Hell's Warrior

by Jaye Roycraft

  Cade couldn’t think. All he could do was to stare at what was likely to be the instrument of his death. It was a macabre sword, with a patterned blade and a gilded guard in the shape of a flying bat. The bat’s head faced down toward the blade, its protruding eyes gaping, one would guess, at the swordsman’s foe. The bat’s wings stretched outward on either side of the blade, their tips curled backward in tight spirals.

  “The blade is nearly thirty inches long. Some call it a Kung Fu sword. It’s a Ch’ing, named for the last of the Chinese dynasties.”

  Cade raised his gaze to Hairball’s face. The vamp’s features were dispassionate, as if he’d described the sword’s origins to a hundred different victims. He probably has.

  A memory came to Cade, something he’d heard long ago from an elder. “The mettle’s not in the blade, but the arm that wields it,” he recited.

  Hairball smiled. He was probably older than Cade, but his skin was as smooth as a young boy’s. “You’re right. Forgive me for not introducing myself. My name is Ran Jian yi.”

  Only somewhat unpronounceable. But he was still Hairball to Cade.

  Cade had to do something now, or he’d be joining Ryder on the journey to hell. Hairball took a step forward. He wasn’t close enough for Cade to do anything with Gravedigger, but close enough for his legs to reach. He lashed out a boot heel at the nearest target—Hairball’s left knee. The knee didn’t buckle enough to bring him down, but the blow knocked him backward a step. It was enough to lessen the pressure on the halberd. Cade dropped the dagger he still held, grabbed the shaft of the halberd, and yanked it out. Blood flowed unabated from the wound, but he didn’t care. He picked up the dagger, hopped to his feet, and backpedaled to put distance between himself and the Asian. With the blade of the halberd gone from his heart his mind cleared, and he could already feel the wound healing. His foe still had the advantage in the length of his weapons, but if Cade could avoid being pinned again by the halberd, he had a chance.

  The Asian leapt at Cade, the arm holding the halberd cocked like an athlete preparing to hurl a javelin for an award-winning throw. The short blade on the end of the shaft came straight at Cade, but he pivoted and deflected the shaft to the side with Gravedigger. The halberd blade hit the concrete, and the force threw Hairball off balance. Cade rushed forward, slashing with both the Bowie and Ryder’s dagger, trying to strike hard and fast before his foe could bring the Ch’ing to bear, but the only damage Gravedigger wrought was to shred Hairball’s fancy coat. The Ch’ing came at him like an arc of silver fire, and Cade tried to parry it with the dagger, but raising the dagger accomplished nothing except to expose his body to the blade. The Ch’ing fell, slicing across his torso from ribcage to hip. The exposed tissue and viscera were numb for a few seconds, then burned like frozen flesh warmed too quickly.

  This time it hurt, badly—his body’s way of telling him not let that happen again. But Cade knew he couldn’t win this battle on the defensive. His body couldn’t take too many more blows like this one, yet he had to get close enough to the Asian’s body so that Gravedigger became effective and the long Chi’ing became unwieldy.

  So Cade advanced, passing through the radius of death. The Ch’ing flashed in the glow of the street lamp, so quickly that Cade saw only lines and curves of light, not the metal blade. He fought on instinct, accepting the lesser cuts and warding off those more deadly with Gravedigger. Each cut to his flesh was like a line of fire that flared until his entire torso felt like it was being consumed by flames. He fought the pain now as much as he fought the Asian, but he was inside the Ch’ing’s radius of death, close enough to do his own work. He drove Gravedigger home, then swore, for the Asian made no sound. Cade locked his gaze on the slanted eyes instead, for willpower could stifle a scream, but true pain always showed in the eyes. But the Asian’s pale eyes were steady and focused and returned Cade’s stare with equal resoluteness. Gravedigger had missed the heart.

  “Who sent you, Hairball?” The effort of voicing the command sent bloody spittle onto the Asian’s face.

  The Asian answered by bringing up the Ch’ing, blade upward, and smashing the bat-guard into Cade’s eyes. Cade staggered backward, blinking and feeling blood run down his face. When his vision cleared, the Asian was gone. Maybe it was another self-defense mechanism, a trick this time of his mind, to shield his sight from the horror of a death blow. But no blow came. The Asian was truly gone.

