Half A Life
by Maya Tawipart two
"Perhaps there'll be another me
Waiting here for another you"
-Sophia Hawthorne
"You." Autolycus climbed to his feet, wincing, then glared at the man in the doorway. "You," he repeated angrily. There really wasn't much else to say.
"I take it you two have met?" Tiro said.
Iolaus looked blank. "Actually, I'm at a loss. Do I know you?"
"You-- you--"
"Yes, we got that," Tiro said, bemused.
Autolycus spun around to face him. "Tiro," he said, "this is the man who stole the Chronos Stone."
Iolaus' eyes nearly popped out of his head. "Excuse me, I stole the what?"
"Autolycus," Tiro said, "Iolaus was here all day."
"All week, you mean," Iolaus said under his breath, watching the developing argument avidly.
Autolycus shook his head, adamant. "That's him."
"Maybe you got confused--"
"Tiro, I was about to be fucking executed. That kind of thing makes you pay a little attention to your surroundings."
"Wait a minute. You're talking about the Chronos Stone?" Iolaus broke in. "As in, big hunk of a green thing that manipulates time, that got split into a bunch of different pieces by the gods and scattered all over the world? That kind of Chronos Stone? I thought it was just a myth."
So had Autolycus, but he wasn't about to say so. "No, the other Chronos Stone. The one that turns you into a world-class dancing girl-- yes, that one! You should know, you stole the damned thing!"
"I did not!" Then Iolaus's expression turned thoughtful; he scratched his head, the gesture seeming more habitual than practical. "Although if I had... how much do you think you could get for something like that? You'd be set for at least a year, wouldn't you?"
"More than that." Autolycus started to stroke his mustache, preoccupied with the idea. "Let's see, it depends on who you could sell it to; worst-case scenario, we'd say-- hey!" He crossed his arms, scowling. "I think you're missing the point just a little here, aren't you?"
"Excuse me?"
"The point isn't how much you could get for it, it's what you could do with it, and especially it's being the guy who stole the Chronos Stone from Xena the Conqueror. Which, apparently--" His scowl became a full-fledged glare. "Is you. Congratu-freakin'-lations."
"Xena the Conqueror, huh?" Iolaus looked him up and down, from sandals and baggy black pants to secondhand priest's robe and back again. "And what were you doing waiting for the Conqueror to execute you?"
Autolycus rolled his eyes. "The boy's a prodigy," he muttered. Then, louder, "Shall I spell it out for you, or can you manage to connect the dots all on your own?"
At that point Tiro, who looked far too amused, interjected, "Autolycus here considers himself the King of Thieves. He was caught stealing from our beloved despot."
Autolycus turned his glare on the priest. When he said it, in that dry, sarcastic tone of his, it sounded almost... ridiculous. "That's right. The King."
"Oh," Iolaus said. "You."
"So you've heard of me--" He frowned. "Hey, what's that supposed to mean? 'Oh, you'?" he mimicked.
Iolaus ignored him, turning instead to Tiro. He did not, Autolycus noted suspiciously, step outside the door.
"Forget it. Can I get out of here now? Not that I don't appreciate this, but it's boring as Tartarus in here. More boring, actually, since at least in Tartarus there'd be something happening, torturous though it may be, and I think you know what I'm getting at here."
Autolycus snorted. Tiro looked suddenly-- though not entirely-- grave. "Boring is alive, friend. I believe you're still safer--"
"Fuck safer--"
"--in here, for two reasons," the priest continued, raising his voice. "The Stone was stolen, that much is true-- we've heard about it all day. If what Autolycus says is true as well--"
"If," Autolycus echoed under his breath, shaking his head.
"--if the thief does look like you, then you have more reason than ever to want to hide. And with the theft today and his escape, the Conqueror won't be leaving the area any time soon."
"Oh, great! That's just great!" Iolaus rounded on Autolycus. "You just had to go get caught and then escape, huh? King of Thieves, my--"
"Hey!" Autolycus said sharply. "Like I asked to get caught! Come on, Blondie, are you deaf or something?" He tapped his ear. "It was you-- oh, excuse me, your merry identical twin who managed to piss her off royally. So get over it!"
Iolaus glowered, then turned back to Tiro. "Look, I can take care of myself, seriously. It'll always be safer in here, you know, that's not the point. I mean, this has been a gre-- a very... uneventful vacation, and thanks and everything. Even though you've been a real devious bastard about the whole thing, because you know what, that's just your way, so I'll overlook it this time. But I've really got to get going--"
"No," Tiro interrupted, with a definite note of finality in his voice. It was his Father Knows Best voice again, with an additional edge of Father's Gonna Beat You If You Disobey-- a tone honed to perfection after seventeen years of using it on Agamede. Autolycus wondered if Iolaus would recognize it as well, and realized with no small amount of glee that he was looking forward to finding out.
Iolaus, unfortunately, seemed to know the tone all too well. He subsided, looking sulky, and Autolycus decided this would be a good time to interject.
"Now just wait a second, buddy. I'm not staying here with him."
Tiro opened his mouth, but the other thief beat him to it.
"Oh, I get it." Iolaus smirked. "This guy you say looks like me stole from the Conqueror in front of gods know how many people, but you got caught. Feeling a little inadequate, huh? Not quite so kingly anymore?"
Autolycus's eyes went wide with indignation. "It wasn't even real thieving! You-- he-- just ran up and grabbed the thing--"
"Boys," Tiro said, "do you think you could take this inside?"
They ignored him. "Excuses, excuses," Iolaus taunted. "What were you doing anyway, stealing the royal herd of cattle?"
"Well, aren't you just a barrel of monkeys? I can certainly see the resemblance--"
"Oh, I'm laughing--"
"So what are you in for, huh? Purse-snatching? Picking pockets?"
"You don't look so great from here." Iolaus again looked him up and down. "Hand-me-downs, huh? What happened, you lose your clothes in a freak gardening accident?"
"You know," Tiro said, "as interesting as all this is--"
"Yeah? At least I don't shop at Colorblind 'R' Us. Whoever told you those colors go together--"
"Ooh, that one hurt," Iolaus said with a sneer. "I've heard all about you. Everyone says you're all talk, and I have to say, that certainly seems to be the case--"
"Well, I am King for a reason, Shorty, and I'm ten times the thief you'll ever be. I'll have you know--"
Autolycus didn't get to finish what was sure to be a particularly devastating comeback. Iolaus jerked like he'd been stung and started to lunge for him; somehow, he never made it, instead seeming to rebound off of some invisible barrier in the doorway. He staggered back into the house, off-balance.
