Disclaimer: The concept of Immortality is the property of Davies/Panzer Productions. There are also references to the film "Attila", which is the property of the Universal Studio. No copyright infringement intended.
The characters are either historical or belong to the writers. Dieter Haag, Andrew McDonald and Marcus Johnson are owned by Jaye. Max and R�ka belong to Ida.
Acknowledgements: I would like to express my warm thanks to Jaye for her support and beta. I also thank Rita, for her comments and essential help. -- Ida
***
"One by one my leaves fall.
One by one my tales are told."
"The Gods are around us," the shaman said. He was squatting by a small fire. Opening a pouch, the old man took out a fistful of gray powder and sprinkled it into the flames. Strange-smelling, white smoke was puffing out and shrouding both sitting figures. "And they talk to us through omens. Those signs should be leaves falling in the middle of the summer or last roars of dying beasts, furrows on the calm surface of water... They should be in mist streaks appearing early morning, drifting clouds, flights of birds, purls of brooks. Yes, they should be..." his voice sank. Falling into trance, he broke into a soft, throaty song accompanied with playing his shaman-drum.
The storm arrived without a moment's warning. The sky darkened, and the birds stopped singing. There was no sound around; save the shaman's humming voice, and the low crackling of the fire. Ominous silence hung over the land. R�ka cast an anxious glance at the man. They were sitting on a top of a hill so there was no place around to take shelter from the tempest. Obviously, the old man did not notice the approaching storm, more likely he was not even conscious of the surroundings at all.
The rising wind stirred up the fire, and the smoke covered the Immortal again. Its overpowering smell irritated her senses for a moment, then the world faded around her, the colors and figures became dull and distant.
R�ka failed to notice when the storm broke. However, it was huge and destructive, the water came down with torrents, it killed the fire in minutes but neither of them became aware of that. Flashes of lightning were shooting across the sky, and the thundering turned louder and louder as the heart of the storm drew closer.
Whatever they wanted to say, the Gods were screaming that day.
***
R�ka startled from her sleep with a sudden breath. Her body was dripping with sweat. Drifting on the edge of wakefulness, her mind cleared up slowly and became aware of the surroundings. She was in a hotel room in Toulouse, and there it was the last decade of the twentieth century and not the fifth. Getting out from her bed with difficulties, the Immortal stepped to the window. The wind of the approaching storm pushed the casements in and their flapping noise woke her up. The day was beginning to break, but the weak rays of the sun were hardly able to penetrate the dark clouds. Turning her face to the wind, the Immortal shivered, but not with cold. "What do you want to say?" she whispered. No one answered. She sighed deeply then closed the window.
***
The warmth of the early summer turned the puddles into fine mist. White racks were lolling above the green grass of the racecourse. Like the puddles, her nightmares vanished in the daylight. R�ka leaned against the bar of bleachers and looked cheerfully at her companion. It was the day of the Toulouse Grand Prix, and they were waiting for the presentation of the horses. Glancing up for a moment, Maxim flashed a bright smile at her then he immersed himself in the study of his records again.
Getting on for sixty, Maxim still preserved all the charm of a southern Frenchman. They were friends for decades, and R�ka let him into the secret of the Immortality, rather than to give up this intimacy. Though they lived separate lives, their common passion for the races established still closer links, so R�ka could not fail to visit her old friend and to see the Grand Prix as well.
Maxim's face brightened when the presentation began. "Look! There's the favorite... Inferno," he pointed at a fiery, raven-black stallion then glanced into his papers. "Sired by Illusion, his best ... Hey, can you hear me?"
Though the Immortal heard his words, the meaning did not reach her mind. She was lost in watching a sorrel stallion. "Wow! What a beauty he is!" She whistled softly. "Max, what do you know about him?" She waved at the horse.
"His name is Imperial." The mortal frowned as he raked among his notes. "Sired by Immie ... he has never run before. Owned by a Swiss businessman named Dieter Haag. A 'dark horse', so to speak." He shrugged. "In another race maybe, but he hasn't got a ghost of a chance against Inferno."
