't need!" he exclaimed. "Which one is it this time?"

"I don't know."

"And why pick on me? I haven't done anything lately to anger any deities." He thought about that for a moment and amended, "At least, not that I know of."

"There's one you infuriate just by existing," replied Hercules, fists clenched at his side. "Hera." His step-mother's name was like acid on his tongue. "She would go to any lengths to destroy anything or anyone that I love."

"Well, yeah, but ... I've known you practically all your life and she's never gone after me directly before," Iolaus pointed out. "It isn't as if she hasn't had ample opportunity in the past, either."

"Maybe she's decided it's time to start."

"With mud? Fire and brimstone, maybe; an Enforcer or two, sure -- but this? It's not quite her style." Iolaus shook his head. "No, if it is a god, it's probably one with a really warped sense of humor."

"You could have been killed," said Hercules darkly. "I hardly consider that humorous."

"But I wasn't, was I? You were right there to pull me out," said Iolaus reasonably. "Come to think of it, that's *exactly* the sort of stunt Hermes would pull. You know how much he likes his practical jokes, and you've gotta admit it's been a while since he's pulled one on us." Iolaus chuckled. "Remember when he hid Apollo's herd of cows in that cave by walking them backwards, then said you'd taken them..."

Hercules did remember and couldn't help smiling in spite of himself. For one thing, Iolaus' grin was infectious. "You might be right."

"Wouldn't be the first time," said Iolaus with smug satisfaction. He started to make his way toward the river with a distinctly bow-legged stride. "I'll be right back. I'm going to wash this stuff off before it hardens and I become a permanent roadside fixture."

With a mighty effort, Hercules successfully fought back the urge to follow at a distance and keep an eye on his friend. Iolaus wouldn't appreciate Hercules worrying over him like a mother hen.

But Hercules was worried. The inexplicable feeling of dread had only been strengthened by Iolaus' encounter with the quagmire. The gods were at work here and he sincerely doubted it was Hermes. For one thing, the god of thieves and tricksters was never far away when perpetrating one of his jokes. He enjoyed watching the reactions of his victims too much, not to mention crowing about it once the trap had been sprung. Nor were his pranks designed to put anyone in danger.

The mud could have killed Iolaus, and that stank of Hera's doing.

Hercules turned an angry face skyward.

"You can't have him," he angrily told the heavens. "Are you listening, Hera? I'll not lose him, too!"

"More wine, sir?"

Salmoneus nodded and pushed his goblet forward to receive the ruby liquid.

The buxom barmaid filled the earthenware container to the brim and stepped back as if to admire her handiwork. "Shall I bring you more stew?"

"No. Thanks." He reached into the small leather pouch at his belt, extracted a few coins, and let them rain into her waiting palm. "Leave it."

"Yes, sir!" she said cheerfully and set the wine pitcher on the table before him. "You'll be letting me know if there's anything else you'd be wanting?" she asked with a sultry smile and a provocative swish of her ample hips as she sauntered off.

"Yeah, sure." Salmoneus reached for his goblet and downed half of the contents in a single gulp. He sighed aloud. Getting drunk wasn't all it was cracked up to be. It did nothing to ease the pain.

Guilt ate at his stomach like bitter bile as he brooded over his wine. Hercules was his friend, one of the few he could claim and certainly the best. Salmoneus knew he should have stayed to help but when he saw Iolaus pick up the beltpouch, he panicked. All he could think to do was to place as much distance between himself and that accursed rock! So he ran. He ran until his lungs were on fire and his legs wobbled with exhaustion. He ran until he no longer knew where he was or where he was going, only caring that it was *away* from the curse!

Salmoneus would probably have continued to run until he dropped from exhaustion were it not for the fact that he caught his sandaled foot and tripped face forward over the roots of an ancient tree. With a squeal of alarm as he envisioned some horrid monster clutching his toes, Salmoneus reached for his ankle to pull his foot free of its restraint. The unexpected glitter of silver made the breath catch in his throat. His sandal had caught in the rotting strap of a partially concealed cloth sack and his kicking had ripped it open. Silver coins spilled out across his foot and the roots of the knarled tree and twinkled invitingly. In the space of a heartbeat, Salmoneus' luck had changed!

Oh, how he had planned to celebrate his newly restored good fortune! But now, seated in the warm comfort of a roadside inn with a full belly and a comfortable bed for the night, Salmoneus no longer felt like celebrating. He kept thinking back to the fight on the road -- to Hercules as he confronted the bandits without any thought to his own safety.

