by Allan Cole
And the great wheel of conflict would not be stopped.
Vlad’s heart raced as a sudden thought came to him. The wheel must be stopped!
Even if the price he paid was betrayal and the loss of his good name.
What if … What if …
…They did not fight at all?
This thought penetrated through many layers of hatred and brainwashed loyalty.
It was a weakness suddenly revealed. And all of Vlad’s experience and background railed against it.
He’d gladly give his life for the glory of Mother Russia. Surely Davyd would do the same for America.
But neither sacrifice would be of any help at all. And the guillotine-edged shadow over Earth and all its galactic dominions would fall without hesitation.
Dying is not an option, Major Vlad Projogin. You must find another way. You must!
Vlad made his fateful decision.
His fists clenched. And he pressed them hard against both temples. He was calling to Davyd.
Piercing his own battlements and trenches, his mental call shouted out wildly in all directions. Desperately seeking to be heard.
He knew very well that in whatever sheltered lair his enemy waited the refuge would be cloaked by all the possible warspells the infamous Odysseus Corps could muster.
Vlad’s mentos knock on the door would most likely be answered with an instant and most violent reaction.
But he had to take that chance. Once the Duel began they would simply tear each other into pieces, with no remorse and no regret.
“Kells, I know you can hear me!” Vlad insisted in his mentos shout. “Truce! A moment’s truce!”
“Coward,” came a cold mentos answer.
The reply came immediately, but Vlad was incapable of detecting where his alter ego was hidden.
What a cool head, Vlad thought. He could understand. Despite his peaceful attempt, Vlad’s own blood was boiling with combat readiness.
All the years of cunningly manipulated hatred were against him: pride, desire, medals of fame spilling down his dress-uniformed chest like armor against reason.
All these things were against one Major Vlad Projogin, thousand-year hero of the Church Of The Sword.
These objects and the symbolism they bore were so numerous that he was alone.
He didn’t blame his enemy for refusing his plea. Davyd was too busy preparing his own assault spells. To be more accurate, at this moment Davyd Kells was little more than a combat spell himself.
Kells smelled the bait; he considered himself too big and too fanged a fish for this fisherman— and he couldn’t stop himself now.
Being kept waiting for the enemy’s offense helped to keep one’s head clearer. That was Vlad’s present advantage— but rather a weak one.
So Davyd wouldn’t stop. Wouldn’t allow talk of a truce. That was Vlad’s answer. Combat juices spurted into his veins, but he desperately fought them back. Trying to think clearly. What the hell had been his aim?
He scratched at the veil of confusion and peered once more into the well of reason.
Okay, he thought, Davyd now was too hyped— to use the Amer’s words— to be reasoned with.
Most likely Davyd firmly believed that Vlad was close to defeat even before the true duel began.
But perhaps it was something else behind all this violent thinking from Kells.
A sudden image of Tanya Lawson again intruded upon Vlad’s mind.
A terrible jealousy was aroused. So intense he could barely control his fists from striking uselessly at the furniture in the room.
It was Tanya Davyd wanted. Not glory for himself, or a victory for his beloved America— that cursed place of misbegotten fools.
Very well, then. If that’s what the Amer wanted!
And Vlad readied himself for the worst.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Vlad was still sitting in a deep trance, slowly floating upon the invisible waves of a fiendish sea, when Davyd’s voice came again— still as cold as steel.
He said, “Let’s quit playing games, Vlad. Hide and seek is for kids. We’ve gone one-on-one twice before. And each time it’s been a draw.
“Why don’t we settle things once and for all. No magic. No weapons. Hand-to-hand. What do you say?”
Vlad was stunned; amazed. What was this? A trick?
But Kells wouldn’t toy with the most precious possession of a warrior— his reputation. Or would he?
The Odysseus Corps assassins were masters of swift assaults and withdrawals. Could this be a cunning maneuver to draw Vlad out of his refuge?
