Soloman ducked as he was hit from behind and half-whirled for a shot that exploded between the two of them. He knew instantly that he'd missed, the blast going wide. Then he was carried suddenly past the wall by a colossal impact into the stairwell!
He twisted in midair, viciously slamming the hitter's body beneath him, forcing him to absorb the impact. Then they were careening down the stones, spinning in a revolving whirlwind of punishing blows and roaring black space. Soloman sensed the sword sweeping in wild blows that he eluded again and again as he repeatedly fired the Grizzly, hitting at least once, then missing clean in the chaos with fire joining them as the slide locked. Frantically he pulled and pulled the trigger to nothing and realized in shock that he had to change clips in the midst of this— Down!
Soloman ducked as the blade passed over his head.
Emergency reload!
They collided and half-twisted, half-rolled to the first landing, and the sword lit the darkness for a split second as a savage swipe struck sparks from the rail. Half-light! Streetlight! It hit them at once.
Soloman glimpsed a horrific and haunting silhouette before him, dark and gigantic. Then he caught the keen reflection of the sword rising and he leaped inside the man's reach, colliding hard.
The stunning impact took them down the last flight, neither landing an effective blow, and as they crashed on the lowest level Soloman recovered fastest. He shouted as he bridged the gap and hurled a hard sidekick that struck deep into his attacker's chest. At the impact, leaping back and away, Soloman dropped the empty clip. Reload! Reload!
With a howl the man came off the wall, his arm raised high, and Soloman threw himself back to the wall, slamming in another magazine and leveling as the man came over him like the Grim Reaper, the sword falling to— Soloman fired.
He pulled the trigger as fast as he could, the thunderous point-blank rounds hitting solid center-mass again and again. He watched wildly as the hitter staggered slowly back and the slide finally locked.
Face cloaked by a black hood, the man stood in place for a bizarre and eerie moment, staring. Then he swayed, the sword falling from his hand, and in a strange, slow descent fell backwards.
Breathless, stunned and shocked, Soloman struggled for a moment, trying to realize whether he was still alive or not. Dazed, he laboriously pulled out the empty magazine and inserted another as he came up on one knee, wondering if he was dying.
He dropped the slide to chamber a round and cursed with the agony of fresh slicing wounds as he stood. And after a moment he bent over the dead man, wiping sweat from his face with a bloody forearm, blood and sweat stinging together. He saw that the hit-man was wearing a pair of night-vision goggles and with a slow effort removed them; he could use them later.
In the glow of distant white light streaming through the doorway Soloman saw the peculiar short sword and picked it up. He knew immediately that it was a formidable weapon, vaguely resembling a saber. Then he dropped it from his bloody hand and began to find calm, instinct assuring him that this was the last for the night.
Frowning down at the black-cloaked form, Soloman turned away.
"Never bring a knife to a gunfight," he said.
***
"Soloman!" Maggie screamed.
Trembling, she centered the shotgun on the door as Marcelle watched the window. And Mary Francis stood behind her, stoic and calm, also staring at the door. Her old voice cut though the terror.
"Be calm, Maggie," she said. "Don't shoot until you see something."
"Grab a napkin!" Maggie shouted. "Put it in a plate and set it on fire with a match. Just get me some light!"
Mary Francis obeyed instantly, burning a napkin with Marcelle's lighter, and the room was visible.
Holding the butt of the shotgun against her ribs, Maggie prepared to shoot from the waist. "Everybody stay back from the door," she whispered. "Don't get between me and them. They're gonna pay."
She flinched as someone shouted at the door.
"Maggie! Don't shoot! It's me!"
"Soloman!"
She threw the shotgun on the bed as she ran to the door and opened it quickly, catching him as he stumbled through. He turned and shut the panel, locking it with the deadbolt.
"Get everything together!" Soloman shouted, leaning against the panel. "Do it now!"
Maggie was around him. "What happened?"
"A couple of people got themselves killed," he answered, blowing sweat from his lips. "They're still on the stairway and we've got to get out of here fast. We can't let the locals get their hands on us."
