Cain (46 page)

"He will reach the dungeon in any case, Kano. He is skilled. Are your brothers awaiting him?" asked Cain in an ominous tone and he glanced at Kano with an alien expression.

Kano felt the impact, stepped back.

"My
... My Lord
?"

Cain's hand lashed out to snatch the warlock from the ground and it was over quickly, blood raining through niobium-titanium fangs into lungs that filtered it into strength, enhancing and expanding, replenishing the full measure of what he'd thirsted for during the long dry day. Afterwards Cain tossed the lifeless husk aside.

"Why was such life wasted on a mortal?" he asked.

***

Soloman froze, listening. He raised a hand to Maggie and Mary Francis, searching the spiraling darkness beneath them. He could see no more than ten feet because of the twisting, descending stone staircase. He held the shotgun close, anticipating.

Nothing happened but he waited longer, knowing he'd heard a faint
rustling beneath them. Like the whisper of feet moving into position.

And then
Soloman suddenly wished that he hadn't allowed Maggie and the rest to accompany him on this. It was too wild, too surreal. His emotions were flaring out of control with the stress because it was unlike anything he'd ever done, and he was even good at this job. He couldn't imagine what Maggie was experiencing. But as he risked a narrow glance back, he saw that she was locked in defiant control.

Too late to change his mind, he motioned for them to proceed. And
they continued down the stairway slow and close, each holding a flashlight that lit the corridor. Then Soloman saw a cobblestone floor before them and moved to the door, motioning for them to hold their positions.

He hesitated, waiting, watching, and listening. He detected nothing but knew that his perceptions weren't reliable. Two or more of the killers could be strategically positioned on the far side of the portal, swords uplifted.

Soloman took a deep breath, not worrying about silence because the flashlights were giving away their positions anyway, an advantage and a disadvantage. But he saw distant torches burning in the underground, knew this section was being used.

He made sure the safety of the shotgun was off and walked slowly forward, halting six feet from the door. There was a moment spent as he took a series of deep breaths, preparing. Then he stepped forward to—

"Soloman!" Maggie screamed.

He whirled, knowing
instantly what was happening, using the ruse that he'd been deceived. It would be a two-point attack: Someone had come from above and in a split-second another one would rush out of the dungeon entrance to cut off his retreat.

Soloman
half-turned as a vulture-like shape descended between the women firing a pistol and he took a split-second as the shape came over them, black cloak spread like batwings with white fire flashing.

As the bullets struck to the side
Soloman half-turned to glimpse a second figure almost on top of him, charging from the dungeon.

Deciding
instantly, he hurled himself back at the steps, rolling beneath the descending black shape as it soared over his head to land hard on the cobblestone threshold, firing all the way. The attacker quickly exchanged clips as he staggered off-balance and then Soloman was on his feet, shotgun rising. He saw the second man rushing forward as the first collided against the wall and then he fired to pump three quick rounds into the rushing figure.

It staggered the warlock and
Soloman grabbed the massive body to shove him violently toward the figure that had leaped between Maggie and Sister Mary Francis. Then in a chaotic eruption of gunfire with swords flailing Soloman fired again point-blank into the second man's chest, a deafening series of blasts that finally sent both of the warlocks against the wall in gore.

Heated, on fire with killing rage,
Soloman slammed six fresh rounds into the shotgun, cursing as he racked it and saw a live round accidentally jacked into the air, spent from excitement. He shouted at Maggie, "Are you all right? Are both of you all right?"

"We're all right!" Maggie shouted back and then froze, lifting her head as if she'd heard something.

She stared with mesmerizing intensity into the echoing darkness as Soloman bent and picked up the unspent round, shoving it into the chamber; he couldn't afford to waste any. He glimpsed the move as Maggie leaped down the stairs and cursed violently as she ran past him. He lashed out to grab her but it was too late.

"Maggie!" he screamed.

She ran through the dungeon door.

"No!"

Soloman charged forward as she howled in pain, hurled to the side by a blade that lashed out and returned, whirling back, and Soloman angled outside the violent flash as the blade struck sparks from the wall.

***

Marcelle was halfway up the stairs when he heard the almost-silent approach beneath him, knew battle had been engaged. He turned, descending quickly to take steps three at a time when he saw the black shape looming up, a sword held low.

A white flicker whipped out and Marcelle leaned back. With a shout
he leaped farther up the steps, his hands raised to grapple. And the cloaked figure, a warlock or sorcerer, advanced with lethal purpose, the blade raised high. Even in the frantic moment Marcelle saw that the man was powerfully built, far taller than he, but lacking his elemental development.

"I do not wish to harm you!" Marcelle rasped, backing up the stairs.
"Give us the child and leave this place! Hear me!
I do not wish to harm you
!"

A vicious swipe sliced his vest as Marcelle leaped aside and another
blinding slash stung his arm, cutting deeper than he'd anticipated. He instinctively reached up to his injured shoulder as he backed, crouching, giving the message that, if it came to it, he would strangle this attacker's life from his body; the impression was strong.

Stares were exchanged for a split-second and Marcelle took the advantage, backing quickly, thinking of Amy. He realized from the faintness of breath that he was badly injured, his strength already fading. His
attacker had obviously sliced an artery or a superior vein, and Marcelle knew that if he didn't reach a hospital he would be dead inside an hour.

Then the warlock attacked again and Marcelle desperately parried with the flashlight, roaring in pain as a finger was severed in the collision of blade and steel. Then the blade returned and at another injury Marcelle almost forgot the pain of the first.

