DISCLAIMER: I don't own the characters of Hercules and Iolaus (I wish!). No money is being made from this story and no copyright infringement is intended. Iolaus does kinda get hurt badly though.

Quote for Iolaus: "Character is what you are in the dark," Earl Mac Rauch, Buckaroo Banzai (cited from 'The Lost King' by Margaret Weiss).



KIDNAPPED

by Ruric

Iolaus was shocked unwillingly back into semi-consciousness as the icy, cold water hit him in the face. His initial reaction was to deny where he was. He didn't want to be here, he *really* didn't, he was supposed to be somewhere else. A small voice within his mind insisted determinedly, that, if he kept his eyes closed, this might *just* possibly turn out to be a dream. Noises began to invade the hunter's
hazy awareness.

"Well, Stelio, he isn't responding," said a gravelly voice, obviously standing close by. "Try again."

There was the sound of footsteps receding quickly across the room, then a door banged loudly open, admitting a gust of chilling wind, scented heavily with the citrus smell of pine trees and the pending storm. The door slammed closed and the footsteps returned, slowly and deliberately, as if burdened with some load. No - this wasn't a dream - it was too real, the sounds too close and the smells too sharp.

He resolutely kept his eyes shut, hoping that his captors were unaware of his condition, as he listened to the low mutter of voices around him, trying to distinguish separate conversations.

Yet another bucket of icy water was thrown over him and he flinched involuntarily. His hair clung damply to his skull, as rivulets of ice trickled slowly down his face and spine. 'Ah well, good try', he thought as he raised his head, shaking it like a dog, sending splattering droplets of water across the room. He heard the malicious chuckles of several men.

Keeping his eyes closed for a moment longer, he concentrated on taking a quick mental inventory of his injuries and current circumstances. He felt the gentle throbbing around his left eye, recognising that meant he'd soon be developing some serious bruising. His right cheekbone felt sore, but not broken, and his lower lip was split. 'So far so good', he thought, gently flexing and tensing muscles as he worked his way down.

His shoulders hurt like hell. He discovered his wrists were cuffed above his head, his whole body weight being supported this way. Quickly dragging his feet under him to relieve some of the strain, he heard the rattle of chains, knowing with a sinking heart that his captors were leaving nothing to chance. The cold weight of manacles rested against the bare skin of his ankles and he realised that his boots had been removed. His ribs were bruised and his stomach ached from some of the
punches he'd taken but, all in all, he felt remarkably undamaged, considering he'd been attacked by ten rough looking men.

Now, completely conscious and aware, he opened his eyes to examine his surroundings. His instincts took control and he remembered the voice of the centaur Chiron, who had taught both the hunter and Hercules, at his academy for warriors. "Always be alert and attentive. Your life *will* depend upon it. You must all develop an attitude, a state of awareness, where you instinctively assess every situation. View *every* room as a potential trap, look for exits and entrances. Consider *everyone* a potential enemy, from a stranger to your closest friend. And view
*everything* as a potential weapon, from the swords you carry, to the furniture, to your clothing." As adolescents they had treated this as a game, Iolaus protesting jokingly one day to Chiron that no-one could live like that. The centaur had taken him on one side, and quietly told him, "Iolaus, if you intend to continue to be Hercules' companion, you can't afford not to. If you don't develop this outlook your life will be very short indeed."

His glance flicked quickly around the room. There was one doorway, in the wall in front of him, barred by a heavy looking wooden door, and one window in the wall behind him, blocked by sturdy timber shutters. 'No easy way out there', he thought grimly, even if he *could* get himself free from the manacles. A fire burned, in a large open fireplace to his right, casting dancing shadows over the walls. The rest of the room was illuminated by torches in wall sconces and several heavy iron candle
holders. A table rested against the fourth wall, and was presently covered with the gear and packs of the men who were seated on benches and chairs that were scattered around the room.

His initial survey completed he returned his attention to the two well built, but dirty looking men standing in front of him. He remembered them from the ambush, they had seemed to be directing the movements of the others. Behind them a quick head count revealed that there were another six men present. 'Two missing, or had he accounted for them in the battle?' his insistent mental voice asked. 'The rest were all very disreputable characters', he thought with a grimace. They were dressed in an assortment of ragged clothing and their standards of personal hygiene left a great deal to be desired. However, there was an impressive assortment of weapons littered all over the room. On the table, amongst the packs and the remains of a meal, were a number of swords and hanging from hooks set into the walls a selection of bows and arrows, axes, spears and clubs. All the weaponry gleamed, obviously well oiled and cared for, and just itching to be used *if* he could get free.

"Welcome back to the world, pretty boy," growled the man directly in front of him. "I'm Marius and I'm in charge here."

Iolaus waited, observing the man coolly, letting his gaze sweep assessingly from head to toe and back again, before looking directly into his cruel brown eyes. He could recognise a bully when he saw one. Marius' hair was muddy brown and close cropped, the face was brutal and had a long scar, twisting from his left eye, down his face and neck and disappearing into the top of his tunic. His teeth were rotten and skin grey with dirt. But his body was impressively stocky, thick necked, with
a solid chest, his bare arms revealing corded muscles.

"You killed my oldest friend and Stelio's younger brother back in our little battle," he said, inclining his head at the tall, slightly thinner man with dirty blond hair, standing next to him. "We intend to make sure you suffer for that before we end your life."

Iolaus continued to survey the man silently, there was no point in speaking yet, but he had a very, *very* bad feeling about this.

"What's the matter, lost your tongue," Stelio demanded, moving a step closer and delivering a back handed slap that rocked Iolaus' head backwards, smashing his lips against his teeth and drawing blood. His ears rang with the force of the blow and a shower of stars danced across his vision. He hissed quietly as his wrists were rubbed painfully by the cuffs holding him in place.

"Temper, temper, my friend" said Marius, laying a restraining hand against Stelio's upraised arm. "We have *days* yet to take our pleasure with him. He'll scream for you and beg for mercy before too long."

'Oh oh', thought Iolaus, 'this does *not* sound good'. He felt his spirit rise and took a breath, about to make an angry rejoinder, when an image of Hercules appeared before him. They had been in a fight, the attack unfortunately precipitated by some smart comment Iolaus had made. Hercules had, for once, hoped to talk their way out of the potential engagement but Iolaus' fast mouth had put an end to that. Once they had taken care of their attackers, Hercules had turned on his friend, a look
of exasperation in his clear blue eyes. "One day Iolaus, you are going to learn to think before you speak!" he'd muttered before stomping off to an inn. Angering these men would not help, at least not just yet, so he choked back his intended response.

"It will happen, pretty boy," growled Marius, reaching out to grasp his chin in cruel fingers, as he drew his face closer to Iolaus'. "You *will* beg us to end your life before the next few days are over. You see you're here just for our fun and amusement, and we're certainly going to do our best to entertain you. We don't need to know anything, don't even want to use you as a hostage, and we *are* eventually going to kill you."

