Iceblood

by James Axler

  "What is it you want?" Kane demanded angrily.

  Zakat stepped from behind the Agarthans and nodded toward the kneeling Gyatso. "What he wants."

  "Power?" challenged Brigid.

  Zakat smiled a pitying smile. "About three hundred years ago, an English novelist wrote, We seek power entirely for its own sake. We are not interested in the good of others; we are interested solely in power… the object of power is power.'"

  He walked closer to Gyatso, who appeared to be mumbling a prayer. "The power locked up in the stone is the key to achieving that object. It is Gyatso's legacy, his by right of birth."

  Balam spoke for the first time since Zakat and his people entered. In his scratchy, whispery voice he said, "He is the end result of many experiments conducted on this continent over a period of many centuries. His only legacy is that he exists at all."

  Gyatso's expression slid from one extreme to another — shock, hurt, betrayal and finally outraged anger. Because Balam had spoken in English, he responded in the same language.

  "I have heard all the tales about my ancestor, the Maha Chohan. I strengthened my will to find his nation and take my place in it. I did not allow myself to fail at any task, no matter how trivial. I devoted myself to learning the old ways of Agartha. I studied my entire life for this moment. I abase myself before you."

  Balam's tone was flat, but it carried a contemptuous undercurrent. "You debase yourself, rather." He nodded toward Zakat. "You are but a foil for that man, and that is the true goal of all your ambition. To be used."

  Gyatso sucked in a deep, shuddery breath, then released it in an enraged roar, "I demand my legacy!"

  Balam gestured diffidently with a six-fingered hand. "Take it."

  Blinking at him in astonishment, Gyatso stammered, "You grant me permission to claim my birthright as the descendent of the Maha Chohan?"

  Balam's retort was a whisper. "I grant you nothing."

  With a rustle of his coat, Gyatso bounded to his feet. He stepped down into the depression, pushing Kane aside. He stopped before the figure of Lam. His eyes widened until his jet-black irises were completely surrounded by the whites. His lips moved, and a whispering, altered voice came forth. He spoke quickly, the syllables tripping over each other so rapidly the words were unintelligible.

  Gyatso grasped the stone, first with his left hand, then his right, covering Lam's fingers with his own. He bent forward, head touching it. Kane felt his nape hairs tingling when the man crouched over as if drinking an invisible radiation into his soul.

  Then Lam's eyes opened.

  For an instant, there was a movement in the air about him, such as the ripples made in water when a fish swims close to the surface.

  Gyatso's body spasmed violently, writhed and he threw back his head and howled, a scream ripped from the roots of his soul. His mouth gaped open, but no words came out. He croaked a sound of pain and terror and despair.

  His back arched violently, and the sharp cracking of cartilage and bone seemed to fill the gallery. From the corners of each bulging eye squeezed droplets of blood. Then those eyes burst in gelatinous, watery sprays. He collapsed onto his back, arms and legs kicking and contorting.

  Trai screamed long and loud in horror, and the shriek broke the invisible bonds weighing down the limbs of Brigid and Kane.

  Kane sprang out of the depression directly for Zakat. The stunned Russian just managed to catch Kane's streaking movement in time to bring the AK around, but his motion was impeded by the two men standing around him.

  Kane changed direction in midleap, diving low, bowling the men off their feet, knocking them into Zakat. All of them went down in tangle of thrashing limbs and hooting calls of confusion and distress.

  Simultaneously, Brigid lunged for Trai, who stood and shrieked, hopping up and down in her terror. Because she bore a slight resemblance to Beth-Li, Brigid had no compunction about punching the girl as hard as she could on her rounded chin.

  Trai spun almost completely around, stumbling over the kicking legs of the men, and went down, sprawling awkwardly.

  Kane crawled over the twins, backfisting the barrel of the AK aside. Zakat's finger closed over the trigger at the same time, and he fired a stuttering burst into the ceiling. Ricochets screamed, and rock chips and fragments sifted down. The bolt of the autorifle snapped loudly against an empty chamber.

  Kane gripped the barrel and the stock, throwing his weight downward, pressing the frame against Zakat's throat. The Russian wrenched and heaved for a frenzied instant, straining to keep the rifle from crushing his windpipe.