"Imperial... It suits him." She nodded. They admired the golden-haired thoroughbred while he was led along the bleachers. He seemed a perfectly built one in every respect. R�ka noticed the brawny muscles beneath the skin and the sharp, impatient wind-sucking of the horse. The stallion was in perfect condition, full of life and energy. Whatever Maxim's records say, this one must win today, she thought. Notwithstanding, she knew the equestrian sport too well to be aware that the best horse of the field would not necessarily be the winner.
"This Dieter Haag guy," The information flew from Maxim's lips. "... He is said to be a very influential one. So, he must be rich at least, because he rented the best box for the whole season. Look at that! He has just arrived..." He nodded at the upper circle.
R�ka looked up suddenly but not because of Max's suggestion. The familiar buzz warned her of the presence of another Immortal. She gasped at the sight. There was one of her kind in that particular box... a familiar one.
Feeling the presence, the other Immortal was scanning the crowd as well. R�ka was not able to discern his eyes because of the distance, but she knew that they were blue... and felt the intense gaze burning on her skin as he stared at her. Sudden emotions made her shudder.
She felt a hand on her shoulder and winced. Max looked at her with plain confusion in his eyes. "Is he...?" The man frowned but knew better not to finish the sentence. Her gaze already told the answer. "We should leave now. It is easy to vanish in such a crowd."
Genuine concern sounded in his voice, and R�ka couldn't help but smile at that. Though the mortal was aware of her identity and the rules she had to keep, Maxim could never shake off his old-fashioned chivalry and the misconception that he had to protect his she-companion. It was a part of his charm, as a matter of fact.
"I don't think so," she answered softly. "I'm going to talk to him." To calm her mortal friend, R�ka flashed a faint smile and took out a banknote. "Imperial," she handed the note to Max, "...bet on him for me, please." Her smile widened. "That horse must win today ... as his owner did always in the past."
"Do you know him?" The man uncertainly crumpled the banknote between his fingers. Obviously, he was not convinced yet.
"Yes." The answer arrived with a nervous chuckle. "I knew him quite well once. But you should go now, Max. The bets must be taken before the start. See you later." With that she turned away and took a step towards the stairs that led to the upper circle.
Slowly pushing her way through the crowd, R�ka reached the stairs. She was not surprised when a tall, bodyguard-looking figure stepped to her. "Mister Haag requests the pleasure of your company," he said politely. The American accent was unmistakable in his voice.
R�ka nodded and offered her handbag to the man with a faint grimace. To her surprise, the bodyguard shook his head. "It isn't necessary. Mr. Haag ordered me not to search you," said the man with obvious disapproval in his voice. "You must be a good friend of his."
"Friend? We might say..." She shrugged. They started to ascend the stairs. Though we were a little more than simple friends, R�ka thought and smiled to herself.
***
On the Eastern Plains...
The buzzing of a huge swarm of bees woke her up. Opening her eyes with difficulty, the Immortal stared at the complex pattern of a wooden construction above her head. Struggling herself into sitting position, she had shooting pains in her head, and the bees started an angrier buzzing. She shook her head slowly and got more pain and buzzing as a reward. It seemed either a swarm possessed her head or, more likely, she got a heavy knock on her head. The latter seemed very likely. She moaned and closed her eyes.
The annoying insects silenced after some minutes, and the memories came back to her as well. The Immortal already remembered the river where she let herself be caught so foolishly... and the other Immortal... that blue eyed man.
A soft noise startled her out of her thoughts. A middle-aged woman stepped into the tent. She was small and roundish, with long black hair. She wore them in two thick plaits. The dark, almond-shaped eyes and high cheekbones gave her a special feature.
The woman carried a tray, handed it to her and told her something in a language she did not understand, but the sight of the tray took the effect and her stomach rumbled. The Immortal attacked the food without any ceremony. With a satisfied nod, the mortal woman, as soundlessly as she had arrived, left the tent.
The food was not too much but enough to stave off her hunger. After finishing her meal, she looked around searching for a place to put down the empty tray. Putting it onto a low table the Immortal scrutinized the surroundings in detail. To her honest surprise the interior of the chamber was much more luxurious than she would have anticipated. The room was separated from the rest of tent by thick tapestry and littered with comfortable looking furniture. Colorful Persian rugs covered the floor save around a large wooden tub standing in a corner. There was a small table next to the tub, full of small vials, bottles and a highly polished bronze-plate. She noticed several fine clothes prepared for fitting.
