“You look like my mother,” the Chosen One said in a girlishly high pitched voice, leaning forward to examine Sam. “You will be my mother now.”
“The hell I will. I don’t want anything to do with that whore’s leavings!”
Blinking at her, the boy was obviously unused to having his desires refused.
Confused, he seemed to be trying to see inside of Sam’s skull to find what was wrong with her. Gabriel silently gave his sympathies. He’d been trying for weeks now, to no avail. When Sam did nothing but glare at him, the boy looked to his minions as though expecting them to admit the joke.
“But,” the boy protested petulantly. “I’m the Chosen One!”
“So what,” Sam made a rude gesture that was likely lost on someone that young.
“We might have the same mother, but I’d rather rot in hell than have anything to do with any of the Children of the Chosen.”
“Rhys,” the boy shouted to the scale-skinned weasel. “Make her obey me!”
Planting himself in front of Sam, Rhys raised his spear over his head with the intent to bludgeon her with it, but he was interrupted before he could.
“Stop,” the Chosen One screeched. “What are you doing! Don’t hit my mother!
Just make her obey me!”
“She won’t,” Gabriel said. “And you can’t make her. That’s the way the world works, kid. Try getting any woman, much less this one, to do something she doesn’t want to. Might as well try moving a mountain, it’ll probably be easier. Plus, trust me, this one bites.”
“Who is this man that thinks he can speak to me,” the boy demanded.
Rounding on Gabriel, Rhys swung his spear butt at him. The world exploded in
darkness with little twinkling lights. He’d always thought that seeing stars only happened in cartoons. Apparently not. With no memory of falling over, he found himself on the floor while Rhys recounted the events in the bar aboveground.
“He was carrying these,” Rhys put Gabriel's guns in a pile on the ground before the steps reverently with the sheathed knife atop. “And this.”
He held up Gabriel’s golden Imperial Badge.
“The Imperial Seal,” the Chosen One’s eyes narrowed. “He’s a Lawman!”
“He claims he’s not,” Rhys said as Gabriel tried, and failed to get back up to his knees. The world seemed to be tipping unpredictably. “Likely he killed one and took his belongings.”
“Very well,” the boy nodded. “Then he won’t be missed. Kill him.”
“No,” Sam cried.
“No,” a sly look passed across the boy’s face. “Then maybe you’ll accept a deal.
You be my mother, and I let him live.”
Before Sam could do more than glare, Gabriel forced himself to his feet.
Swaying, he looked at the boy. Keeping his eyes on the throne, he wished his vision would stop going in and out of focus.
“What happened to the women here? I haven’t seen a single one. What happens
to the women that get taken? What happened to your mother?”
“My men like women,” the Chosen One sounded bored. “They like to play games
with them, but the women never seem to want to. They always try to fight and scream.
My mother was different, of course, paid by my father to give birth to his heir. She was allowed to leave with her life after her contract was up, but I want her back now!”
“That’s not a game,” Gabriel slurred drunkenly. His head seemed to be clearing, but far too slowly for his taste. “They’re hurting those women far worse than if they were beating them. Don’t you get it, kid? Women are people just like you. You can’t give them away like a prize!”
“Enough,” the Chosen One ordered. “If you will not be my mother, then you will watch this man die. I’m bored. Entertain me. Give him his knife and put him in the ring.”
A cheer rose up from Rhys and his men.
“I’ll give you a chance to free yourself,” the boy smiled in a way that could only be described as pure evil. “Fight my men in the ring. If you kill all nine, you may go free.”
“What about Sam,” Gabriel asked.
“She’s mine,” the boy said. “You will not take her from me!”
“We’ll see about that,” Gabriel muttered as he swayed and stumbled, fighting just to remain on his feet. The floor seemed to pitch and yaw like a boat in a storm. He probably had a concussion and really couldn’t see himself surviving more than two seconds fighting in his condition.
Someone shoved his knife at him and he fumbled at it out of its sheath, thinking his chances would be better if only his ears would stop ringing.
“Wingless,” he muttered as he stumbled toward one of the black rings painted on the floor. The bloodstains seemed more ominous now than ever.
Nothing happened. Several possibilities swam through Gabriel’s addled brain.
Either the blow to the head had broken the connection to his brain, the Sa’Dhi was broken, or it couldn’t be used again so soon. Glancing at his other Sa’Dhi, he suppressed a groan. He could barely stand, and the one thing he’d been riding so far was lost to him.
All he had were a few flashy tricks he’d saved in the other Sa’Dhi. There was no way they were going to be enough to fight off nine guys, even if they came at him one at a time.
“Halo,” Gabriel muttered, and immediately felt some of his dizziness and
sluggishness fading away as the field log Sa’Dhi activated. The ground stopped swaying, his thoughts cleared somewhat. His head still felt like an old-timey blacksmith was using it for an anvil, but he was steady enough to hopefully not get himself poked full of holes before he thought of a way out of this.
Swaying to give the appearance of still being addled, Gabriel stood in the circle across from Rhys, who sneered and twirled his spear menacingly. The other eight men surrounded them to make sure that Gabriel didn’t run. He’d never get a fair fight with his opponent’s far longer reach. He might as well bend over and take it up the ass without a fight!
“Fight,” the Chosen One cried.
Without wasting a single second, Rhys darted forward, his spear jabbing with
lightning speed. Gabriel stumbled back into one of the men surrounding the circle to avoid it and was pushed roughly toward the spear point for his trouble. Grabbing onto the rusty blade at the tip, he pushed it aside at the last second. The blade was so dull that it didn’t even cut through his glove.
Waiting for Rhys to jab at him again, Gabriel sidestepped and brought the black bladed knife down on the haft of the crude spear with all of the strength that he could muster. It sheared right through the wood as if it was butter. Staring at his bisected spear, Rhys didn’t even notice when Gabriel shoved the knife through his larynx.
The encircling men cheered as Rhys fell dead, spreading a pool of blood. His
body was pulled to the edge of the circle and left there unceremoniously, leaving a bloody smear on the ground.
Looking past the men surrounding him, Gabriel saw Sam watching fearfully. It
was then that a very strange realization struck him. It seemed as unlikely as could possibly be, but he loved her. She was the complete opposite of the dull, stupid, and submissive women he’d liked before his fateful meeting with a Greyhound bus. And yet that was what had made him think of her as a person rather than an object. She was exactly what he’d needed to fix something inside of him that he’d never known was broken, and he loved her for it.
Beyond Sam, the Chosen One grinned broadly, thoroughly enjoying the show as