Moving instantly, Maggie shoved clothes into a suitcase. It took less than five seconds and she turned, glaring. "We're ready, Sol."
"Stay close to me. If anything happens, drop to the ground. But don't get involved. But if I go down, run for the front desk. They probably won't come after you if there's any witnesses." He took a deep breath, glanced at the bed. "Give me the shotgun and the incendiaries, Maggie."
She lifted them.
"All right," he whispered wearily, taking them as he wiped sweat from his face with a shoulder. "We're going for the stairwell. I'll go first. I want all of you to stay six feet behind me in a tight group. Hold onto each other. When we get outside run for the car but don't open any of the doors until I make sure it's not wired. It'll take me sixty seconds. You got it?"
They nodded.
"Good. Let's move."
He opened the door and the shotgun led the way. He slung the day-pack of grenades over his shoulder and held the M-3 close, leveled, adjusting aim at every corner though he could see nothing. He knew only that at the first hint of hostile movement he was going to give a single short warning, and if it continued to approach he was going to fire.
Together they followed him down the hallway and into the dark stairwell, finally sensing their own somber silhouettes in the faint streetlight. Maggie recognized the coppery smell of blood in the hallway, and it was even stronger as she turned on the landing. In the streetlight she sighted a powerfully large, black-cloaked figure at the bottom of the stairs. But it was not so large as Cain, so she knew it wasn't over.
As Soloman went through the exit she saw that his back was blackened with blood. He was wounded, she realized for the first time. She silently cursed herself for not sensing it in the room but in her relief to see him alive she had missed the signs. And now she was doing well just to obey his instructions, as were all of them.
Casting a single contemptuous glance down, she stepped coldly over the dead man and the widening pool. They reached the car without incident and Soloman checked it fast, moving with skill. "It's clear," he whispered painfully as he crawled from beneath, leaving a wide smear of blood on the pavement. He gained his feet with an expression of exhaustion.
Let’s go.
Together they moved as they caught the distant sounds of sirens approaching. And as the gathering lights descended upon them Soloman cleared the gate on parking lights, hurling them into darkness and a graveyard with grisly black trees.
All there was.
***
Kano knelt.
Seated upon the noble stone throne, Cain waited. His eyes gleamed red in the torchlight as he caressed the massive mandrill which crouched at his side, a thick steel chain locked about its neck.
Glaring and sensing Kano’s instinctive fear, the malevolent beast suddenly lashed out and with a startled shout the warlock drew back, falling on the steps. With a frightful stare he regained his feet, trembling.
Cain's hand settled on the beast’s neck, crushing to bring a whine. "Do not fear this puppet, my child," he growled – a growl even more animal than the beast's. "It is not for you that he hungers. So, tell me, what of Raphael and Cassiel? Have they eliminated Soloman?"
Kano faltered. "I ... I do not believe so, my Lord. We have received reports that two men were found dead at the hotel where our enemies were staying. I do not believe that Soloman was killed."
Frowning, Cain glared at
the black-cloaked figure. "Your people are skilled, Kano. I am disappointed. Surely you understand the consequences of failure."
"Yes, yes; I understand, my Lord."
"Go." Cain shook his head, grimacing. "Go and prepare. Soloman will surely come for the child. And I do not desire another confrontation with him. I have perceived ... something."
He paused too long.
"Set everyone in place," he continued, "and tell them that no one eats or sleeps until Soloman is finally destroyed. Also inform them that I will be roaming these corridors to make certain my commands are obeyed. Then advise them that whoever brings me the head of Soloman will receive double all the pleasures he desires."
Kano bowed. "I will tell them, my Lord."
"Tell them quickly," Cain rumbled, glaring wrathfully into the dark. "Soloman is an enemy that should be feared."
"Of course, my Lord! But Soloman is only flesh! And flesh cannot conquer a god such as yourself!"
Cain's eyes narrowed.
"Can it not?" he rumbled. "Have you lived so long? And are you so wise? And is flesh so frail?" His eyes were lionish. "Tell me, Kano, what do you think of David – the warrior-king of the Hebrews?"
