Enemy in the Dark

by Jay Allan

  And Astra.

  Astra . . .

  The thought of her knowing him not as the rogue adventurer she loved, but as a black-hearted butcher, was too much to bear. No, he’d die in this palace if that’s what it took. But he would not let Calgarus escape. He would protect his secret, no matter the cost.

  Not that it’s going to be easy.

  Calgarus was one of the deadliest practitioners of imperial brutality, a cold-blooded killer who would stop at nothing in carrying out his mission. Blackhawk was sure of that. He was sure because he had taught the bastard everything he knew. Vagran Calgarus had been his protégé, his pupil. All he was—the sadism, the viciousness, the deadly persistence—he had learned it all from Blackhawk.

  I created this monster . . . and now I will destroy him.

  He took a deep breath and continued forward.

  This fight has been twenty years in the making, Vagran. But this time, we’re going to finish it. And maybe with this, I’ll be a little closer to atoning for my sins.

  “Wolf’s Claw just landed, sir.”

  DeMark had been staring at maps, watching the progress of his forces as they pushed inexorably forward. The Nordlingener capital was about to fall, and with it, he hoped, the last of the significant resistance would collapse. His men were still involved in a block-by-block battle, and slowly but surely they were chipping away at the enemy’s position. He prayed this would be the last fight.

  At least Blackhawk is back. That’s good news by any measure.

  “Bring Blackhawk and his people here immediately.” He was surprised by the Claw’s sudden arrival, but then he realized Blackhawk wouldn’t have broken radio silence to announce he was coming in, not when he was only a five-minute flight away. And with that strange distortion field device Blackhawk had, DeMark knew his scanners were worse than useless at detecting the Claw. No matter what, they were very welcome.

  And it meant he could take the leash off Zel.

  “The crew is already on the way, sir. They should be here in a few minutes.” Varne paused, listening to something on his earpiece. “Actually, they are here now, sir.”

  DeMark turned, just as Shira Tarkus and Katarina Venturi walked briskly into the control room. Lucas was right behind them, with a man DeMark didn’t know alongside him.

  “General DeMark”—Venturi bowed her head slightly as she stopped in front of him—“may I present King Gustav XXIII, the ruler of Nordlingen.”

  The guards flanking the doorway sprang into action, bringing their rifles to bear on the Nordlingener. But DeMark waved them off. He felt his own surge of anger, an almost overwhelming desire to put his hands around the king’s neck and squeeze the life from him. Gustav’s pointless resistance had cost thousands of him men, and his soul cried out for vengeance.

  But DeMark was an intelligent man too, and a wise one as well. His anger subsided quickly as his eyes panned across the Claw’s crew and settled on the king. Something was wrong here. Or right. Or at least different from what he’d expected.

  “King Gustav,” he said firmly, “I am General Rafaelus DeMark. I wish to welcome you to my headquarters.” There was no friendliness in his tone. But the hatred had subsided, too.

  “General DeMark, I am pleased to meet you. Though I wish it were under different circumstances. I am deeply sorrowful for the losses your soldiers have suffered, as I am for the thousands of my own men who have been killed in this disastrous—and needless—conflict.”

  DeMark stood and gazed at the king, trying with limited success to mask his confusion. “I appreciate your words, King Gustav, but surely all of this could have been avoided if you had just—”

  “General,” Katarina interrupted, her voice smooth, calming, “perhaps I can enlighten you.” She glanced at Gustav then back to DeMark. “We just rescued the king from a dungeon under the palace. He was deposed on the eve of your arrival, overthrown in a secret coup by his prime minister.” She paused and looked directly into DeMark’s eyes. “With imperial aid.”

  The general stared back at her. “You mean all this time, the king was held captive?” His eyes darted over to Gustav, who answered the question with a nod.

  The more pressing question burst from his lips. “The empire?” He was looking at Katarina again. “Are you sure?”

  “We are sure.” There wasn’t a hint of doubt in her voice.

  DeMark stood silently for a moment. Then he turned back to Katarina. “Where is Ark?”