  Cade staggered to the nearest shadow and fell to his knees. He probed his wounds for the first time, and his fingers told him how bad it was. It was as though his midsection had been put through a meat cutter, for within seconds his hands were covered with gore. Scraps of skin and meat and entrails hung in shreds, but while the wounds were messy and painful, he’d survive—survive, that is, provided he could get the hell out of this alley. He didn’t know where or why the Asian had gone, but Cade knew he’d be back. Perhaps he was, like Cade, recouping. Perhaps Gravedigger’s thrust had pierced the Asian’s heart after all. Perhaps . . .

  “Cade? Are you here?”

  Fuck. It was Red. He didn’t want her here. It was far too dangerous with Hairball likely to still be in the area. He also didn’t want her to see him like this, weak and bloody and chopped up like so much meat in a butcher shop. But if he didn’t answer her, she was likely to wander through every alley in the neighborhood.

  “Over here, Red.”

  She ran down the alley toward the sound of his voice, and he pulled the tatters of his duster over his ruined flesh. He didn’t want her screaming her head off and having every neighbor on the block waking up and calling 911.

  He knew when she caught sight of him, for her eyes widened and stared like those of an animal caught in a spotlight. He couldn’t blame her. In addition to his body wounds, his hands looked like he’d washed them in blood, and he imagined his face was no better. The blow from the Ch’ing guard had split open his forehead, and he could still feel the snakes of blood slither past his brows and down over his cheeks.

  “Cade? Oh, my God! What happened?” She squatted beside him and reached out a hand to touch him, then pulled it back as though he were a wounded animal that would bite her. Apparently his condition was a bit much even for someone who didn’t mind the spilling of a little of the elixir of life.

  “I’ll survive. Listen to me, Red, and do exactly as I say. Do you have my phone with you?”

  She nodded, and her eyes gleamed more brightly than the rain-drenched city.

  “Good. Call Thor and tell him where I am. Tell him to come here right away and to be quick about it. Have him bring whatever vamp-killing weapon he can lay his hands on, and tell him to be careful. The vampire I fought is not far away. Got it?”

  She nodded again, and her face tightened up as though she would cry.

  “No tears, Red. It’s not as bad as it looks. Now get out of here. But don’t stay in the house. There’s cash in the carryall Thor brought me. Take what you need, take the car, and drive as far away from here as you can.”

  “No. I don’t want to leave. Tell me what I can do to help.”

  “Call Thor. Do it now. There’s nothing else you can do.”

  She grimaced, pulled the phone from her jacket pocket, hit Thor’s pre-set, and wandered a few steps down the alley, apparently not wanting to talk on the phone while standing in a pool of blood. However, the alley held other surprises, and midway through her conversation she punctuated her plea to Thor with a startled cry. She’d seen Ryder’s body and the bloody cavern where his heart used to reside.

  She slipped the phone back into her pocket, but instead of fleeing the alley of horrors for the safety of the house and car, she returned to him. This time she didn’t run, but picked her way as though she finally realized that the dark sheen on the wet pavement was not rainwater.

  “Thor’s on his way. He said he’s only fifteen minutes aw
ay.”

  “Good.” But nothing was good. His insides burned with the fire of regeneration, more painful than the wounds themselves. It felt as if a thousand red-hot needles were being forged inside the furnace of his torso, leaving the rest of his body cold and numb by comparison, and he could feel neither the hands that still clutched his middle nor the legs holding him to a kneeling position. He had no strength at all. And Red wasn’t doing as she’d been told.

  “There’s a body on the other side of this garage,” she continued.

  “The parasite that latched onto us tonight. He was good with a wheel in his hands, but not with a blade. Now go, Red.”

  “No.”

  A memory arose from the flames of his pain. Another woman. Another mortal he’d failed to protect. He had to regain a position of strength, if not strength itself. He had to make her obey. He grabbed Gravedigger and willed his legs to move, lifting his left leg so that he could plant his foot solidly on the concrete. He pushed from the half-kneel to a stand, still clutching the other hand to the blood-washed duster as if it were a prize to hold to his heart.

