Hunting Will (4 page)

“How do I plead, Athos?” Stark said, his voice gaining strength as if he was waking from a deep sleep. “I plead…” His eyes snapped open, the jade-green color brightly illuminated by the powerful Energy coursing through him. An intense smile formed on his face. “Freedom.”

Stark issued forth an explosive amount of Energy. The burst was so intense that Aramis, in direct contact and trying to Damper the man, screamed in agony, his mind seared in pain as if it had been ripped in half from the explosion. Stark glanced at the binding gloves, and the webbing and glue disintegrated. Stark was free, and Aramis was lying on the ground, hands holding his head, writhing in pain, screaming in agony.

Suddenly, the two minutes remaining for the transport craft to arrive seemed an eternity away. The enemy was in their midst, fully charged up with Energy to a level neither of them could conceive. And he was angry about his rough treatment earlier. Though he could teleport away at any time, far beyond their reach, Stark elected to stay and fight with his would-be captors.

Athos, enraged at yet another failed mission, pulled out a short sword hidden in a sheath on his back, as he and Stark circled each other. Stark eyed the weapon with interest, though nothing on his face suggested concern about possible injury.

The circle tightened, and Athos realized that his best bet right now was to keep Stark dancing until the transport craft arrived. But Athos had ceased being worried about capturing Stark; he wanted the man maimed, injured so badly he couldn’t move, or even dead. Stark had embarrassed him for years, had made him look like a fool, and Athos meant to make him pay. Mere capture was no longer sufficient punishment.

Enraged, Athos charged Stark, waving the blade wildly, looking to make any kind of contact and inflict pain on his nemesis. Stark watched the Hunter’s approach with measured calm, and at the last moment, he produced a blade in his own hand, a blade that swung in a controlled arc. The blade raced toward Athos’ face, and the Hunter just avoided it, falling to the ground in the process. He felt something warm running down his cheek as sharp pain seared his face. He realized in shock that Stark hadn’t missed, that he hadn’t managed to dodge the swinging blade. Rather, the leader of the Alliance had cut a six inch slit across Athos’ right cheek, just under his eye. Athos touched the injured cheek, and his hand came away sticky with his own blood. His eyes, once full of fury, were now full of shock.

“It will never heal,” Stark said, his voice soft. “You’ll have a scar there forever, to remind you each time you look in the mirror that you failed to capture me, for yours will be an ugly scar to symbolize the evil you seek to enable.” The blade vanished from his hand. Stark’s eyes fluttered up, as if remembering something. “
That’s
where it came from,” he muttered to himself. Athos was still shocked to a great degree, unable to ponder the curious choice of words from his nemesis.

Porthos found himself alone. He folded his arms across his chest and glared at Stark. “Going to cut me up too, Stark? I thought you didn’t approve of violence.”

“Sadly, the three of you
do
, though not so much as your boss.” Stark looked thoughtful again, as if remembering something else. “Porthos, listen to me. You need to stop this. You know what you’re doing is wrong. Ask yourself why so many Aliomenti have left for the Alliance. They know it’s wrong, too. Eventually, you’ll be left all alone with your blessed Leader, still trying to conspire to protect the world from exposure to knowledge that might save it.”

Porthos face remained stony. “I’m a man of my word, Stark, unlike you. When I swear Oaths for life, I don’t form groups for the purpose of
violating
those Oaths. I follow through with them. How can anyone trust you at your word, Stark? Do the people who work for you understand that you’re a liar?”

“The Oaths I swore long ago are not the Oaths you enforce today, Porthos. The words and intent — and more importantly, the penalties for violations — have changed so dramatically that I no longer recognize them. I continue to uphold what I originally vowed to uphold. I never agreed to uphold anything new or changed without asking my renewed consent. And therefore, I withdrew my consent.”

“Smooth words, Stark,” Porthos snarled. “Spin it however you want, but you’re going to be imprisoned for your crimes.”

“How can that be, Porthos? I’m leaving now. How do you propose to find me?”