If Hercules had retrieved the pouch with the cursed gemstone, Salmoneus would have liked to believe he would have done the noble thing and warned his friend what it was he held in his hand. But Hercules didn't pick it up. Iolaus did. And what did Salmoneus owe Iolaus? Absolutely nothing. Why, just because he was Hercules' friend -- okay, Hercules' *best* friend -- didn't mean he was necessarily a friend to Salmoneus, now did it? And did it *really* matter that Iolaus was also known to Xena, Warrior Princess, and her sweet if annoyingly chatty companion, Gabrielle? All *that* meant was that they traveled in similar circles -- right?

Salmoneus sighed. When the first tendrils of guilt began to grip his heart, he tried to justify his abandoning Iolaus to the curse. After all, the buff little blonde guy was a warrior, wasn't he? And it stood to reason that you had to be a pretty decent warrior to fight by Hercules' side for so many years, didn't it? Iolaus was an experienced hunter and a celebrated warrior. Surely he could hold his own against such trivial annoyances as crazed partridges and killer ants!

But the more Salmoneus tried to justify his actions, the more the guilt ate at him. What if the curse worked differently on warriors than it did on merchants? What if Iolaus was plagued with something far worse than killer flora and fauna? If anything happened to Iolaus and Hercules found out it could have been prevented by Salmoneus -- what would the Son of Zeus think of him then?

Oh gods! Even worse! Could the curse harm Hercules just by its being in such close proximity?

Salmoneus placed his head in his hands, ran his fingers through his graying hair, and moaned softly, "What have I done?"

Iolaus had spent an uncomfortable night. His sleep had been restless and filled with dark dreams that fled from memory in the first light of morning. When he sat up on his bedroll and stretched, his limbs actually creaked in protest as if his body were that of an aging villager.

I'm just stiff because the ground's damp, that's all, Iolaus told himself.

But it hadn't rained in days and a small gnawing coal of worry began to burn in the pit of his stomach.

The sun was barely above the horizon when they resumed their journey. Hercules set the pace, walking with easy but long-legged strides. Normally Iolaus would have had no trouble keeping step with his friend but today it was a struggle just to move. Instead of limbering with the exercise, his stiff arms and legs continued to ache. When Hercules commented with some concern on how slowly his friend seemed to be moving, Iolaus quickly shrugged it away as the side effect of a sleepless night. It would pass. As if to prove the point, he'd managed to keep up the pace thereafter although it pained him to do so. His joints felt as if they were aflame and the bones grinding against each other with every step.

"Look," said Hercules around mid-day and pointed to the shallow green valley that stretched out before them. "Plynth!"

Iolaus paused gratefully by Hercules' side.

A handful of wooden buildings and stalls around the farming village's stone-walled well represented the center of commerce for the tiny community. The air was alive with the sounds of farm life: children laughing, sheep and goats bleating, the bark of a dog, and neighbors calling to each other or their beasts as they tended to the routine chores of the day.

Iolaus' eyes drifted to the first building poised to greet the road-weary traveler, a small tavern conveniently situated close to the dirt road.

"Now there's a welcome sight!" he said a bit breathlessly. Without waiting for further invitation, he eagerly began to make his way down the slope toward the promise of fresh baked bread and a cool tankard of ale.

Hercules followed close behind and did not once take his eyes from his companion. The feeling of dread within his heart was growing stronger, and little wonder. Although the breeze was cool and the mid-day sun partially hidden by clouds, Hercules could not help but see the fine sheen of sweat that glistened on Iolaus' face and dampened his blonde hair against his neck. Nor was he oblivious to the stiffness of Iolaus' movements or the obvious effort it took him to keep up the pace of their journey. A pace that only a day before had been easy and effortless.

There was something seriously amiss, of that Hercules was certain. But what?! There'd been no thunder bolts from out of the blue; no monster with poisoned talons or breath to explain his growing apprehension or the change that seemed to be creeping over his dearest friend.

"Maybe you should slow down a bit," said Hercules helpfully as he matched stride with Iolaus. "The tavern's not going anywhere."

"I'm not taking any chances," replied Iolaus, clearly determined. "The way my luck's been running lately, it'll be swallowed up by a mud pit before I can get anything to drink."

As if fearful that this scenario might truly happen, Iolaus picked up the pace in spite of his protesting joints. He actually managed to reach the open door of the inn several steps in front of Hercules. The low murmur of voices and the warm, welcome smells of fermenting ale, fresh bread, and savory meat greeted him as he crossed the threshold. His stomach rumbled in eager anticipation.

The inn's common room was warm from the morning's baking and the fire that still smoldered on the stone hearth opposite the door. The left side of the room was filled with a counter that separated the main room from the door to the kitchen behind and the stairway leading up to the guest rooms. Four villagers shared one of the two long wooden trestle tables in the center of the room. Two smaller tables suitable for more private discourse sat against the wall opposite the bar.

"Morning," Iolaus greeted the farmers as he headed for one of the smaller tables.

