The House of Hades (The Heroes of Olympus #4)(36)

“Yes,” Trip said cheerfully. “And you’ll make a lovely patch of sorghum!”

FRANK STUMBLED OUT OF THE BLACK HOUSE. The door shut behind him, and he collapsed against the wall, overcome with guilt. Fortunately the katoblepones had cleared off, or he might have just sat there and let them trample him. He deserved nothing better. He’d left Hazel inside, dying and defenseless, at the mercy of a crazy farmer god.

Kill farmers! Ares screamed in his head.

Return to the legion and fight Greeks! Mars said. What are we doing here?

Killing farmers! Ares screamed back.

“Shut up!” Frank yelled aloud. “Both of you!”

A couple of old ladies with shopping bags shuffled past. They gave Frank a strange look, muttered something in Italian, and kept going.

Frank stared miserably at Hazel’s cavalry sword, lying at his feet next to his backpack. He could run back to the Argo II and get Leo. Maybe Leo could fix the chariot.

But Frank somehow knew this wasn’t a problem for Leo. It was Frank’s task. He had to prove himself. Besides, the chariot wasn’t exactly broken. There was no mechanical problem. It was missing a serpent.

Frank could turn himself into a python. When he’d woken up that morning as a giant snake, perhaps it had been a sign from the gods. He didn’t want to spend the rest of his life turning the wheel of a farmer’s chariot, but if it meant saving Hazel…

No. There had to be another way.

Serpents, Frank thought. Mars.

Did his father have some connection to snakes? Mars’s sacred animal was the wild boar, not the serpent. Still, Frank was sure he’d heard something once.…

He could think of only one person to ask. Reluctantly, he opened his mind to the voices of the war god.

I need a snake, he told them. How?

Ha, ha! Ares screamed. Yes, the serpent!

Like that vile Cadmus, Mars said. We punished him for killing our dragon!

They both started yelling, until Frank thought his brain would split in half.

“Okay! Stop!”

The voices quieted.

“Cadmus,” Frank muttered. “Cadmus…”

The story came back to him. The demigod Cadmus had slain a dragon that happened to be a child of Ares. How Ares had ended up with a dragon for a son, Frank didn’t want to know; but as punishment for the dragon’s death, Ares turned Cadmus into a snake.

“So you can turn your enemies into snakes,” Frank said. “That’s what I need. I need to find an enemy. Then I need you to turn him into a snake.”

You think I would do that for you? Ares roared. You have not proven your worth!

Only the greatest hero could ask such a boon, Mars said. A hero like Romulus!

Too Roman! Ares shouted. Diomedes!

Never! Mars shouted back. That coward fell to Heracles!

Horatius, then, Ares suggested.

Mars went silent. Frank sensed a grudging agreement.

“Horatius,” Frank said. “Fine. If that’s what it takes, I’ll prove I’m as good as Horatius. Uh…what did he do?”

Images flooded into Frank’s mind. He saw a lone warrior standing on a stone bridge, facing an entire army massed on the far side of the Tiber River.

Frank remembered the legend. Horatius, the Roman general, had single-handedly held off a horde of invaders, sacrificing himself on that bridge to keep the barbarians from crossing the Tiber. By giving his fellow Romans time to finish their defenses, he’d saved the Republic.

Venice is overrun, Mars said, as Rome was about to be. Cleanse it!

Destroy them all! Ares said. Put them to the sword!

Frank pushed the voices to the back of his mind. He looked at his hands and was amazed they weren’t trembling.

For the first time in days, his thoughts were clear. He knew exactly what he needed to do. He didn’t know how he would pull it off. The odds of dying were excellent, but he had to try. Hazel’s life depended on him.

He strapped Hazel’s sword to his belt, morphed his backpack into a quiver and bow, and raced toward the piazza where he’d fought the cow monsters.

The plan had three phases: dangerous, really dangerous, and insanely dangerous.

Frank stopped at the old stone well. No katoblepones in sight. He drew Hazel’s sword and used it to pry up some cobblestones, unearthing a big tangle of spiky roots. The tendrils unfurled, exuding their stinky green fumes as they crept toward Frank’s feet.

In the distance, a katobleps’s foghorn moan filled the air. Others joined in from all different directions. Frank wasn’t sure how the monsters could tell he was harvesting their favorite food—maybe they just had an excellent sense of smell.

He had to move fast now. He sliced off a long cluster of vines and laced them through one of his belt loops, trying to ignore the burning and itching in his hands. Soon he had a glowing, stinking lasso of poisonous weeds. Hooray.

The first few katoblepones lumbered into the piazza, bellowing in anger. Green eyes glowed under their manes. Their long snouts blew clouds of gas, like furry steam engines.

Frank nocked an arrow. He had a momentary pang of guilt. These were not the worst monsters he’d met. They were basically grazing animals that happened to be poisonous.

Hazel is dying because of them, he reminded himself.

He let the arrow fly. The nearest katobleps collapsed, crumbling to dust. He nocked a second arrow, but the rest of the herd was almost on top of him. More were charging into the square from the opposite direction.