by David Bishop
"Let's give ourselves a minute to rest," Dante said. "We don't know who or what is waiting for us out there, or how close we are to the Forbidden Citadel. We need to be ready for anything."
Flintlock pulled a sidearm from the holster beneath his left armpit and a dagger from the inside of his right boot. Spatchcock produced a vial of purge juice - a pernicious concoction of his own making that reduced its victims to violently vomiting, diarrhoea-stricken wrecks. "This should make the Imperials sorry they came to the mountains," he muttered happily. His other hand dug inside his trousers and removed a tiny pistol.
Flintlock arched an eyebrow at this revelation. "Since when did you have a gun concealed beside your crotch?"
"I've always had this," Spatchcock replied. "It only fires six shots, so I've kept it for emergencies. Nobody ever searches my groin thoroughly enough to find it."
"I wonder why," Dante said dryly. He removed the Huntsman 5000 from its usual position, slung across his back, and went through the ritual of checking the long-barrelled rifle. Beside him, Mai unwrapped a cloth bundle to reveal two short-bladed swords and a bandolier laden with dozens of throwing stars. She secured the bandolier diagonally across her chest, slotting one sword into a sheath that hung down over her left hip. The other sword she clasped in her right hand.
Dante admired her weaponry. "Sure you've got enough there?"
"I don't have the luxury of cyborganic swords," she replied testily.
"Hey, I was only saying..." Dante began, but then saw Mai swaying slightly. "Bojemoi!" He caught hold of her as she swooned, gently lowering her to the cave floor. Before passing out, Mai grabbed his hand and pressed it to her forehead.
An old, bald monk was looming over Dante, his eye sockets hollow and empty. "We must empty her mind, brothers, tear out every memory of her time here. She must never recall this place, never return here. When that is done, I will take her down the mountain." There was a murmur of assent from unseen voices. The monk leaned closer to Dante, his orange robe falling forwards, his breath thick with yeast and honey. "Forgive me, but what must be, must be done." Dante felt hands touching his body, fingernails clawing at his mind. He screamed in pain and terror, but the voice he heard cry out was that of a girl - Mai's voice. Then he knew only blackness, swallowing him like a cold ocean.
When his senses returned, Dante shivered. He was sitting cross-legged inside a cage, clad in a simple white robe. Hard bamboo canes dug into his legs and he felt hungry, prying eyes staring at him. "How much for this one?"
A massive figure loomed over him, the rancid stench of body odour filling Dante's nostrils. He couldn't make out their face, but somehow knew he must not speak. They would kill anyone who spoke out of turn.
"I said how much for this one, holy man?"
"Twenty." Dante twisted round in the cage to see who had responded. It was the same monk as before, but now he wore heavy winter clothing over his robes. The monk was bartering with Dante's life, selling him like a yak or a goat.
"For used goods? Ha! Eight and no more."
"Twelve?"
"I said eight, and that's being generous!"
Another blur and Dante saw a face he recognised staring at him. It was a man, a Himalayan with the familiar brown skin and dark hair. Something about the features reminded him of another face - but whose? "Farewell, daughter. We are so proud of you. This is the greatest honour any of us can imagine."
"Please, don't leave me here," Dante pleaded, but this time the voice was that of a child, young and afraid.
The man smiled benevolently. "Nothing bad will ever befall you here, daughter. Besides, we will see you for feasts and holy days. We love you, all of us. Never forget that, will you?"
"No Father, I will never forget," Dante whispered. He opened his eyes to find Spatchcock and Flintlock staring at him quizzically.
On the cave floor Mai sighed and looked up, her face free of all pain. "My headaches. They're gone," she said. "I can remember what happened. I remember everything."
The last psychic block in her mind has collapsed, the Crest said. They must have been what caused Mai such pain. Her subconscious has been fighting them all these years, battering against the walls somebody else built in her mind.
"How do you feel?" Dante asked.