Before Autolycus could process this new information, a sandalled foot planted itself in the small of his back and propelled him forward, through the doorway and into the house.
As he stumbled over the threshold, he felt something like a giant ripple go through him, a flash of blinding light that enveloped him and seemed to make the world slow down for a few moments. Then he was through the other side and falling, once again at full speed, directly into the not-quite-welcoming arms of a very surprised Iolaus. They hit the floor together with a bone-rattling thud that knocked the wind out of both of them.
"Get the fuck off me!" Iolaus demanded, a bit breathlessly, shoving in vain at the weight sprawled on top of him. Autolycus didn't respond at first, the sudden burst of pain rendering him speechless; when he regained his voice, he snarled, "Lay off, would you? I'm injured here!"
"There," said a very satisfied voice from the doorway. "My work is done."
Autolycus rolled off of the red-faced man beneath him and onto his back on the dirt floor. He glared up at Tiro. The priest seemed unperturbed.
"Good evening, Iolaus. I trust you will show him the ropes. Autolycus, I believe you will find a spare set of clothes in the closet. Enjoy your stay, and trust me-- it's for your own good."
Then Tiro was gone.
"Scariest words in the Greek language, you back-stabbing hydra!" Autolycus yelled after him. Not surprisingly, he received no response.
Iolaus growled, got up, and closed the door against the night. Autolycus glared at him for a moment, then turned away and took his first good look around the place.
The house was little more than an overgrown box, barely twenty paces square with a dirt floor and thatched roof, lit by several candleholders lining the walls. The only things breaking the monotony were two doors and a window. And two bedrolls, tucked away in the far corner of the room. One of the doors was the one he'd just been so unceremoniously shoved through; the other, he decided with lightning-quick powers of deduction, had to be the closet.
He rose to his feet and limped to the closet, opened the door, and stood there for a moment, blinking.
"Well," he said. "Son of a bacchae. Whaddya know."
Autolycus knelt down and scooped up the green-and-black bundle of leather and linen, then turned around again. Iolaus hadn't moved; he was currently resting his forehead against the closed door, looking like he planned to stay there for the rest of the night. His sun-bleached blond hair fell past his shoulders, obscuring his face, but Autolycus could see that his eyes were closed and he looked more than a little pained. He looked, in fact, like one of those statues in those galleries in Athens, with the one-word names-- Anguish, maybe, or Misery.
Oh, great, Autolycus thought. And this is the ray of sunshine I get to spend the night with.
Maybe there was something to be said for execution after all.
He dropped his clothes on the floor in front of him and stood awkwardly on one leg, trying to pull off the cotton trousers without much success. "Um, what in Zeus's name just happened?"
Iolaus let his breath out in a quiet, irritated huff, then opened his eyes and straightened, yanked the door open, grabbed Autolycus's (who had hopped his way over, with soft curses and mumbled "ow"s) right hand, and thrust it through the doorway.
Or tried to, anyway. It was like striking an invisible stone wall. Autolycus's eyes went wide, and he yanked his hand away; the force of the movement, and his already precarious sense of balance, combined to knock him flat on his ass, pants around his ankles. "Hey!" he protested, clutching his injured fist to his chest. "What was that for?"
"To prove a point." Iolaus closed the door once more and leaned back against it, looking tired. "You know, the thing they never remind you of is that Hermes may be the God of Thieves, and of Travellers, and okay, of making sure mail gets where it's going on time, although frankly he's slacking off on that one more than a little-- but before all that he's the God of Tricksters. And you, buddy, have just been thoroughly tricked."
Autolycus had decided that the ground wasn't such a bad place to be after all, and had managed to get the cotton pants off and to struggle into his black leather breeches. He was currently preoccupied with trying to get the robe over his head somehow without having to move his shoulder-- the one with the arrow hole punched in it-- when Iolaus' words sunk in.
"And what's that supposed to mean?" he demanded, halting his fight with the priest's robe. A cold certainty was beginning to settle into his stomach.
"Just this. Oh, this house does everything Tiro probably told you about-- hides us from mortal eyes, and protects us from other gods-- but the part he didn't tell you about is the part where once you're in... well, you can't get back out. Not until the High Priest says." Iolaus paused to let him contemplate this, then grinned-- a rueful grin, but one entirely without humor. "Until Tiro thinks it's safe, we're stuck here together."
Ordinarily Tiro wasn't bothered by darkness. Not because he wasn't afraid to die, or because he was sure of Hermes' protection; only the truly suicidal weren't bothered by death and only a fool thought the gods actually cared about his well-being, and Tiro was neither. He hadn't become a priest due to some deep-seated piety; it had simply seemed like a good idea at the time, and he'd taken to the life surprisingly well. He'd become rather pious along the way, of course, in his own Hermian fashion, but that hadn't been the case in the beginning.
He had joined the temple because being a priest, after all, was a great way to mess with people's heads.
And he didn't fear the night because he was confident in his ability to take care of himself, and more so in the long knife he kept tucked under his robe. Tiro may have been old, but he could certainly still fight, and he had no compunctions about spilling blood if necessary. It was nice to be the kind of person other people underestimated. Usually they wouldn't hit as hard at first.
Tonight, however, something different was in the air. Something that felt... dangerous.
He still didn't hurry. Danger was one thing; indignity was another thing entirely.
Tiro made his way slowly up the steps to the temple, wincing as his knees protested the climb. There had to be some way around the stairs. He'd heard tales of weighted lifting devices being sold in Athens, something that might be worth looking into.
The Temple of Hermes at Corinth was set up in three different sections. There was the front prayer room, open to the outside, where anyone who came could leave an offering, pray, ask a favor, fill out a comment scroll or whatever else they wanted to do; there was the inner chamber, where those truly dedicated to Hermes could visit to conduct whatever pressing business they happened to have; and then, in the back of all of it, behind locked doors, was where the High Priest lived.
It was to here that Tiro made his way, after extinguishing all the torches in the other two rooms. There was a lock on the door but no key; one way or another, the High Priest of Hermes never needed one.
He stepped into the sparsely furnished room and started to light his lantern, then stopped.
Someone was waiting for him.
Tiro stood frozen, staring into the darkness, his mind racing. None of the other priests knew about this room. In fact, no one else possibly could, except for--
"Oh," he said after a moment, his voice cool. "You."
"Hi, Dad," the girl said.