His attacker continued to ascend, whirling and striking in fantastic combinations of blows that Marcelle countered again and again, defying the mesmerizing skill and speed that inexorably pushed him into the prison tower, from which there was no escape.

***

No time for tactics.

Soloman
understood what had happened.

Maggie had heard Amy's distant scream and her love had abrup
tly overcome her judgment. Then she had launched herself through the door and another warlock waiting with cold control on the other side had struck a blow that sent her wildly to the floor.

Soloman
went through the door like a hurricane.

Collision!

A fierce collision, a violent intertwining of arms and frantic blows before the warlock savagely broke free and whirled with a bladed hook—a close-combat weapon once used for disemboweling men and horses in the Middle Ages.

Soloman
blocked the blow with the shotgun and spun to block another and then another, trying to gain a single second for a shot as the blade fell like lightning, tearing wood from the stock.

With a roar
Soloman lunged to hit the warlock full-force, blasting him away from Maggie and into the nightmarish atmosphere of the dungeon where they rolled together, tearing, grappling until Soloman somehow lost the shotgun and whirled, hurling the cloaked shape against iron bars.

Wasting a single breath he spun toward Maggie and saw her bleeding from an arm, Mary Francis over her. He also saw that no other warlocks occupied the tunnel; there was only this. He reached for the Grizzly, the shotgun lost in the collision.

Black and enraged, the warlock rose.

Soloman
found nothing, glared down; the holster was empty.

The cloaked shape descended over him.

A sweeping slash and Soloman angled desperately to the side, evading the hook by the faintest edge, but the long weapon returned in a vicious crosscut that would have torn out a lung and Soloman leaped forward to block it forearm to forearm. He struck back hard, his fist connecting solidly, and then he whirled to hurl the powerful figure down the tunnel again, gaining precious breathless moments.

"Oh, God,"
Soloman gasped, glaring about for his weapons, but they were gone, gone, and he couldn't use the grenades because it could kill all of them. He heard soft steps and turned, knowing.

In a blinding wheel of steel the black shape attacked, whirling the hook in a mesmerizing display of skill. He threw a dozen blows that
Soloman evaded by the narrowest flashing margin in the darkness, angling, blocking, slipping for frantic moments as the hook struck sparks from the close walls and floor.

It was a fantastic conflict of speed with fire struck at each blow, and
Soloman reacted like lightning again and again, barely avoiding the razor edge. Then the curving blade swept across once more and Soloman ducked wildly as it struck the bars and locked. With a shout the warlock tried to tear the blade free.

Soloman
reacted.

He trapped the warlock's weapon arm, roaring as he delivered an elbow to the face, and in the next split-second he brought a knee up to
strike the flat side of the hook at the hilt.

It snapped.

The warlock glared as he stumbled back, holding the shattered hilt. He looked at Soloman a moment and Soloman thought he was about to run, was glad to let him. Then the man charged forward, raising the broken edge like a knife, but at this there was no contest. Soloman parried the slashing blow and his forearm lashed out to hit the warlock's neck. Then, clutching his stunned opponent's head, he spun without mercy to snap the spine and felt the man's body fall limp.

Enraged and breathless,
Soloman twisted back to throw the body to the floor, heated and breathless from the rage of combat.

"
Soloman!" Maggie staggered up, supported by the Mother Superior.

"Are you all right
!"

Taken by the killing instinct,
Soloman didn't answer, for he heard the distant screams of Amy. He studied Maggie and realized she was badly wounded, but that she'd survive.

He moved past her and Mother Superior Mary Francis to quickly locate the lost shotgun and Grizzly, replacing the pistol securely in the holster. He held the shotgun in sweating hands.

Things were burning down quick, and he felt more certain than ever that he would never make it out of here. He stretched out a hand: "Give me the backpack, Maggie."

"But—"

"
Give it to me
! It's almost over!"

She handed it
to him.

He knew there was napalm and dynamite along with an extra eight grenades concealed inside. He slung it over his shoulder and moved past them, into the torchlight.

"Come on," he rasped. "We've got to find Amy."

***

Ben stared with hate-filled eyes.

He saw a long limousine draw into the sea house and he raised the binoculars with a vengeance. He wasn't even surprised—measuring it against the unendurable ordeal of his watch—when Archette stepped out of the vehicle to be welcomed into the manor like a king.

Frowning, Ben lowered the glasses to his gut.

He scowled.

"You're about to be a very popular man," he said.

***

Frowning from his throne, Cain knew.

With a scowl he reached down, his hand settling on the neck of the mandrill, caressing, communicating with the strange intuitive understanding they had come to share in so short a time. Then he stretched out his other hand, locking on the chain securing it to stone.

With titanic strength he shattered the links and at the impact the mandrill leaped forward, roaring as it loped across the floor on thick simian arms, disappearing into the depth of the Castle to search for prey. In seconds it was lost beyond the torches.

Silence echoed in flame.

"Where man fails," Cain whispered, "let beasts prevail."

***

Marcelle roared as he was hit again, backing up the stairway. He hurled a massive forearm high to deflect a blow that tore away flesh and in desperation threw out a fist, losing even more. He tried to ignore the gush of blood from his severed finger.

A flash.

Marcelle twisted away again but the blow struck true, slicing him with brutal force, and he threw it back, lashing out with a fist that struck like thunder. The blow was unforgiving and it rocked his attacker to send him cascading chaotically down the stairs where the warlock rose, stunned, a hand to his head, shaking in anger, before he glared up again. His hand tightened on the sword.