Lynceus peeked over his brother’s shoulder. “I was afraid we’d seen the last of you.”
Craning his neck, Acastus looked up. “How did you two escape that rock fall?”
“We managed to take refuge in a small stand of trees,” Lynceus said. “I don’t know about Admetus, though. We haven’t found him yet.”
Idas lay down on his belly and stretched out his arm. “Come on. Give me your hand.”
For a moment Jason hesitated. His left arm was still so sore, he doubted he could reach that high. So Acastus was pulled up first. But with all three boys helping, Jason was soon standing beside them.
Lynceus peered down at the dizzying drop. “I think we’d better find another way to get to the bottom.”
“First we need to look for Admetus,” said Jason.
Acastus shrugged. “Crushed to death? Or over the edge, like you, perhaps.”
“We have to look,” Jason insisted. Then he added, “Remember, even five is few enough.”
“Few enough for what?” Lynceus asked.
Acastus gave him an angry look, a warning to be quiet.
“Few enough to fight those centaurs, idiot,” Idas answered.
Smiling but silent, Jason turned away.
The four boys spread out over the mountainside shouting Admetus’ name, no longer worried about the harpies. Minute after minute they called, to no answer.
Jason was beginning to suspect Acastus was right. They were lucky enough that four had managed to stay alive through that rock slide. Five would be a miracle.
He touched the top of his tunic, felt the peacock feather warm beneath his hand.
Just then he heard a call.
Raising a hand for silence, in case it was a harpy, he listened carefully.
There it was again: a long, drawn-out groan. Not a harpy, then.
“It’s coming from over here,” cried Lynceus, darting to the spot.
The others gathered around a crack in the ground, about three feet wide, filled with dirt and rock. Something was stirring under the rubble.
Acastus drew his sword. “Watch out! This could be anything!”
A hand thrust up from the fissure.
“Admetus!” Jason exclaimed.
“You can’t know that,” Acastus warned.
But the others ignored him and began digging away the rocks as Jason grabbed the hand. When enough rubble was cleared away, he dragged the young prince out of the hole.
Admetus stood shakily, coughing and blinking, still holding his spear, which—miraculously—was whole.
“I fell in,” he explained, rubbing the grime from his face. “I suppose the bigger rocks bounced over me.”
Idas gave a hearty laugh and clapped Admetus on the back. “The favor of the gods must be with you, Admetus.”
“You don’t suppose it was the harpies that started that rock slide,” Lynceus wondered aloud, “you know—to get back at us.”
“I don’t think they’re that devious,” said Acastus. “Most likely it was caused by the heavy rain loosening the earth.”
“That’s probably it,” Jason agreed. But he couldn’t help remembering Hera’s feather, hot under his fingers, and he wondered if the rock slide had been a sign of her displeasure.
As soon as Admetus had had a long drink of water, they set off again, quickly reaching the lower slopes. Here trees and plants grew thickly, some well thorned, others with velvety leaves. The boys could hear small animals scurrying through the undergrowth.
Jason drew in a deep breath. The air was sweeter here.
Finding some berries, Admetus shared them around. Washed down with a swallow of water, the berries restored all their spirits, but Idas was still complaining of hunger.
“My stomach tells me that my throat has felt the knife,” he said.
“Shhh!” cautioned Lynceus. “Something’s coming.”
On the slope below, a wild goat, white with little nubbins for horns, suddenly appeared and began cropping the shrubs.
“Now that’s more like it,” whispered Idas, licking his lips.
Admetus stood slowly and raised his spear. He was still battered and weary, and his arm trembled.
“Leave this to me,” said Idas, taking the spear from him.
He fixed a keen eye on his target and drew back his arm. The spear flew straight and fast, piercing the little goat right through the middle. With a whoop, the boys ran down to where their prize lay, and Idas finished the animal off with a stroke of his sword.
They had all been trained by Chiron in how to gut a kill and strip away the beast’s hide. They were well adept at starting a fire with kindling and flints. Soon they were feasting on roasted goat meat. It was juicy, and though the beast was small, there was still plenty of meat to go around.
Idas sighed and rubbed his stomach. Then he belched.
“Loud enough,” Lynceus said, “to summon the gods!”
“This reminds me of my father’s last victory feast,” said Acastus, wiping some grease from his chin. “I ate so much I thought I would burst.”
Admetus grinned. “If you burst here, you can clean up the mess yourself!”
“You’re one to talk, Admetus,” said Lynceus. “You still look like something that just crawled out of a grave.”
Admetus held up his hands and waggled his fingers. “I am the ghostly prince of the mountains. Look on my remains and tremble.”
Everybody laughed.
Admetus flung a bare bone at them, and Lynceus ducked with a chuckle.
Jason couldn’t remember when he had last tasted anything as good as the goat’s meat. Even their plain water seemed suddenly as intoxicating as wine.
They were all reclining on the ground, almost stupefied by the meal, when Acastus looked to the west, where the sun was beginning to sink. “We need to keep moving while we still have the light,” he said, suddenly serious. “The longer we delay, the more time the centaurs have to plan their mischief.”
“Couldn’t we just digest a little longer?” Idas pleaded, sprawling on the grass.
“Acastus is right,” said Admetus. “Who knows what those brutes are up to?”
Acastus and Jason exchanged a quick, secretive glance.
“I agree,” Jason said. “We’ve fed well. Now we need to eat up the miles.” He stood, and the two princes stood with him.
Lynceus jumped up and gave his brother a kick. “Come on, greedy guts! Your belly can do its work while you walk.”
Descending through the darkening air into the valley of Hecla, they scouted for a place to camp. Suddenly Lynceus let out a low whistle and signaled the others to be quiet.
“There,” he said, “just past those trees.”
Jason peered through the branches. “What is it?”
“Men. Six of them.”
Idas crept up to look as well. “They’re lying on the ground. Are they asleep?”
Lynceus swallowed. “I don’t think so. It’s too early to be abed.”
They approached cautiously, using whatever cover they could find, their weapons at the ready. The closer they got, the more obvious it became that the six men were not sleeping. Their bodies were contorted, heads cracked open with clubs, blood everywhere. Broken spears and bent shields littered the ground. The wreckage of at least three chariots had also been scattered across the valley. There was no sign of the horses.
“Soldiers from Iolcus,” said Acastus, a catch in his voice. “See the crest on that shield.”
Jason bent to examine the ground. “Look at these hoofprints.” He pointed. “Centaurs did this.”
“Why are your father’s men up here?” Admetus asked.
“I don’t know,” Acastus answered bitterly.
Idas and Lynceus had gone over to a clump of bushes. They called to the others.
“Over here,” Idas cried, his normally ruddy face pale. “You haven’t seen the worst of it yet.”
CHAPTER 16
ALCESTIS
IDAS WAS STANDING over another body, but this one was different. He was dressed in the robes of a priest, and he did not look as if he had been in any sort of a battle. But for all that, he was just as dead as the soldiers.