Deathstalker 04 - Deathstalker Honor

at all happy about it.
    “The Deathstalker is really not going to be pleased when he discovers what we’ve made of his old home.” “I’m not afraid of him,” said the Silvestri defiantly. “Yes, well, that’s because you’re a complete bloody head case,” said the Kartakis equably. “In our line of work that’s usually an advantage, but we can’t afford indulgences like insanity right now. We have to think. Come up with a plan. We have men and resources. At least the Deathstalker didn’t bring an army with him to back him up.”
    “He doesn’t need an army,” Valentine pointed out. “He’s got Hazel d’Ark.” “You’re being remarkably calm about all this,” snapped the Kartakis. “Do you know something we don’t, or have you been popping a few extra pills today?” Valentine smiled easily. “I have a plan. A very unpleasant plan, perfectly tailored to take advantages of Owen’s weaknesses. All you have to do is keep the d’Ark woman occupied. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must be about setting my plan in motion. Oh, it’s going to be such fun watching him suffer.” He got up, bowed elegantly, and left, strolling casually away as though he didn’t have a care in the world. The two aristocrats looked after him. “That man is not living in the same reality as the rest of us,” said the Silvestri.
    The Kartakis snorted. “His plan probably involves cutting his losses, abandoning us, and heading for the far horizon like a bat with its ass on fire. If we’re going to survive this, we’re going to have to do it ourselves. We can stop them. We just have to prepare… something… to get them off balance…” “I’m not afraid of the—“ “Will you stop saying that! You’re not fooling anyone!” “Least of all me,” said Owen Deathstalker.
    The two aristocrats spun around and there he was, standing tall and intimidating in the doorway, a sword in his hand like it belonged there and always had. His face was grave, his eyes were cold and unwavering, and he looked every inch of his legend. Hazel d’Ark was at his side, leaning casually on the door frame, a large projectile gun in her hand. Just looking at the two of them, Athos Kartakis felt his
    blood run cold. The Kartakis had fought so many duels he’d lost count, stared death in the face and spat in the bony eye socket, but he’d never really felt in terror of his life before now. He had a disrupter under his robes, but knew he’d be dead if he even tried to draw it. Unless he could come up with a distraction… “Well, Silvestri,” he said as casually as he could. “You always said you could take the Deathstalker. Feel free to prove it.”
    Owen looked at the Silvestri interestedly. The aristocrat shot a glance of betrayal at the Kartakis, and then faced Owen steadily. “You don’t scare me, Deathstalker,” he said loudly. “I’ve heard about your inhuman powers, but they just sound to me like something a coward could hide behind. How about it, Owen? Have you got the guts to fight me as a man, not a monster? Because I can take you man to man, steel to steel, and deep down you know it.” “Now he really is full of it,” said Hazel. “Say the word, Owen, and I’ll shoot his eyes out.”
    “No,” said Owen. “I could use a little entertainment.” He looked at the Kartakis. “Don’t try and interfere. Hazel wouldn’t like it.” “Wouldn’t dream of it,” said the Kartakis quite sincerely. He backed away, keeping both hands in clear sight, thinking hard. Owen moved slowly forward into the great hall, taking in the various damage that had been done to the fixtures and fittings of what had once been his home. He didn’t look angry or even upset; he looked just a little colder, and even more dangerous.
    Carlos Silvestri came forward to meet him, moving lightly on the balls of his feet, a slender knife in each hand. In his own way he looked dangerous too, but it was nothing compared to the cold implacability of the Deathstalker, and everyone there knew it. The two men came together to fight in the middle of the hall, and everyone there knew how it was going to end. The two men circled each other unhurriedly, blades at the ready for any hint of an opening in the other’s defenses. Theoretically, it was a more or less even fight. Knives were excellent for close-in fighting, but had no reach. Unless you threw them and risked disarming yourself. The sword, on the other hand, had plenty of reach, but when it