'Why was it that the bad guys always seemed to get carried away with their own eloquence', wondered Iolaus. All he lacked was a detailed description of exactly what they had planned for him. He was slightly surprised at that. They usually liked to brag about what the future would hold. But the current situation was *definitely* not good. Since the bandit leader seemed talkative Iolaus thought he might get a
straight answer to one question. The blond hunter looked at Marius and spoke only the one word. "Why?"

"Because Hera wills it and we're her chosen men. The goddess wants Hercules dead, or better still insane with rage, and unwilling or unable to go to the aid of other mortals. She thinks the best way to achieve that, now that his family are gone, is to remove you. We've been promised great rewards if we make your last few days on this earth miserable." He grinned evilly at the hunter.

"If you think you can trust Hera then you're more of a fool than you look," snorted Iolaus.

"We'll soon see who's the fool," snarled Marius. "The sooner we get started the more fun we can have." He turned to his companion, "Stelio, get that shirt off him."

As Stelio moved behind Iolaus, Marius snagged a rough looking chair, drawing it to a position a few feet in front of the immobile hunter. He turned the chair around, so the back faced the hunter and straddled it. Crossing his arms to rest lightly upon the back of the chair, he let his head drop to rest his chin on his hands, all the time smiling nastily at Iolaus.

Stelio was now standing closely behind him and Iolaus could feel the man's breath gently stirring his hair. He heard the rasp as a belt knife was drawn from a sheath, and then felt the chill as the point of the blade was placed at the nape of his neck. A swift downward motion, accompanied by a tearing sound resulted in the thick blue shirt he was wearing being split from neck to hem, to remain dangling from his
upraised arms. He was thankful for a moment that it was winter and he hadn't been wearing the vest Ania had made for him, smiling sardonically at the inappropriate thought.

"I don't know what you're smiling at pretty boy," Marius growled, "No-one is going to get here in time to rescue you, and we have a *pain* filled few days lined up for you."

There it was, the bragging again. Iolaus had just *known* Marius wouldn't let him down. The bandit leader leaned forward, tipping the chair onto its two rear legs, and firmly grasped the front of the shirt in two meaty fists. He pulled hard, rocking the chair back onto all four legs, dragging Iolaus forward with the movement, causing his already throbbing wrists to rub once more against the cuffs. Iolaus' body was
stretched to the full range of its limited motion as, by sheer brute force, the shirt was torn from his torso. Marius raised the tattered remains to his nose, inhaling the clean masculine scent and leered into the hunter's blue eyes.

Iolaus glowered at the bandit leader, shivering reluctantly as the warmth provided by the shirt was withdrawn and the cold winter chill of the room danced across his golden skin. Stelio, still standing behind him laughed, one hand trailing across the back of Iolaus' shoulders, caressing him as he slowly moved to stand again next to his leader.

At a curt gesture from Stelio another man approached, bearing a large, polished, dark wooden box. Marius inclined his head and the man moved to stand just in front of the hunter before slowly raising the lid of the box. Nestling in the red velvet interior was a wicked looking whip.

The man grasped the sturdy, carved wooden handle, removing the whip from the box and allowing it to dangle in front of Iolaus' face. It consisted of a bundle of thin, plaited leather lashes, each of which was about four feet long, knotted irregularly along their length. What chilled Iolaus to the very soul was the glint of small pieces of metal enmeshed in those knots. The man smiled, dispassionately at Iolaus, his cold, grey eyes registering no emotion whatsoever. "This is my friend, my beauty," he whispered quietly, stroking the handle of the whip. "Have you ever seen what she can do to a man's back?"

Stelio chuckled gleefully as he leaned down to remark to Marius, "He's never been beaten, this should be fun."

The bandits scattered around the room gradually stopped what they were doing and began to pay attention, as the man with the cold grey eyes moved to stand behind Iolaus.

The hunter trembled reflexively, a sweat of anticipation breaking out over his body, as the hair on the back of his neck and arms stood up in expectation of what was to come. He took a deep breath and tried to relax his shoulder muscles. Any tension would only cause more pain, he knew that and so tried desperately to concentrate on the cuffs pulling at his wrists, the slight throbbing in his cheek, anything but what was about to occur.

He heard the rustling sound as the man shook out the whip behind him, and fought not to tense up. Time seemed to slow, seconds stretching to eternity, then came the sibilant whistling as the lashes sailed through the air towards his naked and unprotected back. 'Here it comes', he thought grimly.

He was, however, totally unprepared for the lancing agony he experienced as the lash hit the middle of his back and curled partially round his chest. His pale blue eyes widened in shock and a gasp escaped his lips, it felt as if someone had dribbled liquid fire across his skin.

The watching bandits cheered and laughed cruelly. Iolaus saw Stelio lean down and comment loudly to Marius. "I'll wager he holds out for no more than ten strokes before he breaks. He's way too soft and weak to take this sort of punishment for long."

Iolaus took another deep breath, just as the second lash landed, and fought to hold on to the groan that rose in his throat, willing himself to escape the searing claws of the pain.

"Done," came Marius' reply as the bandits clustered round placing bets as to how long Iolaus could last without screaming. "I think pretty boy's tougher than he looks. I'll wager he can hold on for at least twenty strokes."

"Fuck you," retorted Iolaus his blue eyes blazing into Marius' brown ones. If looks could kill the bandit leader would have died the instant their gazes locked.

As the third lash landed he closed his eyes, and all sound was blocked out for a few seconds, as his body and mind struggled to assimilate and deal with the torture. He felt the skin on his back start to part due to the action of those small pieces of metal.

"See Stelio, he's got spirit too. I told you the next few days should provide us with some entertainment. Much more than we would have got if we killed him straight away."

Iolaus opened pain fogged eyes and spat at Marius' feet.

With the fourth blow the hunter felt the blood start to flow, to run wetly down his back, and the bile rose hotly in his throat, almost choking him. He ground his teeth together and clenched his jaws, frantically trying not to give in to the reaction to vomit. He concentrated on locking eyes with Marius, projecting his hatred and rage
through his glowing orbs, battling hopelessly to separate mind from body, to ignore the continuing torment, as he had been taught by his eastern mentor, but the pain was too intense. He finally gave up the struggle and concentrated on enduring as best he could.

What followed was a nightmare of anticipation and agony. In the end he screamed, as they had said he would, as deep down he had known all along he would, but it was the only way to survive such torment. He voiced loud, incoherent shouts to relieve his suffering, until he was hoarse and his vocal cords felt raw. However, he refused to beg for mercy, no matter how often they paused and asked, or how often they promised him this misery would end. He hung onto his pride with grim determination, it was the only thing that allowed him to withstand this affliction,
knowing that he could deny them this small thing.