No greeting was given in return. As Hercules entered the inn, he was in time to see the four men turn as if one and focus glares of cold, unveiled hatred on the unsuspecting Iolaus. The burliest of the four let his hand drift to the sheering knife at his belt and slowly began to rise from his bench.

"Good morning," said Hercules heartily as he stepped inside.

Startled, the four men swung their attention to the strapping young man who filled the doorway.

"No need to get up on our account," Hercules continued good naturedly. "Unless you were already leaving?" he concluded with a pointed look at the hand that rested on the knife hilt.

The farmer instantly moved his hand away from his belt. "Yeah," he said curtly. "We was just leaving, weren't we, fellas?"

His companions nodded their consent and hastily rose from their seats.

"Suddenly the air in here smells like horse dung." Directing a venomous look of pure hatred toward Iolaus, the burly farmer spat on the floor, turned on his heel and stomped out of the establishment with his companions close behind.

Iolaus watched their departure with a puzzled expression. "What was that all about?"

"I haven't the faintest idea," mused Hercules.

"Ere, now!" A portly man bearing a wooden tray laden with four mugs and a pitcher paused just within the kitchen doorway. He frowned at the recently vacated table. "Where've they gotten off to?"

"Something suddenly came up."

"As I live and breath!" exclaimed the innkeeper, his round face beaming with a smile when he saw who had spoken. "Hercules!!"

"Hello, Annias."

"By the gods, man! It's good to see -- " The innkeeper suddenly stopped in midsentence. His dark brown eyes had espied Iolaus making his way toward them. Suddenly the joy in his face evaporated. "What's he doing here?"

Iolaus stopped short as if the innkeeper's words had been a well placed kick.

Hercules was stunned. "Annias, it's Iolaus. Surely you remember Iolaus?"

"Aye, I remember him," growled the innkeeper. "All too well for my liking." He set the tray down on the counter with a heavy thunk. Ale geysered upward and splashed across the tray and floor. "Inn's closed," he announced and glowered at Iolaus. "We don't serve your kind in here."

"My kind?" echoed Iolaus, astonished by the usually jovial innkeeper's hostility.

"You may've been able to fool the mighty Hercules, but you can't pull the wool over the eyes of us simple folks," snapped Annias. "Now by Hades, get out of my inn!"

"What exactly is it you think Iolaus has done that's so terrible?" asked Hercules.

"You really don't know, do you?" countered the innkeeper. "Then ask him," he concluded, and gave a curt nod toward the doorway.

A man more than 60 summers old enter the tavern. Of a height with Iolaus and robed in soft blue homespun, he had a round, kindly face crowned by a shock of white hair. Close behind him came the burly farmer sans his three companions.

"Septus!" There was relief in Hercules' voice upon seeing the village elder. Here, at least, was someone who knew Iolaus and would act as the voice of reason.

"Hercules." Septus acknowledged his old friend in a voice that was decidedly chill. He made no attempt to accept the demi-god's outstretched hand of welcome.

Slowly, Hercules lowered his hand. "You act as if I was an enemy."

"Not you, Hercules. Never you. Plynth owes you much. You saved us from the monster Echidna. That debt we could never repay, or forget." He took a deep breath, and his next words were spoken with reluctance. "Which is why I'm giving you a chance to leave now, while you still can. Before someone gets hurt."

"No one is going to get hurt, Septus. Not while I'm here."

The burly farmer seemed to take that as a challenge and started toward Hercules.

Septus laid a hand on his arm and stopped him. "No, Ortho. I owe him this much." He met Hercules' gaze. "Most of the men are working the fields, but news travels fast here. You don't have much time. Go."

"Or?" prompted Iolaus.

For the first time since entering the inn, Septus looked at Iolaus. The expression on his face was a mixture of revulsion and anger.

"Or," said Septus tightly, "they will do their best to exact punishment from you for your betrayal of me and my family."

"Betrayal of ...?" Iolaus shook his head in stunned disbelief. "Septus, I have never, ever done anything to hurt you or Briana! I -- "

"How dare you speak her name, you villain!" the elder cried aloud. For a moment it looked as if Septus would lose all restraint and launch himself at the astonished Iolaus. "You took advantage of her in the most vile way. She trusted you! WE trusted you -- and this was how you repaid that trust!"

Hercules could not believe what he was hearing. "Septus, are you saying that Iolaus -- "

" -- Took advantage of my daughter!!"

Iolaus felt as if someone had pulled the earth out from beneath his feet.

"But ... but ...!" he protested, horrified, "I never did -- "

"Are you calling my daughter a liar?"

