Half A Life
by Maya Tawipart six
"Never said I wanted anything to do with you
Now you're coming back to me like you got something to prove"
-The Butchies
"I don't get it," Glaphyra said.
She stood in the dungeon, staring into the old man's cell as the castle torturers did their jobs. Her blond hair was pulled back tightly from her face, save for a few braided strands that hung loose, and she wore not a uniform but her ordinary fighting leathers. Members of the Conqueror's elite army were only required to wear what they felt most comfortable in.
To her right, but not at her side, stood Xena the Conqueror, in all her resplendent glory. The Conqueror, Glaphyra thought, never stood beside anybody; others merely existed in her shadow. As she did now.
If she had to choose, Glaphyra would have to say that she preferred the old Xena, the Warrior Princess, to the new and improved version. There was a magic in fighting on the open road that was lost within the stuffy confines of the old castle, and the stone walls seemed to have left their mark on her old mentor as well. Xena was more thoughtful now, more convoluted and secretive, and slower to change. She looked older, too.
Even so, when Xena had called for her old protégé, Glaphyra had given up her slavery business in an Athens instant and come to serve. Just because you wouldn't pick something for yourself didn't mean you didn't go when the Destroyer of Nations beckoned you to her side.
Now the Conqueror raised her eyebrows, and Glaphyra added, "I meant about the thieves. You could have them picked up at any time, or even go get them yourself. Why don't you?"
"Get them myself?"
"If you wanted to."
"Well, now," Xena said, "it's certainly an attractive idea, but it won't be necessary. I have to say I regret that. I kind of miss the action of the old days."
Glaphyra shrugged. "You're the Conqueror. If you want to start a war to fight on the front lines, you can."
"Yes, I can, but what effect would it have on the power I wield? The people don't want a human dictator, they want an ice-cold marble despot so that they feel justified living under my rule. And marble statues control wars. They don't fight them."
"But to fight, and survive unharmed, that'd make you seem even more invincible in their eyes, wouldn't it?"
"Maybe," Xena said. She looked slightly wistful. "Possibly. It's a thought."
There was a pause, and then Glaphyra repeated, "So why don't you?"
"Why don't I-- oh. The thieves?" Xena smiled. "There's no need. Why waste my good soldiers when they could be doing more important things? Those two should be showing up on our doorstep any day now."
At Glaphyra's look of bewilderment, she inclined her head towards the man in the cell. "I've been checking on our thieves. Autolycus, as far as we know, has never killed anyone. Oh, he's stolen just about everything you could think of, but he's never taken a life. He's also been friends with the old man for a long time. I can't imagine he intends to take up murder now, however incidental it may be. He's no killer.
"Now Iolaus, he made his first kill at age sixteen, and continued on in that vein for some time, an occasional hired sword for the gang of thieves he ran with. Then, at twenty-three years, he killed someone in a fight who turned out to be an eight year old girl. Our stone-cold killer was so shaken that he hopped a ship to Chin that night and stayed away until last summer, and ever since he's been back he has killed not one person, through knifepoint or negligence." She smiled again. "He's wounded, in a fight, and perhaps under such circumstances he woud still be willing to kill. But he hasn't yet."
Glaphyra nodded. "So they won't want to let the old man die. So they'll come for him, that's what you're saying?" Privately, she thought Xena gave them too much credit. They were, after all, men.
The Conqueror wasn't listening; she was mouthing something to herself, staring off into the distant reaches of the dungeon. Then she said suddenly, sounding breathless, "Glaphyra, I've gotten slow."
I could have told you that, the soldier thought, but she didn't say it. After all, a slow Xena was still a threat to nine-tenths of the population. Aloud she said, "How's that?"
Xena didn't answer. She spun around and started up the steps. "Get Palaemon," she called over her shoulder. "Have him send in every guard that might have come in contact with our thieves. And I do mean every single one."
"Yes ma'am." Glaphyra cast one last dispassionate glance into the cell, then turned and followed her leader.
"That man just stole the Dagger of Thestor!"
The cry came from an older woman with fluffy blond curls, a frumpy dress, and a terrifyingly made-up face. The alleged thief was dressed all in black, with a matching hood covering his face, and was currently headed towards the exit at a rapid clip.
Being a museum guard was usually a boring occupation. Museum robberies were not very common; there were always easier ways to make a dinar. Less painful ways, too-- the Conqueror's punishment for such an infraction was to chop the hands off at the wrists.
The Conqueror, it seemed, set great store by national treasures.
So it took Sicalus and Scyrius, Museum Guards Extraordinaire, a few seconds to jolt into action. They hesitated first, glancing back and forth between the indignant old lady and the disappearing thief.
"Well?" the old lady demanded in an alarming falsetto. She crossed her arms and started to tap her foot, glaring at them. "Aren't you going to go after the man? On with you, you hulking brutes! What are you here for, anyway?"
"Right away, ma'am," Scyrius rumbled. He headed after the thief at an ominous lumber, while Sicalus started to herd the other visitors out the door, repeating over and over, "The museum is closed, the museum is closed," although sometimes to particularly outraged patrons, just for variety, he'd growl, "Quit yer whining."
The old lady was among the crowd he shooed out into the courtyard, stalking along with her head held high. Oddly enough, though, by the time Sicalus locked the door behind him, she was nowhere to be seen.
