“Someone will die,” Rikki said.

  “Damn you!” Thayer snapped. “I wish I’d never caught you. You’re nothing but trouble.”

  Rikki scrutinized the Spartan’s features. “Do I disturb you?”

  “Disturb me? There’s the understatement of the year. Yes, you disturb me. You remind me of a time when I held a higher set of values than I do now. You remind me of when I was a real man, and not second in command to a…” Thayer caught himself, then pressed his forehead to the bars.

  “Be careful,” Rikki said with a grin. “You don’t want me to turn you against the King.”

  General Thayer failed to appreciate the humor. “Life was so much simpler in Sparta. My duty was clear.”

  “You were a military man in Sparta?” Rikki prompted, hoping to learn more about the new city-state.

  Thayer nodded. “A captain in the royal bodyguard. Three hundred soldiers, the very best in Sparta, are assigned as bodyguards to the kings.”

  “Kings?”

  “The Spartan constitution requires two rulers.”

  “Then your appointment to the royal bodyguard was quite an honor,” Rikki deduced. “You must have been an outstanding soldier.”

  Thayer frowned. “I was, once. My name was engraved on the plaque of distinction. Now it’s been removed, and I am prohibited from returning to Sparta forever. I can’t even use my given name.”

  “Thayer is not your real name?”

  “No. When a Spartan is banished, he is stripped of his Spartan identity. I took the name Thayer from a book.”

  “Was your banishment justified?”

  General Thayer glanced at the Warrior in sadness. “Yes,” he said softly.

  “My crime was heinous. There was a plot to assassinate one of the kings, and I was on duty with thirty men when the traitors struck. There were over forty of them, all from the lower classes. They crept over one of the palace walls and attempted to kill the king while he slept. One of my men sounded the alarm, and we engaged them.” He smirked. “They were no match for Spartan superiority. We slaughtered them. I was guarding the king’s door with several others, one of whom was my eldest son.” He inhaled loudly, his shoulders slumping.

  Rikki waited patiently for the Spartan to continue. Half a minute elapsed.

  “One of the traitors shot my son,” Thayer said, his tone laced with sorrow. “That’s when I showed my weakness.”

  “Weakness?”

  “Yes. I turned away from the king’s door and ran to my son, just as another officer arrived with reinforcements. He saw my breach of discipline and reported my violation of regulations.”

  “You were banished because you aided your son?” Rikki asked in surprise.

  “I was banished because I deserted my post. My orders were to defend the king with my life, to allow no one to enter his chambers without permission. My post was at that door. And when I saw my son shot, I abandoned my post.”

  “Did your son live?”

  Thayer shook his head.

  “Your punishment was excessive,” Rikki stated.

  “My punishment was fair, even lenient,” Thayer said, disagreeing. “The judges could have sentenced me to death. Instead, I was formally sent into exile. I’m not permitted to ever return to Sparta, and my Spartan identity has been stricken from the official records. My disgrace was my own fault.

  Spartans are trained from birth to adhere to their duty above all else. I violated our basic credo.”

  Rikki digested this information in thoughtful silence. The new Sparta, he reasoned, was remarkably similar to the ancient Sparta. Both, evidently, operated under a rigid military caste system. “Where is Sparta located?” he inquired casually.

  “I told you before. I’m not at liberty to say.”

  Rikki pursed his lips. “Very well. I suppose it doesn’t matter in the long run.”

  Thayer looked at the martial artist. “What do you mean?”

  “Does Aloysius the First know Sparta’s location?”

  “Of course not. Do you think I’m nuts?” Thayer queried rhetorically.

  “I think you are very lonely and extremely miserable.”

  General Thayer straightened. “I don’t need your sympathy, Rikki. I brought my fate on myself. I suffered the disgrace of banishment, and I wandered the Outlands for over a year before I signed on with the King. I have no one to blame but myself.”

  “And will you blame yourself for Sparta’s destruction?”

  “Destruction?”

  “Eventually the King will destroy Sparta.”