"Of course not! What I am saying is that it would never harm you or Briana! Whatever happened, it wasn't me!" Iolaus held out his hands beseechingly. "Septus, please. Let me prove it. If you let me speak with Briana, I -- "

"NEVER!" cried Septus, shaking with barely restrained anger. "If you so much as look at her ever again, I'll ... I'll kill you myself!!" With the greatest effort, he turned to Hercules. "Get him out of my village. Get him out now, before I forget we were once friends!"

Frustrated and concerned, Iolaus opened his mouth as if to plead further but Hercules laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Let's go," he said grimly. He gently propelled his friend past Septus and his burly escort.

Once outside, Iolaus looked back over his shoulder. Septus had disappeared from sight within the tavern but Ortho stood by the open doorway and watched his every step with unveiled hatred.

"I don't get it," lamented Iolaus as he found himself on the road again much sooner than he had envisioned. "I never touched Briana! I mean, not in that way, and never without her permission! Why would she say such a thing?"

Hercules sighed. "I don't know," he admitted.

Iolaus hesitated a moment before asking, "You believe me, don't you?"

"Never doubt it," Hercules assured him. "You may have a reputation with the ladies, my friend, but it's an honorable one."

"Tell Septus that," said Iolaus morosely.

They walked in leaden silence until Plynth was little more than an unpleasant memory behind them. The road meandered across a grassy knoll before splitting less than a mile outside of the village. Although it was the main road that continued on toward the rocky region where the monsters Echidna and Typhon made their home, Hercules bore to the right and onto the smaller branch.

"Where are you going?" asked a puzzled Iolaus as he stood at the fork in the road. "Echidna's lair is that way."

"Septus' farm is this way," replied Hercules. "I'd like to hear Briana's side of the story, wouldn't you?"

Iolaus didn't have to be asked twice.

The two friends followed the smaller road until it meandered into a small wooded area. Here they diverted from the path and stealthily made their way through the trees back toward Plynth. Although Iolaus' joints and muscles still ached, his hunter's training was second nature and enabled him to walk soundlessly through the underbrush in spite of his discomfort. By necessity, the pain made for slower going and it wasn't long before Hercules was a good three horselengths in front of him. Concentrating on being able to pick up the pace without sacrificing stealth, he missed a subtle movement to his right.

Realizing Iolaus was no longer directly behind him, Hercules paused and turned to check on his progress. He saw Iolaus moving toward him, his pale face glistening with the sweat of labored effort. Although it pained Hercules to watch his friend in such obvious discomfort, he managed to hold his ground. Iolaus was a proud man and would not appreciate being coddled.

A slight movement behind Iolaus and slightly to his left suddenly drew Hercules' attention.

"IOLAUS!! Get DOWN!"

Iolaus' body reacted instantly while his mind was still registering what Hercules was shouting. He dropped to the ground and rolled mere seconds before an arrow sliced through the air over his head and thunked harmlessly into the trunk of a tree. Iolaus glanced at the shaft as it quivered in the wood and realized it was a shot that would have taken him high in the back had Hercules not warned him. Crouching, he drew his sword from its sheath and warily searched the forest for his assailant.

Ortho stepped boldly into view several yards away, a shortbow gripped in his right hand.

"Couldn't keep away from her, could you, you bastard? You scum are all alike!" spat the farmer. He raised the bow and waved it high in the air. Upon sight of the prearranged signal, five men boiled out of the shadows of the trees behind Ortho and swarmed toward Iolaus with angry shouts.

Oh, great. Just what I need -- vigilantes, Iolaus groaned to himself. What else can go wrong?

The men running toward him were farmers all, garbed in soiled homespun and armed with pitchforks and clubs. They had no tactical experience and so did not consider that their attack might be more effective if they fanned out to form a ring around their victim. Instead, the mob pelted forward as a single dense group and assaulted Iolaus directly from the front. With such an approach, the men bearing the clubs would not be able to attack him in close combat more than two abreast. Unfortunately, the three carrying pitchforks could attack from a reach longer than Iolaus' arm and sword combined.

The two club-men reached Iolaus first. Eager to be the first to land a blow, neither man yielded to the other and simultaneously swung at Iolaus' unprotected head. It left an opening for a simple maneuver Iolaus had executed on more occasions than he could count. Just at the moment it seemed each club would strike him on either side of the head, Iolaus ducked. Neither man realized what had happened until the momentum of their swing completed the follow-through. Instead of striking Iolaus, they clouted each other soundly on the temple! With twin expressions of pained surprise, both men fell senseless to the ground.

Iolaus bobbed to his feet to meet his remaining three opponents, each wielding pitch forks.

"Don't take very good care of your equipment, do you?" he asked critically as he eyed the rusted tines of the weapon to his far right.

"It's good enough for the likes of you," growled the weapon's owner and lunged.

