David L. Seidman - The First Casualty

Dryope the Beautiful, Queen of the Forest Nymphs, sat on a throne of polished oak, watching a ring of wood sprites frolic around her in a dance of adoration. As the slim girls leapt and pranced, their queen had but a single thought: If I dont find something exciting to do, Ill start pulling the legs off these obnoxious little fairies.

The queen stifled a sigh. She had found the dances and songs of worship very sweet the first time she had heard thembut after the first few centuries they grew dull. Wood nymphs were lovely creatures but short on imagination; they repeated themselves with tiresome frequency and at nearly endless length.

Dryopes eyelids began to droop. Slowly her shoulders slumped and her head tilted forward.

Oh, our queen, do thy servants displease you? wailed the lead dancer, Prissia. Hurry, my sisters. We must redouble our efforts to inspire Her Glorious Majesty!

Dryope jerked up and blinked herself awake. No, NO! she thoughtbut it was too late.

From the beginning, my sisters! Prissia cried. Her shrill voice scratched inside the queens ear like a dirty fingernail. And a one and a two

What manner of creatures are these? called a rough voice from deep in the forest.

Everyone froze.

Thank Hera, Dryope muttered. Time to go to work. She rose smoothly from her throne and gazed into the trees. Show yourself and name your name, she demanded.

A man strode from behind a tight stand of trees. As Prissia and the other nymphs squealed and fled behind her throne, Dryope took the mans measure.

Smells pretty good for a mortal, she thought. He was big, taller than her. Black curly hair covered his broad form, from his wide shoulders and burly chest to his bulging calves. His only clothing was the skin of a lion across his body, tied at his right shoulder and left leg. His fingers, each thick as a boars tusk, wrapped around a gleaming dagger. A blood-spattered sword hung from one hip.

General? called a soft voice from behind the man.

A young man emerged from behind the stand of trees that had hidden the first man. The newcomer was slim, his skin pink with fresh sunburn. General, were standing exposed here and you did tell us that Pastoralians could attack at any time.

Shut up, Honorius, the general growled, continuing to stare at Dryope.

Begging your pardon, sir, the young man said quietly, but no. He stood straight as an iron rod. The men are exhausted from the march. I want to make camp here.

The general kept looking at Dryope, drinking in her blonde hair and blazing blue eyes. No, he said. March the men a mile from here. I want privacy when I... confer with the lovely lady before us. He flashed a gleaming smile at Dryope, who lowered her long eyelashes and blushed demurely. Make it five miles.

The younger man took a deep breath and stepped in front of his commander. General Ferocius, the men are tired. A march would

The general grabbed Honorius by the chest and shoved him against a tree. He leaned in close and growled, Shut up, you little

Leave him alone, a deep voice called.

Ferocius whirled round, dropping Honorius. He saw a tall, bronzed man striding through the forest. The muscles of the strangers arms were as big as pine cones, his chest was as broad as a door and his legs were as thick as oak trunks. But more fearsome was his expression. Clenched tight with anger, his entire face was as grim as a storm cloud and his eyes flashed as if full of lightning.

Ferocius froze. He had never seen the man before, but he recognized him at once. This was the son of Zeus, the king of the gods, and a human woman. He was a hero, the defender of the weak and the enemy of oppression.

Hercules, Ferocius whispered.

Dryope stared at the big man as he approached. Mmmmm, she thought. Yummy.

She glanced at Ferocius, who stood by and watched as the stranger dusted Honorius down and made sure he was all right.

Oh, Hercules, Dryope called, every syllable a musical note. She crooked a finger at him. Come here. Id like to... chat with you. She sat down gracefully and crossed her slim legs. Behind her throne, the wood nymphs giggled.

Dont do it, Hercules, Ferocius said suddenly. Shell ensnare you with her beauty. She nearly got me before you came along. Come back with us, Hercules, he pressed. Weve got a war brewing and we could use your help. My whole city-state would be grateful. In a low voice, he added, If its women you like, we have women aplenty, if you know what I mean.

Ill be happy to help you, said the man with the gleaming muscles. He nodded at Dryope. Another time, Your Majesty.

Ferocius led Hercules into the misty woods. Honorius followed, troubled but obedient.

Dryope rose, tearing the arms of her throne off with a sharp snap. She squeezed and the wood burst into splinters. She shrieked terrible curses.

Prissia looked at the scowling face of her queen. Your Majesty? I know youre upset and, well, wed like to make you feel better... so... She took a deep breath. Hit it, girls!

As a dozen dryads danced, singing a hymn to the beauty of Dryopes nose, the queen sank back on to her throne. Her mind had but a single thought: Youre going to pay for this, Hercules.