Iolaus glanced around cautiously, then stepped back around the corner and dropped the fluffy wig on the floor. He took another long look and said, "All clear."
A figure dropped down from the ceiling; he flicked his wrist, and the grappling hook embedded in the ceiling beam retracted to its sheath under his sleeve. "What'd I tell you?" Autolycus said triumphantly, pulling off his hood and tossing it to the floor next to the discarded wig. He straightened his black shirt and pulled his bright green tunic back on over it. "They never look up. Morons."
Iolaus was having none of it. "Oh, please. That's the most elementary technique in the scroll. Every good thief knows it."
"Ah, but I pull it off with style." Autolycus bowed, managing to sway only a little, and then straightened with a look of faint relief. He slipped the Dagger of Thestor from his ankle sheath and examined it critically, then tossed it over his shoulder. "Piece of junk."
Iolaus sighed. "Why, exactly, are we here?"
Autolycus frowned. "From a philoshophical standpoint? 'Cause if you've got a few hours, I could take a whack at answering that, but--"
"I'd like to take a whack at your hard bloody head," Iolaus muttered. He raised his voice. "I mean in a more literal sense. Why are we here?"
"Good, 'cause philoshophy's a load of crap anyway." Autolycus made a show of pondering the question, stroking his mustache and striving to look thoughtful. "We're here because you're a hopelessly boring stick-in-the-mud who wouldn't know a good time unless it fell on you tits first."
"Excuse me?"
He grinned rakishly. "Did I say that out loud? I meant--"
"What's this obsession of yours over me and Melite, anyway?" Iolaus demanded. "So we had sex. So? You and I did too, if you'll remember, and I don't notice you harping on it--"
"Harping? Who's harping? I'm not harping." Autolycus's expression was a study in innocence that fit him about as well as an extra-large satyr-wool sweater fit a minnow. "Melite, that's her name?" he added, obviously filing the name away for future sinister use. "Interesting. Oh, no reason. Just curious. No, we're doing this to see how well we work together. So far we're off to a fantastic start, wouldn't you agree?"
Iolaus just scowled. "Can we get on with this?"
"By all means, dear boy." Autolycus sauntered across the room and through a doorway on the far wall, into a smaller, better appointed chamber. "Ah, here we are," he said, his voice suddenly filled with a kind of... reverence? "The Ruby of Porphyrion."
"You know, the expression on your face, you'd think you're about to get down on your knees and worship the thing."
"I don't get on my knees... to worship."
Iolaus grinned despite himself. "As you proved last night." He paused. "Uh, forget I mentioned it."
"Gladly." Autolycus looked more then a little discomfited, but he still didn't take his eyes off the ruby. "Um, this, oh, uh, this security system-- uh, don't say-- I've got it figured out, it's-- see, it's this thing here--"
"Triggered spikes," Iolaus said. "Weighted alarm. Big guys outside with sharp weapons. Yeah, they spared no extremes on this one. You sure we can't steal something a little less impossible to get our hands on?"
"Of course not!" Autolycus said, affronted. "Where's the fun in that?"
Iolaus sighed. "Just checking."
"Besides, this is a challenge. If we can't steal this ruby, what chance to we have with Tiro?"
"If we get caught and killed, what chance do we have of even trying?"
"Aside from which, this is a piece of baklava."
"Sure it is."
"Trust me."
"Scariest two words in the Greek language."
"And I didn't need your help figuring out the security system."
"If you say so."
Autolycus' eyebrows drew together. "I'm serious. If you'd just--"
"I understand. Your blood wasn't quite headed for your brain, was it?" Autolycus growled, frustrated, and Iolaus grinned again. "What, you're the only one allowed to know how these things work? Look, pal, I may not be quote-unquote royalty, but I am a fairly successful thief. Let's just pretend I actually know what I'm doing, huh?"
"I am the King of-"
"Yeah, yeah. Are you still drunk?"
"As a matter of fact," Autolycus said, drawing himself up, "what with the exertion, the activity, the excitement, the--"
"Commission of illegal activities?"
"Be that as it may, the fact remains that I am--"
"Still drunk," Iolaus concluded, as Autolycus proceeded to turn, trip over his feet, and pitch towards the very ruby they were theoretically attempting to steal. Iolaus caught him just before he set off the alarms, staggering backwards a few steps under his weight. "Great. This is fucking great. Why I even agreed to--"
"Well, I'm not doing half bad, am I?" Autolycus demanded, staggering upright and gripping Iolaus much harder, he was sure, than was strictly necessary to stay upright. "I can work when I'm drunk, you know, I've had to do it quite a few times, and I can handle myself as long as-- as long as--"
"As long as you don't have to move faster than a crawl?"
"Now that is just not fair. I managed to lose the human hydra, didn't I?" Autolycus scowled, jabbing a finger in Iolaus' face. "And it's not like I've got a lot of control over these thingsh, you know-- things--"
Footsteps approached in the hallway outside, then receded.
They froze.
"I think," Iolaus whispered weakly, "we should probably get this over with."
"Agreed."
They turned back to the ruby, all business.
"Normally with these automatic spikes, I just cut through the bottom," Autolycus said quietly. "That way they can shoot out as far as they want and my body parts don't happen to be in the way. But with this weighted alarm...." He trailed off.