  “He doesn’t even know Sparta’s location. How can he destroy something he can’t find?”

  “Aloysius will find Sparta sooner or later.”

  “You’re just saying that,” Thayer declared.

  “Am I? The King is insane, but his master plan has merit. If he succeeds in rousing every scavenger in the Outlands to his cause, he’ll raise the largest army on the continent. There will be no stopping him.

  He’d probably roll right over the Russians. A solitary city-state like Sparta wouldn’t stand a chance.”

  “Sparta is well hidden, off the beaten path.”

  “Even so, Aloysius will find it. Inevitably, as his power continues to grow, as the territory under his control spreads, he’ll discover Sparta’s location. Once he does, Sparta will fall to the Hounds of Hades.”

  “Never!”

  “You’re deluding yourself if you think otherwise.”

  “But I’m the commander of his army. He wouldn’t conquer my people if I request they be spared.”

  “Aloysius wants to be undisputed ruler of the planet,” Rikki observed.

  “Do you really believe he would allow Sparta to be independent of his authority?”

  General Thayer chewed on his lower lip, his visage troubled. “But he’ll never get that far. Someone is bound to stop him.”

  “Don’t let him hear you say that.”

  “I’ve never believed his plans for world conquest would succeed,” Thayer remarked. “I’ve never considered him a threat to Sparta.”

  “Aloysius is a threat to the entire planet,” Rikki reiterated. “His deranged ambition will inflict suffering on countless lives.”

  The Spartan was engrossed in his own musings. “I signed on with the King because I wanted to prove myself. I’ve always known the Hounds will be defeated, sooner or later.”

  “You knowingly joined a losing cause?” Rikki queried.

  General Thayer glanced at him. “I’d buried my past until you arrived.

  Now you’re stirring memories better left forgotten.”

  “Why did you come to see me?”

  “I was contemplating releasing you,” Thayer divulged. “I could always say you escaped.”

  “Will you release me?”

  “Not now. I want you out of my life. People like you are dangerous. You inspire others to follow your example of perfection.”

  Rikki grinned. “I’m far from perfect.”

  The former Spartan eyed the Warrior for a moment. “There’s nothing else to say.” He wheeled and stalked off.

  His supple muscles uncoiling, Rikki stood slowly and moved to the door. General Thayer had neglected to close the panel over the barred window, allowing Rikki to see the pair of guards at the end of the corridor.

  He saw the officer disappear up the stairs, and the two Hounds exchanged muted words as they apparently discussed the general’s behavior.

  Forty minutes, Thayer had said.

  Not a lot of time.

  Rikki surveyed the holding cell, which contained a toilet facility in the far left corner of the room but was otherwise devoid of furniture and windows to the outside, and came to the conclusion clever measures were called for. He gazed at the guards briefly, then crouched, cupped his hands around his mouth, and uttered a strangled scream. After waiting a bit, he repeated the noise.

  There wasn’t long to wait.

  Boot steps pounded on the tile floor.

  “—hell was that?”

  “I don’t know,” replied the second Hound.

  “It sounded like he was hanging himself,” suggested the first.

  “There’s nothing in his cell he could use to hang himself.”

  “Maybe he had something concealed in his clothes, something we missed.”

  “Shit. The King will have our hides if this guy is dead.”

  Rikki flattened on his stomach at the inner base of the door.

  There was the sound of breathing at the barred window. “Damn. I don’t see him!” declared one of the guards.

  “He’s got to be in there.”

  “Look for yourself.”

  A shuffling noise was followed by an exclamation. “Son of a bitch! Get this door open.”

  Rikki heard a rattling in the lock as a key was inserted, and he edged away from the door until he was just beyond the radius of the farthest point of the door’s anticipated inward sweep. If he was correct, the guard would fling the door open and miss him by a hair.

  The key was twisted and there was a loud click.

  A rush of air touched the Warrior’s face as the door was shoved wide, and the first guard rushed into the holding cell. The Hound’s left boot caught on Rikki’s shoulder, and with a startled. “Hey!” the guard tripped and fell.