He struck his pocket flint and lit the lantern with the resulting small flame. Light flared and then settled, bathing the room in a soft, warm glow.
His daughter sat cross-legged on his bed, watching him. Her fingers drummed lightly on her knees. She wore a new outfit, a red sleeveless tunic that laced up the front (not very tightly, he noted with disapproval) and a faded yellow and green cotton skirt. Her boots were dirtying the bedsheets. Messy blond hair was shoved back behind her ears, and her thin, elfin face nearly twitched with impatience and nervous anticipation.
Tiro turned his back on her, setting the lantern on the table in the corner and emptying his pockets. She didn't say anything, but the silence was deafening.
"I'm not going to ask how you got in," he said eventually, without turning around.
"You'd better not." She sounded like she wanted to say something else but was biting her tongue.
"Where's Sileia?"
"She's visiting her parents." Now Agamede's voice sounded wary, yet somehow relieved, as though she'd been waiting for the subject to be broached.
"Oh," Tiro said, still cool. "No problems, then?"
"No, no problems. They just don't like me," Agamede said. "Funny, isn't it? Why is that, do you think?"
"Agamede, I don't want to get into this right now--"
"Of course not. You just want to quietly disapprove and expect me to live with it."
He turned around then, feeling the old frustration mount up again and wishing he could just close his aching eyes and then open them to find his daughter gone. Then he felt guilty for even having the thought. But he just couldn't deal with her tonight.
"Well, what do you want from me?" he demanded when that didn't happen, leaning back against the table and folding his arms across his chest.
Agamede's dark blue eyes went wide. "Dad-- I love you, okay? I want you to accept who I am, and not to think I'm just some mistake you made because you weren't good enough--"
Tiro scowled. "That's not--"
"I want you to look at Sileia and see her just as someone I love. And to feel like she's your daughter too. And I know it's sappy and cheesy and everything and you don't do sap, but that's what I want. And you asked."
Tiro closed his eyes again and massaged his temples. "You know how I feel about this, Agamede," he said, feeling like he'd said it a million times before. Of course; he had. "It's fine for men. That's different. That's natural. But women--"
"Should be nice and sweet and docile wives to their big manly husbands, should cook and clean and look after the kids while the man is off having adventures and fighting wars? And fucking other guys because that's natural? Is that it?"
"Don't swear," Tiro said.
"Dad--"
"Yes, that's it. That's exactly it," he snapped, with the distinct, uncomfortable feeling that the conversation had gotten away from him. "And what of it?"
"That is so incredibly old-fashioned!"
"I'm an old-fashioned man, Agamede."
"You wouldn't like me if I were docile."
"That's what you think--"
"Dad, we're getting married," she said in a rush.
He gaped at her. A heavy silence descended. Agamede was fidgeting nervously on the bed, but her eyes were bright and her cheeks were glowing. She certainly looked like a bride.
"Dad?" she ventured. "Dad, your mouth is still open."
He closed it, then asked, his voice faint, "You and...?"
"Me and Sileia."
"You...."
"We're going to do it whether you approve or not," Agamede declared, her face practically radiating righteous defiance. "But... we'd like your blessing. We'd like... I'd like for you to be there."
"Sileia is...." Complete sentences were still somewhat beyond his reach.
"Telling her parents," Agamede said. "We want all of you there."
"Agamede, you're only seventeen!" Tiro burst out, finally regaining comprehensive powers of speech. "You-- you're still just a girl!"
Her eyes were shrewd. "Oh, like every other girl my age isn't getting married off to the friendly neighborhood farm boy right about now!"
"She's twice your age!"
"She is not," Agamede retorted. "She's twenty-seven."
"Oh, only ten years older, then, my mistake--"
"Well, what does age matter, anyway? You think the farm boys aren't at least that old? Look--" Agamede's expression turned pleading. "We've been together for two years now. I love her. There are some things you just-- just know, you know? I mean, I'm gonna be with Sileia for the rest of my life, I can feel it. Getting married, you know, it's only logical."
"No, but listen--"
"Just think about it," Agamede said, fixing her pleading eyes on him. Tiro felt torn. "I'm going to be around for a few days, so think about it. It would really mean a lot to me if--"
"Shh!" Tiro said suddenly, raising his hand in a quick, abortive gesture. He cocked his head to the side, listening hard.
After a moment, Agamede whispered, "What is it?"
"People are coming," Tiro murmured back. "A lot of them."
"Oh."
"Armed."
"Oh." She paled. "What do they want?"
"I think I can guess," Tiro said grimly, straightening. "Agamede, stay here. Don't leave this room, no matter what happens. They don't know you're here."
His daughter jumped off the bed, a bundle of pent-up nervous energy. "No way, Dad. There's no way I'll just stand here and let you go fight these people alone. I can help--"
"I know you can fight, but can you fight the Conqueror's army?" Her eyes widened in alarm, and he smiled. "Of course not. Now don't argue with me, I'm much older than you and I know far better than you do."
She stamped her foot. When she realized what she had done, she looked embarrassed, but that didn't prevent her from demanding in an undertone, "What in Tartarus is going on? Why is the Conqueror after you?"
"Don't swear," Tiro said again.
"Fuck that!" Agamede hissed. "I'll fight anyway! You can't just expect me to stay here and--"
"That's exactly what I expect you to do."
"How are you so calm?" she burst out, voice rising, before catching herself and lowering her words to a whisper again. "Who knows what thy want with you and you're just standing there and-- and-- standing there!"
Tiro met her furious gaze squarely. "I acted to protect two men with full knowledge of the possible consequences. Now it's time for me to face them."
"Then let me help you!"
"No. I will never risk you dying for me." He hesitated, staring at his daughter-- her hair wild, her fists planted on her hips, her blue eyes blazing. She looked like a miniature force of nature.
She looked like her mother.
Fight, he thought bitterly. She thinks I'm going to fight. She thinks you can fight something like this.
"I'm your father," he said. "And you're staying here."
He turned to go.
Tiro felt her eyes burning into his back as he walked out-- into the back hall, then the inner room, then, finally, out the double doors and into the dark, open antechamber, into a night suddenly full of dangers that, for once, he had no way of protecting himself against.
As Tiro stood at the top of the steps and gazed out across the legions of soldiers assembled on the lawn in front of him, he thought with dismay, I really am that old after all.
"Satisfied?"
The question was asked in a bored, disinterested tone of voice. Autolycus snarled and kicked the invisible barrier once more. Then he yelped and grabbed at his booted foot.