  He flung up his left leg, twisting with surprising agility, slamming the back of his heel against Kane's collarbone and tossing him aside.

  Zakat rolled to his feet immediately, giving his right hand a little shake. Kane saw the bone-handled knife with the six-inch blade slide from his sleeve into his palm.

  The Russian cast a single, feverish glance in the direction of Gyatso, then spun around and ran.

  Kane spared a moment to snatch up his holstered Sin Eater before he raced in pursuit. Brigid called out after him, "He has two facets of the stone, remember."

  Kane didn't waste time or breath to tell her he was well aware of that. He stumbled up the small steps, cursing when he banged his knee against a riser. Grigori Zakat was already out of sight, in the corridor above, but his running footfalls echoed back to Kane.

  He followed Zakat by sound alone, out of the tower and through the silent streets of the eerily illuminated city. The Russian was amazingly fleet of foot.

  As Kane scrambled up the slope that led to the tunnel, he heard faintly, over the sounds of his scrabbling ascent, a swishing hum. The Sin Eater, still in its holster, was torn from his hand by a blow from a key-shaped cudgel. Pain stabbed through his metacarpal bones, into his wrist. He skipped around just as Yal appeared from behind a clump of boulders, snapping the key back into his hand by the leather thong.

  Kane rushed him, legs pumping furiously Yal swung out with the cudgel again. Kane dodged, felt it smack along his left shoulder and kept running. He delivered his boot full into the Dob-Dob's groin.

  Yal uttered a strangulated screech of agony and bent at the middle. Kane drove him half-erect again with a knee to the chin, and his fist flattened his nose, knocking him unconscious.

  Retrieving his blaster, Kane noted with a grunt of disgust that the spring-release-cable mechanism in the holster was knocked askew. He knew from past experience it couldn't be repaired quickly or easily, so he raced into the tunnel opening.

  He bumped and bounced from wall to wall and when he exited it, he caught just a fragmented glimpse of Zakat darting into one of the side passages. Kane went in after him.

  The shaft was narrow, lit by the pale blue astral glow from overhead light panels, which turned complete darkness to twilight. He moved stealthily, somehow sensing that Zakat had stopped running and lay in wait for him.

  The Russian's voice drifted through the passageway, from the murk ahead. "Why do you chase me, Kane?"

  The unexpected question confused him, threw him off balance. "You have two pieces of the trapezohedron."

  "So? Is that a reason to hound me, to murder me? If I give them to you, will you spare my life?" Kane ignored the query, creeping on down the shaft, trying to make as little noise as possible.

  Zakat chuckled, his voice a sepulchral echo. "You don't know the answer to that, do you? You believe you can kill me and suffer no consequences. Such arrogant simplicity."

  Kane snorted. "Look who's talking, King of Fear. You murdered a mentally retarded man just to make a point. You think you're free of those consequences?"

  "As you said," came Zakat's reply, "I had a point to make. His death was not gratuitous. I was obeying the law of power. All power has its price, whether in blood or dignity. Depending on the market value of the power sought, the price goes up. If you murder me out of revenge, you are squandering spiritual coin. You gain nothing."

  "Except,"
Kane grated, "a crazy dead Russian. I'll settle for that."

  The tunnel opened onto a broad, curving sweep of shelf rock. By the feeble glow shed by a light panel over the shaft mouth, Kane saw an outcropping of flint to his left. It was large enough for a man to hide behind.

  Cautiously, Kane circled it, glancing over the rim of the ledge, seeing nothing but a pitch-black abyss below. The Russian hadn't concealed himself behind the rock formation, so he paced around the shelf, returning to the edge, wondering if the man had found a way to climb down into the chasm.

  A rasping, scraping sound reached him, and he pivoted on his heel just as Grigori Zakat dropped lightly from a shadow-shrouded fissure above the tunnel mouth.

  Zakat took a step forward. Kane backed up carefully so as not to slip on a loose stone and plunge over the precipice. He tossed his Sin Eater to one side to keep both hands free. The Russian took another slow, deliberate step, then leaped forward, knife held for a disemboweling thrust.

  Kane kicked off the rock shelf and dived for Zakat's groin, but the slender man was ready. His knee came up hard against Kane's head, and at the same time, the edge of the knife slashed down at the base of Kane's skull.