He passed out several times, only to be revived as cold water was thrown over his naked back sending shivering signals of distress up and down the nerves of his spine. Hands tangled in his hair dragging his head backwards to allow brutal slaps to be administered to his face. Finally, when he thought he *really* could stand no more, when he was prepared to give them *anything* as long as they would stop, the welcome darkness of oblivion descended to claim him.

**********************************************************************

Hercules sat in the tavern, large hands encircling a tankard of water, a worried frown creasing his brow. His friend was late, which was not altogether unknown, Iolaus sometimes got distracted if he'd found a good fishing spot or a willing woman. But, he was now nearly a day late, and the demi-god's initial slight worry was rapidly escalating into full scale anxiety. At that moment Xena came striding through the tavern's door, pausing for a moment as she quickly scanned the room. Her gaze
finally located Hercules and she hurried over.

"There's no sign of him, nothing at all, and no-one in the village has seen him," she said, sitting down opposite him. "Are you sure he got the message?"

Hercules nodded distractedly, his eyes turning deeper blue with concern. "Yes, he sent a reply by the same man to say he'd meet us here either late last night or early this morning, depending on the conditions on the roads."

The meeting had been the warrior princess' idea. Gabrielle had returned to her sister's in Potaderia, to attend the birth of her first niece. Xena, unable to stand the inactivity in the small village had, at Gabrielle's insistence left to investigate some rumours she had heard, of bandits and slavers operating from a mountain stronghold somewhere between Eigo and Patra. On the day before she left Gaby had rather forcefully informed Xena that if *she* could not accompany the warrior
princess then Hercules and Iolaus must. Xena had argued long and hard with the bard, until at last Gaby had threatened to pack and leave immediately. Finally, in exasperation the warrior princess had agreed, only to find that Gaby had already sent a message on to Hercules who was visiting Iphicles and Rena.

Xena had travelled down to Corinth to meet with Hercules. The demi-god wasn't quite sure how his previously headstrong and intractable brother had managed the metamorphosis into such an artful and diplomatic ruler, but he suspected that Rena's calming influence had something to do with the change in Iphicles. Their characters complemented each other perfectly, Iphicles overt power and aggression tempered by Rena's quiet strength and tact.

Hercules had readily agreed to accompany the warrior princess because, although he enjoyed visiting his half brother, life at court and the political games played there always exhausted him.

He was constantly being approached by people who asked him to put in a good word or present a certain argument to his brother, or who were seeking an introduction to the power players of the court. He had always found it difficult to say no to people seeking help, so he tended to spend a lot of time trying to hide from various councillors, advisors, nobles, war leaders and assorted servants. After several days he started to feel that he was being hunted by a pack of hounds. No sooner had he escaped one well intentioned group of people than he would turn around and fall over another! The demi-god would have found it easier to avoid
these groups if they had not all really had the best intentions of king and kingdom at heart. There was remarkably little vicious political intrigue in Corinth, and what did exist was of the point scoring variety. Iphicles was determined to follow the example set by Jason and was a fair ruler thus tending to inspire loyalty and respect amongst his subjects.

However, Hercules did try to stay as far removed from court business as possible. His relationship with his half-brother was now much closer than it had been for years, but he still did not want to appear as if he was interfering in Iphicles life in any way, as he knew how fragile their newly established closeness could be. Xena's appearance, therefore, had been a very welcome diversion and he had dispatched a fast messenger to Iolaus, in Thebes, inviting him along. The friends had intended to meet in Eigo and journey to Patra together.

The three of them had put past history behind them and had forged a new friendship based on mutual respect of each others abilities. They still had the odd difficult moment when old wounds and jealousies would surface, but on the whole, the friendship was a strong one. Xena was as concerned about the missing Iolaus as Hercules was.

"Look, Hercules," she said taking in his worried countenance, and the way he was toying idly with the empty tankard, "there's no point in us staying here any longer. We can leave a message with the innkeeper for Iolaus to wait for us if he turns up. Let's scout the road back towards Thebes to see if we can find him. The bandits can wait until later."

They headed out from Eigo barely half an hour later. The innkeeper had the message and had been rewarded with a fairly large tip for his services. It was a beautiful sunny, crisp winter's afternoon as they left the village. They both wore thick winter cloaks, Xena riding Argo, at a gentle canter and Hercules running alongside her, with the ground breaking pace he could keep up all day.

The sun was just beginning descend from the sky, and dusky twilight falling, as Xena reined in Argo. Hercules stopped beside her, pushing sweat dampened chestnut hair out of his eyes, before raising an enquiring glance to her face as she intently studied the terrain to the side of the road.

"There's some evidence of broken bushes and what looks like tracks that may have been brushed out over there." She pointed before dismounting and leading Argo off to the left of the road. Hercules tried not to get his hopes up. They had travelled fast, and covered a lot of ground that afternoon, stopping frequently to investigate many other places, but none had led to Iolaus, or showed any sign of the hunter's passing.

As they approached the spot Hercules could see that she was right. A number of people had clearly passed this point heading deeper into the woods. They scouted quickly around before following the badly disguised tracks deeper into the scrub. The path was fairly narrow, twisting and turning back on itself, before the vegetation became less dense as it gave way to form a small and sheltered clearing.

As they breached the edge of the clearing they noted with some trepidation the signs of an obviously serious struggle. A small camp fire in the centre had been kicked and trampled, the wood that had been gathered to feed the fire was scattered, the ground was clearly churned up, and the signs of flattened vegetation showed that whoever had been ambushed had put up a strenuous fight to avoid capture.

They glanced worriedly at each other. "You take the perimeter, I'll check around the centre," said Hercules.

Xena dropped Argo's reins and warily padded around the outside of the clearing, looking for signs to indicate in which direction the attackers had left. Hercules cautiously moved towards the centre, eyes scanning the ground, occasionally stooping to check something.

He noted, as he moved towards the scattered fire, two rather large patches of blood clearly visible on the grass. Whoever had been ambushed had done some serious damage to his attackers, the demi-god thought gratefully, or ... he finally admitted reluctantly, been badly injured in the fight. He shoved that thought hurriedly away.

Xena had reach the opposite side of the clearing where her eyes were drawn to some disturbed piles of leaves. She crouched down to examine the vegetation. Some twigs of the bushes were broken and.... looking closer she saw some small scraps of clothing and woollen threads tangled in the bushes. Apparently several people had passed here, then she saw someone had made a more successful attempt to brush out a number of footprints leading away from the road and up into the foothills.

She heard the sharp hiss of an indrawn breath from behind her and straightened, whirling and drawing her sword in one smooth motion, only to see Hercules kneeling by the scattered wood for the fire clutching something in his right hand.

"What is it? What have you found?" she asked urgently as she ran towards him, sheathing the sword.

