“He can’t be related to the King.”
“Why do you say that?”
“He looks intelligent,” Hickok quipped.
Blade turned the corner, trailing Aloysius and the two Hounds as they traversed another opulent corridor.
The King stopped abruptly, staring at an open door on the right-hand side. “That’s odd,” he remarked. “I know I closed it when I left.”
The Warriors and Bonnie halted.
Captain Tuchman raised his right hand and the Hound column stopped.
Aloysius glanced at the officer. “Captain.”
Tuchman hurried forward, past the Warriors. “Yes, sir?”
“Check my throne room,” Aloysius ordered.
The Hound officer entered the chamber, and 30 seconds elapsed before he reappeared. “No one is here, sir.”
Aloysius scratched his chin. “General Thayer must have been here and neglected to close the door. He’ll be duly reprimanded for this gross oversight.” So saying, he waved the officer out of his path and stalked inside.
“Let’s go, you,” Captain Tuchman instructed the Warriors.
Blade’s eyes widened at the sight of the posters adorning the throne room walls. He gazed at the throne and the chandelier, and noticed a shut red door in the middle of the right-hand wall.
Aloysius stalked to his gilded throne and sat down. He beckoned for the prisoners to approach.
The column of Hounds tramped into the room and stood at attention, Captain Tuchman at their head.
“And now to business,” Aloysius declared.
Blade gazed idly to his left at the duo holding the arms, then stared at the King. Hickok was to his right, Bonnie and Chastity a few feet to their rear. Behind them, the Hounds. “What do you propose to do with us?” he inquired.
“I could let the Dark Lord have you now,” Aloysius said, and jerked his thumb in the direction of the red door. “But that would spoil all my fun.”
“Where is Rikki?” Blade asked.
Aloysius gazed at the corridor. “I’m surprised he isn’t here. I told General Thayer to bring him to the throne room before I departed to apprehend you. Perhaps the general returned your friend to his holding cell and went to find me.” He smiled. “I can’t wait to see the expression on that pompous Spartan when he learns I’ve captured you. He believes Spartans are such great military men! Well, they’re not the only ones.” The King chuckled. “I could have called him back, you know. He’d only been gone a couple of minutes, on his way to the cells to escort your friend here, when the word arrived of the gunfight. I decided to lead the Hounds myself to demonstrate my superior ability, to show him my vision is valid.”
“Vision?” Blade said.
“I’ll explain later,” Aloysius stated. “Right now I want to take a nice, long, hot bath and powder my face.”
“Your puss could use some improvement,” Hickok quipped.
Aloysius leaned forward. “How can you be so arrogant when you know that I have the power of life and death in my hands?”
“You don’t have power over diddly,” Hickok replied. “All you’ve got is the upper hand.”
Blade looked at Bonnie and Chastity and observed them whispering.
Bonnie lowered the child slowly to the floor.
“I intend to have you suffer before you die,” Aloysius told the gunman.
“I want to hear you beg for mercy.”
“Don’t hold your breath,” Hickok advised.
The King snorted contemptuously. “You think you’re so tough.”
“I know I am,” Hickok responded.
“Too bad you’ll never have the opportunity to prove it,” Aloysius said.
At that moment Chastity let out with a tremendous screech and raced toward the throne room door, swinging her arms and wailing. Bonnie took off in pursuit. “Chastity! Come back!”
Every Hound automatically focused on the screaming girl, watching her flee, some smirking at the sight. Even Aloysius glanced up in annoyance.
For an instant no one was paying the slightest attention to the Warriors.
And Blade made his move.
The giant Warrior reached the pair bearing the weapons in a single stride. Before they could react, he wrenched the Bowies from the grip of the Hound bearing them and slid the knives from their sheaths with a deft flick of his hands. The gleaming blades flashed, and both Hounds were sliced across the throat in the space of a heartbeat. They released their burdens, clutching at their necks, blood spraying between their spread fingers, shock settling in.
Blade whirled and pounced on Captain Tuchman, embedding his right Bowie in the officer’s chest to the hilt. Tuchman’s eyes widened in astonishment, and Blade yanked the knife free and shoved the collapsing officer aside.
Finally, belatedly, the Hounds began to come alive, several striving to bring their automatic rifles into play.
“No shooting! No shooting!” Aloysius the First unexpectedly shouted from his throne. “I don’t want my posters hit! Use your bayonets and knives! Any soldier who uses his gun will answer to the Dark Lord!”
The Hounds hesitated uncertainly, torn between their duty and their desire to blow the giant away.
Blade seized the initiative, wading into the column with his Bowies arcing left and right, crimson droplets dripping from the blades as he hacked and cut, stabbed and slashed. Five Hounds were down in as many seconds. The next raised his AR-15, about to violate the King’s order to preserve his life, but a booming retort sounded and the Hound’s head was jerked rearward by the impact of a .357 Magnum slug tearing through his forehead. Blade managed a fleeting look back, elated to see Hickok entering the fray.
The gunfighter had retrieved his Colts.
Shouting and bellowing, the Hounds surged toward the Warriors, intending to overwhelm them by sheer force of numbers.
Hickok checked their rush, decimating their ranks with his Pythons, firing coolly, methodically, his elbows bent at the waist, his aim unerring, going for those nearest Blade. With each shot a Hound was flung to the floor. Ten of them perished as they dashed forward, falling at the feet of their comrades, throwing the Hounds into temporary disarray.
Blade wasn’t about to allow them to reorganize. He glimpsed Aloysius the First darting through the red door out of the corner of his left eye, and then he attacked the remaining Hounds with the savagery of a primitive barbarian, his mighty physique rippling with power and ferocity, his conscious will supplanted by an instinctive drive to survive.
The Hounds tried to slay the rampaging titan, wielding their bayonets and knives as best they were able. A few decided to charge the gunman, thinking they could slay him before he could reload, but .357 slugs ripping apart their vital organs proved them wrong.
Blade was in his element, and he actually grinned grimly as he parried and thrust, blocked and struck. He felt stinging sensations in his arms, legs, and sides as he was nicked and cut, and he ignored the discomfort as he pressed his assault. A tall Hound attempted to spear his privates, and Blade impaled the man’s neck on his left Bowie. Another Hound rashly sprang at his head, and Blade whipped his right Bowie into the soldier’s groin, upending his foe with a powerful sweep of his steely arm.
Several of the Hounds opted to save their skins, turning and fleeing in stark panic. Two snapped off shots from their rifles. Both missed in the swirling melee of the battle, and both were promptly killed by the gunfighter in buckskins.
As he spun and shifted, always in motion, always the aggressor. Blade absently noted Bonnie and Chastity standing next to the wall near the entrance. They were transfixed by the violence unfolding in front of them.
Dead and dying Hounds littered the floor, moaning and groaning in torment, awash in puddles of their own blood.
Eight Hounds still fought on. One, a burly man with bushy eyebrows, turned and headed for the door, a bayonet in his left hand. He spotted the woman and child and angled toward them, his features contorting in fury.