  “Red, listen to me. This one was only the driver. There’s a second vampire, the true assassin. I didn’t kill him. He’s still here, nearby. He won’t leave until he’s finished. If you’re in the way, he’ll kill you, too. I can’t protect you. Your only chance is to leave now.” The sentences were an effort, but he bolstered the words with as much compelling force as he could. His eyes slid shut, and he saw only fair hair, not a dark shag. He saw blue eyes in his mind’s eye, not those of green. The blue eyes widened, reaching out to him, pleading as no words or hands could ever plead. For life. Salvation. For all those things that were not his to give. The vision imploded, leaving nothing but a cloud of color behind his eyelids—yellow, blue and red, swirling so fast that in the end he saw only black. And death.

  Cade opened his eyes. The vision was gone, and so was Red. Had it been enough? Had he prevented history from repeating itself? He stretched out his senses, searching for answers. Toms keened and snarled in a catfight somewhere down the alley. A car engine droned along the street, accompanied by the sound of sustained splashing as tires tilled the wet roadway.

  The stench of Ryder’s corpse filled his nostrils, but something more was in the air—something more than the rot of undead flesh. It was death that didn’t decay, the smell of bones and shells and husks. It was a dry, musty odor—the odor of life long departed. The smell implied nakedness and barrenness, an exposed skeleton, nothing more, but Cade was not deceived. It wasn’t death, but deception. It was vampire.

  He waited, and the combination of the fire in his belly and the cold in his limbs made him shake as though he were in the throes of a mortal fever.

  The vampire was close by, and he wasn’t alone. The scent of life mixed with the vampire scent, red with black and white, warmth with chill, passion with calculated coldness. The Asian rounded the corner of the bend in the alley with the halberd in his right hand and Red in his left. He had her by the neck, half dragging her. She made soft gagging sounds, and her tongue protruded from her mouth.

  “Look what I just happened to find. She’s awash in your scent, so I can only assume she used to belong to you.”

  Cade assessed his assets and options, and they weren’t good. The Asian held all the high cards. All Cade could do was bluff. “She means nothing. Let her go. This is between you and me.”

  The Asian bent his head and ran his tongue down Red’s cheek. Her eyes squinted shut, and her body squirmed like a worm on a hook.

  “I think not,” he said as he raised his head. “I think she’s important to you. Let’s find out, shall we?” He lowered the point of the halberd’s blade to Red’s face and traced over the line he’d drawn with his tongue. The blade scored her skin, and Red thrashed harder. She opened her eyes, and they implored Cade to save her.

  He couldn’t. He held his ground, not wanting to give the Asian the satisfaction of a reaction. A dark thread ran down Red’s cheek and jaw and pooled against the dam of dark fingers that encircled her neck. The Asian bowed his head again and lapped at the blood, cleaning it off his fingers like a cat.

  “I see what you like,” he purred. “Rich and hot. I’ll bet she’s a fine fuck as well.”

  Red’s eyes glittered, begging Cade without shame, voicing everything her mouth couldn’t speak.

  Still Cade stalled, for every minute of bluff and banter was a minute more his body spent in healing. “You’ll never find out, Hairball.”

  The Asian smiled and tilted Red’s head to the left. He opened his mouth wide and drove his fangs into her neck. She gave a strangled cry but struggled no more. It was the stupor all prey slipped into when being fed upon by their captor. Her glistening eyes dulled, and the Asian’s mouth worked to suck as hard as he could. Cade watched the Asian’s Adam’s apple bob up and down as he swallowed again and again.

  Cade couldn’t wait any longer, or Red would die. He lunged forward, pushing Red to the side and burying Gravedigger in the Asian’s chest. Red crumpled to the pavement, but not the Asian, who held his ground and laughed. His slanted eyes narrowed to black slashes beneath his brows, and Red’s blood gleamed bright on his lips.

  “I give you the first blow, Kincade, but not the last.”