He turned a stricken expression towards her, and slowly held out his hand. Sitting on his palm was Iolaus' green medallion. "He'd never take it off willingly," he said. "Iolaus must have been either unconscious or dead."

"Dead is unlikely. There's no body and no evidence of anyone being buried here. And no bandit would carry off a dead body, unless it was one of their own," she declared with certainty. "There are tracks over there leading up into the foothills," she nodded over her shoulder. "They're not too disturbed and can't be more than a day maybe a day and a half old."

Hercules looked around, despair clearly visible in his eyes. The sun had almost sunk below the horizon, the sky was a threatening dark grey, with heavy looking clouds closing in from the west. "It'll be dark soon. I can't afford to make a mistake and lose them. I'm not a good enough tracker to follow a trail like that in bad light," he stated in a strained voice.

Xena turned slightly and whistled to Argo, who obediently trotted over. "I am," she said with confidence. She rummaged around in the packs for a few moments before pulling out a bottle of oil and a woollen shift, which she began methodically to rip into long strips. The face she turned to Hercules was grim, the blue eyes blazing with anger. "It looks like there's a storm coming. Those clouds look menacing and it really does smell like snow. We have to continue or we may lose the tracks. It'll be much slower by night but at least we won't lose any more time."

Hercules smiled in gratitude as he searched the clearing for suitable branches to make torches.

*********************************************************************

Iolaus regained consciousness just as dawn was breaking. His head was slumped forward, chin almost resting on his chest. He slowly raised his head and noted the subdued winter light that penetrated the timber shutters over the window, sending a shaft of cold blue across the floor of the main room. Iolaus could see motes of dust in the beam of light and was momentarily distracted by watching them dance and drift in the air. He was freezing, trembling with the cold, goose bumps standing out
over his exposed skin and he could almost taste the smell of the snow outside. The wind was howling around the stronghold, and it sounded like there was one Tartarus of a storm in progress. Slowly he became aware of the condition of his body.

The bandits had left him where he was when he passed out yesterday. He still dangled helplessly, wrists and arms suspended from the metal cuffs above his head; his shoulders and back screamed with a blazing agony, pain like he had never felt before.

He remembered when he'd finished his warrior training being warned about the possibility of torture, by the centaur. Chiron had stated, quite calmly and in a matter of fact manner, "No matter what you've heard from generals or old soldiers or what the bard's heroic epics say, *anyone* can be broken by pain. There are some mental techniques that can be used to distract the mind from what is taking place, but often you need time and concentration to be able to utilise them. If you have been captured you may not have this, also they aren't always successful against the
worst that can be devised. If the enemy is torturing you for information the only thing you can do is to lie, creatively and imaginatively, ludicrously and ridiculously until you no longer know what you are saying, because eventually, *believe* me you will tell the truth." Unfortunately, reflected Iolaus, he had had no words of wisdom to impart about what to do when your captors were torturing you simply for fun.

For a moment he tried to will himself back into a state of insensibility. He really didn't think he could hold out much longer against the bandits, especially if they produced that loathsome whip again. One sight of it and he knew he'd be reduced to begging, pleading, promising them anything if they would just not hurt him any more. 'And',
his rational mental voice insisted, 'the minute he did that he was as good as dead'. Once he caved in to that bully Marius, there would be no point in keeping him alive any longer. His sole function, as far as the bandit leader was concerned, was to provide entertainment. Once he broke and pleaded for his life, their amusement would be over, and he would die.

He glanced carefully around the room. The bandits were all still asleep. He looked down at the manacles on his ankles then tipped his head slowly backwards, stifling his moan of pain, to view the cuffs around his wrists. The chains from these cuffs led upwards, through an iron ring, which was firmly attached to a beam of the roof.

His hands were starting to swell from being kept chained so long, fingers already numb, his wrists were red raw, and thin trails of blood led down his arms. He managed once again to support his weight on his legs taking the unbearable stress off his shoulders. He moved slightly, testing the strength of the chains and manacles. 'You've really done it this time Iolaus', he thought grimly, 'there is *no way* you're getting out of this without help'. But help, unfortunately, was unlikely to
arrive any time soon.

As near as he could estimate, through a pain fogged haze, the bandits had held him captive for nearly two days. The ambush had occurred the evening before he was due to meet Hercules and Xena, the brutal battle ending when someone had sneaked up behind him and hit him over the head rendering him senseless. He could feel the lump on the back of his head throbbing dully. They had spent most of that night and part of the next morning travelling to the bandit's stronghold, again knocking him out whenever he started to regain his wits.

He thought they had started whipping him sometime yesterday afternoon and the punishment had continued well into the night, until unconsciousness had finally claimed him. Even if his friends found the site of the ambush and the tracks they were at least one maybe, given the current lousy weather conditions, two days away.

He roused from these unwelcome thoughts to realise that Marius was standing barely inches in front of him, a grin of sheer pleasure stretched across his face. "Wake up boys," he shouted. "Let's eat and then it's time to play some more, pretty boy has woken up."

Something in Iolaus cracked at that point. The inflection Marius put on the words 'pretty boy' and the accompanying lewd leer were beginning to grate, and without thinking he snapped his head quickly forward, connecting solidly with Marius' nose. He was satisfied to hear the man howl, which almost compensated for the screaming torment he had inflicted on his shoulders and back to accomplish the movement.

Marius wiped his right his hand across his nose, smearing the blood across his face and fingers. Then he rested his hand lightly on Iolaus' shoulder before running his fingers diagonally across the warrior's muscled chest and down to the top of his leather trousers, leaving a bloody trail behind. He took a step closer still, reached around and cupped Iolaus' buttocks tightly, pulling the hunter into close contact
with his body.

Leaning nearer to the blond warrior's head Marius whispered into his ear, "You are going to *suffer* for that, pretty one. We haven't seen a woman up here for months, but you'll do instead. Perhaps you should think about what you can do to please us whilst we break our fast."

Iolaus' body recoiled instinctively from Marius' obvious erection, which he could feel pressed against his belly, and a look of horror passed quickly over his face, before he shuttered his expression.

Marius stepped back, still grinning lasciviously. "You've spent so many years with that overly muscled friend of yours, accommodating *his* every whim, that I'm sure you can teach *us* all some new tricks."

The bandits closest to Marius had overheard what he said and shouted with laughter. There was a sudden bustle of activity as they surged towards the table, grabbing at the remains of the food from the previous night's meal. They started making loud and graphic comments about what they would do to the blond when it was their turn.

For a moment Iolaus was stunned, his thoughts rattling incoherently around his head, his mind refusing to accept what Marius had threatened him with. His breathing was ragged and panting, his mouth dry, skin frozen and he felt violently and wretchedly sick. His blood seemed to be pounding around his body at twice the normal speed, pulses and heart beating wildly, making his muscles tremble and quiver.