It was easy to guess the intended purpose of the room and the role that was assigned to her. Her face flushed and her hands clenched unconsciously into fists at the revelation. And she had not got the slightest intention to reconcile to the fate of being a concubine of some barbaric warlord. An Immortal warlord on the top of it all! This fact made impossible the easiest way to escape and more risky if she tried to flee. The icy glance of her captor and the treatment as she was dragged off, did not give her a shadow of a doubt about the fact that any resistance will be severely punished. A deep, desperate sigh escaped from her lips as a summary of her hopeless situation.
The small woman returned after some minutes accompanied by other women. They were bearing piles of fabric and pails of water, and were laughing and chattering among themselves. The Immortal found herself as the object of thorough scrutiny and curious glances for obvious reasons. Her pale skin and blue eyes would have been as extraordinary for the women as their oriental features and odd attire were to her. When the preparations were complete, the first woman ordered the others out, and they left, albeit reluctantly.
After the noisy company left, the elderly looking woman motioned her to move closer to the tub, full of hot water now, and tugged her clothing, indicating that she should remove them. The Immortal frowned but decided to obey at last. That was not the best time for opposition and she knew better than to resist... not yet. She might have only one chance to escape. Though ... she could wait.
***
Dusk was growing when they stepped out of the tent. Looking around, the Immortal caught sight of the strangest city she had ever seen. There were no churches, no marble places, no stone buildings, no paved roads, but a multi-colored jungle of tents as far as the eye could reach. The tent she had been in was situated on the hillside, so she had a good view of the strange place. Amid the tents there were small squares with campfires. Hundreds of fires glowed in the evening twilight, recalling the sight of the starry sky. On the outskirts of the labyrinth of tents there were corrals with livestock and out in the field countless horses grazed, along with flocks of sheep and herds of cattle. Whatever this place was, it seemed a throbbing city, full of bustling life and activity.
Near to her, on the top of the hill, there was huge yurt, much bigger than the others around. The mortal woman escorted her towards that tent. Moving closer, she felt the presence of the other Immortal.
There were a dozen men in the room. They were dressed in strange looking fur-trimmed clothes and adorned with heavy golden jewels. The room was quite large, and it was lit up with several torches that were fixed to the bearer-bars. Richly decorated rugs and carpets covered both the floor and the walls. There was no furniture in the room save a low platform of sorts situated at the main place of the tent. Her captor was sitting there, on a throne-like chair. Leopard skins covered the stage, and next to the chair, a huge mastiff-like dog was lying on skins. There were two smaller chairs at the each side of the throne and two of the men were sitting on them. The others were standing before the platform and all the men were deeply immersed in a conference.
Though her captor only said a few words in his quiet, authoritative tone, there was no doubt that he dominated the discussion. The man was not wearing a crown, crimson cloaks or any other royal insignia, but his commanding presence filled the room.
She felt a hand on her shoulder. The mortal woman hissed something into her ear and pressed her hand stronger on her shoulder, urging her to kneel onto the floor. Mesmerized by the sight, the Immortal woman shook the hand off and took a faltering step forward.
While the man had ignored her presence so far, now he fixed his eyes on her, held the intense gaze that reflected pinpoints of torchlight. Contentment and interest flashed in them for a mere second but it was quickly replaced with disapproval as she took one more step forward. Squinting back to her escort, she saw the mortal woman falling on her knees and realized that she made a mistake. All the men were staring at her now and palpable tension hung in the air. She had two options: either step back and join to the other woman on the floor or continue what she had started. Soundlessly cursing herself, the Immortal straightened her back and slowly, with all the dignity she could collect in this awkward situation, moved forward.
Reaching the stage she stopped and scanned the threesome sitting on it. On the left side of her captor there was a sturdy man with typical oriental features. Ritual scars spoiled his face, and as if the aura of her captor would have been described as "power", the radiance of this man would have been "danger". But the most terrifying thing about this barbarian was that he had a weak, unmistakable aura as well. A pre-Immortal! The gaze of this man was full of plain lust and violence as he stared at her, and the intensity of those unmasked emotions made her shudder.
