"What's the matter, Autolycus?" Xena asked rather pointedly, a sly grin coming to her lips as she joined him, seeing his obvious discomfort from his unusual bout of riding.

"Ohhh, not a thing!" he drawled slowly, bending over slightly to stretch out his aching legs.

"Good," she pronounced with finality and nodded toward the city gate looming before them. "We can cover more ground if we split up and check each tavern separately."

"And what are we supposed to do with him when we find him?" the thief interjected uncertainly, half-expecting the worst somehow.

Xena threw Autolycus a look of concerned expectation that matched his own and said, "Don't tell him what's going on if he's in bad shape - just bring him back here, and I'll meet you eventually, and vice versa."

"Yeah, but how do I convince him to follow me? I'm not exactly Curly's best friend, you know," he argued sensibly, pointing out the obvious.

"Tell him that I told you to bring him here," she answered definitively, succinctly ending the conversation as she took hold of Argo's reins and led her into the minor crowds that filtered through the gates of Corinth.

"Oh yeah, that'll do it!" Autolycus nodded after she was gone, fully appreciating the underlying threat that accompanied Xena's every word, and knowing that Iolaus would appreciate it as well. The thought of what would happen if you didn't do what Xena asked was far more frightening than the thought of actually facing her, and there was not a good man in Greece who would willingly disobey her. Secure that he could make the hunter follow, he made his way through the gate with his own horse in tow.

Ares was furious!

He stood alone in the open, empty cell that had reportedly been locked up until that very morning, trying very hard to understand why it was no longer locked and why his prisoner was now free, and trying very hard not to impulsively destroy anything and everything he saw at that very moment.

He hadn't been in that great a mood to start with when he arrived, and his anger only developed as he found, one by one, each of his intricate locks - each of his own design, no less! - had not only been picked, but the bold lock picker had apparently taken the locks with him as a prize. Then, despite their chase after the King of Thieves that very morning, the guards nervously reported seeing absolutely no one suspicious in the temple and feigned ignorance of the break-in.

Thus, the two soldiers were now being rowed across the River Styx by Charon.

Ares' anger only increased when he realized that it was ultimately his own fault, for he hadn't thought of Sorrow being locked away in his temple in some time, and only he was culpable for the fact that tighter security hadn't been put on her cell.

What had actually happened was this: Ares had no need of her after he was certain that she was impregnated, and even when he spent the occasional night in Macedonia, he deliberately chose not to think of the young goddess being held in this particular wing of the Halls of War. He had no reason to worry, he had thought, and therefore the very subject of the Goddess of Lamentation had easily slipped his mind.

And then she slipped right through his fingers, just as Lachesis had predicted.

Thinking of the middle Fate made Ares growl with anger, for it was the Priestess Nika's mention of the Fates that had finally reminded him of his captive in the first place, and the memory of the entire business made him seethe anew that he had let her get away from him. In a way, he had been glad to forget about the girl and keep her locked away and out of his hair. Now that he remembered why he needed her in the first place, he was quite vexed to return and find his pawn missing.

"Where are you, Sorrow?" Ares muttered to himself, kneeling down to examine the silver cuff he had placed about Sorrow's ankle nearly nine months before. It lay open on the floor where it was left after she was released, but there was no sign of what was used to pick the lock on the cuff. The only clues he had to her liberator were the locks the perpetrator had taken, and the lack of any other evidence available. She hadn't been released by someone looking to set her free. She'd been released by a thief, and an obviously professional one at that, judging by the fact that the three Haephestian locks were gone. But what would make a good thief risk the anger of a god like himself, was the big question. And what did she tell, or offer, the man to make it worth his while? And did she have to beg the man, or did he help her willingly?

~ She must be due! ~ he concluded wisely, for it was obvious that she should be nearing her time of delivery, and he didn't blame Sorrow for doing whatever she had to in order to ensure that she did not give birth alone. She'd had no indication from him that he would be around to assist, or to even provide a midwife, and even goddesses didn't care to give birth on their own. Thus, he no longer fretted about the fact that she had escaped, or even that someone had broken in and helped her. Now, he was wondering where she would go to give birth.