As the farmer overextended his reach, Iolaus struck aside the tines with the sword in his right hand and launched a kick at the farmer's unprotected midsection with his left foot. At that precise inopportune moment, the leaves on the forest floor shifted beneath Iolaus' boot and destroyed the delicate balance of his maneuver. His foot flew out from beneath him and dumped him onto the ground hard enough to knock the breath from him.

"Got ya now!" cried the middle farmer as he sought to pin Iolaus to the ground with his pitchfork.

A broad hand caught his wrist in midlunge and stopped it as surely as if he had struck stone. Hercules tore the pitchfork from the man's grasp and tossed the weapon into the underbrush with one hand. With the other, he effortlessly launched the shrilling farmer over his shoulder and into a distant bush.

Hercules turned his violet-blue gaze on the two remaining farmers who instantly paled at the anger they saw there. "Anyone else?"

Both men exchanged nervous glances. In unison, they dropped their pitchforks, turned, and fled back into the forest.

"Herk!" cried Iolaus.

Hercules turned as Ortho loosed another arrow from his bow. The deadly projectile flew straight and true toward Iolaus --

-- then suddenly and impossibly veered to the right! In the blink of an eye the shaft literally curved from a straight trajectory to a new course that would strike Hercules instead!

"No!" Iolaus struggled to regain his feet and tried to throw himself into the path of the missile that had been intended for him. Pain lanced through his knees, slowing him. In horror, he realized he would not be in time.

Astonished by the arrow's amazing physical acrobatics, Hercules barely managed to shift his stance in time to compensate for the projectile's new course. With both hands, he grasped the shaft and plucked the arrow from the air scant inches before it would have pierced his throat.

When he looked back at Ortho, the farmer was fitting a third arrow to his bowstring.

"That is ENOUGH!" he bellowed.

Hercules snatched up the two discarded pitchforks that lay at his feet. He aimed and hurled the first like a javelin at the tree closest to Ortho's right. It whistled past the startled farmer's ear close enough to stir his curly black hair before it thunked into the tree trunk. The tree groaned in outraged protest and toppled backward.

Eyes wide in astonishment, Ortho watched the uprooted tree crash to the ground in a geyser of dirt, leaves and broken branches. The pitchfork remained imbedded up to its wooden shaft in the thick trunk.

"I won't miss with this one," warned Hercules as he hefted the second pitchfork. He actually had no intention of harming Ortho but knew the farmer wouldn't realize that.

Clearly deciding that living to fight another day was the better option, Ortho turned tail and ran after his already departed fellows.

Hercules gave a weary sigh and discarded the pitchfork.

"I can't believe I let a couple of 'wet behind the ears' farmers get the better of me," said Iolaus wretchedly.

"You didn't," his friend pointed out. "You slipped. It happens."

"It doesn't happen to me." Iolaus frowned as a grim thought occurred to him. "At least, it didn't used to." Using his sheathed sword as leverage, he struggled painfully to his feet. His bones and joints felt as if they belonged within the body of a man 60 winters old.

"Are you all right?"

"No, I'm not all right. Do I *look* all right?!" demanded Iolaus as he hauled his arm away from Hercules' solicitous grasp. The hint of angry tears glittered in his eyes like tiny gems. "I've suddenly become some kind of jinx, and it almost got you killed!"

"Iolaus -- "

"You can't deny it," he challenged. "You saw what happened! That arrow changed its course in MID AIR! It was meant for me but it nearly killed YOU."

"It was probably just a warped shaft." Hercules didn't sound very convincing to himself much less to his distraught friend.

"I don't believe that any more than you do."

"Iolaus, you are not a jinx. You're just having an especially bad day, that's all," replied Hercules in as reassuring a voice as he could muster. But the feeling of foreboding that had been steadily mounting within his breast said something different -- something dark and brooding. "It'll be okay. You'll see," he finished lamely.

But it wasn't okay, and in his heart of hearts, Iolaus knew that it never would be.

Iolaus lay wide awake and alert on his bedroll long after Hercules had drifted off into a light slumber. Remaining utterly motionless, he listened intently to the familiar sounds of the forest night and waited for the change in the rhythm of Hercules' breathing that would indicate his friend was deeply asleep.

With the stealth of an experienced hunter, Iolaus rose to his feet and reached for his travel sack and sword. He left the bedroll where it lay; he couldn't risk the noise or the delay it would cause. If Hercules woke now, he'd have to explain why he was leaving.

Iolaus didn't understand what was happening to him or why. It seemed that no matter where he went, everything he touched turned to ashes. Suddenly, for no apparent or explicable reason, he was a catastrophic lodestone. Wherever he trod, only misfortune followed. How much longer would it be before that misfortune became fatal? As long as he was around, Hercules' life was in peril.

