The two men who were armed came at Malcolm quickly, thinking they would catch him off guard before he could pull his weapon. They were wrong. The pistol rose in a blur and he shot one man, shattering his forearm, and the knife dropped with a scream. Twisting about, Malcolm slammed the gun across the face of the man who had raised his cudgel.
Malcolm rammed his shoulder into the big man’s chest. So fast did the Scotsman move that the man could do little more than cry out in surprise. They went down in a tumble and he lost his grip on the pistol. Malcolm rolled away as a meaty fist drove into the ground where his neck would have been. He had to be quick and keep his opponents off balance. The big man was dangerous and needed to be disabled fast. Malcolm made it to his feet first.
Two new arrivals came running, and a red-bearded brute jumped into the fray. His chin lifted as he raised a wooden club. Malcolm swung a fast left jab into the man’s jaw. Red Beard’s head snapped around and Malcolm planted a right cross on the man’s temple. He dropped.
As Malcolm whirled back to the big brute, Red Beard’s partner grabbed him around the chest from behind. Malcolm used him as a brace and brought a boot into the brute’s midsection. The man fell back with a grunt of pain. Then the Scotsman threw his head back and connected with the nose of the man holding him. Restraining arms dropped and Malcolm spun about with a wild look.
His opponent gave a wicked swipe with a razor, but it caught in the folds of Malcolm’s grey scarf instead of his jugular. He grabbed the man’s arm and shoved his palm under the elbow and pushed up. The arm cracked and the man flopped to the ground with shrieks of pain.
The big thug, shaking himself, rose from the ground. He plunged again at the man in black with fists flailing, and the hunter let him come, slipping under to land a power blow of his own. It crushed the man’s lips and sent teeth flying. Malcolm’s fist darted out again, but this time it merely glanced off as his opponent shifted his head. Malcolm stumbled a step beyond the big man. The brute took advantage of the off-balance Scotsman and landed a hard blow on Malcolm’s ribs. It took the breath out of him.
Malcolm ducked just in time to avoid the thug’s next bone-crushing blow. He felt the wind as it passed over his head. He also heard the splintering of the wooden planks along the wall. Spinning on his heel, Malcolm locked both his hands together and brought them down onto the big man’s unprotected back. The behemoth shuddered and fell to his hands and knees.
Malcolm turned to face the thug with the cudgel, who had gotten up finally. The man came in swinging madly. Malcolm dodged under the first two swings, then stood up quickly, smashing his elbow under the brute’s chin. The man’s jaw shut hard and his head jerked back. He staggered and allowed Malcolm to deliver a hard right cross. This time the man went down and didn’t move.
Malcolm didn’t turn around fast enough before the behemoth struck him hard in the side of the face. The sheer impact rattled his bones to the core. Malcolm fell into the dirt, a cloud of dust rising beneath him, his breath going with it. He struggled to stand and got a boot in his face for the effort. The world went black for a second, and when his vision returned, he found himself in the grip of the huge man. Iron arms were wrapped around his chest so tightly that breathing was no longer a possibility. Malcolm groaned with the agony that spread across his ribs.
He struggled to shake off the darkness and get his feet beneath him, but not before the big man whirled around, slamming the hunter against a wall. His right shoulder took the brunt of it and his arm erupted in agony. He didn’t have much time. There was a roar in his ears. His numbing mind tried desperately to find a way out of the bear hold.
Malcolm pulled a pistol from across his hip. He couldn’t lift the weapon up, but he could point it down. Praying the leg he was shooting wasn’t his, he fired. The bullet blew through the big man’s knee. The scream that came almost brought a smile to Malcolm’s lips except that he was too busy trying to breathe and stay conscious.
The big man bellowed in agony and dropped Malcolm to clutch his shattered knee. Slumping to the ground, the Scotsman rolled to the side, sucking in a great lungful of sweet air. Letting go of his bleeding leg, the man came unsteadily at Malcolm once more. Malcolm slipped under a clumsy blow and brought his hand up, and with the heel of it caught the brute full in the face. Then a series of strikes forced the man’s head side to side. They were short and quick, flicking in so fast they were just a blur of movement. The man’s big frame shuddered before momentum carried him past Malcolm, thudding to his knees. He cried out in more agony, clutching his injured leg.
Malcolm’s hand brushed across the blood dripping into his eye. His strength was rapidly running out. Amazingly, the lame man strained one more time to rise, fear in his eyes as Malcolm took one step toward him. Using his bloody left fist like a club now, and putting the weight of his whole body behind it, he struck the man on the neck below and behind the ear. It made a sickening, dull sound and the big brute’s eyes rolled white. He slumped into the dirt with a groan and did not move again.
The sudden relief of victory swept through Malcolm. He stared down at his lame and bloody attackers. Not one of them was conscious. The hunter was straight and deadly and utterly still, yet every line of him was eager and alive.
“Done, are ya?” he spat out anyway. “Because I can keep going.”
There was no answer so he limped back to the steps and shoved open the door of the church. Inside, a faint glow beckoned from the right. All else was cast into deep shadows. He stepped through the pews and saw, in a ring of light on the floor, a distant shape, as pale as the cold tile it lay upon. Malcolm’s jaw tightened. The splayed figure was female. Her chest was a bloody mess. She had been flayed open to expose the organs inside.
Malcolm was too late.
To our editors at Del Rey including Sarah and Tricia, who have let us follow in the footsteps of some of the people who inspired each of us.
Thanks to Stan, Jack, Steve, and John, plus Ray and Forry. You guys are responsible.
To the fires of my forge—Joss Whedon, Walter B. Gibson (or Maxwell Grant as he was known to the world), hours of D&D, Elizabeth Peters, Bernard Cornwell, Chris Claremont, and Edgar Rice Burroughs.
BY CLAY GRIFFITH AND SUSAN GRIFFITH
CROWN & KEY TRILOGY
The Shadow Revolution
VAMPIRE EMPIRE TRILOGY
The Greyfriar
The Rift Walker
The Kingmakers
ABOUT THE AUTHORS
CLAY GRIFFITH and SUSAN GRIFFITH met at a bookstore thanks to The Uncanny X-Men #201. They had to get married because of a love of adventure stories with heroes who save the day and fall in love. Soon they were writing stories together, including The Shadow Revolution and the Vampire Empire series. After years of comics, short stories, and novels, they remain happily married. When not writing or talking about writing, the couple watch classic movies, play Warcraft, and struggle to entertain their cat. They still have that copy of The Uncanny X-Men #201.
Facebook.com/vampireempire
@clayandsusan
The Shadow Revolution: Crown & Key Page 28