The warrior realised with a start that he was on the verge of complete and utter panic. He ruthlessly fought to regain command of his body and repress his feelings of revulsion and horror. He shut his eyes tightly, fighting to control his breathing, counting breaths in and out, consciously blocking out the sound of the bandit's voices. He knew with a bleak certainty that he was not going to be able to escape, even if he *could* get his hands and feet loose he was in no position to put up any
sort of fight. He had hardly any time before they would be coming for him again.

A small part of his mind whimpered in fear and terror, whilst that hateful, rational voice insisted that *all* he had to do was to survive a little longer. He *had* to give his friends time to track the bandits, reach the stronghold and find him, but his thoughts skittered helplessly away from what he might have to endure to buy more time.

His awareness returned to his immediate surroundings as Stelio and the man who had wielded the whip unlocked his wrists. The pain was so intense as he tried to lower his abused arms that his vision blurred and greyed out, and his knees buckled, unable to support his weight. He dropped to lie face down on the floor feeling the dampness of the earth start to seep into his skin. So cold, if only he could distance himself from what was happening, if he could be that numb. He had a moment's peace before they dragged his arms behind him, laughing as a tormented groan escaped his lips, before once again securing the cuffs.

"I want to have some fun before we make him beg," muttered Stelio as he moved to stand in front of Iolaus. The man with the cold grey eyes tangled one hand in the hunter's hair and locked the other around the cuffed wrists, dragging Iolaus back onto his knees. The hunter gasped slightly as the pain shot from his mangled wrists up his arms, and his eyes watered involuntarily at the cruel grasp in his hair.

Stelio stepped closer, drew back his fist and smashed it into Iolaus' face. The blow caught him across the right cheekbone, drawing blood as the ring his tormentor wore scratched brutally into his skin. The man with the cold grey eyes laughed, and hoisting the warrior to his feet, shoved him across the floor into the arms of a third member of the gang. Iolaus staggered, the chain linking the manacles on his ankles impeding his movements. The bandit held him at arm's length, delivering a hard
punch to his stomach before spinning Iolaus around and propelling him towards another of the men.

A second jab caught him across the face, smashing against his nose, causing his eyes to water again and the red blood to flow hotly. He reeled backwards, fighting to keep his feet, and was caught from behind, his back brushing painfully against someone's clothing. Strong hands clasped his arms at the elbows, as another of the men approached from the front and delivered several rapid and furiously hard thumps to his stomach.

Iolaus heard the blows connect with his body and the explosion of breath from his lungs that occurred with every punch. He could see the blood spattering his bare chest, as it dripped down from his face, yet he was only vaguely aware of the increased pain. It all seemed so remote, as if he was watching someone else endure this. He thought he was probably slipping into shock. He saw the expressions of glee on the faces of the men as they continued to deliver their systematic beating, and heard the sound of their wicked laughter.

As his body bent forwards, in a feeble attempt to offer some protection to his vulnerable stomach, the man standing in front of him grabbed his hair, jerking his head upwards once more. The man smiled maliciously down at him, "Not so tough now, are we," he murmured, before raising his knee to deliver an excruciating blow to Iolaus' groin.

The bandit holding him released his arms and he collapsed to the floor, curling in on himself, knees drawn up to chest, retching dryly as the unholy blaze of pain radiated outwards along every single nerve through his entire body. He struggled to breathe, sucking gulps of air into his lungs, knowing that to do so would eventually ease the pain.

He heard movements, and saw feet appear in his field of vision, as he felt a kick land on his lower back, sending a new wave of agony through his body. He felt more kicks land simultaneously, on his legs, chest and back. His mind and body became conscious only of the unending abuse he was enduring.

He retched again, desperately praying to any god who might have been listening to grant him the benefit of unconsciousness. His vision swam, becoming hazy, first reddish and then grey. 'Thank the gods', he thought as fingers of blackness reached up to claim him.

************************************************************************

Iolaus was dragged from his insensate state as cold water was thrown over him, again. A stubborn voice within his mind wished that they would just *stop* doing that, he was getting really tired of being cold and wet. He'd no idea how long he'd been unconscious but, by the feel of his aching body, it was not nearly long enough. He didn't have the strength of will to move, let alone stand at the moment, so he lay on the damp earth of the floor, waiting patiently to see what would happen next.

"What's the matter, pretty boy? Have we knocked the fight out of you?," Marius enquired looking down on the body sprawled at his feet. He nudged the hunter with the toe of his boot to see whether there would be any reaction. The body didn't move.

"Right boys, get him up," he stated taking a couple of steps backwards.

'Oh Hades', thought Iolaus. 'Here we go again'.

Two separate pairs of hands grabbed his arms and dragged him roughly to his feet, his legs scrabbling frantically before they were able to bear his weight. The hands released him and he reeled dizzily for a few moments before gaining his balance and standing, somewhat shakily, unaided. He absently noted that the manacles had been removed from his ankles, filing that fact away for when it may be of use.

The hunter was amazed to find that he could stand at all. Every muscle in his body appeared to be screaming in anguish. His back and shoulders blazed with pain, the muscles of his arms cramped and spasmed from being chained for so long, he could no longer feel his hands but his wrists throbbed with a bone deep ache. Glancing down at his bare chest he discovered he was covered in scratches and bruises and spattered with dried blood, which had run slightly due to the water.

His legs trembled and he could feel the result of additional kicks that the bandits must have delivered after he passed out. His face was aching and his left eye swollen seriously enough to obscure his vision. His nose was blocked, probably broken, and he was forced to breathe through his mouth, but even this was painful as his lips were badly parched and split. The bandits had offered him no water since his capture and he recognised the signs of dehydration beginning to set in.

Slowly he became aware of a searing pain in his side and chest accompanying every breath in and out. 'Ribs', he thought, 'at best cracked, at worst broken and several of them too, by the feel of it'. His stomach was so sore he was having difficulty in standing straight. The beating they had given him had been supremely efficient and effective. He must make an extremely satisfying sight, bloody and
battered as he was, for Marius and his gang. All he *wanted* to do was curl into a small ball on the floor and whimper until the darkness of Hypnus returned. Instead, he tilted his chin obstinately, forced his beaten body erect, squared his shoulders and shook the shock of blond hair out of his eyes. Big mistake - even that slight movement hurt.

He looked quickly to the left and right and was unsurprised to find the men who had hauled him erect were Stelio and the man with the cold grey eyes. Marius stood directly in front of him, with the remains of the gang ranged either side of him. He raised his eyes to meet Marius' brown ones once more, to note satisfaction and anticipation there. Gods he was exhausted, when *would* they finally get tired of this?

He registered unwillingly that the mood within the room had changed. The atmosphere was charged with expectation, the air almost seeming to crackle with tension. The men were now completely silent, the time for conversation and joking past, like a starving wolf pack who had finally caught the scent of fresh blood and were preparing to move in for the kill.

