Deathstalker 01 - Deathstalker

should have been using all along. His weapon master had spent enough time hammering it into him. Cathy lunged again, and he stepped gracefully aside, seized her arm in one simple movement and twisted it up behind her back. Her own speed and impetus slammed the hold into place, and she gasped in pain as he applied a steady pressure. Her fingers opened reluctantly, releasing the knife. It fell to the floor, but Cathy kicked it out of reach before Owen could even think about going after it. And then she twisted strangely, pulled free of his grasp and sent Owen flying before he knew what was happening. He scrambled hurriedly to his feet, looking about him for the knife. Cathy pirouetted once, her long leg flying up, and her foot hit Owen expertly just above the ear. He managed to roll with some of the blow, but he still hit the floor hard again, his head ringing.
    Great, thought Owen, as he struggled to get his feet under him. All the
    assassins that could have come after me, and I had to get a double-jointed contortionist kick-boxer. Well, when in doubt, improvise. And if that fails, cheat.
    Cathy came at him again, moving almost too fast for the eye to follow. Owen grabbed his clothes from the chair they'd been laid out on and threw them into Cathy's face. For a second she was blind and off balance, and that was all it took for Owen to snatch up the knife and thrust it between her ribs. For a long moment they remained as they were, Cathy on her feet, him on one knee, both breathing hard. Blood poured from Cathy's heaving side. The clothes fell away from her face. She gripped his shoulders fiercely, as though to hold herself up, but all her strength went out of her, and she sank to the floor, still holding onto him. He eased her down and sat with her, holding her tenderly in his arms.
    She coughed painfully, and blood ran from her mouth. "Damn," she said thickly.
    "You've killed me, Owen."
    "Yes, I think I have. Why, Cathy? Why did you do it?"
    "You've been outlawed. The news came through while I was getting your drink. All your titles, lands, properties, and monies have been seized. It's death to shelter or aid you. Anyone who brings your head, preferably unattached to the body, to the Imperial Court on Golgotha will be rewarded with the Lordship of Virimonde and half your monies. Somebody really wants you dead, Owen."
    She cleared her throat and spat, and there was more blood. Owen held her tightly. Outlawed? He tried to make sense of it and couldn't. In the space of a few moments, his whole world had gone mad. Cathy coughed painfully and gritted her teeth against the blood. Her hands tightened on his arms, and he held her until the spasm passed. He didn't know what else to do.
    "Something else you should know, Owen." Her voice was low and blurred now, and
    he had to concentrate to make it out. "I'm a spy. From the Imperial Court. They planted me on you, all those years ago. I've been feeding them information ever since."
    "Hush, love. Don't tire yourself. I know. I've always known. It doesn't matter."
    Cathy looked at him. "You knew? And you never said anything?"
    "What was there to say? My AI broke your cover right after you moved in with me.
    He's good at things like that. I never did anything about it because it was easier to have a spy I knew about, and could keep an eye on, than have to identify and deal with whoever replaced you. And besides, I was fond of you."
    "I was fond of you," said Cathy quietly. "I never did have a head for business."
    She leaned forward till her head was resting on his shoulder, shuddered slightly, and stopped breathing. Owen held her in his arms as the life went out of her, and then sat quietly with her, rocking her gently like a sleeping child.
    After a while he let go and laid her out on the floor. She seemed somehow smaller and more fragile now. He looked down at himself and grimaced at her blood and his on his skin. He picked up his shift from the floor and mopped at himself with it. He started to put it on, and then let it drop to the floor again. Nothing seemed to matter much now. The crackling of the flames from his burning bed caught his attention, and he thought vaguely that he should call someone to do something about it. He activated his comm implant, removed the Do Not Disturb and accessed his home's AI.
    "Ozymandius…"
    "Shut up and listen," said his AI. "You're in a lot of trouble, Owen. You've been outlawed, and there's a hell of a price on your head."
    "I know."

    "So