He heard Davyd chuckle. “I know what you’re thinking, you Rooskie bastard. You’re wondering if it’s a trap. Well hell, it isn’t. I’m making an honest offer.
“Besides, if we do this my way— the quiet way— we’ll spare the people of this town. Why turn it into ashes? They’ve got nothing to do with our fight.”
Still wary, Vlad considered. Kells was right about one thing: with the deadly arsenal they both had at their disposal the inhabitants of the city would suffer greatly.
Besides, if Vlad agreed, he’d have a chance to talk with Davyd face-to-face.
“I agree,” Vlad finally answered. “No spells, no sidearms. Nothing except our bare hands.”
“Sounds good to me,” Davyd replied. “Come on then!
A pause, then: “Oh, yeah, one thing,” Davyd added. “If you win, which I strongly doubt, I wish you luck with Tanya.
“You may be a Rooskie bastard, but outside of me you’re the best man she’s likely to meet in this life, or the next.”
Vlad couldn’t help smiling. “I also wish you luck with her as well, Davyd. I know you’ll take care of her.
“But … before we start … can we stop and talk a little bit more? We can …”
“No goddamned way, Vlad!” Davyd growled.
But there was real grief in that growl. Much regret. Menace and hatred buried for a priceless moment.
Then his voice hardened as he repeated: “No goddamned way!”
“Well, then,” Vlad said. “Let the fight commence!”
And he broke the bonds of his trance, coming to his feet.
He waved a hand, dissolving his magical battlements.
A sudden chill crept into his bones, as if he were standing there naked, exposed, while cold eyes examined him.
Had he just made a terrible mistake?
* * *
The Planetar Demon heard Vlad’s fearful thought. If he’d possessed lips to smile with, they would have curled back in an evil grin.
Yes indeed, my little softskin, the Planetar Demon thought. You’ve both made a very grave error. And now you shall pay for it.
He’d listened with deep interest as Kells had issued his challenge and Vlad had accepted it. Hand-to-hand combat. No magical defenses, or physical weapons.
Which meant they’d never suspect his presence. Much less his interference.
If the Planetar Demon had planned this moment— instead of impatiently waiting for his chance— it couldn’t have turned out more perfectly.
The Demon swiveled his baleful gaze onto Davyd Kells, waiting … waiting …
* * *
…Davyd had retreated to his sewer tunnel hiding place before making his offer to Vlad.
It was the perfect place for a war rat, he thought as the cold slimy drops fell on his back. Quickly he stashed his weapons. Stripping himself for the coming fight.
Then he paused, heart quickening with fear as it suddenly wondered at what he’d just done.
What the hell was he doing? Better question, what the hell should he do now?
The first law of Odysseus was startlingly clear: the best way— the sure way— to win a fight was to fire a single shot into the head of your enemy. Fired from as great a distance as possible.
Instead, Davyd was not only forgoing that shot, but was carelessly tossing away all his careful plans for victory by giving Projogin the same chance.
Then he thought of Tanya and instantly found his answer. It wouldn’t make any difference to her, but he still felt it was necessary to make some gesture— a gesture of sacrifice placed on the altar of his love for her.
Very well, then, he thought. I’ll go. Just like I said I would. Out to the very middle of the street. Defenseless except for my physical skills. With little hope of retreat.
It occurred to him that he might have just set a trap for himself. What if Vlad had several platoons of his crack Brown Bear troops standing by.
They could make things very hot for him. Especially with Vlad leading them on.
You must have just lost your teeny mind, Davyd Kells. Gone as mad as the proverbial hatter. A giddy question came to him: what made the hatters go crazy? Something to do with the solution of mercury they used to stiffen the brims? How’s that for trivia, buddy boy? Trivia questions and answers in the face of destruction.
His mind whirled and he almost lost control. Something was hammering at him. Making him think silly things. Sucking at his focus. Bear down, Kells! Bear goddamn down!