"Better than I have in years," Mai replied. She got back to her feet, retrieving the short-bladed sword that had fallen from her grasp. "Let's go." Mai led the way out of the cave, followed by Dante and Spatchcock, with Flintlock nervously bringing up the rear. The four emerged into blazing sunshine, the sky a vast canopy of brilliant blue. The tor's snow-covered peak was visible a few hundred metres above them. The Mukari's staircase had brought them out on to a plateau within striking distance of the summit.
"So where's this bloody fortress?" Spatchcock asked. "After all we've been through to get here, I thought it would be right outside."
Flintlock's shoulders sagged. "We climbed all those stairs for nothing?"
Dante stared at his travelling companions, amazed. "Can't you see it?"
In front of them stood the Forbidden Citadel, its whitewashed walls rising from the snow as if hewn from the mountain. Beyond the wall stood the citadel buildings, wide structures with golden roofs and dozens of rectangular windows studding their sides. The fortress had an unearthly quality, as if it had been standing on this mountain for centuries beyond measure. Barring the entrance were two massive wooden gates, each inlaid with panels of gold.
"It's incredible," Mai whispered, her voice awestruck.
"You see it too?" Dante asked.
"Yes," she smiled. "It's like coming home."
"Do let us know when you've finished pulling our legs," Flintlock said petulantly, folding his arms. "I don't think it's clever, trying to make fools of us."
"We've got bigger problems than that," Spatchcock warned, pointing down the mountainside. "Look!" Soldiers were swarming below them, ascending the mountain like an incoming, inexorable tide. One of the Imperials saw the foursome and shouted, his voice alerting others.
"I take it all back," Flintlock said hurriedly. "If you two can see a citadel round here, now would be a good time to get all of us inside it."
Ivanov was leading his men to where the fortress had briefly appeared when an advance scout spotted four figures emerging from a concealed cave in the mountainside. "Sir, there's somebody else up there, ahead of us!"
The general pulled a pair of binoculars from a pouch on the side of his uniform. When he saw who was leading the new arrivals, Ivanov spat out a curse. Of all the people that should suddenly appear, here and now... "Send for the Enforcer!" he barked. Within a minute his second-in-command was at the general's side, standing to attention. The black regimental uniform was partially hidden by blue body armour, while matching gauntlets encased his hefty fists. "Major, if I believed in fate, I would say it was playing a trick on us. Look at the four people on that plateau and tell me who you see."
The Enforcer focused his attention on the area Ivanov was pointing at. "Nikolai Dante! What in the Tsar's name is he doing here?"
"No doubt he, too, is trying to secure the weapon inside that fortress," the general snarled. "But I very much doubt he is doing it in the Tsar's name."
The Enforcer had already drawn his weapon and was taking aim at the Romanov renegade. "Do you want me to kill him, sir?"
"No," Ivanov said, his lips forming a cruel smile. "That's one pleasure I shall reserve for myself. Tell the men that the three people with Dante are fair game, but the so-called Hero of Rudinshtein is mine."
"Yes, sir!"
Dante pushed against the citadel gates, but they did not move. He shoved his shoulder into the wood and strained with all his might, but still could not shift them. "Open up!" he demanded. "In the name of the Mukari, open these gates!"
Mai was observing the advancing soldiers below. "Hurry, Dante! The Imperials are almost within firing range."
"Hey, I'm doing my best. I don't notice anybody else offering to help," he
snarled. Spatchcock and Flintlock looked on with bemused expressions.
"It's like one of these things you see in parks, where they don't talk," Spatchcock said, scratching his stubble.
"A memorial garden?" Flintlock offered.
"No. You know, the actors who don't say anything."
"Oh, mimes!"
"That's the one," Spatchcock agreed, pointing at Dante. "He looks like one of those mimes, pretending to push against an invisible wall."
Dante swore at them. "It's not invisible, you fools. You just can't see it!"
"Sounds like an invisible wall to me," Flintlock decided.
Dante swore again, before another thought occurred to him. "Crest, can you do anything to open these gates?"
If they were controlled by some computer or electronic circuitry, yes. But these gates are simply blocks of wood, albeit of a density and size so great you have no hope of ever moving them.
"In other words?"
For once, I'm of absolutely no use to you.
