I DIDN’T MAKE IT very far. Hades spotted me at once and lashed out with his claw—a blow that sent me tumbling across the ice and knocked the arrow from my hands. The pain in my shoulder was overwhelming. The air swarmed with tiny points of light. My ears hummed so loudly, I could hear nothing of the battle. There was no hope now. I bowed my head, whispered my death prayer, and waited for the end to come.
I waited.
It could not have been more than a few seconds, but lying there on the ice with my ears ringing and the world spinning, it seemed like a lifetime. I lay there waiting for death—but death never came. Instead of the crushing weight of Hades’ claw, I felt hands lifting me up.
“Father!” It was Telemachos. Argos stood panting by his side.
I nodded dumbly.
“The arrow. Where is it?”
I pointed. He rushed over, picked it up, ran on.
“I . . . I don’t understand . . . ,” I said to Argos. “I should be dead by now.”
I looked up at Hades. His face—or faces, rather—were a deep purple, and all six eyes protruded like poached eggs. He was raking at his throat with his claws, and as I looked on, his neck swelled out, then suddenly shrank again. Hades gagged, coughed, heaved; then his neck bulged out in front, and a little hole appeared just below his jaw. Dark gray blood welled up out of the wound and ran down his fur.
My gaze dropped to the ice where Telemachos was sprinting toward Hades, arrow in hand. Diomedes’ last words returned to me, and all of a sudden, I realized what my friend had been trying to say with his last breath.
“Son!” I shouted. Telemachos skidded to a stop and turned to face me. “His back! Stab him in the back! Where it touches the ice!”
Hades looked straight at me and knit his brows. Then he noticed Telemachos, and his eyes widened in horror. He raised his claw to strike at him, but as he did, the little hole in his neck tore open, and a horn—two horns—emerged, followed by the broad face of a great black ox. The ox bellowed, its horns retracted into its skull, its snout shrank into its face, and the ox became a lion. Two claws emerged and ripped the hole wider, and the lion roared.
I heard a voice beside me. “That is why they say you should never swallow a shapeshifter,” said Chiron.
“Yes. No. Who says that?” I stammered, still too rattled to make sense of what was happening.
Chiron scratched his beard. “No one, I guess. But they should. Now get up before Hades sees us chatting.”
“But Telemachos—”
“The boy can take care of himself,” he said; then he grabbed me by my bad shoulder and flung me over his back. It was a hard, fast ride back to our lines, but through the numbing pain I could see our phalanx tremble and break.
Chiron cantered to a stop, huffing and snorting. “If that son of yours doesn’t find his mark soon, all our efforts will have been in vain.”
I looked over my shoulder at Hades, who seemed to have regained his composure, though his neck was streaming blood.
Chiron followed my gaze. “That shapeshifter just saved your life—and your son’s too.”
I nodded. “Where did he go?”
The Centaur shook his head. “No time to wonder.”
Nessos galloped up and saluted Chiron. “The Centaurs have exhausted their arrows. The Harpies are in flight. What now?”
A cry went up on our left flank. With the Harpies in retreat, our spearmen were vulnerable to attacks from above. I watched as man after man dropped his shield and ran. The Greeks, seeing their flank exposed, wheeled in disarray, leaving the swordsmen surrounded.
“The day is lost,” groaned Nessos. Argos whimpered.
“We can still buy Telemachos some time,” I said. “What do you say? One last ride?”
Nessos frowned.
“What’s the matter, old horse? You want to live forever?”
He nodded. “Yes, actually.”
“Too late.”
He grinned. “Mount up.”
I climbed onto the Centaur’s back and drew my sword. “Come now, Argos, let’s go hunting.”
“Sons of Centauros, on me!” cried Nessos. He snatched a spear from the ice, reared, and broke into a headlong gallop. Centaurs running from the battle swung round to join us. Others cast aside their bows and plucked weapons from the hands of the fallen. Soon, the thunder of hooves was everywhere.
Exhilarated, I raised my sword, and for the last time, shouted the battle cry of my fathers. “Io! Io! Io!”
And then.
Suddenly.
An ear-splitting scream. A clamor so sudden and sharp and unbearably loud that I dropped my sword and clapped both hands over my ears. It might have been a trumpet blast or a lightning bolt or the screech of a thousand Furies. The ice groaned and quaked. Nessos skidded to a halt, and I tumbled from his back, moaning. All around me, warriors dropped their weapons and covered their heads with their arms. Beside me, Argos howled. And then just as suddenly, the noise ceased. A hush fell over the battlefield. Warriors locked in combat searched for the source of that terrible cry.
All faces turned toward Hades. Eyes shut, head flung back in agony, he raked his back with his long nails. “It stings!” he screeched. “It burns! It is killing me!”
“Telemachos,” I whispered. “My son.”
And even at that moment all the hosts of Hell trembled, doubt clutched their hearts, their hands shook, and their limbs were loosed. The power that drove them on and filled them with hate and fury wavered; its will was removed from them. And now, looking into the eyes of their enemies, they saw a deadly light and were afraid.
The winged devils were the first to flee. Faces turned skyward as the Harpies, crying victory, chased the howling fiends into the distant clouds. Our swordsmen raised their blades and turned on their pursuers. The Minotaur panicked and charged into his own ranks. “Io!” shouted Nessos, and everywhere, the soldiers of Limbo took up the cry.