Book and Blade: Book One of the Hand of Perdition (13 page)

He stopped about ten feet away from Rath. He was as tall as Rath but maybe five times as wide. Despite being thousands of years old, he wore a dark, modern suit, impeccably tailored. His eyes were deep set and shadowed.

"Rath, why must we meet? This alliance between our kind is unheard of and fragile at best. Why must you test it?"

His voice was like boulders falling downhill.

"I have unfortunate news, Golyat. The Beast is dead, but a new one awakens."

"You had assured us that the Beast was slain and we were free."

"The true Hunter is dead, I saw to that. This new one is nothing but a babe. A child pretending to be something he has no idea about," Rath said.

"Yet here we are, and this new Hunter is not dead."

"For now. He will be dealt with shortly."

"Then you will take care of this problem also?"

"Of course. I promised the Alliance of my brethren that I would kill the Beast, and I will kill his successor."

"Then why are we meeting? You don't need my permission," Golyat said.

"I need the Relic back," Rath said.

Golyat chuckled.

"That is impossible. It was loaned to you for one job, the Alliance will not loan it so easily again. It is one of our greatest treasures. You know this."

"I know Golyat. With it I was able to slay the great Beast, and with it I can easily strike down this new pretender."

"If, as you say, this new Hunter is but a child with no understanding of what he truly is, then it should be easy for you to dispatch him without the aid of our most powerful weapon," Golyat said.

Rath tried to keep the fury out of his voice.

"It is the only sure way to destroy this child. I need it."

"No, Rath. You do not need it."

"Then I demand a meeting of the Alliance to address them directly."

Again Golyat chuckled. Rath wanted to rip his throat out. And he would have if it wouldn't have turned the others against him. The Alliance was powerful, and unity gave them strength, but it often got in the way of his personal agenda.

"Feel free, Rath, to bring it up at the next meeting. But that is a long way off and I think it would be better for you to deal with this little problem long before then. The Alliance will not be happy with your failure."

At that Rath did take a step forward. He raised his hands as if to strike Golyat. But he held himself back.

Golyat's smile grew bigger.

"It seems we have reached a mutually agreeable solution. You will dispatch this new Hunter as soon as you can, and the Alliance will not tear you apart for incompetence."

With that said, Golyat turned and walked back to the rooftop door and the stairs down.

Rath watched him go, seething. Years of cultivating hatred in the bowels of hell blossomed inside him.

First the boy, but next is you Golyat
, Rath thought and then he too left the rooftop.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Christopher opened the door to see a gun aimed at his head. Fortunately, the man holding the gun was detective Hamlin.

"He was a cop Chris. This time you killed a cop."

He aimed between his eyes only inches away. Hamlin's hands never shook. There was a coldness in Hamlin's eyes that Christopher had never seen before.

"I know it was you. Eye witnesses say it was a young, college age kid wearing a hoodie. The video was conveniently blurry, but when I saw the recording and heard that he was killed with a knife I knew it could only be you. I looked the other way after what you told me and what we experienced, but if you don't think I will pull this trigger... I'll empty the whole magazine in you if I need to."

"He was a cop, but he was also a monster."

Hamlin stepped forward, forcing Christopher back into his house. Hamlin's eyes never left his.

"All cops can fuck up. I fucked up," Hamlin said.

"No Hamlin, not like this guy. He had killed, used his badge to rape and kill, and he had no intention of stopping."

"How do I know this is true?"

"You don't, only my word. I was trying to talk to that girl, the one outside my window. I saw her again at that bar and he decided to be a hero. But I could see his soul. He was no hero."

"What murder? What rape?"

Christopher tried to remember the details. His reading of the man's soul was sickening, and part of him had been trying to forget it. Then he remembered one thing.

"License plate LDA4035. Something like that. That was one of his victim's license plate number."

Hamlin's gun didn't waver, but for a moment Christopher thought he saw a flicker of doubt. So he pressed on.