Iolaus studied it thoughtfully. "With this alarm, as soon as the ruby's off its pedestal it's a moot point anyway. I wonder if it's actually an alarm, or if it sets of another trap?"
"I prefer not to have to find out." Autolycus stroked his chin. "Very good security, all in all. Very clever."
"You think...?"
"Five minutes. Tops."
"Oh. Well, good, 'cause those guards are gonna figure out something's up soon, and it'd be hard to rescue anyone without any hands."
"Oh, please. Those mental deficients, realize what's going on?" Autolycus snorted. "Ye of too much faith. All right, now let's see how this bad boy works."
He dropped down to his knees, with a quick, self-conscious glance at Iolaus, who prudently kept his mouth shut, and examined the base of the pedestal. After a moment he said, "Oh, now that's just too easy."
"Easy?"
"Hardly even a challenge. I'm insulted."
"Don't be insulted," Iolaus said. "This is a good thing. What's easy?"
"Oh, you mean besides a certain short blond thief?" Autolycus stood, ignoring Iolaus's irritated expression. "The weighted alarm. There are strings attached to this plate the ruby is on, pulling up with just enough pressure to cancel out the weight of the gem. You pick up the ruby, it pulls the plate up, and whatever's supposed to happen, happens."
"Oh. Easy enough." And Iolaus pulled a knife from his belt, felt along the top of the case holding the ruby, and, when he found the string-- coming out of a pinprick hole in the stone, headed towards the ceiling-- he cut it with a quick flick of his wrist.
"No, wait, don't--" Autolycus began.
The nearly invisible coil of string fell harmlessly to the top of the pedestal. Above, the other half of the thread shot towards the ceiling and disappeared.
Iolaus raised his eyebrows. "You were saying?"
Autolycus growled.
Iolaus grinned. "You worry too much."
"And you, apparently, don't worry enough."
"What's to worry about? By the way, nice of you to care."
"What's to--" Autolycus cut himself off and sighed, sounding exasperated. "Forget it."
"Now what?"
"Now we get the damned thing out of there without setting off the spikes."
"I figured that much," Iolaus said. "I was hoping you'd have a more specific--"
He broke off in as Autolycus, who had started fishing around in his tunic for something, gave a triumphant "Aha!" and produced some kind of... device.
Iolaus stared.
As far as he could tell, it was just an oversized screw attached to a hand crank. From Autolycus' expression, it might as well have been Hera's Grail.
"What is it?" he asked.
"Watch and learn, my small friend." Autolycus placed the tip of the screw against the curved underside of the pedestal and began to quickly turn the hand crank. The metal screw drilled effortlessly into the soft limestone.
"You know," Iolaus said, watching, "that isn't even very funny anymore. It might have been vaguely amusing at first, but far from it now. So I'm short. So what? I'm well aware of the fact, and I don't need to be reminded of it every five--"
"Aha!" Autolycus announced again. He quickly retracted the screw, then stuck two fingers through the brand-new hole in the pedestal and wiggled.
Iolaus applauded. "Very good. Nice job. That's an awfully small hole, think you can get your whole hand up there?"
Autolycus gave him a very slow, pointed look. Iolaus felt his face grow hot as he realized what he had just said.
Autolycus smirked. "Unfortunately for you, you'll never find out." He pulled out another device. This one looked like a long, hinged pair of tongs. Iolaus watched stonily as he maneuvered the tongs through the hole, grasped the ruby, and slowly withdrew it.
Autolycus stood and chuckled with satisfaction. He tucked the tongs and the hand-cranked screw away again, then turned around and flipped his prize high into the air, catching it deftly behind his back.
"There," he announced. "Now tell me that wasn't impressive."
"That," Iolaus said, "was incredibly simple."
"No job too challenging for the King of Thieves."
Iolaus eyed him. "I bet I could come up with a job even you couldn't do."
"Yeah? Dream on, Sh-- Blondie. Nothing is beyond me."
"Except the Conqueror's treasury, it seems."
"Minor setback," Autolycus said, holding up a cautioning finger. "I had that nailed. If she just hadn't--"
"Caught you in the act? Yeah, that kind of thing does tend to put a cramp in the whole thieving process."
Autolycus opened his mouth and shut it again. Then he said, "Yeah, well, that's beside the point. The Conqueror doesn't count, 'cause after this you and I are gonna get as far away from her ever-alluring body as we can."
"So you'll take the bet, then?"
"I most certainly will," Autolycus said haughtily. "You name it, I'll steal it, and you'll give me every last sorry dinar you have." He dropped the gem into his pocket and rubbed his hands together. "This is my kind of bet."
"Don't be too sure," Iolaus warned. He held his hand out, and Autolycus grasped his forearm, sealing the deal.
After a moment, Iolaus said, "Does this mean we're not fighting anymore?"
"Maybe. But I still think you're a slut."
"And you aren't?"
"I never said it was a bad thing."
Staring into Autolycus's dark, uncharacteristically serious eyes, Iolaus felt his own smile start to fade. He took a deep breath. "Listen--"
"Hey! This door's barricaded!"
The shout was muffled, coming as it did from the other side of the locked door, but it hardly needed to be any louder. Two pairs of eyes widened in identical expressions of panic.
Large fists started pounding on the door. It rattled on its hinges.