"Oh, that helped," Iolaus said under his breath.
"Hey! Shut up. At least I'm trying something, okay?"
Iolaus snorted. "What, you think I haven't tried all this before? This place was designed by the God of Thieves, genius. He's not going to just let people walk out of here."
Autolycus slammed the door shut and slumped back against it, glaring at him. Iolaus had been quiet most of the evening, looking lost in his own thoughts in an overall melancholy sort of way; now he was seated cross-legged in one corner of the room, eyes closed. He'd taken off his open vest at some point, and was now wearing only his black leather breeches and his boots. Light from the candles lining the walls flickered over him, casting strange shadows over his bare skin.
"What are you doing?" Autolycus demanded.
Without opening his eyes, Iolaus said, "Meditating."
"What-a-whating?" It's not like that vest left anything to the imagination anyway, he thought sourly, I don't know why I....
He didn't finish the thought.
"Forget it."
"I'll just do that," Autolycus said quickly, unsure for a moment just what he was supposed to forget. Then he glanced around again. "There has to be a way out of here."
Iolaus' eyes snapped open. He looked annoyed. "I said--"
"Yeah, I know what you said. I say there's no such thing as a way in without a way out."
"What's the big deal, anyway? You have somewhere to be?"
"No," Autolycus retorted, "I just don't like being somewhere I can't get out of if I need to. No good thief would."
"All right, fine. Go for it. Knock yourself out." Iolaus closed his eyes again. "Please."
Autolycus rolled his eyes and took a long, calculating look around the room. The barrier, as he had discovered, went all the way around the house, not just in front of the door and the window. He couldn't break through the walls; he'd even tried digging through the dirt floor, not getting very far before being stopped once again by the godly force. He hadn't tried the roof, due to an unfortunate lack of necessary height, but he suspected it was just more of the same.
The place was definitely a fire hazard. Too bad there wasn't anywhere to lodge a complaint.
The problem with gods, Autolycus decided, was that they really didn't play fair. A magical, invisible barrier had no lock to pick, no shoddy security to slip by, not even adequate security to bluff his way past. It was nothing more than an invisible, supremely uncompromising wall.
Eventually he said, "Well, it can wait till tomorrow, I'm sure. We wouldn't be going anywhere tonight anyway, not with the lovely Xena's troops likely out in force."
"Finally," Iolaus muttered. "Common sense. I'm amazed."
Autolycus stuck his hands in his pockets and sauntered across the room to where Iolaus was sitting, as well as he could manage anyway, in light of his aching soles. One of the many injuries he had to thank the Conqueror for. "Cute," he said with a smirk. "Very cute. Cute as a button, in fact, little guy, I'm surprised someone actually let you off your leash--"
"Shove it up your--"
"Now now, there's no call for that kind of language." Autolycus folded his arms across his chest-- very carefully-- and leaned against the wall beside Iolaus. He slid down to a sitting position, grinning.
Iolaus just sat still and meditated, or silently seethed, or committed some curious combination of the two. The room fell quiet as Autolycus watched him, feeling his own smile fade. First the brooding, he thought, and now this. The guy's got a real hard-on for introspection.
Instropection was not something Autolycus was very good at, or wanted to be.
After a moment, he asked, "What's your biggest job?"
Iolaus only opened one eye this time-- very blue, and very bewildered. "What?"
"Steal-ing," Autolycus enunciated. "You know. You are a thief, right? This is what we call shop talk." He paused. "Frankly, watching you just sit there with all your might is not my idea of a good time. I'm trying to inject some life into the atmosphere here, so it'd be nice if you'd help me out a little here. So what's the biggest job you ever pulled?"
"You show me yours, I'll show you mine?" Iolaus let his eyelid drop down again with as much finality as could be packed into such a minute gesture. "I don't think so."
"That bad, huh?" Autolycus clucked sympathetically. "I guess I don't blame you for not wanting to discuss it with the master. After all, anything you pulled will naturally seem inferior next to my own daring exploits. But still--"
"I said I don't want to talk about it."
"Aw, come on. There's gotta be something you're proud of. What, nothing? You poor boy--"
Iolaus' fists slammed down onto the hard-packed dirt. He leaned forward, blue eyes open and blazing and boring into Autolycus's with barely contained fury. Autolycus broke off, taken aback.
"You just never know when to stop, do you?" Iolaus demanded, his voice low and angry. "You always have to keep pushing people--"
"I happen to resent that," Autolycus said mildly, once his heart started beating again. The fellow certainly had a short fuse on him. Great; he was rooming with the poster boy for the anti-Furies campaign. Just say no, kids. "I have a great deal of self-control, thank you very much. I always know exactly when to stop."
"Couldn't prove it by me. It's like you're deliberately trying to piss me off."
He grinned. "Why ever would you think that, I wonder?"
Iolaus sighed. "Not unless you were deliberately trying to piss me off... oh, that's just great. Fan-fucking-tastic. Just what I need." He slouched back, hunching his shoulders and looking oddly like a grumpy turtle.
"Whine, whine, whine," Autolycus said. "That's gratitude for ya."
"Gratitude!" Iolaus exclaimed. The look of outrage on his face was almost comical. "Gratitude for what? What on the gods' flat earth have you done that I should be grateful for?"
Autolycus tilted his head back against the wall, peering down his nose at the other thief. "You," he announced, "are in the presence of the King of Thieves. For a thief of your obviously lowly stature, that should be an incredible honor--"
Iolaus groaned. "I'm gonna be sick."
"Sick with envy, no doubt," Autolycus said complacently. This was way too much fun.
"Oh, for the gods' sakes." Iolaus ran his hands through his hair. "Just-- just shut up, would you? You, of all the people. I can't take much more of this." He leaned back and closed his eyes again, taking a deep breath, obviously determined to end the conversation there.
"Oh yeah? What are you gonna do, mope me to death? 'Oh, my life is so hard, I don't wanna talk about it, I can't take it anymore--'"
"You wanna try me?" Iolaus said darkly. "Keep talking and you'll find out."
"Oh, big man," Autolycus said with a grin. "Figuratively speaking, of course... why, I'm simply quaking in my boots."
Iolaus' shoulders twitched. "I really don't give a damn what you're doing in your boots, as long as you do it quietly."