Looking away, her eyes met the other man's gaze, who was sitting at the opposite side of the throne. Though he was dressed like the others in the room, this one had a shade lighter skin than the others had, almost as light as the man sitting on the throne. To her honest surprise, the man started to speak in Greek accented Latin.
"Kneel before Attila!" he said in peremptory tone.
The name stunned her. Attila! She had heard fearful rumors about a nation raised from the eastern steppes like a threatening storm to sweep away the Roman Empire. The people living in marbled cities did not dare utter their leader's name loudly. Attila... they whispered and made the sign of the cross. Attila ... they whispered and added with hate and awe: the Scourge of God!
Looking into those flashing-blue eyes again she had already discovered that the rumors did not lie. Bowing her head, the prisoner dropped to her knees.
Though the conference still continued for several minutes, she did not dare to move even if her neck was fully exposed for the other Immortal in that position. To take her mind off her vulnerable situation, she tried to catch words from the conversation but she failed. The language proved totally unknown and unintelligible.
At last, the discussion finished and the men left the room save that threesome sitting on chairs. The pre-Immortal with the sinister air stepped to her and took a handful of hair forcing her head backwards. He spoke some ill-sounding, unintelligible words accompanied with an unpleasant sneer. The blue eyed one answered something to him in a quiet, still authoritative tone. The pre-Immortal reluctantly released her and left the tent. The mortal man followed him so she was left alone with the most feared person of the known world.
Moments passed in silence. The torches were hardly able to warm up the room and evening's chilliness started to penetrate her body with cold.
Looking up finally, her eyes met the pondering gaze of Attila. Then he stood up and moved next to her with slow, measured steps. Leaning over her, he took her arms and helped her on her feet. His hands felt comfortably warm on her skin.
"You are shaking," he said in perfect, hardly accented Latin. "Cold?" A ghost of smile appeared around his lips, seeing the woman's confused nod. "The inner chamber is much warmer now. Come." With that, the man headed towards the partition curtain hung on the back wall of the room and beckoned to the hesitant woman to follow.
The inner chamber proved much cozier than she expected. A huge, luxurious bed dominated the room, covered with skins of exotic animals and finely wrought woolen blankets. Two huge braziers, filled with glowing embers, were standing at each side of the bed making the air comfortably warm. A low table stood aside surrounded with cushions and there was a shelf cluttered up rolled maps and scrolls.
The woman watched Attila move to pour some fluid from a clay flask into two cups and proffered one of them to her. She accepted and tasted its content warily. It was wine, rich and heady and after two swallows, she felt the effects as her body warmed and the knots started to melt in her belly. The man seated himself onto the cushions and pointed a finger next to him suggesting to her to take a seat. Misreading his gesture, the woman dropped on her knees again.
"Just sit down," he said. He took a sip of his wine watching her over the rim of his cup. When he finished his drink placed the cup onto the small table and rested his elbows onto the cushions.
"I noticed how you looked at me when Orestes said my name. You were scared." He studied her face again for any further reaction. "Why? What do people say about me inside the Roman Empire? What do they think?" The sincerity of his questions leaked through in his tone.
"Yeah, I know your name." Her fears and wariness eased in wine-fumes and her tongue loosened. "Everybody knows Attila... the King of the Huns. And the Romans mention you as "Flagellum Dei"... Scourge of God. Your name is on everyone's lips... though you hardly would be pleased with the details." She took a sip of wine then continued with reckless honesty. "And even a day ago I was convinced what to think about you. But now..." Her voice trailed off. Her eyes scanned the lavishly decorated room. The woman noticed an open scroll lying on a thick, Persian rug next to that cushion she was sitting on. It seemed as if its owner had just interrupted the reading and dropped the paper onto the floor. She picked it up. Seeing its contents, she frowned. " I did not know barbarians read Marcus Aurelius."
