The Ambassador of the Gods

15. Tribunal Á La Half-Blood

-- 18th December 2009 --

It was really late.

Nico hadn't meant to leave the Shadowhunters alone so long, but in hindsight, he should have expected to. It wasn't realistic to do double camp trips, two days in a row, even with Mrs. O'Leary's help, and his shoulder was killing him. And he hadn't even gotten to see Hazel.

Nico was close to Half-Blood now, though. Bloodhounds were powerful Underworld beings, often closer to monsters than neutral creatures: not the type to ferry even children of Hades between realms. Mrs. O'Leary, however, had been cared for and trained by Daedalus, the (self-proclaimed) Greatest Inventor in the history of the Greek realm. They'd had a unique bond, seeing as Daedalus had his (forbidden) long and lonely life to live out in the house of a bloodhound's dreams. Technically he'd gifted Mrs. O'Leary to Percy Jackson before he died, but it turned out she couldn't be owned very well.

Daedalus was dead now, of course, but it wasn't like that meant a lot to Nico. For him, the real barrier went in the other direction. Maybe he could squeeze an Iris message to Asphodel in before the Gods came for his ring. The Inventor and Mrs. O'Leary helped him too often to neglect contact like he had.

Nico rubbed his face and massaged his shoulder, struggling to keep his eyes open. He was crunching through the leaves, coming up onto the hazy illusion of a forest continuing on on the surface of the aegis and the ghost of Camp Half-Blood just under it.

This time, Nico had learned his lesson. He saw the people just behind the border -- patrolling -- the second he stepped onto the tree line.

Demigods, trying to protect their camp. From what, Nico wasn't sure. That was what the border was for.

He observed them as they spotted and tried to pick his silhouette out of the shadows. The Ares cabin, plus Aphrodite, this week's patrol cabin.

It was a little early for patrol deploy. The weight of Nico's Stygian iron sword rested onto his side as he walked closer.

Nico pushed through the border and greeted the semicircle of a dozen stony-faced half-bloods that had formed around his entry point with questioning silence.

They were all holding weapons. Sherman Yang, heavily armed, stared down at him. Clarisse La Rue was off in the distant south, approaching at a brisk jog. Everyone else looked nervous.

No one said anything.

"Hello?" asked Nico, spreading his hands. He was low on sleep and cranky, and the last thing he wanted to deal with right now were demigods trying to be dramatic. "Are you going to... do anything?"

Except they were doing something: the semicircle was closing behind him. Then someone pushed him from behind. Maybe intentionally, maybe on accident. Nico stumbled forward and nearly fell.

And he wasn't sure why, but that got to him. That, of all things.

He didn't even know who had pushed him, but suddenly he felt like crumbling everyone around him into the ashes of their bones between his fingers. The rage was sudden, total, refreshing.

Now here was something he could burn the world down with.

The circle closed up behind him.

Nico turned his face up to Sherman Yang, who had approached him, and smiled at him. He said, "Oh, God."

Sherman's brows pushed together slightly. "You're late," he said.

"You're right, I'm so sorry," said Nico. "What else should I do?"