"David?" Kano faltered. "David was nothing, my Lord! A shepherd boy who became king! A fool! He could never match your glory! Your power! You are the one who will rule this world!"
Curtains fluttered at the name …
"Ignorant fool," Cain muttered. "What if I told you that David fought with the sword of the slain Goliath for more than fifty years to slay his tens of thousands! What if I told you that David conquered the greatest empires this world has ever known? It was the work of ten thousand years and destroyed within a single mortal's vanishing life. Destroyed by the strength of his own right arm!"
Kano trembled.
"You know nothing." Cain grimaced. "You regard the greatest warrior the world has ever known to be a mere shepherd boy. In your pathetic arrogance you regard one who conquered the unmatched Jebusites, the Amalekites and Egyptians—one who united Israel as both priest and king—to be a mere shepherd boy. But David was more. He was a warrior to be feared just ... as this man. Both of them were created by that hated Hebrew god to wage war against me." He bowed his head; the bright gleam in his eyes was fading. "Yes, the Old One has ... his own weapons."
Silence.
"Go," Cain growled. "Soloman must not reach me."
***
Soloman clenched his fist, testing it.
He felt the strength, knew he was ready. The blow to his back had sliced across the deltoid to sever a segment of muscle but Maggie had done a good job stitching the wound. And the chaotic fight on the stairway had amazingly resulted in only minor cuts that she bandaged easily.
"Are you all right?" she asked, replacing sutures in the medical kit.
"I'm fine," Soloman replied, knowing he could handle the pain for at least another twelve hours. Then he gazed at the wooden walls, glad that they had been able to find an abandoned farm with a barn large enough to conceal the car. He'd taken advantage of it immediately in the night, knowing they had to stay off the road until they left for the castle.
"Soloman." Maggie spoke into his face, transparent in her love. "Please be careful."
He touched her face. "Don't worry, Maggie. I'm going to get Amy back and put Cain down. Anything that happens after that isn't important, much."
"What's going to happen?"
He shook his head. "If I live, they'll probably put me in prison for violating international laws prohibiting interference in the operation of foreign governments. Or for violating a direct order, since I've been re-commissioned. They might even put me in Leavenworth." He shrugged. "It doesn't matter anymore. They'll think of something."
She paused. "I don't want to lose you, Sol."
He returned the gaze and hugged her in a moment that lasted long. When they finally separated, his voice was soft, a voice used only in intimacy. "Maggie," he began, "we need to face the truth. Neither of us can expect me to survive this." He raised a hand to silence her objection. "It's all right, darlin'. It'll be worth it as long as we get Amy back. The rest is gonna burn down however it does."
"C'mon, Sol ..."
He tried to sound encouraging. "Maggie, understand me on this," he said. "This is going to be a fight like nothing either of us has ever seen. There'll be no mercy and it's probably going to destroy that place. So I want a promise from you before it starts – just a promise."
Even in the moment, she had the strength to smile. "I'm good at promises, Sol."
He laughed lightly. "Good. Then as soon as you get Amy, get the hell out of there because whatever happens after that is between me and Cain. You're not part of it. Neither is Amy."
Silence.
"And," she said, controlled and abruptly cold, "you're going to sacrifice yourself if you can kill Cain doing it."
He blinked slowly, moved his hand down her face.
She closed her eyes, composure crumbling as she said, "I'll do what you want. I promise. I just want you to know that I do love you – that I’ve come to love you as I’ve come to know you." She gazed up at him, vulnerable. "And I'll wait for you."
Soloman was stunned. He'd forgotten how hard and hurtful it was to truly love, or live. He was beyond the desert now, he knew, as beyond as he would ever get. Beyond all of it.
"Maggie," he said, "if there's any way to survive this, I'm going to. Amy gave me life, and you have, too. So if there's any way to come out of this, I’ll find it. I promise."
He kissed her and a tear fell from her cheek.
"I know."
She bent her head into his chest.