He glanced at the faces of the bandits, one by one, meeting their eyes individually, forcing them to acknowledge his presence. He recognised the looks of unbridled lust that he saw there. Their eyes glittered back coldly, pupils dilated in the subdued light. They all looked edgy, bodies held rigid and muscles gleaming tautly in the light of the flickering fire and candles. No mercy showed in any of their faces. One of the men stirred restlessly as Iolaus' gaze passed over him, a second exhaled loudly as, finally, the hunter released the men and turned his attention to the bandit leader. He looked at Marius and saw him lick his lips in contemplation of what was about to occur.

Stelio shoved the hunter roughly forwards. He swayed slightly as his blood spattered body came to rest against that of the bandit leader. Marius' hand tangled in the warrior's bloody and damp hair, yanking his head backwards, causing the blond's throat to arch. His other hand circled Iolaus' waist and slid to his buttocks drawing his body closer still. Iolaus could feel Marius' erection brush hotly against his belly. The bandit leader leaned down, his foul breath enveloping the warrior as
his lips closed over the bruised mouth. Marius' tongue forced its way past Iolaus' teeth, to plunder that sweet sanctuary.

The hunter battled for control as every primitive instinct screamed at him to fight, to bite, to kick, to do anything to stop what was occurring, however futile such a struggle would ultimately be. The rational part of his mind seemed to have developed a mantra like chant all of its own, don't react, keep calm, don't react, keep calm.

After a few moments Marius drew back, a puzzled expression on his face and the beginnings of anger in his eyes as he looked at the battered warrior standing quiescent within the circle of his arms. The lack of response infuriated him. His fingers released their hold in the blond's hair as he grasped Iolaus' chin twisting his head upwards to peer closely into his intended victim's face.

The hunter's azure eyes returned his gaze, apparently staring straight through him, intently looking at something that only he could see, his features lacking any expression. Marius scowled unable to conceive that the warrior could elude him at last.

Iolaus believed for a moment that he'd done it, that he'd succeeded. Focusing past Marius and refusing to concede what was happening, he thought that he'd managed to pull his mind away from the present and find a safe haven. Then Marius reached for him again, his hands fumbling for the fastenings at the top of the hunter's leather trousers and Iolaus' rigid control disintegrated.

His vacant expression slipped, his wild blue eyes blazing with hatred and disgust at Marius. Uttering a feral snarl, the hunter quickly raised a knee, putting all the force he could muster behind the attack, trying to catch the bandit leader in the groin. He slammed his head forwards hoping to connect with that hateful face once more and to hear the nose shatter. Unfortunately Iolaus realised that he had underestimated the speed of Marius' reflexes. The bulky body dodged quickly backwards, easily avoiding the blows. The bandit must have foreseen his reaction. He also realised he'd miscalculated badly as his own body wobbled, thrown off balance for a moment.

"Ha, I knew there was some fight left in you yet!" Marius exclaimed in triumph stepping in closer, once again, to backhand Iolaus brutally across the face causing the hunter to fall to the floor. He landed awkwardly, unable to use his arms to break his fall and was momentarily winded.

"Hold him down and strip him, Stelio," Marius growled.

Iolaus was barely conscious of hands holding his shoulders as the remainder of his clothing was stripped roughly from him. He felt the panic rise again and twisted frantically from side to side, trying to shake the hands from their grasp on his body, completely unaware of the fact that he was grinding his bloodied back into the dirt floor. He didn't register the pain from his wounds any more, it wasn't important
enough. Someone leaned heavily on his shoulders, his arms were trapped
uselessly beneath him and still chained. So, he used the only weapon he had and kicked wildly, recklessly trying to make contact, to hurt someone badly, until finally hands grasped his ankles dragging his legs apart.

The bandit leader loomed darkly above him as he knelt between Iolaus' spread thighs. Marius lay full length upon him, forcing him to submit to his nakedness, as the pressure of his erection rested against the hunter's groin. Iolaus went berserk, his body bucking and convulsing like a trapped wild animal as he fought in dumb, choking terror, until he lay exhausted, heart thudding against his ribs.

"You don't know how long I've been waiting for this," Marius crowed in triumph as he rose again to his knees and reached out to coat his erect cock with oil.

Iolaus' eyes were dilated, appearing almost black in the shadowy light, as he shook his head dumbly in denial. Marius grasped him roughly by the hips, fingers digging into the lightly tanned flesh, leering down at the vulnerable and defenceless form under him. He rammed into the hunter's golden body, feeling the muscles tear, howling at the success of his conquest as he heard Iolaus scream in agony.

The hunter twisted hopelessly, trying to escape the searing pain that felt like a knife stabbing into his vital organs. What had gone before was *nothing* compared to this.

Marius bent low over the body beneath him, releasing his cruel grasp on the hunter's hips and moving his hands to tangle once again in the silky golden hair, holding the thrashing head still. He leaned in closer to the hunter, face only inches away from his prey.

The brown eyes met blue before the hunter closed his eyes. Iolaus heard the bandit leader's voice through the dull roaring in his ears.

"Say it, pretty boy, I know you like this, after all it's what you and your big friend do, isn't it? You want it don't you, just ask, that's all you have to do, just say please, and I'll make sure no-one else hurts you..."

There was a pause, and Marius found himself waiting, stopping all his movements and holding his breath in expectation of the hunter's reply.

Iolaus opened his moisture flooded eyes looking up at Marius as if he were his saviour, his redeemer and protector. "Yes......," the words emerged as a gasp, almost a broken sob.

The bandit leaned down again, gloating in the surrender offered, revelling in his final mastery of the hunter. He hadn't expected his conquest to be so fast, or Iolaus to yield so suddenly. He decided that he didn't want to hear his quarry beg, not quite yet. His lips again captured the swollen lips of the hunter, sensing his absolute dominance as he felt his captive's mouth open.

Suddenly the blue eyes became as cold as ice, slanting and turning into those of a fiend. Iolaus bit down hard on Marius' lower lip, teeth sinking into and through vulnerable flesh as he tasted the metallic tang of blood. The bandit leader yelled in surprise. Iolaus shook his head viciously, like a dog worrying a bone, gratified to feel the sensation of delicate skin tearing and hear Marius' howls of pain.

His victory was short lived. Strong hands grasped his jaws, forcing him to loosen his hold. As he released Marius' lip and the bandit reared up above him, one hand clamped to his injured mouth, Iolaus spat straight into the man's chest.

"I'll *never* ask you for mercy, you butchering bastard," he ground out before another backhanded slap made the world spin away, sending jagged arcs of light into his aching head.

Marius resumed his brutal thrusts, as if delivering death blows to an enemy, his breath coming in harsh gasps until his hatred burst into the supine body beneath him.

The bandit lay still for a moment, until his breathing returned to normal then he pulled himself roughly from Iolaus, grabbing a cloth to wipe himself clean. He looked down at the unresponsive body at his feet.

