Strange Dominion
Page 24
The Spaniard released Mestizo and walked around him. A distant coyote howl caught el Conde’s attention. He waved a hand over the campfire, extinguishing it. A weak red glow cast strange shadows in the small space. Mestizo began to quiver, struggling to contain his suffering.
“Not so silent anymore, amigo. We need each other.”
Mestizo spit at el Conde’s face, staining it with dark blood.
“I need you dead … at my feet," snarled Mestizo.
“Dead? That is exactly what I see in your future. I told you I like to think I have a gift for sight. I am a visionary. I could not see your path. Now, as you spit your decaying blood at my face, everything is clear. You are a dead man.” The Spaniard laughed and crouched down, looking Mestizo in the eye. “Those wounds are poison. They will spread through you quickly and you will become a part of the damned village, evaporating into mist … but I see a different road.
“Deal with me again, amigo, and your wounds will cease to be. I will spare you from a fate worse than death if you but shake my hand and agree to do one more job. What will it be?”
Coughing, black blood dripped out from Mestizo’s lips. The charred face of Morciglio flashed before Mestizo and images of the city of coffins ate at his nerves. El Conde reached out a hand. Mestizo grabbed his back wound, staining it with his blood. His face warped from fear to hate and he gripped the Spaniard’s hand with all his strength.
Golden sunbeams penetrated the hills. Steadily, the black blood stopped oozing from Mestizo’s stab wounds and the pain left him entirely as they both withdrew their hands. The mercenary stood and the Spaniard rose with him. A twisted cigar appeared in el Conde’s hand with a flick of the wrist, lit. He breathed in deeply before placing the gnarled cigar between his teeth.
“You are a man of good fortune, amigo, now I’m beginning to catch the scent my associate smelled off you. Now let us begin.”
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