***
In a slow rising light Cain roamed the corridors of the Castle of Calistro, his face distorted by a frown frightening to behold. He found the remaining five warlocks awake and fearsomely prepared at their hidden stations. Two watched from the broken battlements; the others were poised inside to attack from the shadows.
Darkness hovered over him, clouding his countenance with a deep gloom even blacker than the night. Then his cloak was lifted by a whispering wind that stirred the shadow-shrouded corridors of the ancient edifice.
Yes, he was home. The stench of death was as thick as that age-old mist that rose upon this hardened earth before ... before ...
He scowled.
Before what?
A shattering light like a vision in a blackened tomb pierced something deep and forgotten within him, behind his eyes, as if hurled down from something he had lost. And he saw— NO!
He closed his eyes.
No, that is not. . . what I wished to remember. . .
A snarl twisted his jaws as fangs emerged and he raised his face, talons raised in curled fingers tense with hate. His voice was resurrected death. "If I could lay these hands on you, in your sentenced human form, I would finish this conflict forever ..."
But there was only silence as a vast whispering wind, cloudlike and colossal, rolled over the mountain, and he sensed a river of thunderous voices, reminding him of glory lost to time.
"No," he shook his head. "I regret not what I have lost. For I will gain far more in this continuum of space and light than I would have ever gained as your ... your vassal! And you cannot destroy me – you know as well! For nothing you have created can be ultimately destroyed! It only changes form! But whatever hated form you deliver to me will be reformed again and again by my will and wrath! By my own righteousness!"
His fists clenched, trembling, and he glared about at the dark as if it had betrayed him. His face was the image of war, malevolent and fearless and unyielding – the hated heart of will.
"Even light is as darkness to those who have seen your face," he whispered. "Yes, this I remember too well – nor can you torment me with the knowledge, for I miss it not, and have no regret. But neither is your judgment enough to withstand my wrath. I will destroy you yet. The things known only to us ... reveal it. And I await the day."
> He fell silent, a faint smile.
"I injured you." He laughed hatefully. "I injured your heart by taking these sheep you adore so much. 'An enemy has done this,' you said. Bah! An enemy created by your holy pride! And I will do even more! I will await the return of the Nazarene! I will await that most beloved flesh of your flesh ... and I will destroy him also!"
An answering doom sounded from deep within surrounding stone.
Weak ...
He staggered.
Thirst ...
Need ... blood ...
He swayed as he lifted a hand to his head. He had little time, he knew, before he must have more. Perhaps before midnight he would have to take the life of one of these idiot vassals. They were only flesh, after all, and inconsequential to his greater plan.
Yes, perhaps. . . Kano.
Yes, Kano, who'd been so impertinent as to question his celestial wisdom. But, he perceived distinctly, as long as he was not wounded again before the sacred ritual, he would last though his blood was indeed destabilizing, descending quickly to cause the intense thirst that drove him mad. But he would last, yes, if he could only take the child. And the thirst would only make it more delicious.
It gave him pleasure.
A scarlet haze fell through the skull-like window to his side and he turned his head, gazing at the rising sun.
Sun of the morning ... lost forever.
No ...
He did not need the sun. Not while he had remembered the birth of its hated light. Darkness, yes, darkness was what he craved. And with the thought he moved deeper into the Castle before encountering two black-cloaked forms—Kano and another—moving toward him. They knelt at his feet as he stared down. The gathering thirst made him impatient.
"Speak," he growled.
"Soloman lives, my Lord," Kano said, with a nervous pause. "We have confirmed it. We ... We have failed you."
Cain said nothing for a moment, then bent to lift Kano fully from the ground. He leaned forward, canines extending far enough to reveal the threat, the hot fellness of thirst.
"Soloman will pursue me!" he hissed. "He will pursue me to my place of rest! So kill him! Kill him before he reaches me!" He waited, sensing that they detected the faint tone of fear in his voice. "I will kill him myself if necessary!" he continued, even more fierce. "But I have no time for fools! I must prepare for the mass! I cannot be distracted!"
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