Atalanta and Telamon brought their horses around. Neither of them had even broken a sweat. Hylas held out a hand and lifted Danae to her feet. She was glad he didn’t let go straight away. Without his arm, she didn’t know if she would have remained upright.
“Any injuries?” called Dolos as he trotted over with Heracles’s horse in tow. The healer looked down at Danae. “Are you all right, Daeira?”
“Fine,” she said, wiping the blood from the front of her dress. “Who were they?”
“Bandits,” said Heracles as he climbed back onto his steed.
“People aren’t as respectful of your kind in these parts,” said Telamon to Danae. “Coin is coin no matter how holy the purse.”
“It’s the temple tithes,” said Hylas. “People are starving and desperate.”
“Well, I had fun,” said Heracles. “Shall we?”
Hylas lifted Danae back onto their horse, then remounted himself. Heracles trotted out in front of the pack and they set off, leaving the dead bandits strewn behind them.
The hero donned his lion hide once more, lifting the roaring head over his tousled curls. As he turned his back to her, Danae’s eyes traced the breadth of his shoulders, the contours of his muscular arms as he clenched the reins. He was so magnificent part of her couldn’t believe he was real.
“Are you sure you’re all right, Daeira?”
Her gaze snapped up. Heracles was looking over his shoulder, his cerulean eyes clouded with concern.
She must have been staring. Searching for a distraction she glanced back at the slain bandits. “Shouldn’t we bury them?”
Amusement hooked the corners of Heracles’s mouth. “We’d still be digging graves back in Erymanthia if we buried everyone we killed in a fight.” He turned back to look at the path ahead.
All their souls, lost forever on the banks of the Styx. She tried not to think about it.
“It sounds callous,” said Hylas. “But you’ll get used to it.”
Danae swallowed. She hoped not.
“Where did you learn to fight like that?” she asked.
“My father. He was a soldier.”
“What does he do now?”
Hylas let out a soft sigh. “He died. There was a war, like there always is. My mother joined the Missing when I was young, so when my father didn’t come back, my aunt and uncle took me in. They needed another pair of hands on the farm, so...” He shrugged.
She thought of Arius, the smell of his head and the sound of his robust little laugh.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s just life. Worse things have happened to many. And look where I am now.”
Danae smiled. “My brothers would be so envious. When we were little, Calix insisted he was going to be a hero when he was grown. He used to make Santos dress up in a heap of Pa’s old fishing nets and pretend...” She stopped herself.
Hylas reminded her of the boys she’d grown up with. Open, honest, sun-ripened fisherman’s sons. But he was a stranger, and she didn’t know if she could trust him.
“Have you seen them, your family, since you became a seer?”
“No. Once we take the sacred oath we can’t go back.” It was true, or it would have been if she really was a seer. Danae hoped with all her soul that it would not be the same for her.
The road sprouted branches, feeding the towns and villages that lay nestled in the nooks of hills and swathes of woodland. The landscape became increasingly wild. Great chalky mountains reared into the sky, populated by herds of mountain goats. The rougher the terrain and further from civilization they traveled, the more Heracles relaxed, until the thundercloud that had hung over him as they passed Thebes dissipated.
As the horses trotted through a wild grove of poplar trees, the hero shouted back, “Telamon, tell us a joke.”
There were grumbles from the rest of the group.
