The Trials of Hercules Read Online Free PDF

people in the wooded grove of Forested Park, the vigiles had tracked him to his lair. Iolalus and I were supposed to have led a team this evening to capture the beast and was why I’d donned my treaded sandals. I recall the bloody marks the tread left on the floor of my home. The taste of bile fills my mouth again at the memory. After letting the bitterness burn my tongue a moment, I force the foul substance back down.
    “I suppose it is. Take a group tomorrow. Make a feast of the thing.”
    “Is there anyone you want to see?” Iolalus asks as tears well in his eyes.
    “No.” Who would I ask for? Everyone I love is dead except for him.
    “The people always wanted you, you know that don’t you? There’s been word among the vigiles of ousting Eury and making you Solon.”
    I had heard the rumors. Several legions of Portaceae’s vigiles were said to be plotting a coup. They want to remove Eury—and I have no doubt the removal would be violent. By the laws of Portaceae, as the next oldest male in Nikos’s line I would inherit the Solonship if Eury dies. The mere mention of the coup or of anyone else being Solon is treason and I had given express orders for the men and centaurs under my command to have no part of it. We have a duty to the Solon that must be upheld regardless of how little we like the man. Had Iolalus gone against my orders?
    “A good thing they didn’t. They would have been ruled by a man even worse than our cousin. At least he’s just lazy. I’m—” I trail off, unable to give voice to what I have proven myself to be. A monster, just as I’d been named so many years ago.
    Iolalus gives a disapproving sigh. I pull my hands out of his and wipe my eyes. Only after do I wonder if I’ve painted my face by streaking the blood from my hands through my tears.
    “Gods be with you, Herc.”
    “Hera protect Portaceae.”
    Iolalus snorts. “Hera’s a bitch, Herc. Don’t ever forget that.”
    Despite everything, I laugh at his blasphemy and at the fact that I won’t live long enough to forget anything ever again.
    He steps back, gives the sharp bow a vigile gives to a senior member, stands straight, and marches off. As second-in-command under me, he will now advance to vigile leader. He’s young, but it’s a post he will take to with ease and plenty of support. Watching him as long as I can through the bars, I notice him wipe his own eyes then touch his hand to the charm that dangles from a leather lace around his neck before he disappears out of my view.
    I turn to look at the cell. Suddenly it seems too small, too confined, and the consuming rush of panic hits me. My hand automatically flies to my own charm—a peacock that clutches a dozen arrows in its feet and symbolizes my status as commander of Portaceae’s vigiles. Seeking comfort from the familiar object, I grip the metal bird so tightly the twelve arrows pierce into my palm sending my own blood trickling across my hand.  As the walls of the cell creep in on me, I press myself up against the frigid bars as if I can squeeze myself out between them. The metal gate clatters as tremors rattle through my body
    Just as I’m about to cry out for someone, a pair of legs swings over the edge of the top bunk. The mattress squeaks as a man sits up and peers at me. The faint evening light that trickles through the window glints off the man’s bald head. He reaches for something. Without more light, I can’t see what he’s stretching for and tense my muscles ready for an attack. With a hiss, the cell bursts with brightness that quickly fades to a warm glow.
    “We’re not supposed to have candles, but it’s not like anyone checks.”
    With the candlelight near his face I can now see he’s old, not as old as Elena, but still creased with wrinkles that extend like a delta from his eyes and carve river beds along the sides of his mouth.
    “I heard what your friend there said about Hera,” he says. His voice has a thick, yet melodic sound to it.