“Perhaps you’ve forgotten, Stark, but I can track your Energy scent better than any bloodhound.”

Stark merely shrugged. “Perhaps, Porthos. Then again, that ability has never been of much use against me in the past, has it?” Stark smiled, and the look on his face chilled Porthos. He heard the approaching transport craft. Could he possibly stall Stark long enough?

“Yes, Porthos, you’ll keep looking for me, and you’ll find me occasionally, but you’ll never win this war. You’re on the wrong side of all of this, both the philosophy and the punishments. You know I won’t injure you or kill you, though you give me and my people no such quarter. But the day will come when the inevitable will happen, and you’ll wish you’d listened to me today. Your regrets will be such that you’ll be the one quivering on the ground.” He glanced at Aramis, who was still writhing in pain from the anguish inflicted on his mind, and Porthos thought he saw a brief flicker of compassion for the Hunter’s suffering.

“The only one who’ll be lying on the ground writhing in pain will be you, Stark,” Porthos hissed. “Your day is coming.”

A wistful look came to Stark’s face, as if of a distant memory. “Yes, perhaps it is,” he mused. Then his focus returned, and he fixed Porthos with a stare as the transport craft touched down behind the Hunter, in full sight of Will Stark. The doors of the craft opened, and men spilled out of the openings, racing toward the fugitive. “Best to be prepared, isn’t it?” Stark asked, watching as his would-be captors moved toward him with growing speed.

The hilt of Athos’ sword slammed down on the back of Stark’s head, staggering him. Stark stumbled toward Porthos. The Hunter seized his own short sword, and as Stark fell forward, Porthos slammed the blade into the fugitive up to the hilt. Porthos thought he heard Stark whisper the words “not again,” as the man started to collapse into the Hunter.

Porthos sensed Stark’s Energy levels fading quickly, and wondered if he’d just delivered the fatal blow ending the life of Will Stark. Gravely injured, his eyes glazing over from the injury, Will Stark vanished from sight, taking the embedded sword with him. Athos, who’d leaped forward in an attempt to knock the man fully unconscious, waved the hilt of the sword at the empty air where Will Stark had stood an instant earlier. Athos collapsed on the ground in frustration, the pain in his cheek suddenly much more pronounced.

Porthos sighed, as the crew of the craft gaped at the scene. They were accustomed to teleportation, though not at the distances Stark could achieve. Though there were many, like the three Hunters, who could teleport themselves at will, the Energy demands increased with the distance traveled. The Hunters could each teleport about fifty miles, and that was stretching their limits. They were limited in practical terms to about twenty miles; any additional distance was too likely to leave them drained of all Energy reserves, and they’d arrive at their destinations helpless. Stark’s Energy levels likely meant the man could travel anywhere in the world, instantly, and still be stronger than any he’d meet upon his arrival. His power was truly immense and legendary.

The crew was shocked at the appearance of the three Hunters. Athos sat on the grass, blood streaming from a large gash just below his right eye, still in shock at his injury and Stark’s disappearance despite his potentially fatal wounds. Aramis was curled into a fetal position on the grass, arms still wrapped around his head. His screams of pain had been replaced by less agonizing whimpers. Porthos’ face was pale, his gaze distant as he remembered the sword he’d just buried into Will Stark’s body.

“Sir, why didn’t you stop him before he teleported?”

“Will you be able to track him now that he has?”

“It takes more than one Hunter to be able to stop Will Stark at full strength, gentlemen,” Porthos whispered, “Even when he’s been stabbed through vital organs. And as to whether I’ll be able to Track him?”

He shook his head, thinking of the grievous injuries and sagging Energy levels, levels that were falling without Aramis’ interference. “I fear that I’ll only find him when he wants me to find him. And that’s assuming he’s still alive tomorrow.”

The crew’s faces matched the Hunters, shocked at the possibility. Was it true? Was it possible that Will Stark, the greatest of the Aliomenti and the leader of the Alliance, was dead?

Only time would tell.

Part II

Manor House

“I am
not
happy.”