"Fuoco," Dante muttered. Bullets flew past his face and thudded into the gates, several ricocheting off the golden panels. Mai hastily retreated from the edge of the plateau, Spatchcock and Flintlock following her example. "I guess we're now in firing range," Dante noted sardonically.
Mai stepped back from the gates and shouted something in a tongue Dante did not recognise. She repeated the phrase with added urgency in her voice. Moments later the mighty gates began to open inwards, a gap appearing between them. Spatchcock stared at the gates, open-mouthed.
"Where did those come from?" he spluttered. Flintlock shared his bemusement, momentarily forgetting the bullets flying past both of them.
"How did you...? Where were those...? I don't..."
Dante rolled his eyes. "At least we're all on the same page now. Don't just stand there, get inside!" He shoved the two men through the gap between the gates, while aiming his rifle towards the advancing soldiers. Mai took position beside him, extracting a handful of throwing stars from her bandolier.
"Ready?" she asked.
"I guess. What was that language you spoke?"
"Nepalese, I think. It was the common tongue in these mountains for centuries. The people inside the citadel must still recognise it."
"When did you learn Nepalese?" Dante asked, his finger tightening round the Huntsman's trigger.
"I must have always known it, but the blocks in my mind suppressed that knowledge."
The first line of the Imperial Black reached the edge of the plateau. Mai's left arm cut an arc through the air, flinging throwing stars at the soldiers. Each went down screaming, slices of metal embedded in their face or throat, blood spurting from the wounds. "Makes me wonder what else I'll recall."
Dante took out the next wave of troops with a dozen shots from his rifle. "You go inside. I'll keep them back."
"We both go in," Mai replied. "The Mukari brought us here to protect the citadel, not to die outside its gates."
"Ladies first," Dante replied, taking out a trio of soldiers.
"Age before beauty," Mai said, hurling another handful of throwing stars.
"Tell you what, let's go in the same time," he suggested. "On the count of three. Ready? One... Two... Three!" The duo retreated backwards through the gap before bumping into Spatchcock and Flintlock, both of whom were standing with their hands in the air.
"Out of the frying pan..." Spatchcock hissed.
"...and into the bloody fire," Flintlock added.
A phalanx of blind monks in saffron robes blocked the way, their empty eye sockets crackling with purple electricity. All too aware of the Imperials rapidly approaching the citadel, Dante stepped towards the monks and smiled broadly.
"Hi! My name's Nikolai Dante," he began.
Oh yes, that always wins people over, the Crest sighed.
Dante maintained his smile. "Perhaps you've heard of me? Hero of Rudinshtein, bastard offspring of a noble dynasty..."
The monks said nothing, their silence a stark contrast to the sounds of gunfire and boots crunching on rock and snow outside the gates.
"Anyway," Dante continued, "we've been sent here to save you from a regiment of the Tsar's most vicious soldiers, who plan to storm the citadel and probably slaughter you all. The good news is we got here before the soldiers, thanks to your Mukari's intervention. The bad news is, well..."
"The citadel is ours for the taking, men," a voice bellowed from outside the gates. "Prepare yourselves for glory!"
Dante shrugged. "You can probably guess the bad news for yourselves. My point is that now would be a good time to close the gates again, yes?"
As one the monks raised their hands and pointed at Dante. Purple energy shot from their fingertips to engulf him, sending his body into spasms so that he danced like a rag doll in the hands of an angry child. Mai cried out in Nepalese, gesturing for the monks to stop. The holy men lowered their hands and Dante collapsed on the cobbled path, his limbs still twitching.
Another monk emerged from a side door in the nearest building, his face kinder and friendlier than the others. "Forgive my brethren. They were told the defend the gates with their lives!" The new arrival crouched beside the unconscious Dante, his hands rummaging inside Dante's clothing for injuries. "He will quickly recover, his..." The monk's words stopped when his fingers reached Dante's left arm. "Can this be true?"
Spatchcock peeked out through the gap in the citadel gates. Dozens of Imperial Black soldiers had formed a line on the plateau outside. They were waiting for something or someone, their weapons aimed and ready to fire. "Whatever you're doing, I'd make it snappy," he advised.