"Home to Mommy?" he posed aloud the question aloud. "Or, run to Daddy?"

The choice in that matter was easy. Poseidon had quite literally washed his hands of the girl the minute Lachesis forewarned the gods what would happen if Xena's daughter were to be born. Now that Zeus and Hera were dead, Poseidon wasn't likely to take Sorrow in if she went to him for help and protection. So, Sorrow's best option - and his - was the Hall of Fates.

"Sorrow, you had better be there!" the God of War bellowed at no one, his voice reverberating off every wall and every piece of weaponry within the Halls of War. Taking a calming breath, Ares dematerialized in a flash of lights and smoke, praying to himself that he wouldn't have to hunt Sorrow down again.

After what seemed like hours, Autolycus walked into the very last Corinthian tavern he could possibly find, and soon realized he had just entered the filthiest of them all.

Throughout the seedy bar, unsavory characters of all sorts melded together beneath a fog of thick smoke and stale grog, and the lack of adequate lighting made it all the more surreal. As the King of Thieves, Autolycus had attended many a dive in his time, but none could possibly match the seediness of this particular establishment, and he was thoroughly impressed.

"Now, this is a tavern!" he proclaimed aloud as he approached the bar, intending to ask for the umpteenth time that night where he might find the diminutive, golden hunter, and perhaps have a mug of ale for his troubles.

"What'll ya have?" grumbled the bartender, a rather burly and bald fellow with little humor left for the world.

"A tankard of your best ale, my good man!" Autolycus responded loudly, then added a bit more confidentially, "And some information, perhaps?"

The bartender slid a full mug to the thief, but did not otherwise speak. He held out his hand for payment, so Autolycus offered up a silver coin worth twenty dinars, but pulled his hand back just before the bartender could retrieve it.

"Hold on - you can have it all if you can tell me where I might find a short guy named Iolaus."

The bartender didn't reply, but jutted his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of a darkened corner, and the thief's eyes quickly beamed in on the shape that was slumped over the table that resided there.

"Thanks . . ," Autolycus replied hesitantly as the bartender easily snatched the coin from the distracted thief's hand and moved on to his next customer. Autolycus stood up and contemplated the huddled mass at the darkened table a few moments before lifting his mug and making his approach, hoping the bartender was wrong. However, the nearer he drew to the table, the more sure he became that it was Iolaus.

The golden hunter - Hercules' best friend, and an Argonaut - was slumped over with his head and arms splayed out on the top of the table, an half-empty mug of ale sitting within reach.

Autolycus shook his head miserably at the grieving warrior and slid into the chair opposite him. He then reached out and tapped Iolaus on the head.

"Hmmpf," groaned the warrior in response, but consciousness did not take hold.

"Hey, Curly!" the thief spoke loudly as he tapped on Iolaus' head a bit more forcefully this time. "Wake up, you lush!"

"Hmmpf, what!?" Iolaus groaned again, lifting his head slowly to reveal bloodshot eyes beneath swollen lids and a pale, unshaven countenance. He squinted his eyes in the dim light, and soon the face of the master thief came into view. "Autolycus?"

"Damn, Curly! What have you done to yourself?" Autolycus asked in slight disgust. "You look like Medusa on a bad hair day!"

"Go hump a centaur!" Iolaus drunkenly cursed the thief and dropped his head again, with hopes of passing back out.

"Oh, no you don't!" Autolycus reached out and grabbed a handful of blonde curls, forcibly making the hunter stay awake.

"Ow, let go of me!" Iolaus demanded, slapping at the offending hand.

"No way," Autolycus dissented forcefully. "I've been looking for you all night, and you're coming with me!"

"I'd sooner go to Tartarus!" Iolaus proclaimed with great bitterness as he finally knocked the thief's hand away from his head.

"Looks like you've already been there," Autolycus returned, becoming more disgusted by the moment.

"What would you know?" Iolaus spat bitterly as he shoved himself away from the table and began stumbling away from the thief as fast as he could. He aimed for the tavern door, hoping to disappear into the Corinthian night and escape the eyes of the accusing thief before more invasive questions could be asked - questions he didn't want asked, and questions he damn sure did not want to answer.