As young boys, full of the exuberance of life and long before they learned the harsh realities of mortality in combat, Hercules and Iolaus vowed that when death came, they would go together, fighting back to back. It never occurred to Iolaus that he himself might one day endanger Hercules' life in a battle. He loved the son of Zeus like a brother, with all of his heart and soul. If any harm should befall him because of this ... this damned curse ... Iolaus would never forgive himself.

The only solution was to leave and take the curse with him -- far away from Hercules.

Moving swiftly in spite of the throbbing pain in his joints, Iolaus finished gathering his few belongings and soundlessly made his way out of the little campsite. Just beyond the circle of firelight, he paused within the shadows to look one last time at his dearest friend. He'd spent most of his life by Hercules' side, in battle and in friendship. There was a lifetime of history between them and a bond of brotherhood that would outlast death itself. Iolaus couldn't imagine what his life would be like without Hercules in it. But it was time to find out.

"Good-bye, my friend," he whispered. "Remember me."

Blinking back tears, Iolaus melted into the shadows of the forest and was gone.

Baldur studied the glowing green pendant then looked up at the first rosy hints of sunlight on the horizon. "The direction's changed."

"Is that good?" asked Drusus as he eyed the pendant distrustfully over the Captain's broad shoulder. The damned thing gave him the creeps, and that was a fact.

"Better than good," replied Baldur with a crooked grin. He turned toward the encampment behind him and bellowed, "Get up, you bastards! I want you ready to ride in five minutes!" There was no mistaking the gleaming anticipation of mayhem that shone within his eyes. "The Peacock's Eye is coming to *us*!"

It was mid-morning before Iolaus quit the anonymity of the concealing forest and stepped out into full sunlight. He now trod the road to the western sea, leagues away from where he'd left Hercules sleeping. Behind him lay a series of false trails, dead ends, and other hunter's diversions that would effectively cover his tracks and the direction in which he'd traveled. By the time Hercules unraveled all of the knots and figured out where the true path lay, Iolaus would be on a ship bound somewhere far away. He didn't yet know what his ultimate destination would be -- the Far East or Rome or Gaul; all he knew was that it had to be far enough away so that he would never again cause harm to befall Hercules.

There was a weariness to his step as he undertook the last leg of his journey. His heart was heavy with his impending, self-inflicted exile from the homeland that he loved. Never again to see the rolling green hills of Thebes, that most beautiful place of his birth, or to walk the streets of Attica, Ithica or Corinth. Never to have the chance to clear his name with Briana, her father, and the people of Plynth.

He tried not to think of the familiar faces of friends that would be forever lost to him. Jason and the rest of the Argonauts, his grandmother and Alcmene, King Iphicles and Rena. And the women he loved most in all the world: Xena, the proud and beautiful warrior princess, who had once stolen his heart and owned a piece of it still; her companion, the lovely, pure-hearted Gabrielle, who had laid her own gentle claim to his heart; and most precious of all, Queen Niobe, who held his love forever in her delicate grasp.

But most painful and wrenching of all was knowing that he would never again set eyes upon Hercules, the brother of his heart. So much of his life was bound to Hercules' own. Never again to share his beloved friend's travels and fortunes, to fight by his side or to share his joys and sorrows -- it was a double-edged sword that cut to Iolaus' very soul. It was a burden almost too heavy to bear.

"YOU there!"

Now what? Iolaus groaned to himself and looked up.

The road was blocked by a burly man uniformed in black leather armor. Stamped into the leather at his right shoulder was the image of a sword crossed by a peacock feather -- the unmistakable signal of a Captain of Hera's elite guard. A glowing green stone hung from a chain about his bull neck and radiated an aura so evil it raised the hairs on the back of Iolaus' neck even from ten feet away.

Arrayed behind the Captain were four soldiers of Hera's guard, garbed in black with helms that bore a green eye upon the forehead just above the noseguard.

"You have something that belongs to Hera," growled Baldur.

"Yeah?" replied Iolaus defensively. "Sorry, pal, but the only thing I have that belongs to old Horse-Face is a few choice words -- none of 'em nice."

"Pretty mouthy for a shrimp, ain't ya?"

"Beats pimping for a bitch goddess," he countered. "What's it like, anyway?"

Baldur's eyes narrowed to slits. "I've butchered men for less."

"I'll just bet you have," said Iolaus with disgust. "Probably safely chained to an altar."

"Perhaps you'd like to see first hand." Baldur motioned his men forward. "Take him!" he ordered, "But don't kill him! Pylus wants him alive!"

"Why don't I find that very reassuring?" Iolaus dumped his travelsack, drew his sword, and crouched into a defensive stance to receive his attackers.

Unlike the farmers he had faced the day before, these four were trained soldiers. Weapons drawn, they fanned out into a semicircle and approached Iolaus with caution. He watched them come and held his position, studying each man for potential advantages.