"Tie him down, Stelio, I think it's time the rest of you had some fun," he said to the gang.

The tall bandit dragged Iolaus over to the table against the far wall, pushing him face down so the blond's chest, hips and head rested on the rough timber planking. Stelio tangled a hand in the damp golden hair, jerking Iolaus' head back to drop a thickish, coarse rope around his neck. Then he reached across the prone body to tie the rope to a hook protruding from the wall. He stood back to admire his handiwork, glancing first at the motionless warrior, before turning to grin at the
rest of the men.

"Get on with it Stelio," growled Marius.

Stelio once again stepped close to Iolaus, roughly kicking the warriors' legs apart, before kneeling and, using the belts from Iolaus' trousers, tied his ankles to the legs of the table, effectively immobilising him."Who goes first?" queried Stelio, looking to his leader for instructions, as the rest of the gang fidgeted in nervous anticipation,
drawing closer to the body on the table.

"I suggest you draw straws," muttered Marius before turning away leaving his men to their amusements.

Deep within his consciousness, Iolaus' mind screamed in horror and rage at the acts being perpetrated on his unresisting body. He finally pulled his awareness away from the present; sinking into the past he conjured a vision of Ania, carefully recreating every moment they had spent together, every word they had spoken, every night they had slept in each other's arms.

**********************************************************************

He returned from the realm of Hypnus and dreams of his dead wife, to be dragged once again reluctantly to the present. The gang had finished with him for the moment, thank the gods. He recognised that he had finally reached the end of his endurance. His body had been pushed beyond all the limits of its physical tolerance and his mental reserves were exhausted.

His skin burned feverishly and he knew his wounds were probably infected. Every breath he tried to draw sent lancing tendrils of agony through his chest and down his back. His mind shied away from what had happened to him most recently. There was no point in thinking about it, there was nothing he could do about it now, it was over for the moment. But.... if they came back, if any of them came near him again..... he simply did not have the strength to resist them any longer.

His hopes of rescue were shattered beyond repair, his friends were not going to get here in time to help him. He felt a deep sorrow that he would be unable to bid Hercules and Xena farewell, and an abiding sadness that they should find his body so abused.

Iolaus recalled once again how he had discovered Hercules sitting outside his farmstead on that fateful day after Hera had killed Deianeira and the children. He could still see the look of anguish on the demi-god's face as he had recounted the events of the previous night. The hunter had heard the catch in Hercules' voice, seen the anguish in the demi-god's face, and known his friend was very close to
losing his sanity. He had vowed then to wage war on Hera, hoping that his commitment would help to ease the demi-god's pain, but Hercules had rebuffed the offer. He remembered almost pleading with the larger man, recalled his words with amazing clarity, "I can't just walk away.....I'm your friend." At the time he had struggled not to show the rejection he felt, trying to mask his feelings as Hercules had turned and left him standing there. He now understood, from later conversations, that the demi-god had been terrified that Hera might strike out at him, the other half of Hercules' soul.

He didn't want to see his friend and lover have to endure that sort of grief again. He knew that Hercules would blame himself for what had occurred here, his friend always took the responsibilities of the world on his broad shoulders. He wished there was some way he could remove the guilt that the demi-god was sure to carry to his grave. The hunter remembered Hercules telling him once, "The people in my life get killed, that's the price they pay for my friendship and love." It had taken him
a long time to convince Hercules that the risk was worth taking and that the hunter's safety did not rest solely in the hands of the demi-god, or his malicious family.

His one hope was that with Xena present at least Hercules might be able to grieve. Xena would understand, and would try to offer what help she could. She and Hercules had been close once and he had envied that closeness, especially since his own relationship with the warrior princess had ended disastrously, but now he was grateful. Maybe his friend would be able to share his emotions with Xena and not push her away, as he had with Iolaus when his family were killed.

He trawled through his memories for anything that might ease his passing. He recalled once more, the year spent in the east after Ania's death and the mentor who had taught him. His mentor, a kindly old man, had shown the blond warrior how to attain deep trances, and reach a true meditative state, as a way of coping with his grief.

He had also hinted at a technique to separate mind and soul from the physical plain, to block the bodies pain completely, but warned against using it, as such a connection once broken could not always be re-established. Iolaus, ever curious, had badgered other students and masters for more information, and finally had found a book that explained the basics. He had just finished reading it, and thought he understood the method by which it was possible to totally disengage the
emotions and self awareness, when his mentor had found him. The old man's obvious disappointment in the hunter, and the extended lecture that followed, had ensured that Iolaus did not pursue his line of enquiry out of respect for the older man's feelings.

Well, he wasn't going to die fast, he knew Marius would draw out his death as long and painfully as possible. He also still didn't want to give his captors the satisfaction of seeing him beg, not now, not after all he had endured at their hands. So he didn't really have any options. Now he had at least a few moments respite he should use the time well. Keeping his eyes closed and his breathing regular and slow he began.

He sent his thoughts spiralling down, endeavouring to find the blackness of the void, pulling his mind and emotions in. He concentrated on blocking out the sounds of the bandits muted conversation. Turning his attention further inwards, he sought the centre of his being.

He imagined himself standing on a cold and icy plain, with chilling winds whipping around his unprotected body. Now he needed to create a sanctuary, somewhere he would be safe. He envisaged constructing an impenetrable wall around the essence of his self. Brick by solid brick he built the black wall, checking carefully to see that no chink of light could penetrate, no chill breeze gain entry and no ounce of self
awareness escape. Slowly the wall grew in height, until it reached over his head. He imagined creating a solid roof to cover the wall until he was finally encased safely within.

Once the shelter was complete to his satisfaction he then visualised it being covered by layer upon layer of ice and snow. Breathe in, ice, snow and the void, ...... breathe out, ice, snow and the void, ..... breathe in ice ....... snow ...... and the void, ....... breathe out..... He repeated the mantra again and again and again. By the time they finally came for him he was no longer conscious of his surroundings.

**********************************************************************

The promise portended by the thick, fluffy grey clouds Hercules had noted when they discovered the clearing had finally been delivered several hours before midnight. The temperature had begun to drop in the early evening as the companions left the site of the ambush to start tracking the bandits. Their humid breath formed small, moisture laden clouds in front of their faces as they climbed slowly into the foothills, carefully following the tracks.

Xena led the way, pausing and stooping to check something every so often, Hercules followed on behind leading Argo. At this stage of their hunt tracing the bandit's trail wasn't so difficult. Once they had moved away from the clearing it was obvious the gang had decided not to try to hide their tracks. Footprints, hoof prints and trampled vegetation could clearly be seen, imprinted into the soft damp earth. However, as they moved higher into the hills the vegetation grew less dense and the ground became harder, making the trail more difficult for Hercules to spot. Thankfully Xena seemed to have no problems. Neither of them spoke, their full attention was on moving as fast as possible in pursuit of their quarry.