"They don't? I shall have to remember that in future." He leaned forward and plucked the scroll from her hand. His face was unreadable, impossible to tell if he was serious, angered, or mocking her. "One must guard against another kind of wandering, for those who are exhausted by life, and have no aim at which to direct every impulse�are foolish in their deeds as well as in their words." He quoted without reading. "Philosophy is an indulgence of the idle rich, and Aurelius was a much better tactician, but he did well in explaining some things."
His words touched her to the core. "Yes, he was a man of genius," She nodded. "But Valentinian is the Emperor now and he falls into the error of underestimating his enemies so easily." The woman flashed a thoughtful glance at the Hun. "He undervalues you... and it might be the doom of the Roman Empire." She sighed and her voice reverted to the previous, careless tone. "Not that I cared for it."
Attila slowly closed some of the distance between them, discarding the scroll. "But what about you, water nymph? You know me, who and what I am, yet I do not even know your name." He sat watching her expectantly.
"I can't tell you exactly." She shook her head. "Because I am not able to recall anything that happened to me before my first death. Not even what was my given name. Though during my lifetimes, I had several aliases... those names were always buried with my loved ones."
Draining her cup, she leaned forward to set it onto the table. With this movement, she involuntary shifted herself closer to the man. Their faces were only inches apart. "And we are much more than ... simple ... names," she whispered and smiled at him. She felt fingers curling around her nape as the man reached out and pulled her to him.
The first kiss was possessive, a show of not only affection, but also domination. Attila's tongue worked its way into her mouth, and she yielded to this gentle force. Closing her eyes, she leaned submissively into his embrace. The man's dark-rich, spicy savor filled her senses as their kiss deepened. And it was not unpleasant at all. On the contrary, his taste was intoxicating ... arousing. Her tongue moved hesitantly to respond.
When the kiss had broken at last, she did not open her eyes. It would have taken too much effort as she desperately tried to control her gasping breath and whirling thoughts. Nothing has happened. She felt his body heat, and the man's heady, masculine scent wafted to her, nostrils involuntary flared. After a timeless moment, she looked up and her confused gaze was captured by his. The tip of her tongue snaked out to moisten her lips as a wordless invitation.
The second kiss was exploring and inviting at the same time, taking her breath away and igniting small fires in her blood. His hands were all over her body uncovering intimate locations and she turned to his touch, unconsciously threwing her arms around him.
The third, given by her, was playful and full of promise. She felt hands creeping under her garments and peel off the thin fabric. Callused palms were scraping along her skin lightly, gliding over every inch of her body.
As for the fourth kiss ... she lost count.
The next she could recall later was a whisper into her ear. "Stand up. I wish to see your body."
She obeyed without hesitation. Standing naked in the candlelight, she felt as if not only her body but also her soul was bared in that intent glance.
After some mere seconds, which seemed hours for her, Attila stood up. Walking a slow circle around, he scrutinized her over from head to toe. Finishing the circle, he stepped close to her. "Such beauty..." he said quietly.
"Let me serve you," she whispered. The man nodded, and she bent to the familiar task. The woman did it several times before, while she was serving Aphrodite.
Her fingers loosened the fastening, then moved to slowly part the front of the cloak, helping the fabric to slide smoothly over the broad shoulders, falling onto the floor to pool at his feet. The linen shirt came next, revealing the muscular torso. She interrupted the ministration and tasted the sun-tanned skin of his chest with small kisses. Then the man sat on the edge of the bed and she knelt before him to remove his boots and breeches. When she had finished, she sat back over her haunches and looked up Attila. She couldn't refrain from feasting her eyes on the firm body the way clearly defined muscles moved beneath the skin. By the gods, she thought, he is magnificent. As if he read her mind Attila smiled at her, the first time since they met. He leaned forward and pulled her onto his lap.
Hours later, she was lying next to Attila and watched the man's deep, even breathing. She thought of the happenings of the night and the words he told her before the Hun drifted into sleep.
// "The name I was given has always held an important place in me, and all other names are merely temporary. It would be hard to have no memory of it, as you do not. Therefore, I say you shall start anew here with me, and as you were born to me from a river, you should be called R�ka."
Did he know? Was this man aware of that he offered something much precious thing to her than a name? Involuntary or not, but the Hun gave her that she was seeking for... belonging to someone. Touched by his words, her answer came from her heart.