Heart racing, he pressed on, climbing the iron ladder to the manhole cover. But just as a precaution, he grabbed his knapsack of weapons and hung it by the strap from a workman’s hook, poking out of the concrete.
Then he braced himself on the rung and easily pushed the heavy iron cover aside with his great strength.
Just then, his gremlin box gave a fearful squeak: “Beware, master! Beware!”
Before he had time to react he felt a tremendous force suddenly descend on him. It was as if the whole sky was falling, falling, falling, crushing down upon him.
He struggled upward, pushing back with all his might. Then an ice flame seared him to the bone.
Shocked by the fierce pain, he still had the presence of mind to grab his knapsack.
There was a roaring sound in his ears and a powerful force ripped away the very concrete and steel surrounding him.
Davyd knelt on the ground, stunned and gasping under the cruel sky, fully exposed to Vlad’s next assault.
He cursed himself for a fool. The Rooskie scum had fired first after all. And with a magical weapon, to boot!
The man had no honor! How could Davyd have been so blind not to see that from the very beginning?
The thought flashed in his mind and vanished as Davyd quickly set his own spells free.
Vlad wanted to fight dirty, die he? Well, by God the son of a bitch would get what he asked for! The horde of battle spells rushed forward to do his bidding.
Everything became very hazy to Davyd as swift waves of destruction altered time and space, swallowing the real world. He didn’t feel pain or regret as he let the battle rage take him, lifting him to whole new levels of deadly awareness.
The transformation had begun and now not even Satan himself could keep Davyd from his purpose.
The Rooskie bastard would get what he deserved.
Goddamn his eyes!
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Drawing on the intense hatred each man had for the other, the Planetar Demon unleashed simultaneous blows at the two softskin warriors.
But they were so carefully cloaked by clever spells that the men were unaware of the true source of the attack. Each thought the other was responsible …
…The first thing Vlad saw was a furious magical explosion in the street.
It was as if a huge invisible beast was burrowing into the concrete, hurling debris in every direction.
In his initial shock, he at first thought it might be an exploding artillery shell.
But that was impossible, he decided. No ordinary shellburst would be accompanied by the enormous waves of sorcery that were assaulting his senses.
It was cold, so cold it burned him to the marrow. And then a tremendous force bore down on him.
Vlad groaned in intolerable pain as a magical missile blasted toward him, with hundreds of hungry DeathSpirits howling for his blood.
Even before the missile struck, fantastic force waves rippled outward, battering him.
He dodged the oncoming weapon, hurling up a spell shield that absorbed most of the shock. Vlad fell to his knees, mortally wounded DeathSpirits wriggling on the floor all around him as they gasped their last cries of hatred.
Immediately, he was certain Kells had fired just as Vlad was emerging from his tower fortress. But Davyd had been so anxious for the kill that he’d fired too quickly— a tragic mistake!
The destruction in the street, Vlad was sure, came from the backblast of that too hasty shot.
His mind raged with anger. That damned lying Amer had tricked Vlad into revealing himself!
Not only that, but somehow Davyd had brought a whole contingent of Odysseus Corps fighters with him. Never mind the “man-to-man” duel the Amers had boasted about in the newsfeeds.
Vlad roared in blind fury. If Kells wanted to fight that way, Vlad would pay him back in kind.
And to hell with his Odysseus brothers!
Vlad rushed back to his pentagrams and ancient runes to let loose all the deadly magic he had at his command.
* * *
Davyd was poised on the very border of unreality and its countless magical domains. Major Projogin had broken the rules and now all taboos were removed.
Vlad’s cunning lie so disgusted Davyd that he cheered when he saw the first collision of his just released fiendish army blast against the Rooskie bastard’s battle lines.
Davyd was not a combat mage. In fact, he disdained that breed and had overcome and killed many of them during his long career as an Odysseus Corps assassin.