  “What the—!” blurted out the second Hound, about to enter the room.

  Rikki was already in motion, swinging his feet around and in and slamming his heels into the knees of the second Hound. A sharp crack, a screech of pain, and the second Hound was toppling forward, trying to level the AR-15. Rikki deflected the barrel of the automatic rifle with his right forearm, then rammed a leopard-paw strike into the Hound’s throat as the man came down.

  The first guard, on his hands and knees, was scrambling to face the prisoner.

  Rikki arched his back and sprang erect, spinning as he rose, delivering a kick to the tip of the first Hound’s chin. The man grunted and sagged, and another kick rendered him insensate. Rikki glanced at the second guard, who was flat on his back, gasping and convulsing, his hands pressed to his crushed windpipe.

  The Warrior disliked seeing his foe suffer.

  With a precisely angled sword-hand chop to the Hound’s nose, Rikki ended the man’s misery.

  No one else had appeared in the hallway.

  Moving swiftly, Rikki grabbed the AR-15 and raced down the corridor to the stairs. He checked, verifying the safety was off, and ascended, a step at a time, all the while gazing overhead to insure more Hounds weren’t stationed above him. What should he do now? He asked himself. Escape the mansion while the opportunity presented itself? Or try to slay Aloysius the First and terminate the madman’s demented scheme for global domination? Either way, his main priority was reclaiming his katana.

  General Thayer must still be on the estate. Rikki doubted the officer would leave prior to the execution. Once he found Thayer and recovered the katana, he could decide which course to pursue.

  A closed brown door blocked his path.

  Rikki halted at the door and listened. He was about to reach for the doorknob when he heard voices approaching from the opposite side.

  Without hesitation he threw himself behind the door as it opened.

  “—wants to talk to the prisoner again,” General Thayer was saying.

  “I wouldn’t want to be in his shoes, sir,” remarked one of the two Hounds accompanying the officer, both of whom had AR-15’s slung over their right shoulders.

  The door closed as they started down the stairs.

  “Hello, Spartan,” said someone in a low tone to their rear.

  They whirled together, General Thayer’s eyes widening in astonishment.

  “You!” the Spartan exclaimed.

  The two Hounds appeared thoroughly confounded, and neither made a move for their weapon.

  Rikki held his automatic rifle loosely in his left hand, the barrel slanted downward. “I’ve come for my katana.”

  General Thayer was on the third step. The pair of guards were at the edge of the landing. All three were less than six feet from the Warrior.

  “What do we do, sir?” the tallest of the guards inquired nervously.

  “You’ll get your orders in a moment,” Thayer replied, then smiled at Rikki. “I shouldn’t be surprised, but I am.”

  The martial artist did not respond.

  “What happened to my men downstairs?” Thayer inquired.

  “They have passed on to the next realm.”

  “They’re dead?”

  Rikki nodded.

  General Thayer sighed. “The King sent me to escort you upstairs. He wants to see you again.”

  “And I want to see him. But first, my katana,” Rikki stated, extending his right arm.

  “You know I can’t give it to you. I’d like to, but my duty is to the King.”

  “Duty should be measured by wisdom and guided by the Spirit.”

  General Thayer looked sad. “I’m sorry. I truly am.”

  “So am I.” Rikki responded.

  Thayer glanced at the two Hounds. “Kill him.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  The leader of the Hound patrol was a lean sergeant with sandy hair and an arrogant attitude. He sneered at the quartet in front of him and crossed his arms on his chest. Strapped around his narrow waist were a pair of Smith and Wesson Model 459’s. “Well, well, well,” he declared sarcastically. “What have we here?”

  Behind the noncom were Five Hounds, each armed with an automatic rifle.

  “Howdy,” Hickok said, the M-16 held loosely in his right hand.

  “Howdy, my ass,” the sergeant responded. He studied the blond man in the buckskins and the little girl, then shifted his attention to the giant and the brunette beyond them. “You’re the ones!” he exclaimed.

  “We are?” Hickok replied.