  Cade hoped the first blow had been enough. He was in close to the Asian’s body, right where he wanted to be, within the radius of death of the Asian’s long weapons. He drove the Bowie further in, but the Asian countered by pivoting his body. The move shifted Cade’s momentum sideways, and he went down, taking Gravedigger with him, effectively withdrawing the blade from the Asian’s flesh. Before Cade could regain his feet, the halberd speared him to the soft ground beside the garage. Cade grabbed the halberd’s shaft, but there was nothing he could do. It had missed his heart, but the blade had passed all the way through his flesh and into the dirt beneath him, locking him to the ground. He watched, helpless, as the Asian drew the Ch’ing and, with all the time in the world, strode up to him and straddled his fallen body in a stance of victory.

  Cade looked up, and the Asian lifted the sword high, blade downward, with both hands gripping the handle. He held the sword motionless, and it hovered for an eternity for the final death blow. In his mind’s eye Cade saw everything that was going to happen, and it happened just as he saw it. The blade gleamed like lightning, and the gilded bat seemed to be poised to fly to his heart, its bulbous eyes mocking him silently.

  No. This can’t be all. Destiny had more to give him. Didn’t it? Had he already achieved his greatness? Perhaps Hell had been his true greatness—Hell and the peace he’d forged from the flames of war. Hell’s warrior. Was that all he was destined to be?

  The blade dropped. He saw it fall. Saw its silver tip penetrate his flesh. Saw the blade run him through until the bat was level with his line of vision, inches from his eyes. Searing pain welled up with the blood filling his mouth, and he bit down on his lip to keep from screaming. The Asian let go of both weapons and turned to walk away, leaving them embedded in him like flags of victory on hard-won ground.

  Cade squeezed his eyes shut and felt his heart shudder in agony, unable to do more than embrace the steel and give up its heart’s blood in surrender. He opened his eyes and saw the bat’s bared fangs, outstretched wings, and heart-shaped ears, all scorning him. When he lengthened his focus he saw Red trying first to crawl, then trying to push herself to her feet, but the Asian knelt beside her, and she fell into his arms. He pulled her jacket off her shoulders and used a finger blade to rip the front of her sweater open. He exposed her right breast and draped her body backward over his knee.

  Red made soft mewling sounds, whether in protest or submission Cade didn’t know, but the pale breast thrust itself towards the Asian’s fangs as he lowered his head to her. He pulled his hair back, giving Cade a view of the show as he bore his fangs int
o the swell of flesh and suckled her. The Asian’s cheeks alternately caved and inflated with each draw of blood, and Cade dropped his head back and closed his eyes, unable to bear the sight.

  But the vision conjured by his mind was worse. Long blond hair tangled in blood. Blue eyes that never dulled until the last moment beseeched him with each lost drop of blood. But he couldn’t save her. The smell of death washed over him, so numbing that it masked the scream that tore from his own throat. It was over. Death had come for them all, and the past blurred with the present, for time no longer had any meaning.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chicago, Illinois

  February, 1894

  THE ICY WIND shrieked like a wounded beast, and Cade was torn, as he’d been every night of this winter, between elation and despondency.

  The record cold of ’93-’94 had coincided with a dreadful depression, and the two conspired to kill off the weak. Bodies were found almost daily, frozen in the snow like some animal or consumed by starvation to a sack of bones. Those not culled from the homeless herd by death drifted in despair and huddled wherever they could find a hole or corner they wouldn’t freeze in. City hall remained open all night to shelter thousands along its corridors, and bread lines blocks long stretched from morning into evening.

  All made for a vampire boom, for the cold had no detrimental effect on the undead save discomfort, and the feeding in Chicago had never been easier or more plentiful. Sucklings gorged themselves nightly from the ranks of the destitute, and no hue and cry rose from their disappearance.

  But the poverty and famine meant the loss of Charlet on nights such as this. She insisted on doing what she could to help, which meant Jane Addams and the Hull House commanded her attention, not him. Jealousy at the loss of Charlet for even one night a week tore at him, stirring restlessness through every fiber of his being. They’d argued over the merits of trying to aid the unfortunate masses, and no winner had emerged. Charlet, in her stubborn way, had refused to yield to his way of thinking, and he, of course, saw little benefit in simply fattening up his prey.