"Time to go."
"Quite."
They turned and fled.
Still, Iolaus realized only much later, clutching each other's arms as they ran.
Autolycus and Iolaus clambered through the window of their room at the inn, laughing and breathless.
"That was good," the King of Thieves declared, tripping over the windowsill and sprawling full-length on the floor. "Wasn't that good? That was great."
"We were great," Iolaus said, climbing up after him. "What do you know? We can work together after all."
"Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I told you I'm the best, baby."
"I hate to admit it," Iolaus said, dropping down on to the floor beside him, "but you're not half-bad."
Autolycus raised his head indignantly. "Not half--"
"But that bet's still on."
"Any time, Curly, any time." Autolycus sat up and pulled their prize from his pockets. The ruby glinted enticingly in the late afternoon sunlight. "Meanwhile, I've got this beauty. How much do you think I could get for her?"
"We could get," Iolaus said.
"Huh?"
"We. You and me. We worked together on this, remember?"
Autolycus's smile faded. "Now just a minute. I could've done this without your help, you know."
"Maybe so, but you didn't."
"But--"
"But what? I don't do this for fun, you know. Stealing's how I live."
"Oh, and I've got a prosperous nine-to-five job running a silk shop, I suppose?"
Iolaus crossed his arms stubbornly.
"Okay, okay!" Autolycus held his hands up in what he hoped was a placating gesture. "Fine. We'll split it--"
"Good."
"--seventy-thirty."
"Not good."
He huffed, exasperated. "Oh, come on. I did all the real work!"
Iolaus leaned forward until they were almost nose-to-nose and tapped him sharply on the forehead. Autolycus scowled but didn't back away.
"Let's get one thing straight right now, Mister Oh-I'm-So-Good King of Thieves. I am not gonna be your sidekick. All right? In this or anything else. It's equal partners or nothing, and equal means fifty-fifty, got it?"
"Yeah," Autolycus said, still glaring, "and nothing means I get it all. Are you delusional, Shorty? When did I ever say we'd be partners in anything?"
"Don't start," Iolaus growled.
"Hey, I'm not starting anything. You're the one starting stuff--"
Iolaus lunged, grabbing his wrists and pinning them to the floor. Autolycus yelped and squirmed, trying to break free, but Iolaus held firm. They struggled in silence for a few minutes, until an instant of inopportune contact made them both freeze.
Iolaus stared down at his captive, and Autolycus stared back, and for the briefest of moments an overwhelming heat passed between them.
Then it was over, and before the King of Thieves could react, Iolaus had grabbed the ruby from his limp hand and scrambled off him, crouching under the window and tucking the gem into an inside pocket of his vest.
"I'll keep this," he announced, sounding a lot less sure of himself than he probably meant to.
Autolycus sat up slowly, trying to start breathing again.
"Okay," he said finally, into the silence. "Okay. I'm not saying never again, all right? I mean, I'm not saying yes... but I'm not saying no yet, either."
Iolaus just raised his eyebrows.
"But, look, we have--" Autolycus swallowed, then sighed and started again. "We have to wait until after. Okay? Just... that's my condition. After Tiro's safe."
Iolaus scowled. "I don't see why."
"Because--" He buried his face in his hands. "Oh, gods. Because if it's just the once, I can put it out of my mind if I have to. Pretend it didn't happen. But if we do it again... I won't be able to think about anything else."
Autolycus very nearly smacked himself, hearing the words coming out of his mouth. For Zeus's sake, he thought, how moronic can you get? He sounded like a lo-- a lust-crazed teenager.
But Iolaus just nodded. "All right. Fine. I respect that." He smirked, but it was halfhearted at best. "I always knew I had that effect on people."
Then he stood and added, "But I'm taking a nap, and I'm taking the bed to do it in. Come join me if you want to join me."
Autolycus sighed again. "No, no, the floor is... just fine."
He laid back down on the floorboards, closing his eyes and trying to get comfortable. After a few minutes, he gave up and just lay still.
Fuck, he thought savagely. Bloody fucking Tartarus, I like the little bastard.
Things were not going at all as he'd expected. He definitely didn't want to feel the need to place Iolaus's safety over his own, should the occasion happen to arise.
The guy can take care of himself, he thought. Then the same voice added, Yeah, and look what happened the last time you thought that.
He stretched and folded his arms behind his head.
There were still a few hours left before they stormed the castle. Who knew? Maybe Iolaus would do something to really, majorly piss him off by then.
Autolycus could only hope.
They saw Agamede a third time before they headed for the Conqueror's castle.
The Temple of Hermes was locked up tight, and Autolycus had to put his lockpicks to good use before they found their quarry. Iolaus was fairly sure that the locks at Hermes's temple were supposed to be pick-proof, but he let it pass. No sense in feeding the already-monstrous ego of the King of Thieves.
Agamede was asleep on her father's bed, lying on top of the covers and wearing a sleeveless red shift that looked like a longer version of her regular shirt. She woke up as soon as the door to the bedroom swung open, sitting up and looking around blearily, pushing her short blond hair out of her face. When she saw them crouched in the doorway, her face relaxed into an almost affable scowl.
Autolycus went to her and spoke in low, urgent tones, telling her of their plans. Her scowl didn't fade.
Iolaus stayed in the doorway and watched.