"What, you need to get in some real quality brooding time? Don't worry, I'm sure you'll hit your growth spurt any day now--"
"All right, that's it--"
Iolaus's reaction took him by surprise, although, in retrospect, it probably shouldn't have. Still, at the time all he knew was that the fun was over and Iolaus was lunging for him, knocking him back against the wall with enough force to make the back of his skull bounce. His forehead smashed into Iolaus's on the rebound, momentarily stunning the both of them; they went over sideways in a heap on the floor, Autolycus once again sprawled out on top. Iolaus recovered first, wrestling him over with grim determination. Autolycus did his best to hold his own but soon discovered that he was at something of a disadvantage, being the only one of them who was, essentially, handicapped.
Before long he found himself thrown on his back on the floor with one quick, bone-jarring movement that sent vicious tongues of fire through his chest. Iolaus knelt over him with one leg on either side of his body, hands planted on his shoulders, holding him down and sending another stab of pain through his arrow wound. He raised his hands, grasping Iolaus's wrists, digging his fingernails as hard as he could into the soft flesh and tensed muscle. This close up Autolycus had an intimate view of the lines etched around the Iolaus's eyes and mouth, the blinding, distant fury in his eyes--
"Now wait," Autolycus gasped, his voice surprisingly steady to his own ears, "you wouldn't hurt an injured man, now would you?"
Iolaus just stared down at him and, after a minute, said, "Try me." But the fury was gone, and he loosened his grip on Autolycus's shoulders, raising his hands to inspect the tiny, jagged tears in his skin with a kind of rueful resignation. He sat back, and Autolycus scooted away from him as quickly as he could, sitting up against the wall once more and trying not to wince at the burn in his ribs. He rotated his throbbing shoulder, scowling at the pain.
He was stuck for the foreseeable future with a homicidal manic-depressive. His life was showing a very disturbing trend towards the cursed lately.
"Sheesh," Autolycus muttered after a moment. "Touchy guy."
"Wimp," Iolaus said, though he sounded almost apologetic. Almost.
"Hey, my hands are very delicate instruments. I prefer not to have to slam them into objects as obviously rock-hard as your skull."
"Sure," Iolaus said. "Whatever you say."
He sat back again, crossed his legs, and closed his eyes. This time, Autolycus didn't comment.
They surrounded the bottom of the temple steps, carrying weapons and torches. Both men and women, their faces were scarred from battle, their bodies lean and fit and hardened. They were the best of the Conqueror's local army.
"The temple is closed," Tiro said, in his best priest voice-- calm, carrying without being loud. "Come back in the morning."
"We're not here to worship, old man," one of the soldiers called. "We're here for you."
"In that case, allow me to remind you that this is holy land, and any violence committed on these grounds will be violating the decree of the god Hermes." A mere formality, he was sure-- the threat of Hermes simply didn't carry as much weight with the people in general as, say, Ares did-- but he felt better for having said it.
The man who had spoken just laughed. He was tall and solidly built, with long brown hair pulled back from his face. "The wrath of Hermes can't compare to that of the Conqueror," he said. "You don't scare us, holy man."
The woman standing next to him-- slender, with blond hair and harsh features-- raised her torch and yelled, "There doesn't have to be any violence here, if you just tell us what we want to know!"
"That depends on what you want to know," the priest answered swiftly.
"The locations of the thief Autolycus and the thief Iolaus."
Tiro shook his head. "The credit you give me for such knowledge is flattering, in your own primitive sort of way. Let me assure you--"
"We know you know," the man with the dark hair interrupted, his voice menacing. "Autolycus was seen running here, and was seen in your temple as well. So don't think you can lie your way out of this one, holy man."
Silently Tiro cursed Autolycus-- the maniac just couldn't resist speaking up and letting himself be seen, could he? "I sent him on his way. I don't know where he is."
The man grinned viciously. "Try again."
Tiro pursed his lips. "You just want to know where they are? And then you'll leave me be?"
"Yes," the blond woman said quickly, shooting her male counterpart a warning glare.
He shook his head again. "Violence it is."
So, okay, there's no way I can win this, he thought. But if they want to take me, they're damned well going to work for it.
The male ringleader barked out an order, and the soldiers swarmed up the steps. Tiro knew fighting was futile, but he couldn't just give up the way he'd planned. Something deep down inside him rebelled at the very idea. And it wasn't like he would gain anything by going along quietly, anyway.
He swung, and two men went down, but two more grabbed his arms and lifted him off the ground. Tiro kicked another advancing soldier in the face, but he simply didn't have the leverage to break free from those who held him. The fight, it seemed, was over before it had even begun.
All of a sudden a yell split the night, and a figure vaulted through the double doors and launched itself at the soldiers. The newcomer's boots slammed into the backs of the two men who held the priest, and they dropped him, startled. Tiro fell to the marble floor and glared up at his rescuer.
"Sorry, Dad," Agamede said, "you know I'm not good at following orders."
The army began to advance again.
"Stop!" the priest called, and some of them actually did. "Wait! Let me talk to her. Then you can do whatever you like."
There was a moment of indecision.
"Let them talk," the blond woman said sharply.
"What are you doing?" Agamede demanded, bewildered. Her fists were drawn up in a defensive stance.
He rose with a quick, smooth movement and grabbed her arm. "Agamede, listen to me. We cannot possibly, under any circumstances, win this. Now when I said I wouldn't let you die for me, dear, I wasn't just making a joke."
"I know," she said glumly. "You never make jokes. But you were fighting!"
His lips twisted into something resembling a smile. He didn't imagine it was a very pleasant one. "I was trying to make a last stand. One, I might add, which you ruined entirely."
Agamede raised her pointed chin. "I'm not apologizing."
"Of course you're not. Consider this, at least--" He lowered his voice, hoping the soldiers wouldn't hear. "As long as the Conqueror has me, she'll be preoccupied with trying to get me to talk, and she won't be looking for these men by other, more divine means, if you catch my drift-- what is it?"
His daughter looked appalled. "Oh, Dad, I don't think--"
Tiro swore under his breath; logic, obviously, had not been the best tactic to use. "Please. Just trust me."
She scowled at him. "Why should I? You don't trust me."
"Yes, and it's my mistake. I changed my mind; I trust you fully now. And besides--" He hesitated, nearly choking on the words, still debating whether or not he should say them.
He swallowed hard, then forced it out. "Besides, you have a... wedding to look forward to."
After all, he thought with a mental sigh, it's not like I'll live to see it, anyway. And she might as well be happy, bizarre though the choice may be.
Agamede just blinked at him for a few minutes. She opened her mouth, then closed it again. Then she said in a small voice, sounding seven again instead of seventeen (and seventeen was young enough; by Hermes, she was still a child), "Okay."
