Dark Warrior's Destiny

by I. T. Lucas

  The fates must’ve been cackling with glee over this one.

  From the corner of his eye, Kian noticed Brundar abandon his relaxed position and sit up straight. A sure sign that the fight was reaching a pinnacle.

  Kian leaned to get closer to Brundar. “What’s going on?” he whispered.

  “It’s about to end.”

  “How?”

  “We’ll know in a moment.”

  Chapter 24: Dalhu

  The smugness was slowly melting off Sharim’s arrogant face. He knew he was losing. The sounds of battle had been dwindling steadily until the only grunts and clangs of clashing swords belonged to the two of them.

  There was no doubt who had emerged victorious. Sharim’s force was destroyed and he was the last one standing.

  Not for long, though.

  Dalhu’s many wounds should’ve been slowing him down, draining out his energy, but the hot furnace of rage burning in his gut had been replenishing his reserves with what he thought of as dark energy.

  Dark as in evil, not the invisible dark force physicists were theorizing about.

  Or maybe it was.

  Just as light was the source of life and represented good, or the God humans believed in, dark was the opposite force and it represented the devil humans feared.

  Or maybe darkness was no more than the absence of light, and evil was just the absence of good but not a force of its own.

  The destructive power of a vacuum.

  As Dalhu slid into the zone—a strange and surreal sort of awareness he’d been able to attain only a handful of times before—his body became fluid, his responses automatic. He found himself reacting to Sharim’s moves a split second before they happened, reading Sharim’s intent as if he was broadcasting it. Dalhu didn’t even need to focus anymore. In fact, as his conscious mind was contemplating all these philosophical questions, his subconscious was controlling his arms and his legs.

  His body was doing the fighting as if set on autopilot.

  Except, this semi-awareness was sufficient for defending, not attacking. The strategy Dalhu had adopted, as soon as he’d realized Sharim was the better swordsman, had achieved its objective. The sadist was slowing down, his sword arm was getting fatigued.

  It was time to end this.

  The question was how.

  Somewhere in the calm and quiet of the zone, Dalhu had lost his rage, and as he readied to finish Sharim off, decisions he’d never expected to ponder started flitting through his mind.

  Should he kill Sharim or just incapacitate him and put him in stasis?

  What was the right thing to do?

  Who was he to decide what was right and what was wrong?

  Would Annani have wanted a male like that to be given another chance?

  Would the world be a better place without Sharim?

  Yes. The man was evil and had inflicted untold cruelties upon countless women over the centuries. He shouldn’t be allowed to ever live again and hurt more women, which he theoretically could if Dalhu put him in stasis instead of delivering final death.

  Would someone mourn Sharim’s passing?

  Losham, his adoptive father would. Perhaps some of Sharim’s warriors would as well.

  Which way did the scale tip?

  Put this way, the answer was obvious.

  Dalhu decided on a slight compromise. If someone was going to mourn Sharim’s demise, it meant that there were a few spots of light on the sadist’s black soul, and Dalhu would grant the sadist a swift death. A mercy Sharim hadn’t shown his victims, but so be it. The end result was what was important, not Dalhu’s need to avenge Sharim’s victims. He would rid the earth of an evildoer who delighted in the torment of others.

  With clarity of purpose, Dalhu’s mind left the quiet contemplative place behind, funneling all of its focus toward finishing off his opponent. The opening he was looking for came within seconds, and he put all of his muscle power behind the blow.

  A swift death. Slicing through Sharim’s neck with surprising ease, Dalhu severed his head from his body.

  He had done what he’d set out to do; he’d delivered a final death to the sadist. And yet he didn’t feel gloriously victorious, or even satisfied, just numb.

  With gruesome fascination, Dalhu watched Sharim’s head land on the floor and roll until coming to a full stop at Kian’s feet.

  Someone started clapping, soon to be joined by others. Dalhu lifted his eyes to look at the Guardians and frowned.

  Had they all lost their minds?

  Their grinning faces annoyed him even more than their deafening thunder of applause.

  “Please stop.” His voice was barely above whisper, and yet they heard him, and the room suddenly went quiet.