"R�ka," she tried to utter the strange syllable. "I like it." She smiled at him. "May I ask something?" Taking his silence as consent, she continued. "Can I get to know your given name?"
He considered her for a moment, before giving her the slightest of shrugs. "I was named Hsu Danmei. It means strength. My mother -- the woman who raised me -- saw that in me early; however," His lips curled into an ironic smile and waved his hand around the chamber. "I doubt she could have seen all this for me." //
The Greatest Barbarian... she recalled the name he was referred to as by the people of marbled cities. One of the greatest indeed, she thought, but not as barbarian.
She shifted herself closer to Attila and smiled as the sleeping man involuntary put a possessive hand around her. Long, amber scented strands of his thick hair tickled her face and she leaned even closer. Burying her face the warm hollow between his chest and the bed, she closed her eyes and followed him into the land of Nod.
***
Toulouse...
So, here we are, she thought. An expensive, tailor-made suit covered the broad shoulders and his hair was fashionably short, otherwise he was exactly as she remembered him.
"Danke Marcus. That didn't take as long as I thought it would. Go check on that other business I mentioned earlier." With a small nod, the Immortal dismissed his man. When they were left in private, he moved to a small table and poured champagne into two glasses. It was such a simple still so elegant gesture... and very familiar.
Although the clay flask was replaced with a dark-opalesque bottle of Dom Perignon and there were finely cut crystal glasses on the table instead of cups, the gesture remained the same. Only the details altered.
D�j� vu made her head spin slightly when she took the offered glass.
The man scanned her from head to foot with a steady, unfathomable stare then turned away and took a seat on one of the chairs standing next to the window overlooking the racecourse. When he pointed a finger at a chair next to him, indicating for her to take a seat, it was too much. The whole situation was so similar to that one which emerged from her memories and still whirled in her mind.
She drowned her developing laughter in a sip of champagne. Placing the half-empty glass aside, a sudden idea rushed into her mind. R�ka knelt at his feet and looked up him with obvious amusement in her eyes.
The sight was so familiar, and a memory swept over him of the two of them in his private quarters, the first time they truly spoke with her kneeling before him unbidden. His intense gaze softened slightly, "R�ka." Then just as suddenly, another memory seized him, just as vivid. He was returning from his greatest battle to find her gone. The eyes hardened once again.
There was no answer from him save a stern look. Like so often in the past, she couldn't make out what he was up to. The surface was so still, so guarded, and no one knew what was stirring beneath.
Her smile faded slowly. Still kneeling, R�ka took his hand and laced her fingers with his. "Strong and determined... exactly as I remembered. Words fail me to express how much I am pleased to see you."
He slowly, and a little reluctantly, freed his hand from hers, downing the remainder of his drink. "Do you really think you could come to me as if fifteen hundred years hadn't passed?" He put the champagne flute down so abruptly that it tipped over and fell to the floor, the glass tinkling as it broke. He paid it no attention as he turned from her, the broken shards crunching under foot, and looked out across the racecourse. "That you could throw yourself at my feet like a whore in hope that, what, I would just forget and take you back?" Turning back to face her, his eyes, filled with contempt, bore into her. "I told Marcus to bring you here for one reason only, to hear your justifications for deserting me. So R�ka, tell me, were you missing the Roman lifestyle, or perhaps you had found someone better than the King of the Huns?" His voice made it clear that such a thing would have been impossible.
After a moment of hesitation, R�ka rose to her feet. Humiliation flushed her cheeks and it took great effort to keep her voice steady. "It was long ago since I have been called whore. Though I was that or even worse if the need arose." She shook her head slowly. There was pity in her voice when she continued. "I came here, to you, by my own choice but not in order to make excuses for things that happened centuries ago. Even if you might have the right to ask for explanations. I did not want to leave you then but..." The last word stuck in her throat. The reasons should have come now, she thought, but she was not able to continue. "...but I should leave now. Thank you for the champagne." With that, R�ka turned away and headed towards the door.
She stopped short at the threshold and looked back over her shoulder, cherishing the hope that she might get a sign. A sign that he wanted her to stay. But there were none. The man stood motionless at the window with his back to her. Glass splinters were twinkling at his feet like thousands of tiny diamonds. Then the shining flinders blurred on the floor as unshed tears clouded her eyes. Bowing her head, R�ka left the room.
