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Disclaimer: I do not own Xena, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Same junk as before. See part one for all the jargon.

Part IX - The Best Laid Plans Get A Helping Hand

This was wrong. All wrong.

Joxer squinted his eyes and tilted his head, but nothing improved. It just looked� wrong.

He'd spent the past few days ignoring the thing, but there was something about that table that struck him as very, very un-right. If he fixed it, at least he'd be able to concentrate on something else without looking back there every three seconds. OK, then, let's fix it.

Carefully, he picked up the wooden soldier miniatures one at a time, making sure not to mess them up. It wasn't the whole table he had a problem with, just that one area. The massive tabletop was an etched map of Greece. A vast army of tiny dolls were grouped in little bunches, attack formations and defense clusters, in an outskirted area, near the border.

Whatever this battle was for, it was making Ares see red in spades. Since he'd left Joxer in charge of the Hall of War, he'd been back a few times to scowl at the table, making minor adjustments here and there before poofing out again. The mortal temple-sitter recognized part of the area as Polyphystos, where Ares and Discord were currently working, or trying to work if the War God's general demeanor was any indicator. So this had to be the battle plans for the area.

Ares had to know that this part was wrong, Joxer reasoned as he removed the carved soldiers from the spot on the map indicating the forest outside of a nearby little farming community that, according to the markings, was full of War's worshippers. At the very least, it had his protection, which accounted for the platoon he'd positioned there. But that would draw the fighting close to the village and that couldn't be a good idea. Joxer scanned the etched graph and set the red-tinged men further away, shaping their group into a wedge that would direct the battle to the barren patch to the west. He even tipped down a few of the fake trees behind them to indicate a barricade between the fight and the town. Villagers saved.

"There." Joxer nodded, dusting his hands together. "Now it's OK." He surveyed it again, cocking his head and pursing his lips. "Although� now that the battle's heading that way, maybe these guys can join them." Joxer collected a contingent of red army men down by the seashore that would be diverting the green troops, whose they were he didn't know, from heading for Athens. Joxer wondered if Athena appreciated that gesture. Probably not, he snorted to himself. The day before, the Goddess of War, Wisdom and Weaving (and Whining Wenches as far as he was concerned) had dropped by to bitch at Ares for one thing or another. Being born, I'd guess. Since he'd had the nerve to be working and not sitting around, waiting for her to come complaining, she'd unloaded on Joxer, calling him a pitiful mortal and a lackey and the worst kinds of insults he didn't think virgin goddesses knew. She'd yelled at him for not being Ares and for Ares not respecting her and she'd stomped off like a spoiled fourteen year old girl, still bewailing the lack of her brother for abusing and the nerve he had to leave a� a camp-follower there while he was gone.

Joxer looked down at one of the little soldiers in his hands unhappily. OK, that one had hurt. He would have protested or argued or something, but he decided against it. It was one of those names you called someone that even if it wasn't true, it stung and shamed them just the same. It wasn't the worst name he'd ever been saddled with, but�

His father had been a warlord and when he was younger, Joxer and his brothers would tag along to battles to see the old man in action. For the most part, the camp-followers were older women who had men or sons in battle and so dedicated their services to the local army. They did laundry, sewed up wounds, made food� and generally made things easier on the soldiers. To listen to Jonus, they were inviolate, untouchable by the war. To attack them would be the worst of all dishonorable actions. And the same went for the other side's female contingent.

Of course, it wasn't these women that Athena had been grouping him with. That would have been just fine by Joxer, since that was usually the part he played anyway, what with Xena and Gabrielle doing the majority of the fighting. And the bard's grumbling aside, he thought he'd done a fair enough job of it, too. But no. When you were called a 'camp-follower' in that disgusted tone of voice, it meant one thing and one thing only.

There had been other women there too, ones who were all too happy to make things really comfortable for the men. Really, REALLY comfortable. They tended not to travel with the more reputable women, who were usually just as glad to not have them. Even at that young an age, he'd gotten it. The painted ladies in the cleavage-collecting glad rags weren't helping them polish their weapons. Not in the literal sense, anyway. One of the 'f's of war, Jett had nudged him in the ribs and sniggered in the way young boys do when confronted by the birds and bees. In later years, he realized that a few of those kinds of ladies had been giving his father the eye on a few occasions. Not really a surprise. A warlord was quite a catch for them, even if it wasn't for keeps.