As twilight darkened slowly into the grey of night the snow storm finally struck. It arrived not violently, but rather approached stealthily with the silence and deadliness of a raider in the night. Hercules watched as small delicate flakes of snow fell, to land on Xena's black cloak and melt within the midnight mass of her hair. The light the snowflakes refracted, for the moment before they disappeared,
seeming to give the illusion that the warrior princess' hair was adorned with small diamonds. The demi-god began to worry, should the storm get worse, would Xena be able to follow the trail, or might the tracks be obscured?

As the moon began her slow and dignified ascendancy into the night sky the snow fell faster, the flakes becoming bigger and heavier, drifting down softly from the dark sky. 'So beautiful and graceful', thought Hercules, 'but so dangerous'.

He wondered for a moment whether this was another trial sent by one of the gods. Demeter may have been upset with him about the deal he had made on Persephone's behalf, but he thought the goddess of the Earth had since become reconciled, especially as she could see the obvious love that Hades bore for her daughter. 'No, this wasn't divine intervention, this was just winter', he decided resolutely before pushing the thought away

By the time the moon had reached her zenith she cast a silvery glow over a white sheath which mantled the landscape. The snow was thick and deep and showed no signs of melting, an icy crust beginning to form over the delicate white mass. The temperature had dropped so low that the moisture which leaked from Hercules' eyes due to the bright reflection of the moon's light, froze as it spilled down his cheeks. He reflected that the one blessing they had had so far was that although they battled against a trail which was difficult to follow, and the double impact of
snow and cold, at *least* there was no wind.

An hour later he was wishing he'd not tempted fate. A blizzard encased the two figures as they struggled onwards. The wind gusted and blew violently around them, whipping their cloak's away from their bodies, and disturbing the settled snow, so that a haze of white almost obscured their vision. The snow was falling faster and the gentle flakes were now intermingled with smaller chunks of solid ice. Hercules nearly ran over Xena, not noticing for a moment that she had stopped. Her hair whipped wildly around her face as she turned to yell at Hercules.

"We have to find some shelter, and sit this out for a while. We're going to be blundering about blind if we don't take a rest. Even I can't track in these conditions."

Hercules nodded dispiritedly, recognising the truth in what she said. They were both shivering with cold, skin turning icy. If they didn't get out of this quickly they would be in real trouble and be of no use to Iolaus whatsoever.

Fortunately, within fifteen minutes of taking the decision to stop Hercules noted a small, circular enclosure of stones off to their left. On closer examination this turned out to be an ancient and ruined livestock pen. The old, thick stone walls were about six feet high around three quarters of the circumference of the circle, and had only
crumbled over the last quarter. The area enclosed was adequate to shelter the two companions and Argo from the worst depredations of the storm.

They hurriedly stepped over the ruins of the wall, pulling Argo into the central area after them. They had no dry firewood, and even if they had trying to light a fire in these conditions would have been hopeless. So they huddled together against one of the taller walls, wrapped in the cloaks and extra blankets which Xena had carried in her packs, with Argo lying in front of them to provide an additional barrier to the snow.

Both of them were exhausted from battling against the twin nightmares of the cold and wind for so long. Xena snuggled within the circle of the demi-god's sheltering arms, head pillowed on his shoulder.

"He'll be alright, Hercules. We *will* find him tomorrow, I promise you," her voice was low and husky, showing obvious signs of fatigue.

"Try to get some sleep, Xena, I'll keep watch. I need you to be rested to follow the tracks."

She nodded wearily, and Hercules realised within a few quick breaths that she was asleep. He studied the face below him, now relaxed and serene in sleep, all lines removed and felt the loosening of her muscles as the tension and rigidity eased from her frame. It was one of the few occasions he'd ever seen the warrior princess look vulnerable. Normally her expression was one of caution and vigilance, her body usually held warily ready for any attack.

He pondered why his companions always found it so easy to sleep in his presence. Iolaus was exactly the same ....... No,..... don't follow that thought, not now, ....... but it was too late. It was that time of night, or rather the early small hours of the morning when humanity is at its weakest. The time when Celestra most often came to escort mortals to the Underworld, to ease their passing over. His thoughts slanted
darkly downwards.

This was futile, he lectured himself, utterly hopeless, there was *nothing* he could to help Iolaus at the moment. He should rest, so that in the coming day they could find the hunter and rescue him from whoever detained him. He would *not* think about this, .... not now, .... but his mind was already pre-occupied. He tried to wrench his thoughts away, ..... but was unsuccessful. He sat stoically through the blizzard, his mind despairingly engrossed in conjuring up the very worst scenarios
that could have happened to the hunter.

**********************************************************************
The winds had calmed somewhat by morning, although the snow continued to fall and the companions awoke to a world blanketed in white. They broke their fast and struck camp rapidly, then Xena scouted ahead again to find what remained of the tracks of the bandits. Hercules panicked a little whilst studying the surrounding landscape. The snow was deep and thick, the vegetation sparse, how could the warrior princess possibly pursue the bandits through this? They were both acutely conscious of the fact that Iolaus had been in his captors hands for the best part of
two days now.

The demi-god realised after half an hour that he should have had more faith in Xena's skills. He was amazed at her ability to follow what little evidence remained of the bandits passing. But she reacted like a hound on the trail, always certain of her movements, never giving up, never faltering, but their progress was painfully slow. Her focus was absolute, and the demi-god was determined to do nothing to break that concentration, so he remained silent, following the path she set and
maintaining his pace.

It had taken them almost the remains of the day to locate the bandits stronghold, a large stone house, located in a sheltered bowl high in the hills. They approached quietly in the late afternoon twilight, as snow and a moderate wind swirled around them. The storm had started again, an hour ago, and looked set to worsen. Argo had been left further down in the woods, well away from where the jingle of a harness strap could alert anyone to their presence. They had completed a circuit of the house, puzzled at the lack of guards and now met to briefly plan their attack. These men were either supremely confident, their confidence obviously misplaced, or they were fools. What could have caused them to abandon even the smallest attempt at security?

Hercules looked at Xena in the soft light. "Well, no guards and only one entrance and one window. That keeps things nice and simple."

"I'll take the window at the back, it's shuttered but should give easily," she replied, gazing intently at Hercules, her eyes blazing bright blue, with a promise of destruction for any who blocked her way. "The big door looks more your size."

He nodded and they separated, each hoping they would still find Iolaus alive, although by now they both feared the worst.

The wooden door splintered and burst inwards, almost breaking off its hinges, as Hercules threw his full strength against it. He was relieved to hear Xena's screamed challenge, as the shutters parted to admit her somersaulting body. She landed neatly on her feet facing the centre of the room and smoothly drew her sword. The bandits were scattered around, most sleeping, except for two men standing near a table against the wall.

Forward to Chapter Two

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