  Brundar got up and put a hand on Dalhu’s shoulder. “We are not applauding the kill, Dalhu. We are applauding the skill. You defeated a master swordsman.”

  Dalhu closed his eyes. Brundar’s words would mean something to him later, but not now. He couldn’t handle the Guardians’ eyes on him. “I need to get out of here.”

  Brundar clapped him on the back. “The buses are parked outside the wall.”

  The scent of blood was overwhelming, and through the blasted door the clean air outside was calling to him. Dalhu wanted to get out as fast as his legs could carry him, but he was a warrior and Kian was his commander. Permission had to be granted.

  As he stopped by Kian, he was relieved that Sharim’s head was no longer there. Someone must’ve picked it up. Either that or Kian kicked it away.

  “Can I leave, or do you need me for something?”

  “I need you to help carry the bodies to the truck. I want it done quickly so we can bring up the women. I don’t want them to see this bloodbath. But you can go outside and take a breather, have Bridget look at your wounds.”

  Dalhu nodded. “I’ll only take a few minutes.” He started walking.

  “Dalhu,” Kian called after him.

  “Yeah?”

  “You did well. I’m glad that the other guy is going into a body bag and not you. Can you imagine the hell Amanda would have given me if anything happened to you?”

  That wrested a chuckle out of him. “Yeah, I can. If I were you, I would’ve booked a one-way flight to Timbuktu.”

  “Glad I don’t have to.”

  Kian offered his hand, and as Dalhu shook it, his eyes were drawn to the wound in Kian’s thigh.

  “I’ll send Bridget over. You need stitches.”

  Kian grimaced. “I’m not the only one.”

  On his way out, Dalhu realized that some of the thick fog that had descended upon him after the kill had dissipated, thanks to Kian no doubt. He shook his head as he strode toward the opening, thinking about his uncharacteristic reaction to this latest one. He’d killed many over his lifetime, and none more deserving than Sharim. So why had it affected him like that? Was he growing soft?

  Yeah, he was.

  Life had been good recently. He had won the heart of the woman he loved, had been accepted into the clan, and had discovered that he had a talent other than killing. No wonder he’d gone soft. But the realization didn’t bring about the sense of shame he’d been expecting. Instead, he felt as if he’d been given the most precious of gifts.

  He no longer needed to numb himself in order to carry on, going through life dead on the inside. He was allowed to feel. And even if not all of these new feelings were positive, it was better than having none at all.

  It was okay to feel bad about taking a life, even if the killing had been justified. Dalhu had become softer but not weaker. He had still done what had been required of him, and would do so again. He was a strong, skilled warrior, and it was his duty to defend those who needed defending. It wasn’t the same as before.

  He was no longer an assassin. He was a defender.

  A big difference.

  Chapter 25: Andrew

  Not taking an active part in the mission hadn’t been as bad as Andrew had expected. Between the ear
piece and sitting in William’s control center, he’d felt as if he’d been there with the Guardians—stressing when things hadn’t worked out according to plan, cheering when the objective had been achieved despite the last minute changes.

  Except, he regretted missing Dalhu’s epic duel. Was there a chance someone had videotaped it? Andrew would’ve loved to have been there and watch the guy defeat a master swordsman. Not that he was an expert on sword fighting, but still.

  Speaking of the devil.

  Coming out one of the holes in the ruined fence, Dalhu looked like shit. His body armor was stained with blood, either his adversary’s or his own, and his stride lacked the purposeful energy it usually implied. In fact, he was shuffling his feet. It looked like Dalhu’s victory hadn’t been easy, and his injuries were taking their toll. That, or the guy’s spirits were low for some reason. Given his triumph, Dalhu should’ve been pumped, not deflated.

  Bridget and her two helpers came down the steps of her bus. Gertrude and Hildegard headed out, each carrying a large first aid kit. The doctor waved Dalhu over.

  With a quick glance at the two retreating medics, Dalhu turned to Bridget. “Kian’s leg is badly wounded, maybe you should go to him instead.”