"Okay?"
"Yeah." Agamede paused, then blurted out all in a rush, like she was afraid they'd take him away before she had a chance to say everything, "I'll wait here for you. I'm staying here till you're safe. Sileia's coming here to me, and we'll both wait for you, and then we'll go have the wedding right away, just us. When you come back."
Tiro smiled wryly and kissed his daughter on the cheek. Then he turned and walked down the steps, his hands raised above his head.
"That was sickening," the blond woman said.
He didn't look at her. "You didn't have to watch."
Tiro didn't look back at his daughter, either. If he had, he might have told her that she would probably end up waiting for a long, long time.
"I'm bored," Autolycus said.
Iolaus didn't look at him. "How shocking."
Autolycus scowled. He was tired of the silence, and the way it seemed to magnify his thoughts-- the way the day's events were suddenly catching up to him, all in a rush, all at once.
After a while, the one-roomed, dirt-floored house had become less stifling and more, well, cozy. It was, after all, as safe as a safehouse could get, and a far sight better than Autolycus's original plans, which by this time would have put him somewhere off the road to Megara and wide awake, listening for the sounds of an approaching army. Of course, the company still left a great deal to be desired.
The room was moonlit and candlelit, the silvery light streaming in through the window sharp-edged by the flickering orange glow that danced in the corner shadows. Autolycus eyed the other occupant of the room speculatively. Iolaus was still sitting on the floor, eyes closed, unmoving, barely even breathing. Watching someone imitate a wooden post for extended periods of time wasn't Autolycus's usual idea of entertainment, but there was nothing much to do except watch and think, and having no inclination to do the latter he contented himself with the former, studying their small confines and finding that his eyes always returned to the still figure in the corner of the room.
He couldn't completely ignore the workings of his overactive mind, however, and before long he felt the need to break the silence again.
Some small part of him, possibly the part that included his still-sore shoulder, decided to be non-antagonistic about it for once.
"Let me ask you something," he said.
Without opening his eyes, Iolaus said, "I'd really rather you didn't."
"Tough, 'cause I'm about to anyway." Autolycus propped his chin up on his hand and watched as Iolaus reluctantly unfolded his legs and turned to face him. Even in the near-total darkness, Iolaus looked irritated.
Autolycus said, "So if it wasn't actually you who stole the Stone, then why are you here?"
Iolaus sighed and looked down, rubbing at the back of his head. "Conqueror wants me," he muttered.
Autolycus rolled his eyes. "No shit, Socrates. What I'm saying is, why does she want you? You're not exactly big time, or am I mistaken?" This last was said in a tone that implied that he was never mistaken.
"I don't know!" Iolaus gave a quick, frustrated shrug and glanced up. Autolycus cocked one eyebrow, and he sighed again. "No, I'm not big time, you're right about that. I'm strictly a bread-and-butter thief. It's just-- I've been gone, okay, in the east, for... a while now. I only just got back last year, and when I did, I found this Xena the Conqueror in power, and that she had a standing price on my head-- why, I have no idea. All I've done is grab some trinkets here and there, and that's hardly bounty-worthy."
"Not necessarily the case," Autolycus said, "if you're doing it right. On the other hand, a few dinars here and a few portable, easily resellable items there aren't likely to catch the attention of anyone important." He watched the other thief avidly, with more than a little curiosity. The flickering firelight made it hard to read his features, but there was something in Iolaus's face that made him think he wasn't quite telling the whole truth.
"I happen to think I am doing it right," Iolaus said coolly. "I'm getting by, and at least I'm not getting caught."
"The sign of a true lack of ambition," Autolycus said. Catching Iolaus's look, he added quickly, "Although that is certainly not the point right now."
"Even so," Iolaus said, through gritted teeth, "it hasn't really been a problem till now. Avoiding law enforcement isn't anything new for me, but if I'd known she was gonna be here I never would have come, not when she's got practically her entire army in town. I was just in a tavern, minding my own business and paying with my own money even, when a couple of guards spotted me. I ran, and I kind of got dead-ended in an alley. Tiro was there, gods know why, and he offered to help me escape, and of course I said sure, great, so he brought me here, and you know the rest."
"How long ago was that?"
"About a week now."
Autolycus's eyebrows shot up. "Sheesh, I forgive you. You have every right to be a gloomy bastard. I can't believe you've been in this dump for a whole week."
Iolaus was mouthing something silently, looking half annoyed and half bemused; after a moment, he said, "Well, the general idea was to wait until she left town and then make a break for it. That was before all this happened. And I've spent practically the whole week trying to get out, so I think I can safely say it's impossible," he added pointedly.
"You really think she's gonna stop looking for us any time soon?"
"Probably not," Iolaus admitted. "We're both on her hit list now. We'll just have to corner Tiro the next time he comes and convince him to let us take our chances."
"Figuratively speaking," Autolycus said, "seeing that neither of us is in a position to corner anyone outside that door. What makes you think he'll listen? He's stubborn as a Centaur, you know."
Iolaus shrugged. "We'll manage."
"Hey, maybe I can lure him inside and then you tackle him. Seems something you're pretty good at--"
"I'm told," Iolaus said, "that I have a way with words."
"Are you sure they said 'words'? You sure it wasn't, oh, I don't know, 'fists'?"
"Well, yes," Iolaus said. "That too."
Silence descended once again. Autolycus continued to stare at Iolaus; he felt his forehead wrinkle in a half-frown, and made a concerted effort to smooth it out. It was, after all, all about appearance, and right now he was doing his best to appear unfazed by Iolaus' earlier attack of insanity. If Iolaus was unhinged as well.... Well, this is just great, he thought, I'm surrounded by lunatics.
Iolaus certainly didn't look crazy. Not at the moment. He didn't even look real; in his current position, with that dark, contemplative expression, he seemed somehow like a shade that couldn't find its way to the other side. The candle was burning low, and Autolycus wondered, apropos of nothing, how many others were stored away, and if they'd ever run out.
Then Iolaus caught him looking and shifted his weight, looking almost embarrassed, and the illusion was gone. Autolycus blinked, and Iolaus broke the quiet. "This guy looks like me?"
"Exactly," Autolycus said immediately. "Well, his hair was shorter, now that I think about it, and he was wearing a different vest-- no more attractive than yours, I might add-- but other than that... yeah, exactly."
"I had a cousin who looked like me," Iolaus said. He paused. "Except he's dead."
"Well, then it probably wasn't him."