The spell weapons he was using against Vlad were only to keep his enemy occupied while he moved in to take him down.
If Father Zorza had witnessed this initial attack he’d be pleased, oh yes, yes, he’d be.
Homes along both sides of the street dissolved as Davyd’s weapon exploded. Deep clouds of swiftly multiplying colors danced madly around him, heightening his joy.
Among them he clearly saw a red glowing globe, an entire circle of death surrounding the Rooskie son of a bitch. It’d be a miracle above all miracles if Vlad survived.
Davyd’s magically enhanced eyes pierced the structure of Vlad’s tower hideout. Walls of brick and stone gave way before his view.
But he couldn’t find Vlad. Immediately he realized he was being blocked by a spell shield Vlad had somehow managed to erect. The cunning bastard had somehow survived!
Damn, damn, damn!
Instinctively, Davyd unleashed another assault before Vlad could recover enough to return fire.
His entire body turned into a deadly spear. An enormous shaft spread far beyond … stretching into the Void … pushing through time and space … while he, Davyd Kells, transformed into the shovel head of that spear.
The head was formed on a sorcerous anvil, white hot from the fierce flames of a magical forge.
And then a giant’s hand hurled the spear at the place where Davyd believed Vlad was hiding.
But in mid-flight the burning spear head that was Davyd slammed against a super cold barricade. Thousands of magic-eating spirits devoured the force of his blow.
Yet Davyd pressed on. Hurling himself blindly against his enemy’s battlements.
A near suicide attempt to quickly and decisively take Vlad out.
Father Zorza would not have been happy with Davyd’s foolishly desperate attempt. It violated all the codes of the Corps.
But the damned enemy was so near … so intolerably close … that he couldn’t resist.
The blow was savage but futile. Like hammering on the gates of the mightiest castle. Still he kept trying.
He drew back and crashed forward once more— the blow even more powerful than before.
But at the scant moment before the impact, Davyd suddenly heard a startlingly familiar voice:
“He’s up
on us!” Tanya Lawson shouted in perfect Russian.
At first, Davyd thought it was another one of Vlad’s craven tricks. Using the Hound to mimic Tanya as he’d done before.
But then he heard another shout: “Kill, him, Vlad, kill him!”
And he knew it wasn’t the Hound, but truly Tanya. She’d turned against him. Somehow Vlad had seduced the only woman Davyd had ever loved to turn against him. To join Vlad in battle against Davyd.
He burned with anger at this double betrayal. How could she? How could he? His rage overflowed and was instantly transformed into killing action.
Vlad Projogin must die.
He’d spare Tanya if he could. She’d made her choice— and he couldn’t blame her, no matter what the reason.
But his wrath was so fierce against Vlad that all thoughts of Tanya’s protection were swept aside.
He’d kill Vlad Projogin even if he had to die himself!
This was the last clear thought of Major Davyd Kells, hero of the Odysseus Corps.
* * *
When Vlad realized what had happened it was already too late to avoid Davyd’s desperate blow.
All he and the Hound could do was face the assault square on. No matter how powerful Davyd’s attack, Vlad must not allow himself to be beaten to his knees.
A cowering man was always the first to die and Major Vlad Projogin, the most prized warrior the Church Of The Sword possessed, was not a man to die easily.
With a terrible shriek, the Hound rushed forward, covering Vlad with its body, meeting the coming wave of violence.
This action won Vlad a precious millisecond. Allowing him to sweep through slow-floating time and to activate his own barriers and defenses.
The desperate Hound managed to fire not just once, but twice: a full load of BattleSpirits rushing out to ravage Davyd.
But the Hound’s powerful counter assault drained the last of its magical resources. And so it had no shield to protect itself as Davyd’s soul-blasting bullets ripped the creature into shreds.
The Hound’s final cry of anguish was so damnably human, sounded so much like Tanya’s cry, that for a moment Vlad believed the woman he loved had been slain.