He studied Agamede's face-- her narrow, almost elfin features, her sleepy blue eyes and tangled blond hair. She seemed so young and so old at the same time. He studied Autolycus, who was doing his best to hide the feelings he so obviously had for this woman. Iolaus wondered, not for the first time, just what their relationship was. Ex-lovers, maybe? They certainly seemed to dislike each other enough, in between brief bouts of toleration. Or, at least, Agamede disliked Autolycus; he, in turn, seemed to feel a curious sense of responsibility, and not a little guilt. So had he broken her heart, or she his? Iolaus wondered how long they'd known each other. He wondered what, if anything, Autolycus still felt for her.
He wondered why he cared. A few hours in bed was one thing, and a relationship was quite another, and after all, only one required emotional fidelity to maintain.
He wondered when he'd gotten so good at reading Autolycus's face.
It seemed like forever, but it was only a few minutes before Autolycus stood and returned to Iolaus's side. Agamede was already out of bed and hunting for her clothes. She would pack and be ready to leave as soon as they returned with Tiro; the old man would have to get as far away from the Conqueror as possible before the search began in earnest.
Iolaus hoped that Tiro would be in a shape to travel.
The two thieves left the temple, walking briskly towards the center square of Corinth and the castle. The plan was really quite simple-- Iolaus would go in through the ventilation shaft and distract Xena and the guards, and Autolycus would go through the tower and get Tiro out.
It was risky, it was tentative, and it hinged on far too many eventualities. But it was all they could think of on short notice, and the only thing not certain to raise the Conqueror's suspicions. It was the best plan they had.
And besides, improvisation was Iolaus's specialty.
They split up as soon as they reached the castle grounds. The guards' shifts were about to change; it was the perfect time to slip past.
Iolaus ran his hands self-consciously through his newly short hair, hoping his earlier burst of inspiration hadn't been too far off the mark. Hidden by the shadows of the castle wall, he pulled out a pair of knives and, digging them into the mortar between the stones, started to climb.
Autolycus landed lightly on the roof of the east tower and let his grappling hook retract into its sheath. It had been child's play so far, just going through the motions, which was a good thing-- his mind was somewhere else.
Not that far away, in fact. Maybe a few hundred feet.
Iolaus was climbing through the castle walls on his way to a confrontation with the Conqueror. Sure, it had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now, under the cold scrutiny of reality and oncoming panic, the prospect was becoming more and more deadly. Being objective, he'd have to say that Iolaus had a fifty-fifty chance of getting out unscathed. In fact, that was a generous estimate.
And Iolaus was no idiot. He had to know that as well.
So why had he been so determined to be the distraction? Latent suicidal tendencies, or did Iolaus truly not care what happened to him? Autolycus didn't believe the former. He didn't want to believe the latter, either, but that possibility was a little harder to dismiss. He'd seen the emptiness in Iolaus's eyes. It wasn't always there, but when it was, it was a frightening thing.
Maybe there really was a part of Iolaus that didn't want to come back.
Autolycus shook his head as he lowered himself down the inside of the tower, trying to dispel the thought. It didn't work.
He knew he should have been the one to go. It would have been poetic justice, and Autolycus was certainly poetic, if nothing else. At least, he could be when he wanted to. But he just hadn't been able to seriously make the suggestion. Newfound reluctant responsibility didn't stand a chance against a lifetime spent lookin out for numeral I.
His feet hit the ground, and he yanked at the rope with perhaps slightly more force than was necessary.
Fine, he thought. That's just fine. If Iolaus wants to kill himself for whatever reason, what do I care? I certainly won't feel guilty about it.
Autolycus wondered why his thoughts sounded familiar, then realized with a start that Iolaus had said almost exactly the same thing to him the first night.
He didn't want to think about what that meant.
"What does it mean?" he grumbled, running his hands up and down the wall of the tower. "Quite simply, it means that you, Auto ol' buddy, need to stop fucking around with other thieves and get your mind back on the job." Luscious, Ravenica, Thoola, and now Iolaus... how many times did a guy need to get royally screwed by the Fates before he got the message? Autolycus suspected he was blowing the learning curve in a very bad way.
Of course, an annoying little voice in his head piped up, nothing's gone wrong yet.
Yet, Autolycus retorted silently. Just you wait.
The voice shrugged and settled back to do just that. Even what little optimism he could muster was halfhearted.
Thinking particularly dark thoughts, he slipped into the castle proper and stormed off toward the dungeon.
The leather was old and cracked, stiff from disuse. It needed oil and care and constant wearing. It needed to be fought in again.
Pulling it on again was just like coming home.
She straightened the tops of her boots, trailed her hands up the skirt and leather bodice, and fastened her breastplate. She picked up her sword and twirled it a few times before slipping it into the sheath on her back.
Then she reached for the circle of deadly metal and spun it once on her fingers, admiring how the candlelight flickered off the razor edges. She flipped it into the air and deftly caught it on the hook on her hip.
For tonight, at least for now, the Conqueror was gone.
The Warrior Princess was back.
The hallway seemed deserted. Appearances, of course, could be deceiving, and Iolaus certainly hoped that was so in this case. Because he was about to let his presence be known, and it would be a shame if Xena and her guards weren't nearby to hear.
Now or never.