Joxer squeezed the little warrior in his hand. OOOH, he hated being called that. By anyone. He liked to think of himself as even-tempered, but if there was one thing that really got to him, it was being called a follower. And a whore. He supposed that if she knew how he really felt about her brother, deep down and far away from where he really wanted anyone to see, she might have thought that, but that wasn't the point. Him wanting Ares wasn't the point. She'd said it to be mean and make him feel small and� The pain in his hand cleared his head a little - unfurling his fingers, he found a shallow gouge from the figure's carved sword-point. After giving it a medicinal suck, as he'd done as a child plenty enough, he set the models further up the shoreline, adjusting them to make sure they'd be able to relay the fighting to the wedge of armed men he'd just moved. Of course, any number of factors could interfere and there was no guaranteeing that it would work like that anyway, but it was a better set-up than before. At least he thought so. Again, he wiped his hands together, stepping back.

"Done. Much better." He turned from the table once he'd given it a look-over. Good. Now it wouldn't distract him like it had been. The fact that it had been bothering him in and of itself bothered him. How could something he had nothing to do with steal his attention like that? And he knew in his heart that those two groups had been in wrong positions, but he wasn't sure how he knew. Any premonitions like this were usually ignored coming out of his mouth, a lesson learned not only at his father's side but in later years, too. Even Xena and Gabs had dismissed his suggestions as if they were insane ramblings from the addled brother they humored so he wouldn't bang his head against the wall. He sniffed out a laugh. Temper tantrums like that were more Jayce's territory, anyway.

"Ohh-kay then� back to the dusting."

***

This was wrong. All wrong.

Xena squinted her eyes and tilted her head, but nothing improved. It just looked� wrong.

There should have been at least two units of soldiers having it out right there in front of her and there wasn't even the hint of one blessed man. The beach's sand was smooth, save for a few scuttle marks that belonged to the crabs that made their homes in the driftwood.

"Anything?"

The warrior princess shook her head at her partner's question, squinting at the land before her as if that would make men appear where there were no men. "Not a soul."

"Maybe Lucretius was wrong," the strawberry blond shrugged, mimicking her lover's actions and scrunching her face to survey the landscape. "Maybe he had the wrong beach. Or the wrong week?"

"Maybe." Xena's brain darted back to the conversation with the tavern owner/magistrate in Athens. An old friend, he was often a font of scuttlebutt and gossip, most of which usually turned out to be right on the dinar. He'd heard about this from a fairly reliable source and as her fairly reliable source, she'd had no problem in believing what he had to say. "But it's not like him to be this wrong."

"Well, I don't think we missed anything. It doesn't look like anyone's been here in weeks." Gabrielle poked her staff into the sand and leaned on it.

"Something isn't right about this. From what Lucretius said, Polyphystos is embroiled in a conflict that's threatening to spill over into Athens. There are supposed to be invading forces of great numbers and this beach," she indicated the serene area around them, "is the most straightforward route from there to the city. There should be a detachment placed here to block off any surprise breaks for the city limits. That only makes sense."

"Unless Ares is having another spat with his sister and doesn't mind unwashed barbarians storming her favorite city." Gabrielle chuckled, imagining the gods having a tiff and behaving like great spoiled brats.

"That is always a possibility." A lone dark eyebrow rose in contemplation. "It would be just like him to play with people's lives like that."

"Yeah," Gabrielle agreed as another thought barged into her brain. "Or."

"Or?"

"Or maybe we are in the wrong spot. I mean, that's always possible, isn't it? Greece is a big place."

"No. I know Polyphystos is that way," Xena pointed up the beach away from them. "It's not coastal, but it does have access to the sea. Not as convenient or important as Athens, but a good strategic town."

"Well, why don't we head up that way and see if we find anything? It couldn't hurt. Nothing is happening here." Nothing except a siege of her boot by an army of crustaceans. The smell of unwashed feet had proven too much for the denizens of the beach, who were pinching at the leather with vigor. Gabrielle yipped, more in surprise than in pain, and swatted at the little shellfish with the end of her staff. This mobilized the reinforcements. "XENA!"

The warrior cast a look back at her partner, watching her dance and hop to avoid an endless sea of crabs intent on doing harm to her ankles. She'd lend a hand, in a minute or two. In the face of today's apparently useless trip, she could use the entertainment.

***

This was wrong. All wrong.

Ares squinted his eyes and tilted his head, but nothing improved. It just looked� wrong.

Not that 'wrong' was such a bad thing.

The God of War stood on the embankment overlooking the roiling battle and watched the fighting migrating in a direction he hadn't planned on. That detachment of troops below - they weren't supposed to be here. He'd had them situated miles away, further up the coastline to divert from Athens, but they weren't there. They were here. Doing the same thing, but with a few more miles of leeway should anything spill over. Hm.