The monk peeled back Dante's top, exposing the upper left arm to reveal the double-headed eagle symbol of the Romanovs, the mark of the Crest. "Brothers, this man bears the sign of the Mukari! He is one of us!" The other monks murmured amongst themselves.
Mai knelt on the other side of Dante. "You should tell them to shut the gates. If the soldiers get inside, the citadel will fall within minutes." The monk nodded. He sent eight monks out to face the Imperial Black and told the other four to close the gates once their brethren were outside. "They'll be slaughtered," Mai protested.
The monk smiled sadly. "I know. But all of us vowed to die for our goddess. We live to serve her, should we not perish in the same cause?"
By the time Ivanov and the Enforcer reached the plateau, the fortress gates had closed and more than three-dozen soldiers lay dead or dying in the snow. But the Forbidden Citadel was no longer hidden from them. It stood directly ahead with eight elderly men guarding the entrance. Their frail bodies were clad in saffron robes, their eye sockets hollow.
"Stand aside or suffer the consequences," the general shouted, but the monks did not move. "Suffering it is, then. Major?"
The Enforcer called forward three ranks of men, twenty in each row. Those at the front lay on the ground, the middle row dropped to one knee and the rear rank remained standing. "Take aim!" the major bellowed, and all sixty soldiers choose a target from among those blocking the gates. The monks raised their hands, purple electricity crackling at their fingertips. "Front rank - fire!"
A volley of shots rang out, but none reached their targets. Instead the rounds slowed to a halt in mid-air, then fell to the ground.
The Enforcer's face darkened. "Middle rank - fire!" Another fusillade of gunfire, but the result proved the same. "Rear rank - fire!" By now the monks were slowly moving toward the soldiers, still untouched by the invaders' weapons. With each step they took, a bolt of purple lightning would leap out and electrocute several troopers. The Enforcer drew his own sidearm. "Independent firing - fire at will!" In an instant all the soldiers were shooting.
Such was the volume of ammunition being fired at the monks that it was forming a wall in the air where each bullet met the psychic force-field. "Keep firing," the Enforcer bellowed to his men. "They can't keep this up forever!" He shot at the holy men and was surprised to see the bullet pass through the barrier, al
though it missed his intended target. "It's working, they're tiring," he shouted triumphantly. "Keep firing!"
More bullets began punching through the faltering force-field. One hit a monk in the shoulder, jerking him sideways. Another passed through a hand before embedding in the same monk's chest.
As he sank to one knee, the barrier weakened further and the deadly blasts of psychic energy from it ceased. Another bullet among the many penetrated the barrier, then another, the latter wounding a second monk. After that it took less than a minute for the force field to collapse completely and the eight monks to be left bleeding to death on the plateau, soldiers still pumping bullets into the crimson-stained corpses.
"Cease firing!" Ivanov shouted, taking charge from his second-in-command. A thick cloud of cordite filled the air, mingling with the dying moans of the last monk. The general drew his sidearm and silenced the final defender with a bullet to the brain. "So much for their much vaunted special abilities," he sneered. "Major?"
The Enforcer snapped to attention. "Sir!"
"I want those gates open. Now."
Dante regained his senses as the sound of gunfire died outside the gates. "Wh... What happened? Wh... Where am I?"
"The Forbidden Citadel," Flintlock said. "We made it."
"Now we have to save it from Ivanov and his bastards," Spatchcock added.
"I wish I hadn't asked," Dante admitted, sitting up with help from Mai. He noticed the friendly-faced monk at his side. "I don't think we've been introduced. My name's Dante, Nikolai Dante."
"Gylatsen," the monk replied with a smile. "I shall take you to Khumbu, he will want to see you. It is too long since a Romanov visited us."
"I'm not a-" Dante began, then checked himself. "Sure, take me to your leader. But Mai comes with us."
Gylatsen shrugged. "If you wish that, Master Nikolai."
"Call me Dante, okay? I'm nobody's master."
The monk pointed at Spatchcock and Flintlock. "What about the smelly one and his lover? Are they not your servants?"