  The assassin stared back silently, her normally cold eyes hard . . . With concern?

  “He is in the palace, General,” she said finally. “He stayed behind to pursue an operative of some kind. If pressed, I would guess it was the imperial contact responsible for this entire situation.”

  “You mean Ark is alone in that palace, surrounded by enemies?”

  “Yes, General. That is precisely the situation. Ark very specifically ordered us to leave at once and to bring the king back here without delay.”

  DeMark spun around toward Varne’s station. “Captain, get me Colonel Martine. He has to break through and get to the palace immediately, whatever the cost.”

  “General DeMark, if I may?” Gustav took a step forward. The guard tensed as he approached the general, but DeMark shook his head and the soldier backed down. “If you allow me to address the soldiers in the field, perhaps we can end this destructive conflict immediately—and open the way for your soldiers to reach the palace without suffering further losses.”

  “How?”

  “I will order the Nordlingen forces to cease all combat operations and to surrender at once.”

  DeMark looked at Gustav with a withering stare. “And why would you do that? We have not negotiated yet. I have promised you nothing. Why would you simply surrender your armies now? Even if you were not to blame for the outbreak of fighting, you have no assurance I will not hold you responsible.”

  The king took a deep breath. “I will do it for Arkarin Blackhawk. Though I barely know him, he freed me from captivity. He trusted me with a weapon, and he ordered his people to get me to safety while he remained in the fight.” He paused for a few seconds. “I am your prisoner.” He looked back toward Shira and Katarina. “Or at least the captive of Captain Blackhawk’s crew.” He turned again to face DeMark. “But I never wanted this war. None of this was by my command, and I would have the death and destruction cease and Blackhawk saved at once if such is possible. Even if the cost is my crown.

  “Even if it is my life.”

  DeMark stared at the proud man standing before him. He was surprised by how much he believed this king in such a short amount of time.

  “Okay, Your Majesty. I will allow you to contact your troops. But if you say anything to them other than a command to surrender, I will wave my hand.” He looked over at the guards. “And these men will kill you without hesitation. Do we understand each other?”

  “Indeed, General, we do. I assure you, I intend no treachery.”

  “Varne, set up the broadcast. Video too.” It was important the Nordlingeners be able to see the king if they were to believe it was their ruler addressing them.

  “Yes, sir.” The aide sounded less than convinced, but he followed the order immediately. “Ready.” He gestured toward the workstation, to a small microphone.

  Gustav took one last glance at DeMark. The Celtiborian general nodded, and the king walked over to the workstation. Varne hit a switch and nodded for Gustav to begin.

  “Attention, all Nordlingener forces, this is King Gustav Magnus, of the house of Kron. I have been held captive for weeks now, the victim of a treacherous coup. I did not issue the orders for this war. I repeat, it was not my wish to fight this war. Prime Minister Davanos is a traitor. He seized power and imprisoned me. The broadcasts you heard from me were false, staged.

  “For the tragedies this has caused, for the thousands killed in this needless fighting, I can only express my profound sadness and regret. But this treason ends now. The dy
ing ends now.

  “I now command the armed forces of Nordlingen in their entirety to cease all combat operations immediately. Lay down your weapons and surrender to the Celtiborians. If an officer orders you to continue to attack, he is a traitor to our planet, and should be apprehended. All fighting is to end now—there’s been far too much pain and death already. I order you all to do what must be done in order to stop this war. The traitors who have caused this catastrophe will be found and dealt with. But first, the killing and dying must stop.

  “This is your king’s command. Chrono save Nordlingen.”

  Gustav nodded at Verne, and the aide cut the line. The room was silent.

  “Will they follow the command?” Shira asked the king.

  “I do not know, Shira Tarkus,” the monarch said softly. “I simply do not know.” He turned back toward DeMark. “But I suggest you order your forces to advance on the palace regardless. We must get Arkarin Blackhawk out of there whether or not my armies resist.”