There was a large sculpture on a pedestal at the end of the hallway-- some sort of big cat, a tiger or maybe a lioness, carved from pale, glassy green jade. Iolaus wondered briefly what such a carving would be worth, then shrugged, inched towards it, and brushed it with his shoulder.
The statue wobbled but remained firmly upright.
Iolaus swore softly and bumped it harder. It rocked, but still refused to fall.
All right, Iolaus thought, that's it. He stuck his sword back in its sheath, braced both hands against the heavy sculpture, and pushed.
There was a moment of indecision, as though the statue weren't sure it wanted to fall; then it toppled over the edge of the pedestal and landed with a deafening crash, shattering the silence like a fragile piece of glass. It sounded like an explosion.
Iolaus withdrew his sword again and turned and started to run, making sure one or two of his footsteps thudded audibly.
It seemed like forever before he heard the familiar sound of shouting guards. He rounded the corner and ducked into an alcove, pressing up against the wall as two of the guards pounded past.
Then he darted out again and started running in the opposite direction, still landing heavily on the marble floors. He was starting to wonder if he'd have to break something else when they heard him, turning around and running back the way they came.
"I could do this all day," Iolaus said under his breath, skidding around another corner and lowering his head as he sprinted. More shouts behind him indicated that more guards were joining the chase. The party was in full swing. Hopefully he wouldn't have to keep running much longer. Hopefully, soon he'd have to start fighting for his life.
Yeah, hopefully.
Iolaus turned another corner and tightened his grip on his sword. Then another figure stepped out of one of the rooms that lined the hallway, closing the door behind, and he just barely managed to stop in time to avoid running into it.
No, not it. Her. Most definitely her.
The woman in front of him was tall, taller than most women he'd ever known and solidly built, projecting an aura of definite power. She wore a short leather fighting dress and copper-colored armor, and her long black hair fell over her shoulders and to her waist. Her eyes were the coldest pale blue. Her face was like stone.
As Iolaus swallowed and took a step back, she smiled, the slow, smoky, dangerous smile of a natural predator. He shivered, suddenly understanding how Autolycus could still find her attractive. She exuded magnetism in waves.
She reached behind her and drew her sword, twirling it in her hands before pointing the tip directly at Iolaus' throat.
"Well, now," Xena purred, "didn't your mother ever tell you to send a messenger before you drop in?"
Autolycus looked at one door. Then he looked at the other.
One led to the stairs to the dungeon. One, presumably, didn't.
He had no idea which was which.
He felt like crying.
Well, no, not crying. Not really. That would just be... wrong. Undignified. Embarassing in the extreme. But he certainly wasn't feeling very happy at the moment, either.
Checking the map was out. That wasn't even an option. In the silence, the rustling of the parchment would sound like Ares's legions descending, to his paranoid ears at least. Even on the off chance that it wouldn't attract the guards, he wasn't sure his nerves could take it.
Besides, he wasn't entirely convinced that he hadn't left the map back at the inn.
Come on, Autolycus thought desperately, use that great capable brain of yours. Right or left, it's got to be one or the other. No memory was forthcoming, and the longer he stood there, the more certain he was that countless eyes were boring into his back, just waiting for him to make a move.
Autolycus brushed the feeling off with some effort. He'd certainly never gotten anywhere in life by following the right path.
With this in mind, and hopling that symbolism worked as well in real life as it did on parchment, he turned to the door on the left, took a deep breath, quickly popped the lock, and opened it.
Then he froze.
It wasn't the stairs to the dungeon, that much was certain. It was a room-- small and dimly lit, more like a closet really, almost completely filled by the small, hard pallet in the corner. And lying on the pallet was a woman, a girl really, dressed in peasant's clothes, with her legs propped up at awkward angles.
Autolycus's first thought was to thank Zeus that she wasn't dead. His second was to wonder what in Tartarus was going on.
The girl slowly turned her face to him. She looked red and swollen and miserable, and at the same time resigned.
Her eyes narrowed. When she spoke, her voice was flat and unemotional. "You."
"Me," Autolycus agreed without thinking. He hesitated. "Uh... what are you...."
"Doing here? Instead of being dead, you mean?" She looked down at her legs. "Being crippled, apparently. You know, call me crazy, but I don't think they want me to heal properly."
"They?" he echoed dumbly. Get a grip, he ordered himself. So she's not dead. That's great. Now go make sure Tiro isn't either, and we'll be two for two--
"Well, she." The girl brushed long golden hair out of her face and shrugged, then winced. "It's all her, isn't it? Everything's because of her."
Autolycus paused, imagining the fight going on several floors above. Iolaus should be pulling off his part of the plan. Time for him to do the same.
"Look," he began, and paused again. It wasn't something he was used to saying. "I'm... I'm sorry, okay?"
She looked down at her legs once more. "Yeah, I guess you could say it's partly your fault, too. But I don't suppose that bothers you."
Autolycus bristled. "And why wouldn't it bother me?"
"Well," she said, and looked blank. "You're not a freedom fighter or anything, are you? You're a thief."
"A thief, sister, not a murderer."
"Sure," the girl said, "but I'm not dead."
He had to move. Now.
"All right, look," he said again. "It does bother me. All right? But I really-- I really have to go now. So that some other innocent-- well, not guilty-- person doesn't get killed because of me."
She sighed. "Figures."
