Deathstalker 01 - Deathstalker

ask?"
    "Oh, shut up and get your breath back," said Hazel. "If you were drowning, you'd complain the straw you were clutching at wasn't a good enough quality. What was that you were shouting?"
    "My Family's battlecry," said Owen. His voice seemed a little stronger. "I never used it before. Never thought I would. Surprising what goes through your mind
    when you realize you might not be about to die after all. Speaking of which, who's your new friend?"
    "Don't ask me," said Hazel. "I thought he was a friend of yours."
    They both turned to look at their unexpected savior, and he looked silently back. His face was subtly inhuman, just as Hazel had thought; there was something wrong in its planes and angles, as though strange and unfamiliar emotions had shaped it. But it was the eyes that held the attention, that brought gooseflesh to Owen and Hazel's arms and raised the hairs on their necks. The eyes glowed a bright gold in the dim light of the street, as though lit from within by some strange inner fire. They marked him, like the brand of Cain. He was a Hadenman, one of the legendary augmented men of lost Haden. They were rare now, seen perhaps once in a hundred worlds, the few survivors of the terrible Hadenmen rebellion, when cyborgs created by men sought to wipe out humanity, root and branch. They failed, just, and now the last remnants were scattered far and wide across the Empire, feared and courted wherever they went as the ultimate warriors. They were supposed to be shot on sight, but usually no one was stupid enough to take them on with anything less than an army.
    Few and far between now, lost and forsaken; the bitter end of a once brilliant dream.
    "I am Tobias Moon," said the Hadenman in a harsh rasping voice that had no place in a human throat. "I am a partially functioning augmented man. Most of my implanted energy crystals are exhausted, and I lack the means to recharge them.
    I am therefore unable to utilize most of my implants, but I am still more than capable of seeing off a few blood junkies."
    "How did you know we needed help?" said Hazel.
    "A message from Cyder," said Moon. "She thought you could use some assistance,
    and that we might be able to help each other."
    Up on a roof overlooking the street, Cat sighed with relief. He ached all over from the fall he'd taken, but luckily the snowdrift had been just deep enough to cushion the worst of the impact. Now that the Hadenman had finally put in an appearance, he was free to return to the Blackthorn for some much needed rest.
    Shadowing Hazel d'Ark and the Deathstalker had turned out to be a full-time job.
    Still, they should be safe enough now with Moon. There weren't many people stupid enough to annoy a Hadenman. He set off slowly across the rooftops, hoping fervently that he'd never have to see any of them again. They were too dangerous to be around. Even for Mistport.
    Down in the street, Owen and Hazel looked round sharply as they heard someone moving in the mess of bodies lying scattered across the bloody snow. A single figure was moving, trying to drag itself away. It's useless legs dragged behind it, leaving a trail of bright red blood. Owen started after it, and Hazel put a staying hand on his arm.
    "No need to kill him, Owen. He'll bleed to death before he gets far."
    Owen jerked his arm free. "I'm not going to kill him. I'm going to see if I can help."
    "Are you crazy? He's a blood junkie. He was quite happy to kill you."
    "The fight's over. I can't just leave someone to die if I can help. If I did, I'd be no better than them. I am still a Deathstalker, whatever the Iron Bitch says, and we are an honorable Clan. Besides, a few years ago, that might have been you. Hazel."
    He quickly caught up with the crawling figure and knelt beside it. He put a gentle hand on its shoulder, and the figure shrank away from him with a weak,
    desperate cry of fear and pain. The figure wasn't very big, barely five feet tall, wrapped in filthy shapeless furs. Its legs were soaked in blood from the thighs down. Owen murmured comforting words till the figure stopped wailing, as much through weakness as anything else. Owen examined the wounded legs as carefully as he could without touching them and shook his head slowly. Either he or the Hadenman had cut right through the muscles in both legs. Crippling wounds on a world like Mistworld. He shrugged uncomfortably and pulled back the hood to see the face beneath. The breath went out of him, and he felt suddenly