  “Don’t worry. Either of them knows what to do. Come on up.” She gestured for him to follow her into the bus.

  As Andrew walked up to Dalhu, he intended to offer his hand for a handshake and congratulate him, but the guy’s grim expression gave him pause. Dalhu didn’t look as if he’d be receptive to praise. Perhaps his wounds were more serious than they seemed and he was in a lot of pain.

  “Hey, big guy, need help?”

  Dalhu cast him a puzzled glance. “With what?”

  “You look like you’ve taken a beating. I thought maybe you needed assistance getting on the bus.”

  Dalhu snorted. “These scratches? They are nothing.”

  “Let me be the judge of that.” Bridget took Dalhu’s elbow and steered him up the stairs of her bus where there was a makeshift sickbay in the back.

  Andrew followed them inside.

  Bridget showed Dalhu to a seat and then knelt on the floor at his feet, getting busy removing his boots. “Andrew, I could use your help getting the body armor off him.”

  Andrew stifled a chuckle. This was the first time he’d ever seen Dalhu blush.

  The guy put a hand on the doctor’s shoulder. “Please, get up. I can do it myself.”

  Bridget gave him one of her no nonsense I’m-the-doctor-and-you’ll-do-as-I-say looks, and he sighed in defeat.

  “As you wish.”

  “That’s a good boy.” Bridget patted his knee, which was about the only place on his big body that wasn’t cut and bleeding.

  “How do you want to do it?” Andrew asked, kneeling beside her and easing off Dalhu’s other boot.

  “You grab one pant and I’ll grab the other. Dalhu, can you unbuckle the pants and lift up?”

  “Sure, but why don’t you just cut them off?”

  She shrugged. “It would be a waste. Besides, I need a cast saw to cut through the layers, and I don’t have one here.”

  Dalhu fumbled with the closing that was hidden under a protective flap that extended from his vest.

  “Ready?” Bridget asked Andrew when he was done.

  “On three. One, two, three.”

  As Dalhu lifted his butt, they pulled at the same time. The reinforced pants slid off Dalhu’s fatigues, landing with a heavy thump on the bus’s floor.

  “Now, these, I’m going to cut away. I hope you have underwear on.”

  Dalhu chuckled. “Would it have stopped you if I didn’t”

  “Nope. You’ve got nothing I haven’t seen before.”

  Damn, Andrew felt heat engulf his ears. He remembered Bridget saying these exact words to him, but under very different circumstances.

  She must’ve remembered it too and cast him a sheepish sidelong glance. “I use this line a lot, don’t I?” She got busy with the scissors to hide her embarrassment.

  “Given the bunch of macho guys you need to take care of, I’m not surprised.” He pretended this wasn’t personal.

  Watching Bridget clean Dalhu’s wounds, Andrew wondered what kind of medical care an immortal would need.

  She leaned back on her haunches and looked up at Dalhu. “These two are the worst.” She pointed. “I would like to put stitches in them. If I don’t, and you go back to help the others, these deep cuts will not only hurt, but will take longer to heal.”

  “Do your thing, doctor. You know best.”

  Bridget beamed. “You’re my kind of patient.”

  While Bridget worked, Andrew debated whether he should join Dalhu and go help the guys with the cleanup. Trouble was, compared to the immortals he had the strength of a child, not a man, which would prove to be damn embarrassing. He could just imagine those guys striding with a bounce in their step while carrying a body bag over each shoulder, and him staggering under the weight of one.

  The Guardians didn’t need him for anything that demanded brute strength.

  The rescued women, however, could probably use his help. God knew they would be scared, traumatized, and confused.

  Who would ease their fears? Make them feel safe?

  Kri wasn’t exactly the nurturing type, and all the Guardians he’d met were tough guys who knew nothing about women. Bridget and her two assistants might be more up to the task, but they would have their hands full patching up the guys.

  Even though no one had thought to assign Andrew to the job, it looked like it was up to him. His experience in hostage retrieval would be helpful. Except, he’d never had to deal with a large number of rescued people. One traumatized, hysterical woman was a handful, a group would be a nightmare.