Gaius and Iypades moved to flank the wary blonde warrior as Drusus and Milos approached him from the front. To a man, they expected their opponent to lead his defense with a sword attack. Not one anticipated he would prefer his feet and hands!

With a sudden shout, Iolaus leaped up and launched his full weight behind a flying kick that caught Gaius squarely in the chest. The startled guard stumbled backward but managed to keep his feet. Iolaus landed firmly balanced less than six inches in front of the startled guard and used both hands to land a rapid succession of blows on his chest, neck and head.

Iypades rushed Iolaus from behind as Gaius crumpled to the ground. Iolaus heard him and ducked, lifting his elbow sharply up and behind to catch the guard hard in the gut. With a grunt of expelled air, Iypades doubled over. Iolaus popped up and slammed the guard hard on the back of the neck. Iypades continued his forward momentum and sprawled face first in the dirt.

Two down, three to go, thought Iolaus. His breath burned in this chest and his muscles fairly shrilled at him in protest.

A familiar sound whistled close to his ear. Instinctively, he turned and sidestepped Milos' sword. Milos stepped in close for a better vantage and swung again. Iolaus backpedaled but found his traitorous legs would not respond fast enough. The sword blade sliced a crimson ribbon across his chest from left breast to right hip. White hot pain seared his flesh and warm blood welled from the shallow wound. Iolaus stumbled but did not fall.

As the guard tried to follow through with a forward lunge, Iolaus dropped and executed a shoulder roll out of the blade's path. A little less gracefully than he would have liked, Iolaus bounced to his feet beneath his opponent's outstretched arm and struck him hard in the throat with the heel of his hand. For good measure, he brought his knee up sharply and caught the man in a most delicate part of his anatomy. Milos would have screamed his pain but could not get the sound out of his bruised throat. Instead, he sank into a curling ball on the ground, hands cupping his throbbing privates.

Panting, Iolaus turned to meet the next challenge and barely managed to sidestep a sword thrust by Drusus. The blade sliced fire across his left bicep. Iolaus ducked the next swing and, pivoting, kicked outward with his right foot. His heel connected with Drusus' right knee but his aim and timing was slightly off. Instead of breaking the knee cap, the kick only succeeded in knocking Drusus off balance. Still, it gave Iolaus a little more room to maneuver. He looked left then right, in search of his fallen sword --

-- and cried out in pain as he was struck from behind.

Baldur smashed Iolaus between the shoulder blades with the hilt of his sword hard enough to drive the blonde warrior to his knees.

"Enough play," snarled Baldur, and punched Iolaus' wounded arm with a gauntleted fist.

Iolaus screamed as agony engulfed his arm and shoulder.

"Where is it?"

Clutching his arm to his chest, Iolaus glowered defiance at the Captain. "I don't know what the Hades you're talking about."

It was not the answer Baldur wanted to hear. He kicked his prisoner in the ribs with the iron-shod toe of his booted foot.

White hot pain overwhelmed the scream that tried to free itself from Iolaus' lungs as he doubled over from the blow and collapsed.

Not one to miss an opportunity or an opponent when he was down, Drusus wasted no time in contributing a few well placed kicks of his own, striking Iolaus repeatedly across his back, ribs and sides.

Arms folded across his broad chest, Baldur stepped back and watched with a critical eye as the remainder of his men joined Drusus in beating their hapless prisoner senseless.

"I don't know, Salmoneus. Sounds kind of risky."

"Nonsense!" replied Salmoneus with expansive confidence. "What could possibly go wrong?"

Thyestes looked again at the bauble in his hand. It was attractive enough, that was true, and he had to admit that the bright yellow stone in the ring's setting looked exactly like amber. Had he been a jeweler he might have spotted the deception right away -- but he wasn't a jeweler, and that was the point, wasn't it?

Still, he had reservations. "Okay, I gotta admit it seems like a good idea..."

"It's a wonderful idea!" crowed Salmoneus, sensing he was winning.

"But what if it breaks?"

"Breaks?"

"Well, it's just colored glass, right? What if some guy buys one of these fake rings of yours, presents it to his lady as a real amber, and then she breaks it doin' the wash or something?"

"Hmmmmm. Good point." Salmoneus stroked his chin as he thought it through. "We could include a replacement policy -- at an extra charge, of course," he mused. "Sort of a maintenance service. Ten dinars for one year; fifteen for two." He grinned suddenly as an idea struck him. "In fact, we might even be able to make a bigger profit on the maintenance service than on the ring itself! Hey, this has definite possibilities! What if we -- "

Thyestes suddenly placed a hand on Salmoneus' arm, stopping his exuberant flow of words with a shake.

"Do you hear it?"