  “You’re the ones the platoon was sent after,” the sergeant stated. “They must have missed you.”

  “Nope. They found us,” Hickok said.

  The Hound sergeant scanned the street. “Then where are they?”

  “They’re buzzard bait,” Hickok answered.

  “What?”

  Hickok slowly raised his left hand and slashed his forefinger across his neck. As he did, at the moment every Hound was watching his left hand, he surreptitiously tilted the M-16 barrel with his right and squeezed the trigger.

  The Hounds were caught napping.

  A stunned expression was on the sergeant’s face as he was struck in the chest, the slugs stitching his torso from his navel to his right shoulder. His arms flung out as he was smashed onto his back by the impact.

  With only his right hand on the blasting, bucking rifle, Hickok could not fully control his aim. The barrel swiveled to the right, the M-16 sending rounds into two of the thunderstruck Hounds, perforating their chests and slamming them to the ground.

  Three Hounds were still erect, and they sighted on the gunman and little girl even as their companions died.

  Someone else fired before the Hounds could, adding the din of her AR-15 to Hickok’s M-16. Bonnie held the stock pressed to her shoulders, and her lips were a grim line as she aimed carefully and fired. Although not an expert markswoman, at a range of 30 feet she could hardly miss.

  Her shots smacked into the Hounds below their necks, dotting each man’s upper chest with crimson holes.

  The three Hounds toppled in a tidy row.

  Hickok ceased firing and walked to the sergeant. He nudged the body with his right toe. “Cocky bunch of turkeys,” he commented.

  Shocked by the abrupt violence. Chastity ran to the gunman and grabbed his left leg. “Are these the bad men who took Uncle Rikki?”

  “Some of them, princess,” Hickok replied.

  “Will we find Uncle Rikki soon? I don’t like this place.”

  “The folks hereabouts are a mite inhospitable,” Hickok said.

  “What?”

  “These cow chips are real meanies,” Hickok clarified.

  “They sure are,” Chastity agreed.

  Blade and Bonnie joined them. Blade knelt and started removing the sergeant’s belt and holstered 459’s.

  “Thanks for the assist, ma’am,” Hickok said to Bonnie.

  “Don’t mention it,” Bonnie responded.

  “More Hounds will arrive soon,” Blade declared, and looked at Bonnie.

  “You’ve lived here for a long time. Where can we hide for an hour?”

  “We could mingle with the crowds downtown,” she proposed. “The Hounds will conduct a thorough search once they find these bodies, but they might not expect us to go there.”

  “Lead the way,” Blade instructed her, rising with the confiscated belt in his left hand.

  Bonnie hurried off.

  “What about Rikki?” Hickok inquired.

  Blade headed after Bonnie. “We won’t do him any good if we get caught. We’ll lay low for an hour or so, then go get him.”

  “Now you’re talkin,” Hickok said.

  Bonnie led them on a winding, circuitous route into the inner city.

  Memphis became even filthier and ever more squalid the farther they went.

  “Rats must vacation here,” Hickok cracked at one point.

  They traversed an alley, darted across a narrow street, and paused under a rusted fire escape.

  “In two or three blocks there will be shanties,” Bonnie detailed. “Ignore the beggars if you don’t want to attract attention.”

  “Do you have a house of your own?” Blade inquired.

  “Clyde and I shared a room in the back of a demolished store on the west side. It was cramped, and there weren’t any windows, but the door was sturdy and the lock worked.”

  “Do all the people in Memphis live under such conditions?” Blade asked.

  “Most,” Bonnie divulged. “Except for the Hounds. They live in their Headquarters Complex, and everyone should have it so cushy. Anything the Hounds need, they get. They seized all the paint and building supplies they could uncover when they turned the old Depot into the Complex.

  They confiscated most of the vehicles. And they searched high and low for the material for their uniforms.” She paused. “Only one person in Memphis lives better than the Hounds. The King. That bastard has an estate you wouldn’t believe. Every time the Hounds raid a town or outpost, the King takes the best of the spoils. He’s filthy rich.”

 

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