"What are you--"
"No, no. Go ahead. Don't mind me, I'll live, I'm sure."
Autolycus frowned. "You know, sarcasm doesn't become you."
"I mean it," the girl said, with more than a touch of bitterness in her voice. "Go on, be a hero. See how great it makes you feel. I guarantee you, it'll be worth it."
He hesitated. "You really believe that, don't you?"
"I was being sarcastic."
"Again? I told you, that's very unappealing."
She sighed again, looking very old and tired. "What do you want from me?"
"Want?" Autolycus thought for a moment. "I don't... want. I mean, you wouldn't happen to have any, any jewels or family gold or--"
"No."
"Then you don't have anything I want."
She met his gaze squarely. Her eyes were like green rocks, hard and cold and unyielding.
"So what are you still doing here?"
Autolycus frowned.
"That," he said acidly, "is a very good question. If you'll excuse me, I should really be somewhere that's not here."
The girl let her head drop back on the pallet and closed her eyes. "Don't let the door hit you in the ass."
He almost slammed the door before he remembered where he was. Instead he closed it as quietly as he could and relocked it, seething.
Outside, he took a few deep breaths and picked the lock on the opposite door. The spiral stone steps on the other side dropped away steeply into darkness.
Bracing himself, tracing the tips of his fingers along the cool, rough stone walls, Autolycus started his descent into the depths of the dungeon.
Iolaus couldn't breathe.
Xena smiled and stepped closer. The tip of her sword pressed into the soft skin of his throat, and he stepped back, fighting the urge to raise his own sword.
"I was wondering when you'd show up," she was saying, in a low voice like a panther's growl. "Iolaus of Thebes. It's quite a pleasure."
"You've heard of me," he said, managing to keep his voice even.
"What can I say? I'm a fan."
There was, Iolaus decided, something decidedly disturbing about her smile. Possibly the unholy glee evident in her eyes, warning any unlucky victim that she would thoroughly kick his ass and relish every second of it, because she knew she couldn't lose. It was the smile of a woman who'd skewer someone through the gut just to find out what kind of funny sounds they might make as they died.
He was facing off against Xena-- the Warrior Princess, the Conqueror, the Destroyer of Nations. Suddenly distracting her didn't seem like the feasible plan it once had. What was he supposed to do, wave something shiny in front of her and hope she tried to kill him with it?
Iolaus closed his eyes. Come on, he ordered himself, get a grip already. You can do this. You're good, and you know it.
And, to his surprise, he found that he really believed it. Really believed that he was capable of taking on Xena the Conqueror and coming out of it, if not unscathed, then at least still breathing.
Iolaus was a fighter. He enjoyed it, and he was good at it. He may have never been classically trained, like he would've been at the Academy, but he made up for it with experience, quick reflexes, and more dirty tricks than a bare-knuckle boxer with a dagger up his sleeve. He was a confrontationalist in the basest possible way. He didn't like to talk out his problems with others; he much preferred to get physical. One way or another.
He could fight. He stood a chance. And he knew it.
He dropped back suddenly into a crouch and raised his sword, halting it about an inch from Xena's blade, offering her the first move. As they started to circle each other, wary, each waiting for the other to attack, he felt a curious calm settle over him.
Then she said, "It's been quite a while, hasn't it? If I didn't know better, I'd say you haven't changed a bit."
Iolaus bit back a triumphant grin. It was working; she thought he was his double. Now all he had to do was pretend to be someone he knew nothing about. What exactly had the other Iolaus been doing for the past thirty-some years, anyway? And how long had he been there before he'd gotten his hands on the Chronos stone and disappeared into thin air? Just how long was "quite a while"?
To cover his confusion, and because she seemed to be waiting for him to say something, he said quickly, "Yes, well, you certainly look different."
Xena's eyes never wavered. "Ten years tend to do that to people. Except, apparently, to you."
Ten years. Iolaus winced inwardly. Oops.
What in Tartarus was going on?
"You're not immortal," she continued.
It was more of a statement than a question, but he felt obliged to answer anyway. "No."
"No, you're not." Then, quicker than one of Zeus's lightning strikes, she lunged, bringing her blade to bear on the full length of his arm. Iolaus yelped and tried to block the blow, but she was just too fast-- he was less than a second off, but less than a second was enough.
"Immortals don't bleed."
He didn't feel the pain at first, dancing away from her with his sword at the ready, unsure for a moment whether he'd actually been cut. Then he felt the warm, wet stickiness spreading over his bare arm, and the pain hit, feeling like molten lead poured over his bones. Iolaus gritted his teeth together and focused on his opponent again, just in time; Xena swung again, and this time he just managed to block the blow. The vibrations of the force travelled down the entire length of his body and he met her eyes for the barest moment-- ice blue and filled with a kind of madness, her face frozen for an instant in a terrible rictus of a smile, like a death mask. And then the fight began in earnest.
They were, Iolaus soon discovered, not on quite as equal ground as he'd hoped. For one thing, he was injured now, his left arm entirely useless; for another, she had armed guards lined up along the hallway, watching the fight with interest. Much too late, he realized that he and Autolycus could conceivably have brought in reinforcements and given themselves a fighting chance. He had no doubt that if by some chance he actually managed to win this fight, that interest would quickly turn homicidal.
And was that what he wanted? Did he really have some kind of a death wish?