  Kane rolled frantically, feeling the dagger sink into the collar of his coat. Only the tough, Kevlar-weave fabric prevented it from biting deep into the back of his neck.

  Springing to his feet, he faced Zakat, who now had his back to the abyss, but the Russian had no intention of staying there. Rushing to the attack, he wove a whistling web of steel with the dagger blade held before him. Kane stood his ground, balanced lightly on the balls of his feet, leaning back from the waist, batting Zakat's knife hand aside as the blade menaced his neck and chest.

  For a long moment, they exchanged a flurry of knife strokes and hand slaps, the point of the blade missing Kane's midsection and throat by fractional margins, once dragging along the front of his coat.

  Grigori Zakat's breath came in labored rasps, and his face darkened in exertion and frustrated fury. He stumbled slightly from the force of one of Kane's open-hand blows against his forearm. As he regained his balance, he lashed out with the knife in a backswing.

  Kane turned with him, locking the man's right wrist under his left arm and heaving up on it with all his upperbody strength. Zakat cried out in pain and jacked up a knee, seeking to pound Kane's testicles, but Kane shifted so the impact was on his upper thigh.

  Zakat's free hand darted out, locking around Kane's throat, fingers clamping down like a steel vise. Kane maintained the pressure on the captured arm, and the knife dropped from nerve-numbed fingers, chiming against the stone.

  Zakat's hand tightened, and Kane fought for air, blackness closing in on the edges of his consciousness. Releasing the Russian's arm, he lunged backward, at the same time raising both hands above his head. Pivoting violently at the waist, he used the well-developed wing muscle at the base of his shoulder as a fulcrum, prying away Zakat's stranglehold.

  The Russian snarled as his hand lost its grip, and he ripped strips of Kane's skin away beneath his long fingernails.

  Kane inhaled deeply, repressing the cough reflex. He knew if Zakat had latched on to him with both hands, the man would even now be choking him to death.

  Zakat swung at his face with a knotted fist. Kane dodged back and then in, ramming into him with a shoulder, carrying him back to the rim of the ledge, hand full of the man's coattails.

  Digging in his heels, feet gouging shallow channels through the scattered pebbles, Zakat pounded his fists into Kane's kidneys, sending waves of pain-induced nausea through him. The Russian wrenched his body back and forth, heaving from side to side as he wriggled out of his coat, slipping away from Kane's rush. Kane tripped over his out-thrust leg and sprawled on his hands and knees within a couple of feet of the shelf lip. He caught a glimpse of the facets of the black stones falling from the coat's pocket and bouncing into the shadows of the outcropping.

  Uttering a cry of dismay, Zakat lunged for them, and Kane swept out his legs in a slashing kick, catching the Russian just behind the knees. He fell, half on top of Kane. They thrashed in a limb-flailing whirl, Zakat clawing for Kane's eyes.

  Kane stiffened his left wrist, locking the fingers in a half-curled position against the palm, and drove a killing leopard's-paw strike toward the man's face, hoping to crush his nose and propel bone splinters through his sinus cavities and into his brain.

  The struggling Zakat lowered his head, and Kane's hand impacted against his skull. Needles of pain lanced up his forearm and into his elbow joint.

  Face contorted in a bare-toothed snarl, Zakat punched him in the jaw, bouncing the back of his head against the unyielding surface of the ledge. Little multicolored pinwheels spiraled before Kane's eyes. He thrust up his right leg, pounding the knee into Zakat's rib cage. The Russian grunted, cursed and slid to one side. Kane rolled, bucking the man off of him.

  Zakat leaped onto Kane's back, arms quickly curving under and up, hands linking at the back of Kane's neck in a full nelson. Kane's head went down under the relentless pressure of the Russian's arms. With a thrill of horror, he heard the faint creak of vertebrae.

  "Not the first time," Zakat grunted breathlessly into his ear, "I have broken a man's neck."

  Kane had no reason to doubt it as his face flattened against the unyielding surface of the stone shelf. Zakat used his toes, the balls of his feet to muscle Kane forward. Sharp-edged pebbles bit into his knees, cut into his hands as he resisted the Russian's efforts to manhandle him off the ledge. Zakat strained against him, trying to snap his neck and propel him into the abyss.