"I could see it all, Hamlin, like it was all laid out for me. How he did it. How it made him feel. There was no investigation, no one ever found a body. He got away with it, but worse, he wanted to do it again. Whatever gifts I may have, the worst is to see the truth of a man's soul. It horrified me."

Now the gun did waver, slowly he lowered it.

"If I had done nothing. He would be walking free, ready to hurt and kill again."

Hamlin turned abruptly. "I need to check this out. I'm going to my car for a moment. You stay here. If you disappear then the next time I won't talk, I'll just squeeze the trigger."

Hamlin was back ten minutes later. This time his gun was holstered.

"The license plate belonged to a missing person. An unsolved case, but the car had been discovered by Patrolman Grey. Same guy you killed yesterday."

Christopher nodded absentmindedly.

"Christ, kid. I don't know what the hell is going on anymore. Zombies, flaming swords, you being able to read people’s minds."

"Not minds, souls."

"Souls, minds, whatever. Look kid, I've been thinking ever since we talked the other day. I don't know what help I can be, but I’m up for it. Especially if it means we get to Ambros."

And Christopher had never been more thankful. It was time. It was time to go straight for Ambros.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Ambros’ home looked like a castle, or rather something out of a Batman movie. Christopher stood well outside the gate, deep in the shadows, Hamlin next to him.

"I’m not so sure not having a plan is a good plan kid," Hamlin grumbled.

"But we do have a plan. I go in first, soften them up. Once the chaos is well underway, you come through as clean up. We know the basic layout and armament."

"Yeah, and if it gets too crazy I call in for back up, and then we try to explain why we are invading a man's house with no evidence or reason to be doing so."

"Right, which is why it is a last-resort call."

Christopher looked at Hamlin crouched in the bushes. A week ago Christopher would have thought of him as the tough guy, the seasoned cop, and Christopher would have been the cowardly kid, but now Hamlin looked fragile.

"When you kill these guys with the sword, you said it sort of damns them to Hell, no matter what?" Hamlin asked.

"Yes, even if I hit an innocent soul."

"These guys, his soldiers, are bad guys no doubt, but it makes me feel weird that we’re condemning them to hell. I mean as bad as they are, that seems a little harsh."

"I know. I have to deal with that. Don't worry, I’m the decider, your conscience is clean."

"Thanks kid, but it will take a lot more than your assurance to appease my guilt."

Christopher turned to him and said, "I will do my best not to use the Weapon, but even if I could get by them unharmed, I can't leave them for you."

Hamlin nodded, but Christopher could see he was not convinced.

"This is the only way to take Ambros down. You said it yourself, you cops can't touch him. His shit don't stink apparently," said Christopher. "This is our chance to take out the man who killed and raped my family, who’s committed countless other horrible crimes. Hamlin, I'm doing this with or without you.

And Christopher meant it. He could feel the rage building up, stoked by the seed of hell inside him. His body almost shook with fury. He wanted to feel the weight of Ambros' body as he sunk the Weapon into his chest.

Hamlin was staring at him, a slight glimmer of fear in his eyes, but then he nodded.

"I'm with you Christopher, I just wish we had a better plan."

Christopher reached out to the shadows and pulled on them to drape himself once again in his shifting black and gray coat and hood.

"The plan is simple. We bring hell to them."

With that, he emerged from the shadows and stalked toward the gate. Ten feet away he leapt into the air and sailed over the large iron wrought gate.

He landed in the middle of the courtyard, Weapon out, bands of power leaping from his body to the large sword and to the ground. He vibrated with energy and waited for the first gun shots to know in what direction to take the battle.

But there were none.

He scanned the courtyard and front of the house. Nothing. It was as if it was deserted. No group of goon soldiers came storming out of the shadows. The light was on in the small gate house, but there were no guards.

Something was not right.

He sniffed the air. He detected a slight tinge to it, something vaguely familiar.

Sword ready, he investigated the guard house. He recognized the smell before he reached the small room. It was the smell of fresh blood, of death.