"No, probably not."
Another silence.
"So you have no idea what the Conqueror wants from you?"
"The pleasure of my charming personality?" Iolaus suggested.
Autolycus smirked again. "Yeah, and Cerberus is really a friendly yet misunderstood little pup--"
"Right. I told you, I have no idea, I've never even met the...." He paused, then said dryly, "Lady. Could be it was the other me who pissed her off."
"Maybe," Autolycus allowed. "Now, if it was me, we'd know why-- I am, after all, the--"
"King of Thieves, yes, who just so happened to get caught. Not much of a threat, were you?"
An ugly line of tension scored through the previously relaxed atmosphere of the room. Autolycus narrowed his eyes. "Hey. So I was having an off day, okay?"
"King of Thieves," Iolaus repeated. His upper lip curled and he leaned forward, the firelight fully illuminating his features for the first time; he looked almost feral. "Do you have any idea how stupid that sounds?"
"Well, yeah, Curly, when you say it. But I figured that was due to its coming out of your mouth." Autolycus felt his left hand curl into a fist, the nails biting into the soft flesh of his palm, and forced himself to relax.
"Stealing for the glory of it," Iolaus said. That same unsettling light was back in his eyes. "That's just... well, stupid is a good word. We'll stick with stupid."
"There you go again, ruining a perfectly good concept by opening your mouth," Autolycus snapped. "It's a living, and I do always take pride in my work." This is incredible, he thought. We just can't leave it alone, can we? "You just wish you were half as good as I am."
"Keep dreaming, pal," Iolaus said harshly. "I just don't get how you can be so-- so--"
"Attractive, debonair, and good at what I do?"
"No," Iolaus said, "I don't think that's what I was gonna say at all. You're so fucking pompous about the whole thing. You can just do no wrong, can you? I mean, what we do, stealing, it's a job. Just like any other. Just a means to an end."
"Au contraire," Autolycus countered. "As the Gauls would say. It's not just anything-- it's an art."
Iolaus snorted. "Oh, come on, you can't really think that every thief--"
"Well, you see," Autolycus said, "just as in any job-- calling, really-- there are those who create great works of art, and then there are those who paint retch-inducing pictures of sickeningly bug-eyed baby Moirae on swaths of black velvet and then just call it art."
Iolaus shook his head. "That's just--"
"Unbelievably accurate?"
"Pathetic."
"All right, let's put it another way, shall we? I happen to be enjoying my life, while you happen to be moping around here all glum and introspective and meditating whatever tiny bits of personality you actually have right out your ear all day. Now who's having more fun?"
"Fun," Iolaus echoed. "Is that what it is? Well, it was fun for me, for a while. And then I grew a brain. So don't tell me what I'm missing out on, because I know very well." He yanked off his boots and laid back on his bedroll, every silhouetted line of his body radiating barely-suppressed anger.
Autolycus studied him. It was getting to be something of a habit. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet.
"You know, I don't think you do know."
There was a moment of silence, and then Iolaus' tight "What are you talking about?"
"You're a bread-and-butter thief, you said so yourself. What do you do now, rob jewelry stands, pick pockets to survive? Nothing really large scale, am I right?" The silence was all the answer he needed. "You're barely even a real thief. Tell me, have you ever even planned a major theft? A museum, or a royal treasury-- planned it down to every last detail and then pulled it off, all by yourself? I didn't think so. You've never felt that thrill, that sense of accomplishment. It is just a job to you, because you have nothing important to be proud of, and you, my friend, have no idea what I'm talking about."
It took Iolaus a moment to reply, and for that moment Autolycus thought he wasn't going to. Then he growled, "Yeah, well, some of us aren't total drama queens about it, I'll have you know. In the gang I was in--"
"Oh, a gang," Autolycus said. He was in control now, and it felt good. Physical intimidation may have been Iolaus' forte, short though he was; verbal intimidation was Autolycus's, and now he was getting some of his own back. "See, that's the difference between you and me. I never went in much for the mob mentality."
"It wasn't a mob," Iolaus said angrily. "We were just... a group of people. Looking out for each other."
"And stabbing each other in the back first chance they get, yes, I know how gangs work. Tell me, if this gang of yours was so fantastic, then whyever did you leave?"
The shadow that was Iolaus shifted slightly; when he spoke again, his voice was muffled. "Forget it."
"No, really, I want to know. I'm very, very interested--"
"I said forget it," Iolaus snapped. "Look, all I'm saying is that stealing's just a living, okay? It's not the foundations of modern civilization or anything--"
"Oh boy," Autolycus said. "Don't you know anything about history?"
"Okay, bad choice of words. But I steal to survive. That's why I started it, and I was good at it, and it was all I knew. And it was a lot more fun than, say, farming. But now I just wish I'd done something else."
"And yet you're still doing it, all these years later," Autolycus pointed out. "What, don't you have any marketable skills?"
"It's a little late for me to change my career path, don't you think? And then there's you, waving that title of yours around like it's some sort of actual weapon, like it's practically your real job, living up to it. You show it off like you're in it just to be the best at something, like stealing's some sort of weekend pursuit of yours, like you actually had a choice--"
"Choice!" Autolycus spat. His stomach twisted in on itself; he felt his vision becoming slightly blurred, felt his control slipping steadily away. All of a sudden the words were pouring out of him, like a river bursting through an old, rotted dam.
"Oh, that would've been nice, wouldn't it, to have a choice? To not have grown up without a father, to not have watched my mother die when I was eight and found my older brother murdered when I was twelve. Would've been nice if the world was just wide open to a twelve-year-old with nothing to his name. It would've been just fantastic if I could've chosen to be the man I am today, but unfortunately, Blondie, things just don't work that way. See, you and me started out the same way. The difference is, I like what I'm doing, while you're honing your 'woe is me' routine and generally acting like an extra from Euripides's more maudlin plays. But I didn't choose it, and I certainly didn't choose to--"
He broke off then, angry and more than a little bewildered. He knew, without a doubt, that whatever game they'd been playing, he'd just spectacularly lost. He wasn't sure if Iolaus had been trying to get a rise out of him or not, but in this case as in most others, intentions weren't worth crap.
Well, shit. So much for famous self-control.
"If you'll excuse me," he said coldly, into the uncomfortable silence, "or not, I really don't care, I've had a very long day and I think I want to go to sleep now."
Autolycus grabbed the other bedroll and dragged it to the opposite side of the room. He fluffed it viciously, then yanked his boots off and laid back.