  Levering with his arms, bucking with his hips, Kane shoved himself sideways. Zakat twisted to keep from being pinned beneath him. He steadily applied the full nelson, driving Kane's chin against his collarbone.

  Clawing up a fistful of grit, Kane thrashed and kicked, getting his hand up behind his head. He mashed and ground the rock particles into Zakat's face, ruthlessly scouring his eyes.

  The Russian didn't cry out, but he inhaled sharply, tossing his head, and for an instant the pressure against Kane's neck lessened. In that instant, Kane tightened his body like a bowstring, arching his back, planting both boot soles firmly on the ground and slamming the back of his skull against Zakat's forehead.

  The Russian uttered a growl, bearing down again, and Kane head-butted him a second time. The distance was too short for maximum effect, but Zakat's grip loosened even more.

  Kane's legs levered like springs, powering him up and over in a somersault, breaking the full nelson. Zakat spit an oath in Russian and flailed around for the knife, fighting to get to his feet at the same time.

  Kane made it a full half second before Zakat did, and as the Russian's fingers touched the handle of the dagger, Kane swept his left leg up in a fast, powerful kick. He delivered the metal-reinforced toe of his boot against the underside of the Russian's jaw.

  Head snapping back, Zakat fell heavily to the shelf edge, his body dislodging a few loose stones. They clicked as they bounced against the chasm wall, disappearing into the blackness.

  Despite glassy eyes, the slender Russian bounded to his feet and launched several roundhouse punches at Kane's face. Kane ducked one fist, blocked the other with a forearm and caught Zakat in the face with a lightning-swift double hammer blow. Blood sprayed from the man's nostrils, and he swayed, clumsily trying to return the punches.

  Zakat was deceptively strong, with years of experience as a back-alley fighter, but as Kane evaded the man's fists, he knew he had never stood toe-to-toe with an opponent and fought it out — at least not against an opponent with Kane's training, instincts and reflexes.

  Zakat thrust his arms forward, hands seeking another stranglehold. Kane knocked both arms aside with his elbows and whipped his right fist into Zakat's temple. He drove a pile-driver punch deep into the man's belly, fancying he could feel the his backbone press against his knuckles.

  The Russian jackknifed at the waist, a strangul
ated wheeze bursting from his lips. Zakat staggered to one side, boots grating loudly on rock as he fought to keep erect. Measuring him off, Kane bent diagonally at the waist, arcing his left leg up and around in a spinning crescent kick.

  The toe of his boot slammed against the side of Zakat's jaw, turning him completely around in his tracks. It was a fast move, deftly delivered, but nothing his Mag martial-arts instructor would have cheered about.

  Zakat stumbled, arms windmilling, and he stumbled off the rim of the ledge. He didn't plunge into the darkness. His hands shot out, fingers securing a grip on the stone lip. Kane heard him kicking frantically for a foothold.

  Kane stepped to the outcropping, groped around its base for a few seconds and his hands closed over the facets of stone. He moved to the edge of the shelf. Towering over him, Kane gazed down into Grigori Zakat's blood-wet face. Panting, he bared his red-filmed teeth at him in either a grimace or a grin, eyes darting to the two black rocks in Kane's hand.

  "You don't dare let me die," he half gasped. "You need me, need my abilities to channel the energies of the stone."

  Kane stopped himself from massaging the deep, boring pain at the back of his neck. He rasped, "What makes you think I give a shit?"

  Uncertainty flickered in Zakat's pale eyes. "You have the stone, but you don't know how to use it. Its power is useless to you without me."

  Kane said nothing, but upon glancing down he saw a small object glinting against the dark rock. Slowly, he eased to one knee and picked up the tiny wooden phallus with the stylized crystal testicles by its leather thong.

  Zakat stared at it in hungry shock.

  "What about the power of this?" Kane asked in a soft, rustling tone.

  With his right hand, Zakat made a grab for the amulet. He missed it by inches, and the fingers of his left hand slipped. Frantically, he scrabbled to regain his hold. In a high, aspirated voice, he shrieked, "Useless! You'll have a key, but no idea of how to find the lock!"