However, the thief had no intentions of failing his mission, and before the hunter knew what was happening, Autolycus had a firm grip on the collar of his vest and was almost dragging him out of the hot, smoky tavern into the clear, cool night.

"Hey - what the - ?" Iolaus cried out as he found himself being thrust out the door by the last person he would have ever suspected of caring, and he hit the cold pavement of the street in a multi-leveled daze. He then scrambled to sit upright and face his attacker.

"You're lucky I don't kick ya, to boot, you sorry bastard!" Autolycus shook his fist at the amazed hunter. "What in Tartarus did you do? Crawl into a bottle and pull the cork in behind you, hoping you'd drown?"

Autolycus heard the harsh tone of his words, and was instantly sorry. He hadn't meant to be rough on him, but he was truly angered by what he had to present not only to Xena now at the gates, but eventually to Sorrow. After everything Sorrow had been through, he was furious with Iolaus for not holding up better, and so he had cursed the hunter with the full force of his anger. Now, he wished he could take it back.

However, hearing the thief's ire did indeed shame Iolaus, and the thin-skinned warrior looked up at Autolycus with tear-filled eyes.

"You don't know . . ," he started to protest, but quickly dissolved into an onrush of emotions as the tears began to overflow, and he choked on a sob. "All the mothers . . . the babies . . . everywhere I turned . . . happy families!"

Autolycus watched in disbelief as the once-rugged hero nearly collapsed beneath the weight of his sadness and despair, and he instantly knew that in Iolaus' heart and mind, Sorrow was lost to him forever. Truly, Autolycus knew deep down that something tremendous had to have happened to wreck such a strong soul as Iolaus', and he instantly felt sorry that he had so callously chastised the warrior.

He reached out a hand to help him up and said, "Come on, Iolaus - I'm sorry."

Iolaus waved the offered hand away, shaking his head because he was too choked up to speak, but Autolycus would not leave him.

"Come on, Curly" he said more firmly. "Xena'll kill us when she sees what shape you're in, but she needs to see you right away, and I'm going to take you to her."

"Xena?" Iolaus choked out the name with mild recognition. "Where?"

"At the city gates, I'm afraid - are you up to riding?" Autolycus asked, allowing, for but a moment, the idea of tossing Iolaus up onto his horse and sending him to the gates alone, while he, himself, would slip away through the gates on the opposite side of town and move on to his next adventure. All the way to Corinth that afternoon, and all through his search for Iolaus, he had considered what sort of situation his bad habits had gotten him into, and now his calculating mind saw an obvious chance to escape the possible wrath of how many untold Olympian deities and demi-deities.

However, Autolycus knew that if he didn't accompany the hunter back to the city gates, he'd never be able to make it up to Xena, and he just couldn't do that to himself. Never one to willfully shoot himself in the foot, the thief switched gears and saw the horse as being the easiest way to transport the drunken hunter to the gates.

Iolaus, too, knew there was no way to avoid facing the warrior princess, so he nodded slightly in answer to the thief's question, knowing that walking wasn't his strong suit at the moment. Besides, he figured he could pass out during the trip through the city and catch some sleep before being chastised by his former girlfriend.

"Good deal," Autolycus nodded also, and Iolaus' hand finally clasped onto his uncertainly, allowing for the warrior to be pulled up from his seat on the street. "Now, let's go face our destiny at the city gates."

"I once faced my destiny," Iolaus rambled absently as he allowed the thief to aid him on his walk to the only horse tied at the hitching post. "She had skin the color of pearls at sunset, and hair the color of the bluest ocean . . ."

"Okay, Curly," Autolycus leaned him up against the horse before unwrapping the lead from the post. "Can you get up there, or do you need some help?"

"No, no, I've got it," Iolaus waved him away, and with some effort, he made the most ungainly mounting of a horse in the entire history of Greece. Once in the saddle, he waved, "I'll see you at the gates," and he promptly fell forward onto the horse's neck and passed out again.

"Great, he gets to sleep while I get to contemplate what kind of trouble Xena's gonna give me before she gives me a chance to explain!" Autolycus grumbled sourly as he took hold of the horse's lead and tugged it on back toward the gates of the city.

On to Chapter Twenty Five

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