  Blackhawk felt the hollow click as he pulled the trigger. His gun was finally out of ammunition. Enemy soldiers were lying around the room, each of them with one perfectly aimed bullet in their heads.

  All of his enemies dead but one.

  He stepped forward, slipping the empty pistol back into its holster. “Hello, Vagran,” he said softly. “It’s been a long time.” He stared at the only other person still standing in the room. The imperial agent had a sword hanging at his side, but otherwise he was unarmed.

  “Indeed it has,” the imperial replied. “Should I address you as Blackhawk? Is that what you call yourself now?”

  “It’s not what I call myself, it is my name. It is who I am.” Blackhawk stepped to the side slowly, his eyes locked on the other man’s. “Anything else is the past.”

  “I remember another name, and a man with different priorities. A great warrior of the empire and dynamic leader. A hero who received his rewards from the hand of the emperor himself. A man I called my mentor.”

  “That man is gone. He died long ago.”

  “Did he?” The imperial stared back at Blackhawk. “Or do you just tell yourself that? For twenty-five years I believed him to be dead. Indeed, everyone thought you had been killed. They still think so.” His hand was hanging at his side, close to his blade, but he made no overt move to pull it from its sheath. “But here we are now, and not only do I find you alive, I see you lurking among Far Stars filth like a worm crawling through the dirt. What has become of you, my old master . . . my old friend?”

  “Indeed, Vagran, that is exactly how I’d expect you would see it. Clearly you are no wiser now than you were then.” Blackhawk nodded to his adversary. “We were friends of a sort, once. But that time is long past. And it doesn’t matter anymore. You know who I am, what I am. I cannot allow that information to leave this room. You have come to the end, Vagran. This is where you die.” He pulled his shortsword slowly from the scabbard, his fingers clenched tightly around the worn grip. “You know you cannot defeat me. I am still the teacher, and you the student. Now it is time for the final lesson.”

  “You were my teacher, but that was long ago, and much has changed since then. You abandoned who you were, left your greatness behind to languish here, at the edge of the universe among the detritus of humanity.” The imperial pulled out his own blade and held it out in front of him. “We shall see who passes this last test.”

  Calgarus crouched into a fighting position, his feet moving slowly, his body edging toward Blackhawk. The two men stared into each other’s eyes, and they began their deadly dance.

  Blackhawk took a deep breath. He was exhausted, and his old wound still ached. Calgarus had always been a dangerous fighter, and Blackhawk reminded himself his old protégé had nearly a quarter-century’s experience since last they’d met. The imperial was younger, too, though only by a few years.

  As always, Blackhawk felt the adrenaline surging through his body, giving himself over to the part of his mind that always took control in combat.

  Let’s see what you’re made of, Vagran.

  He moved suddenly, feinting forward to the left then ducking and slashing with his blade. Calgarus dove backward and lunged out with his sword, parrying Blackhawk’s strike just in time. The imperial stumbled, but he caught himself.

  “You strike like a snake, just as you always did.” Calgarus nodded his head slightly. “But I am not the green young man you abandoned so long ago.” He raised his sword and brought it down hard. Blackhawk extended his own weapon to block the strike, and a loud clang echoed from the walls.

  Calgarus increased the intensity of his attacks, swinging his blade at Blackhawk’s with as much force as he could manage, but Ark stood firm, parrying every blow.

  Then Blackhawk ducked below one of Calgarus’s strikes and brought his own blade around in a vicious swing. The imperial jerked backward, but Blackhawk’s blade bit into him, barely. It was a flesh wound, but it was the first blood drawn.

  Yet Calgarus barely paused, throwing himself toward Blackhawk, his anger feeding his attack. He swung hard at his enemy’s sword, pushing it to the side as he reversed the move and slashed at Blackhawk’s body. But the older man was the quicker, and he evaded the blow.