He knew what he would find even before he looked in the large window. Two bodies lay on the floor of the room. They looked as if they had been killed by some sort of large animal. Chests torn open by what looked like claws, throats ripped open by powerful jaws. Blood splattered the walls, sending thick, viscous streaks down the sides of the room.

Whatever had killed these men had enjoyed it.

The monitors in the room showed nothing but static. He opened the door and hit the switch that he hoped would open the gate. He was rewarded by a grinding sound as the metal gate opened. Christopher turned away from the small security room. The house was quiet, lights were on, but no movement. Christopher couldn't smell a soul.

Hamlin came through, gun drawn.

"What the fuck happened here?" Hamlin asked.

"No idea," Christopher said. “I thought we'd need to come in guns blazing."

"What now?"

"Same plan. We have no idea what’s inside. I go first."

The power of hell still throbbing through, him he approached the front door. One of the large double doors was slightly ajar.

Suddenly tired of the quiet, itching to reap souls, he kicked open the double doors. With a great wrenching sound, they tore from their hinges and crashed against the walls before falling to the floor.

If anything was in the house, that noise should have woken it up.

But again there was nothing. No alarm, no people crying out, no sound of henchmen running towards him. Nothing.

In the hallway were two more bodies, also torn apart as if by some large creature or creatures. Here too, blood splattered the walls.

Trying to remember the crude map the Librarian had shown him, Christopher made his way through the house. He found more bodies in other rooms. Henchmen or guards slaughtered by some unknown creature or creatures.

Some had body parts gnawed off, others looked as though they had been skidded across the room, their entrails spilling out in large shiny streaks on the marble floor.

Eventually Christopher came to a final set of double doors. If he remembered the map correctly, this would be the large dining room or ballroom. If anything awaited him in this abattoir, it would most likely be in here.

Again impatience won and he kicked the doors, the power in him craving blood so far denied him. But no longer it seemed.

At the other end of the room in a large chair sat Ambros. He sat calmly, his feet flat on the floor, his hands firmly gripping the ends of the armrests. He looked up when the door burst open, but did not move in any other way, except for his eyes widening in surprise. His face was cut and bruised, blood seeping out of several of his orifices.

He looked right at Christopher, but seemed to only half notice him. It was easy to see who had done this too him. Rath stood just behind him, smiling.

"Welcome boy, to Ambros’ mausoleum and, I suppose, yours as well," Rath said.

He stepped from behind Ambros, and Christopher could see his arms glistened with wet blood past the elbows. His mouth was also covered in blood, trails of it ran down his face.

This was the creature that had killed the guards. Rath had slaughtered his own men.

"I have come to claim Ambros and to drag you back to Hell," Christopher said, the seed of power inside of him giving his words a confidence he didn't feel.

Rath chuckled. "Big talk for a boy who a few days ago was more worried about his final exams than collecting stray souls for hell."

As he talked. Rath seemed to grow taller, his already lanky arms grew longer and his fingers were more claw like. It was as though he was becoming more bestial as he talked.

"You are not your predecessor, boy. You are just a baby trying to pick up where he left off. No clue as to your true potential, your true strength. Tell me, have you grown fond of the taste of dammed souls Hunter?"

Christopher stepped forward, the Weapon in his hands compelling him onward. Its thirst for Rath overpowering his reluctance.

"You are a fool, boy. A slave to that thing in your hands. I will free you soon, but first let me take care of a little business and deny you the pleasure."

Rath reached out with one clawed hand towards Ambros.

"No!" Christopher cried out. "He is mine."

Christopher had no idea where it came from, but he knew that the whole purpose of his being, amplified by the seed of Hell inside of him, cried out for him to be the one to end Ambros.

Rath hesitated with a smile.

"Ah yes, the seed of hell is alive in you. Stoking the fire of hatred. You are truly just a puppet."

He reached once more for Ambros as though to twist his head off like a beer cap.

"No!" Christopher cried again and acting purely from instinct threw the bladed Weapon in his hand at Rath. It spun like a great fiery wheel.