"Hear what?" Salmoneus frowned. "I don't hear -- "

"Get off the road! NOW!" exclaimed Thyestes before he could finish his sentence. Grasping Salmoneus by his sleeve, he fairly dragged the startled merchant off the street and practically threw him up against the wooden wall of the nearest building.

Surprised, Salmoneus realized that the other villagers who shared the thoroughfare with them were vacating the premises as quickly as their legs could carry them.

"What's happening?" demanded Salmoneus. "What's going on?"

"Just stand still and be quiet!" hissed Thyestes. "And whatever you do, don't draw attention to yourself!"

"But -- "

"Make way, cretins!" bellowed Baldur as he galloped through the village common, kicking up a choking cloud of dust in his passing.

"Cretins?!" Salmoneus sounded genuinely affronted. "What's he got against the people of Crete?"

"Doesn't matter to Baldur," Thyestes hissed beneath his breath. "He's got something against everyone. Gives him more of an excuse to bash heads." The village merchant cast a critical eye over the soldiers that followed in a tight column behind their Captain. "I think we're safe. Looks like they're in a hurry, so they've probably already got what they want."

"What they want?" echoed Salmoneus, clearly puzzled. "What are you talking about?"

"You really don't' know, do you?" Without waiting for confirmation, the Thyestes continued, "Tomorrow is the full of the moon. It's Hera's feast day. Those are her soldiers, probably off to the temple with this year's sacrifice." He cocked his head and grimaced, as if the approaching creak of wooden axles and wheels were discordant music. "Unless I miss my guess, here comes the poor wretch now."

The villagers gathered on the roadside craned their necks to see past horseflesh and leather armor for a glimpse of the doomed offering to Hera.

Caught up by the crowd's morbid fascination, Salmoneus raised himself to the tops of his toes in order to see and caught a flash of sunlight on blonde hair. Something suddenly lurched in the pit of his stomach as the cart came abreast of him.

A moan of sympathy rippled through the crowd as they finally caught sight of the prisoner. This was clearly a man who had not given up his freedom without a fight! Bruised and battered, his arms were stretched across the backboard of the cart and his wrists lashed into place with cords that had rubbed the flesh raw. Limp against his bonds, the prisoner's head lolled forward. His shoulder-length blonde hair was matted with dried blood and hung across his face, obscuring his features. He wore a battered vest of purple leather that bared his chest and clearly displayed a lattice of abrasions, welts, cuts and blood. A pendant of green stone hung from a leather thong about his neck and swung like a lazy pendulum with the movement of the wagon.

Cold dread grasped Salmoneus' heart. "Iolaus," he whispered.

The cart creaked by with its precious cargo and was once more obscured from view by horses and soldiers. Salmoneus watched it go with an anguished expression.

"By the gods!" exclaimed Thyestes when he saw his friend's suddenly ash-white face. "You look as if you've seen a ghost! Don't tell me you know him?"

Salmoneus wagged his head from side to side. "No," he managed, barely able to swallow the lump in his throat. His words were bitter bile as he said, "I've never seen him before in my life."

The sun was setting on the horizon when Hercules came within sight of the cave mouth that marked the entrance to the lair of Echidna and Typhon. He walked with a weary tread and his heart felt as if it were wrought of lead.

Iolaus was gone.

He'd searched the whole of the day, following his friend's trail from one clever dead end to another.

Damn him and his hunter's tricks! A simple but cleverly disguised rabbit trap had delayed Hercules for the better part of an hour as he swung suspended from the top of a tree by a woven grass rope around his left ankle.

By late afternoon Hercules knew he had been bested by his friend's skill. Iolaus had had too much of a head start. It might take Hercules days to unravel all the false trails and discover the right path -- if ever he did. By then the trail would be cold and Iolaus well and truly gone, lost among the peoples of the world, never to be found again.

Hercules was not about to let that happen. He understood the sacrifice Iolaus was making and why, just as he understood that he could never permit his friend to exile himself to a life of solitude and loneliness.

"Herculeeeeessssssss!!!" cried a voice from high overhead.

A winged shadow blotted out the disk of the westering sun and briefly turned the sky to night. As Hercules looked up, he was suddenly buffeted by a hot wind. A winged reptile more than 60 yards long from snout to serpentine tail was dropping toward him like a reddish gold stone. It flexed its black, scythe-like claws as if it would snatch this tasty morsel from the ground then, with a slight tilt of a wing, suddenly pivoted in a graceful arc to the right. The dragon glided over Hercules' head, close enough to rustle his hair, and landed with surprising grace on the packed earth of the clearing in front of the cave entrance.

"Braxis? Is that you?"

"It's me!" crowed the dragon. "Surprised?"

"Very," Hercules admitted. When last he saw the young dragon less than a year ago, he was happily winging his way hom