Iolaus's bedroll rustled as he shifted positions.
"Besides," Autolycus said under his breath, "I earned that title."
"Sounds like that other me's got you beat."
"Yeah, and that kind of attitude is exactly why as soon as I'm out of here I'm finishing what I started."
His words surprised even him, but there really wasn't anything else he could do, was there? The title was really all he had that mattered. All he'd ever earned that wasn't spent again within a fortnight. Autolycus had been the King of Thieves for so long, he wasn't sure how not to be, and he certainly didn't want to find out. And as long as he'd failed where someone else had succeeded, however half-assedly, he wouldn't be the King of Thieves.
Autolycus had to steal from the Conqueror, one way or another. Some things just couldn't be helped.
So he was taken aback when Iolaus sat straight up and stared at him with wide eyes. "You're what?"
"What part of 'I'm gonna rob the bitch' don't you understand? After all, defending the title is a full-time job."
Iolaus' eyes narrowed. "Fine, go ahead. Like I give a fuck what you do with yourself, anyway. Just wait till I'm gone before you go commit suicide." With that, he flopped back down on his side, pointedly facing away.
Autolycus' smile faded and he stared at Iolaus' rigid back, wondering what exactly had just happened. After a moment he shrugged it off and closed his eyes, willing himself to sleep.
The problem with women in power, Tiro decided, was that women really knew how to hurt people.
In his experience, male rulers were mainly concerned with more money and more power, and Tartarus take everything else. They didn't bother dealing with their people; they had tax collectors for that. They didn't know how to wrap people to get what they wanted, so they sent the muscle out to do it instead, and generally got the job done, to a certain extent, beyond which Tiro always managed to keep himself and his own interests. But women....
Women, or at least the women he'd known, understood human nature. And because of that, they knew how to inflict the most pain if necessary, and they knew just which string to pull when they wanted you to dance. And that was why they were dangerous as rulers, when it was actually the women doing the ruling and not posing as figureheads for the real power. Tiro preferred sovereigns he could slip around to the side of if need be.
So ran his thoughts, certainly generalized but no less fervent for it, as he stood, surrounded by soldiers, waiting for the Conqueror. It was late, he was tired, and it was taking the last of his nerve to stand perfectly still and emotionless; and the Conqueror was, he was sure, very much aware of exactly what effect her delay was having.
Pulling his strings....
Finally, when he thought he was about to crack, Xena arrived.
There was something about the Conqueror that made her seem larger than life. Even now, with her feet bare and her long dark hair loose around her paint-free face, wrapped in nothing more than an embroidered red robe, she looked somehow very solid, very overwhelming, very there. When she stepped into a room, she seemed to expand to fill every corner of it. Just by walking through the door she commanded the hushed, undivided attention of all present.
Tiro watched her entrance, betraying no expression. The Conqueror stopped just inside the doorway and swept her cold blue eyes over the throne room, taking in the scene before her-- Tiro, with his hands tied in front of him, flanked by armed guards on either side.
"Let me guess," she said finally, her voice a low drawl. "You're not going to tell me what I want to know tonight, are you?"
Tiro shook his head.
"Good. I expected nothing less." Xena gestured carelessly; the soldiers started to lead the priest out of the room. "We'll get started tomorrow morning," she added, as though they were discussing something as innocuous as basket weaving, and not the prospect of torture. Tiro lowered his eyebrows, disgusted.
As he passed her, the corners of her mouth curled upwards, as though she knew exactly what he was thinking. Stonily, Tiro stared straight ahead.
Then Xena the Conqueror, Destroyer of Nations, turned and padded, barefoot, back to bed.
That night, Agamede prayed.
It wasn't something she usually did. She had, somewhat typically for a priest's daughter, grown up non-religious, verging on anti-religious. Agamede didn't trust the gods and she especially didn't trust the god of her father-- Hermes, patron of tricksters and thieves. After all, the entire basis of his godliness was that he wasn't a very trustworthy one, and by god standards, she felt that was saying a lot. Sileia, her fiancee, was a devotee of Artemis, but that at least Agamede has a grudging respect for. Sileia hadn't been pushed into it by her parents; in fact, she'd had to defy them to follow the faith of her choice.
Agamede had never really prayed before. She had gone through the motions while still at home, to make her father happy, and she hadn't bothered once she'd left with Sileia, and she'd never really felt like anyone was paying attention anyway because she'd never had anything to say.
This time, however, she knelt in the middle of the inner chamber of the temple, closed her eyes, and focused her mind.
"We both know I'm not very good at this," she began. "Um. I have an offering-- I stole it on the way here. I thought that was kind of appropriate. And you'd better appreciate that, 'cause I promised Leia I wouldn't steal anymore after the wedding. Unless it was absolutely necessary. Not for fun, anyway. So enjoy that, although what a god would do with gold I haven't the faintest, but I'm sure you'll figure something out."
Agamede realized she was babbling and forced herself to stop and wait. She didn't get an answer, and she hadn't really expected to, but she had the strangest feeling that someone was actually... listening.
She didn't like it one bit.
Agamede cleared her throat and dropped the sack of liberated gold coins on the floor in front of her. Then, with a sudden guilty start, she quickly rose and scooped up the sack again, walked across the room, and dropped it on the altar.
Nothing happened.
She sighed. "Okay. Here's the thing. If you're there-- and I should hope you are, 'cause it's your high priest that's in trouble here-- if you're really listening, I have a favor to ask. And it's not for me, it's for my dad."
She paused. Was Hermes listening? She wasn't so sure anymore.
"Just... watch over him, okay?" she said finally, lamely. "Look, my dad devoted his life to you, okay? 'Cause... I don't really know why. Because you're his kind of god, I guess. He admires you. He really... truly... worships you. And I don't really understand it, but I'm not condemning it either. But the thing is... I don't think it's too much to say that you owe it to him to keep him safe.
"Just...." Agamede trailed off and sighed. "I don't think I'm doing this right. Just, please, look out for him, and make sure that bitch the Conqueror doesn't hurt him. Because him and Leia are all I've got."
She stood there for a few moments more, unsure if she should say any more, half-waiting for a sign of some sort. In keeping with a pattern, nothing happened.
Agamede turned on her heel and marched out of the altar room, back to the living quarters in the rear of the temple.
As soon as the door swung shut behind her, the sack of coins on the altar started to glow. Then, with a sound like faint, far-off snickering, it vanished.
Prologue | Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Epilogue Email: mayatawi@populli.net