He knew he should be angry - furious, actually - that he was being disobeyed, but he could sense more than that. The men weren't acting as if anything was amiss. As if they didn't even know there weren't where they were supposed to be. They weren't disobeying. They were doing exactly what they were supposed to do. In the wrong place. Hm.

A muted flash of light marked his departure from the knoll and his arrival in the tent of his general. Without announcing his appearance, he watched the man. Again, the man went about the business of battle as if nothing were out of place, least of all his troops. No scrambling to explain or cover tracks, no nerves on fire for veering from the plan handed down by his god� Nope, everything was normal for Barinthus the Average, a nickname the man lived up to in spades. Ares snorted. Anyone with any salt in his veins would have improvised a little. It was Barinthus' record of success that kept Ares from dropping him part and parcel in Athena's lap. As if she'd know what to do with a man in her lap, Ares snickered to himself, wondering if she'd appreciate his efforts to keep slavering barbarians out of her pristine city full of eggheads and virgins. Unlikely.

So if the army wasn't mutineering and their much heralded and predictable imbecile of a leader wasn't fomenting heresy against their god� what happened? Why were they even here? Another small burst brought Ares back to the Hall of War and his map table.

Hm.

Hmm!

"Someone's been playing with my toys again, Strife," he muttered to himself, half-hearing the echo of a denial that touched down like a shadow in the temple. Well, whether or not his nephew's doing, someone had moved the model and that explained everything. Move the model, move the men. It was inscribed in the trim of the table's decoration, running up each side in burnished gold lettering. Though, he supposed if you didn't stop to read�

An image of his current temple guardian careening into the table was hard to ignore. Joxer wasn't the steadiest man on his feet and it wouldn't be out of the question for him to bump into the edge and then trying to replace the pieces. But then, wouldn't everything be screwed up? Ares scratched at his goatee and began circling the table. That wasn't the case. The area would be in total chaos� well, more chaos than before, in any case. The invading horde was good, both tactically sharp and inventive. They'd managed to spread themselves out fairly well and hit strategic points before Ares could get involved. He'd squelched most of them with effort, impressed at their tenacity. Maybe he'd do some recruiting later on. One never had too many followers.

This last mutation of battle plan had made his head hurt, though. Just looking at it gave him eye strain. He knew it was because he was concentrating too hard on it. Usually he left the particulars to the combatants, but that would have been disastrous. Barinthus was entirely too dull to work well on his feet. That last break in the enemy's formation would have knocked him silly had Ares not rearranged his men for him. He hated battles like this. They were too draining. The War God sniffed out a laugh. Hercules would swallow his tongue if he could see his godly brother now, wishing for an end to a war.

And it looked like he would be getting his wish. As he circled the plans, he could easily see the changes made. Someone, he assumed it was Joxer, had moved his men due west, changing the parameters of the battlefield. But he could see the formation was part of a bigger plan of action. The wooden men were shaped to direct the battle up, off of the beachhead and into the woodlands where another infantry division awaited. They had been moved, too. Ares traced back to their original position and smiled. A village would be spared. One of Heph's little enclaves. Nice. He didn't mind doing right by the lame God of the Forge - Heph was one of the few family members he outright liked.

"You're a hero after all, Joxer," Ares smiled, not his usual snotty smirk, but a fond grin, pleased with his most ardent follower. He'd tell Hephaestus about what Joxer had done - maybe his brother could fashion him up a sword with better balance than his last one. He could put a better edge on it, that was for sure.

Something else caught Ares' eye on the map and he shifted, letting his eyes draw a line from the batch of soldiers who wouldn't be stomping through Heph's turf. That fond grin spread like sunshine until it was wide and beaming and just a hair wicked. "Oh, Jox. You devil."

He assumed that his loyal follower hadn't planned this part, but it was wonderful anyway. The last group was another wedge, driving the fighting onto a plain that didn't matter if it got disheveled and bloody. There, the horde would get a nice surprise. Shallowly carved craters adorned this part of the map, not obvious, only looking like slight depressions. But down on the surface, the actual plain was dotted with hidden holes, some big enough to swallow a man alive. He would like to claim it as an ingenious trap of his own, but he couldn't. He wasn't the patron god of burrowing scorpions, after all. The invaders would be walking into a natural ambush. Sweet. He let a dark chuckle echo around the room before flashing back to the battlefield to watch Joxer's handiwork. He wondered if his daughter had any idea what she'd let get away from her.

Unlikely.

-tbc-
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