Deathstalker 05 - Deathstalker Destiny

bounty hunter, Jack. Loyal to whoever hires me. Only honor I ever had." Her voice was very small now, like a dreaming child. "I might have been something else, but you made the deal with Blue Block, to save the Families… I never believed in anything, after that."
    "My fault," said Random. "All my fault."
    "But I did care for you. In my way."
    "There's got to be something I can do!"
    "Save Diana. Don't let Blue Block win. You'd better hurry. I got you a good one, with my knife. You're dying too, Jack."
    "I know. It doesn't matter."
    "Jack?"
    "Yes?"
    "I'm tired. Let me rest."
    She closed her eyes, and the breath went out of her, and as easily as that she slipped away from him, even as he held her tightly to him. He sat there for a while, rocking her gently in his arms like a sleeping child. He didn't cry. He was too tired, and too badly hurt in too many ways, and he just didn't have a tear left in him. He felt as if he could have sat there forever, but he knew he couldn't. Diana. He still had to save Diana. He pulled the knife out of Ruby's unmoving chest. He might need it yet. He let go of her body, and lurched painfully to his feet. He swayed a moment, his thoughts muddled by pain and weakness, but then his old cold will pulled him back together, almost in spite of himself.
    He looked at the knife hilt jutting out of his ribs. Couldn't leave it there.
    People might notice. If one of the Blue Block people suspected Ruby had tried to kill him and failed… that he knew about the bomb… He gritted his teeth and jerked the knife out. Fresh blood coursed down his side, and he almost passed out from the shock. He tucked both knives out of sight, in the tops of his long boots, and pulled his heavy cloak about him. He kept one hidden hand pressed tight against his wound, to stop the blood. No one must know he was hurt. Anyone could be Blue Block. Anyone.
    The wound in his side hurt like hell as he headed for the wine cellar door, rising and falling in rhythm to his steps. It slowly occurred to him that he
    could heal himself now. With Ruby dead, they weren't in opposition anymore. In fact, he was surprised the healing process hadn't already kicked in. But when he tried to reach out with his mind, there was nothing there. His powers were gone, like a face or a name he couldn't remember. He was on his own.
    He swore unemotionally. He still had to get to Diana. Warn her. Everything else could wait, till later. He left the cellar, carefully locking the door behind him. His fingers felt numb and unresponsive. His feet felt cold, and very far away. He looked around him, but he was alone in the corridor. He tried to think how far it was to the great Hall, and Diana, and was shocked at how muddy his thoughts were becoming. The wound must be worse than he thought.
    You're dying too, Jack.
    He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek. Blood filled his mouth for a moment, and he had to spit hard to clear it, but the sudden sharp pain cleared his head. He straightened up, pulled back his shoulders, made sure his cloak was held tightly about him, and set off down the corridor, walking perfectly normally. His face was calm, his eyes clear, as though there was nothing wrong.
    Nothing in the world.
    One corridor looked much like another, but he knew where he was going now, and his feet never faltered. He passed people along the way, hurrying back and forth on no doubt important missions, all luckily too busy to stop and chat. The castle was in a bad way, and its ailing life support systems needed a lot of attention. These people smiled and nodded to Jack Random, and he smiled and nodded in return. He worked hard at appearing perfectly normal, and on the few occasions when he was obliged to pass a few words with someone, his voice was perfectly even. None of them ever knew what it cost him. How he fought back the
    growing pain that ate away at him, as though Ruby's knife were stabbing him over and over again, determined to complete its deadly purpose. He'd lost all feeling in his hands now, but his arm and his will still kept the dead hand clamped over his hidden wound. He concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, while the endless corridors came and went like the gray streets we walk in nightmares.
    He finally entered the great Hall, and shut the heavy door behind him with an effort that brought beads of cold sweat to his brow. Diana glanced around from the information scrolling across her viewscreen. "Oh, hello, Jack. I'm