No, he thought. No, I like being alive.
And for the first time, he knew he was telling himself the truth.
So why had he gone ahead with the plan when he knew it was doomed to fail? Just to save some old man he didn't even really know?
'Cause that's what I do....
His thoughts seemed almost to come from somewhere outside himself. Or inside himself. Or millions of leagues away, from another lifetime, another him....
...Another...? No, it couldn't be....
The idea distracted him. Just for a second, but a second was all she needed. Iolaus had the thought, his eyes flickered, and he seemed to watch out of the corner of his eye as Xena, moving too fast for him to even begin to react, slammed her sword into the one he held in his loose one-handed grip.
The impact snapped his wrist back. His sword fell from nerveless fingers. He didn't know if his wrist was broken, but he was sure he'd find out when it stopped being numb.
Iolaus was stepping back and raising his leg for a well-placed kick when Xena let out a loud, ululating cry, charged, and launched herself into the air. All of a sudden he was a half-step behind everything, and it was proving fatal. Her boots smashed into his chest and all his breath rushed out in a loud grunt; already off balance, he staggered backwards, lost his balance completely, and landed heavily on the hard marble floor.
He was scrambling up almost immediately, moving up and back in one quick motion, trying to get out of her way; without thinking, he put his weight on his left arm, cried out, started to fall again, caught himself with his right hand, and then, as his wrist exploded in a flash of pain (and he was sure now that it was broken, he could feel the bones grinding together), he lost his tenuous balance once more and became reacquainted with the castle floor.
"Oh," Iolaus heard himself groan, "oh, this is not good."
He felt, rather than saw, a figure leaning over him, and then two hands twisted themselves in the shoulders of his vest and hauled him up off the floor, slamming him back against the stone wall. A cold, sharp length of steel pressed up against his throat. Iolaus blinked, doing his best to ignore the pain, and stared into Xena's snarling face with the curious calm given to those about to die.
She leaned forward until their noses were almost touching and hissed, "How did you find out about my son?"
He gaped. "Your son?"
The blade pressed harder against his throat, pricking the skin. "Ten years ago," she said in a low, dangerous voice, "you spoke to me about my son. You put him in danger and now he's gone. Who told you about him? What did you do to him?"
Iolaus cast his eyes desperately over her shoulder, toward the guards lined up against the opposite wall. One of them, a young-looking man with close-cut hair and a scar down one side of his face, grinned and winked at him. He rolled his eyes.
"Well?" Xena demanded.
It was times like these when Iolaus really wished he were taller. Somehow he was certain the situation wouldn't have been quite so intimidating if his feet could reach the ground.
"Your son," he echoed, thinking furiously, trying to imagine the Conqueror barefoot and pregnant. Somehow the image failed to materialize. "Yeah. Nice boy, spitting image of his mother--"
"What's his name?" she growled.
Name? Fuck, his name. Iolaus wondered if Xena was the type to name her son after herself. It didn't seem likely.
"Name," he said, aware that he was starting to sound like a demented parrot. "You know, I can't say I-- well, it's been ten years, you see, and I've got a really bad head for names, it's always been a problem for me, but if you give me a hint I'm sure it'll come back to me in no time and--"
"Shut up."
He snapped his mouth shut.
She stepped back, and he slid down the wall until he was standing on his own two feet. He didn't move, though, possibly because the tip of her sword was still pressing into the soft hollow at the base of his throat. As he stood, frozen, she pushed it forward infinitesimally, and his heart nearly stopped as he felt the skin split, the swordpoint sliding fractionally into his flesh.
Iolaus tried to back into the wall. It didn't work.
Xena smiled. "Funny," she said, "I suppose everyone has a double. I had one myself. A simpering, clueless little excuse for a princess. She's dead now."
Just another double, like Orestes? Could it really be so simple? He opened his mouth to speak, then winced and decided against it.
She caught the intent and added, "Don't even try it, little man."
Iolaus rolled his eyes again but remained silent-- and, consequently, alive.
"There were two of you," the Conqueror continued. "I realized that before. The one dressed in purple is the one I met in Cirrah, and the one who stole the stone from my scepter is someone else. The question, of course, is which one are you...."
Facts were coalescing rapidly behind her hard blue eyes, and Iolaus prayed to whoever might be listening that she wouldn't put it together. Then she smiled again, that slow, terrifying smile that made his stomach curl. "Son of a bacchae," she breathed.
His prayers didn't seem to be working in the least.
Without warning, she wrenched her sword out from the few precious millimeters it had sunk into his skin. His knees went weak and he sagged in relief, just as Xena spun around and raised her foot, delivering a solid roundhouse kick to the side of his head.
Iolaus staggered sideways, and she started to follow it up with a left hook. He managed to block the punch, again forgetting his injuries, biting back a groan as her rock-solid fist slammed into the palm right above his broken wrist. White-hot pain coursed up his arm and through his body, blinding him for a few vital moments. He barely felt the one-two punch to his temple and his solar plexus; compared to the feel of his broken bones impacting against each other, everything else was secondary. His body certainly felt it, though, and he found himself falling, beginning the slow slide into unconsciousness.
"You two," he dimly heard Xena say. "Take care of him. The rest of you, come with me."
Sorry, Auto, Iolaus thought, and then the world grayed out completely.
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