  “Dalhu, how many girls were freed? Do you know?”

  “No. The rescue team is keeping them down in the basement. You can ask Anandur.”

  “Never mind. It’s not important.” The exact number didn’t matter. Anything over two would be difficult.

  Bridget finished the stitching, wiped Dalhu’s legs clean and handed him a plastic bag with a new pair of nylon pants in it. “XXL, right?”

  “Perfect. Thank you.” He ripped the plastic, shook the pants out, and pulled them over his legs. “Let’s go.” He turned to Andrew and attempted to stand up.

  “Not so fast.” Bridget stopped Dalhu. “Take off everything on top and let me see what’s going on up there.”

  “No need. I’m fine. They are all superficial.”

  “Sit!” Bridget barked, and both Dalhu and Andrew dropped their butts onto their seats.

  The tiny redhead smiled sweetly. “Thank you. Now strip. Not you, Andrew, just Dalhu.”

  Dalhu’s big body began shaking, and it took Andrew a moment to realize that the guy was trying to stifle laughter. He couldn’t hold in for long, though, and erupted in a strange sounding guffaw. Or perhaps it only sounded weird in Andrew’s ears because he’d never heard the guy laugh.

  “Ow, I shouldn’t be laughing.” Dalhu held onto his stomach where a nasty cut was threatening to reopen.

  Bridget didn’t find it funny. “Stay still, you big oaf, and let me clean this mess.”

  Andrew, on the other hand, found it hilarious even though the joke was on him. Besides, there was no better way of releasing stress than a good laugh, and Dalhu seemed like he needed it.

  Chapter 26: Nathalie

  “Is everyone okay?” When Andrew’s call finally came, Nathalie answered on the first ring. Holding the phone in her hand ever since he’d gotten in the driver seat of that bus, she’d even took it with her to the bathroom. Heck, relieving herself would’ve been impossible if she were stressing over missing his call.

  When she moved it to her other hand, there was a rectangular indentation in the shape of the device left on her palm.

  Andrew had called her once when they’d arrived at the location, and one more time to tell her that he and Bhathian were fine
and that none of the Guardians had been lost.

  Thank God.

  That had been hours ago. She’d been sorely tempted to ring him, but she’d promised him she wouldn’t. Apparently, communicating with significant others while on a mission was a big no-no, and Andrew would have been embarrassed if his fiancée were the only one who’d called.

  “Yeah. Some injuries, but nothing that won’t heal in a day or two.”

  “And the women?”

  When Andrew didn’t answer right away, Nathalie started to worry.

  “We got them all out.”

  There was something Andrew wanted to tell her but didn’t know how.

  “I’m glad. Now tell me whatever you think is going to freak me out. It won’t.”

  Andrew chuckled. “You know me so well it’s scary. Okay. Are you sitting down?”

  “Just spit it out, Andrew!”

  “Your Tiffany was one of the abductees.”

  With her knees turning to jello, Nathalie plopped onto the couch. “You’re shitting me.”

  “No. I thought you’d be glad.”

  “I am. I’m so relieved my legs gave out. It’s just such an unbelievable coincidence.”

  “Not really. The Doomers were grabbing pretty girls that no one was going to miss, and Tiffany fit the bill.”

  Hardly. Nathalie remembered feeling sorry for the girl. She wasn’t ugly, but she wasn’t attractive either. “I don’t know about that. Tiffany isn’t a great beauty. She is kind of plain.”

  Andrew chuckled. “Well, well. Apparently getting abducted by Doomers agreed with her. Your little Tiff must’ve gone through quite a transformation, because she’s a looker.”

  Nathalie’s eyes narrowed even though Andrew couldn’t see her. The guy was skating on thin ice. “Watch it, Andrew, or I’ll call my father to keep an eye on you.”

  Andrew laughed. “My gorgeous, jealous monster. I love you. Poor little Tiffany together with all the other girls can’t hold a candle to you.”

  That was better. “I love you too. A good save, by the way. You’re such a smooth talker.”

  “That’s the God’s honest truth. To me, you’re the most beautiful woman in the world.”