The Leader’s voice, as it so often did, put a chill into the hearts of the Hunters. He was a man difficult to please, a man who did not tolerate failure. The reasons for the failure were rarely acknowledged. The fact was that the Hunters had been sent to retrieve Will Stark, had been provided with an ideal environment to do so, and still failed to return with the fugitive. He was also a practical man; abhorrent though the thought might be, Stark was still roaming free, and they needed to learn from the mistakes made to better handle his capture in their next encounter.

Assuming the man still lived.

They worked their way through the day’s events, looking to pinpoint the causes of the failure. None of the Hunters emerged unscathed.

Aramis was scolded for leaving his post without communicating his change of plans to Athos and Porthos. Had he indicated what he was planning to do, the team would have had the information they needed to push Stark to his location, but without the stress. Aramis noted, in his own defense, that the clear frustration displayed by Athos and Porthos had likely driven Stark in his direction. Could they use such a tactic in the future? Could they set up an “obvious” ambush point that would drive Stark to alter his course to the actual, hidden ambush point? The concept was added to Stark’s file. Aramis, after his scolding, was praised for maintaining the Damper long enough for the transport craft to arrive. The Leader was deeply concerned by the Hunter’s report of Stark’s ever-growing Energy levels, and charged Aramis with identifying mechanisms by which he could increase his own level of power with the Damper to counteract Stark’s growth.

As the leader of the Hunters, Athos was praised for the overall successful execution of the Hunt plan, as well as for having the foresight to obtain the syringe of the serum used to create the disorientation Stark experienced. Despite the improvisation by Aramis, they’d gotten Stark in custody and nearly onto the transport, a completely successful Hunt until the very end. Athos was reprimanded for bringing only one dose of the serum, however, and the Hunter admitted he should have required the labs to produce multiple doses and had each Hunter carry at least one loaded syringe. The Leader was satisfied with this recognition and future adjustment to the approach to Hunt Will Stark; however, he noted that Athos’ true failure was that he’d not anticipated the possibility that Will Stark would overcome any obstacle thrown his way, given sufficient time.

Porthos was complimented for Tracking Stark to a location where he could be subdued away from the notice of humans. The Leader was particularly impressed with Porthos’ improvised comments about executing humans, comments that distracted and unnerved Stark and enabled Athos and Aramis to knock Stark unconscious a second time. He was criticized for not helping move the immobile prisoner upon landing the flying craft. That reprimand earned a smirk from Athos, directed at Porthos; the latter responded with a rude gesture The Leader could not see.

The blade used by Stark against Athos had been lined with a coating which prevented healing of the open wound. The surgeons informed Athos that they could spend hours performing surgery in an effort to eliminate the scar, but the skin in the region was dead and would never heal cleanly. The downtime to perform the work and recover afterward would keep Athos from his next Hunt. They’d sealed the wound on the transport, but without the surgery Athos would most assuredly have a lasting scar on his face, a terrible affliction for a vain man like Athos. There was a small chance surgery could repair the mark, but the lead surgeon indicated that it was doubtful. “Whatever it was Stark used, it worked well,” she noted.

The Leader nixed the idea of cosmetic surgery. “Let it serve as a permanent reminder of your failure yet again to capture Stark. You will be leaving again on a Hunt very shortly and I do not want the trip delayed due to your vanity.” Athos, ever the good soldier, remained silent, but privately planned to visit the same wound on Will Stark if the opportunity ever arose.

Porthos explained, in sullen tones, what had happened at the end of the encounter. “His Energy seems to be gone. I think the repeated blows to the head and my stabbing of him combined to finally drain his Energy. He may be dead, though I tend to doubt that’s the case. Until he emits Energy again, I won’t be able to track him. Perhaps he won’t be able to cause trouble without the Energy he’s always had.”

The Leader glared at him. “That’s highly unlikely, Porthos. Stark will find a way to cause trouble; he’s always excelled at that. And tell me this… if you cannot Track Will Stark, then what use are you to me? You cannot provide me with confessions or crush the Energy of the deserters.” Athos and Aramis smirked at Porthos.