  The fight went on, the two exchanging strikes all across the room, each seeming to read the other’s every attack and responding with the proper defense. Though Blackhawk couldn’t manage to land a decisive blow, he was getting the better of the engagement. He’d drawn first blood, and Calgarus was tiring out. Blackhawk had entered the battle exhausted and wounded, but his natural abilities were beyond that of any normal man, however well trained and experienced. Calgarus’s skills were a match for his own, but the imperial couldn’t overcome the genetic engineering that made Blackhawk such a deadly adversary.

  “We don’t need to do this.” For the first time since they’d encountered each other, there was a hint of desperation in Calgarus’s voice. The fact that he was talking at all was the proof Blackhawk needed to know he was winning. Vagran continued, “I don’t know what happened to you so many years ago, but you can come back with me. You can reclaim your position within the empire.”

  Blackhawk stared at his adversary with pity in his eyes. Calgarus’s attempt was laughable. No one knew the ways of the empire better than Blackhawk. There was no going back, no forgiveness for traitors and deserters. Only death awaited him back in the empire—even if he could have brought himself to return to what he’d been.

  Which he couldn’t.

  “That is not the way for me—I left that path long ago. It is you who are lost, Calgarus. Your soul is mired in darkness, and with each step you walk farther past the point of no return. Nothing remains for you but the hope for salvation in death, and that shall take you soon.”

  Calgarus tested with his blade, probing for a weakness while his old mentor spoke. But Blackhawk parried easily, and then launched his own attack.

  The Claw’s captain brought his blade down toward Calgarus’s neck. The imperial twisted around, holding his sword up to block the killing blow. But it was a diversion, and Blackhawk pulled his arm low, his sword slipping under Calgarus’s and biting into his side, sending a spray of blood through the air.

  The imperial howled in pain, and he lunged back, holding his sword in front of him with shaking hands. His breath was coarse, and the pain was written on his face.

  He stared at Blackhawk with a strange expression. Fear certainly, but also astonishment, as if only now he’d begun to believe his old friend would really kill him.

  “We were brothers, comrades. We served side by side, earned the gratitude of an emperor.” He stared across the floor, and Blackhawk could see the pain and fear in his eyes.

  “I do not want the emperor’s gratitude. That is what you will never understand. Those days you view as a time of glory—they are my great shame.”

  Calgarus staggered, his side soaked with blood. He was badly wounded, but it wasn’t mortal. But the f
ight was over. That was obvious to both of them.

  “I . . . I yield to you.” He shuffled forward and let his sword arm drop to his side. “I am your prisoner.”

  Blackhawk was startled by Calgarus’s surrender. He’d been ready to kill his opponent in battle, but to murder him in cold blood? To refuse his surrender and summarily execute him?

  “I surrender to you, Blackhawk. I beg for your mercy.” Calgarus’s blade hit the ground with a loud clang. “If you would kill me, my old friend, then strike me down. I am unarmed and helpless.”

  Blackhawk felt his heart pounding. His mind was racing, old dark memories mixing with newer, lighter ones. His old self could have rationalized killing a captive in cold blood, even an old friend. All he’d known in those days was duty—and the pursuit of power. But now he understood so much more. He had friends, loved ones, attachments he’d never have allowed himself twenty years before, when Vagran Calgarus had been his comrade and pupil.

  But none of that mattered now.

  An atrocity to hide a nightmare . . .

  “I’m sorry, Vagran. I truly am. But you are what you are, and I cannot allow what you know to leave this room. The imperial evil you represent must not spread any further.” Blackhawk tried to justify his actions, to himself at least, but it was pointless. He knew just why he was going to kill Calgarus.

  He took one last look into his old friend’s eyes, and he saw the terror rising inside his old friend, the realization of what was happening. Then he swung his sword, taking off the imperial’s head in one blindingly quick motion.

  He instinctively took a step forward and grabbed the younger man’s body, sliding it slowly to the ground instead of letting it fall. He knew Calgarus had been an evil man, and Blackhawk couldn’t begin to calculate how much brutality the imperial had probably inflicted over the past twenty years. He didn’t have the slightest doubt his old pupil deserved death for his acts, but Blackhawk was still wracked by guilt.