***
"And do you know why
She won't break down and cry?"
She had just finished her second drink when Max found her at the bar. The mortal's face was beaming with joy.
"Ah, ma petit! What a run it was! I will remember it even if I will live to be a hundred!" He pulled out several notes and put them onto the counter, before R�ka. "You were right with Imperial. That steed won by a head."
"Great," she answered wryly. R�ka lifted the empty glass and nodded at the bartender, asking for a further dose. "Then I had more luck with the horse than his owner. Typical," she sighed. "A drink?"
"No, thanks." Max took her glass and sniffed it. "Vodka? Isn't it a bit early for this?" His face darkened. "Did he hurt you?"
"Nope." She tried to get her drink, but Max was faster and snatched the glass from her hand. "Though he was not too nice to me. The problem is that he thinks that I had betrayed him."
"Did you?" The man climbed up a barstool next to her and nodded at the bartender. "Two coffees, please."
"Of course, not. But still, he has every reason to think that way." R�ka sighed and cast a yearning look at her glass.
"Did you try to explain?" The coffee arrived, and Max asked for the bill as well.
"Whys and wherefores..." R�ka took the advantage of the opportunity as Max was busy with paying the bill and seized her drink. "I wanted to explain but I couldn't... and that's why I need this so badly." She lifted her glass. Taking a good swallow, she shivered. "Ugh! I can't see why the Russians like this drink so much..."
"I can't see that either. " Max shook his head with reproach then sighed. "Why don't you tell me what is weighing on your mind? It might help."
Why not, she thought, pondering. The mortal knew several stories of her past already, and R�ka was sure of his discretion. He was always a very good audience, advisor and what's more, Max was her trusted friend.
"It is a long story, I warn you." She smiled faintly. She managed herself off the barstool and headed to a quiet corner of the room. "Get a drink for me, will you... but no more coffee."
"Do you really mean it?" Tasting her orange juice R�ka made a face. "Why don't we dilute it with some vodka?"
"You have already had your daily ration of spirits," Max grinned and flung himself onto a chair. "So, when you met this Haag guy first? I am all ears to hear your story..."
"That was very long ago... when this place, Toulouse, was the capital of the Visigoth Empire. Though the story has nothing to do with the Visigoths... or not too much, at least." R�ka leaned back and took one more sip of her drink. Yes, it may help, she thought. It would be good to tell all that craziness to Max. "The Western Empire was still also existing. I lived there, but I got into trouble with ... some influential persons. Finally, I had to flee along with my companions but they were killed during the flight... Remaining alone, I headed towards east and passed the borders of the so-called civilized world and reached the eastern plains. Nomadic people had control over that area, living in a loose tribal confederation. And the chieftain of all the tribes was an Immortal... a born leader, who united those people in order to conquer the Roman Empire... to rule the world."
"You are talking about this man as if he were a sort of god," Max interjected.
"No, he was not," R�ka chuckled. "He was the Scourge of God."
"A what?!" Max's drink went down the wrong way, causing him to cough. "You mean that this guy was..."
"Oh yes. He was Attila, the King of the Huns." R�ka handed a tissue to Max. "And I lived with him for a lifetime."
Recovering from his surprise, Max grinned broadly. "Did he really have three hundred concubines?"
"Max, you are hopeless! So, I have never counted them..." she laughed. "Though he had many, indeed." Her mind wandered. "I liked that life... living with the people of the eastern plains... living with Attila." The smile vanished from her voice as hidden memories rose to the surface. "But I made the worst mistake of my life when I was with the Huns."
***
On the Eastern Plains...
The arrow almost hit the target. Almost. R�ka hissed with anger on the one hand and in pain on the other as the bowstring bit her forearm. She missed the exact hold of the bow. Again. She adjusted the bandage on her arm and put one another arrow onto the string. Even a ten-year-old child was better at arrow shooting than she was, and this fact annoyed her greatly. True enough, those children were much more skilled than R�ka, but that did not change the fact she was bad at shooting. Though the archery was men's business she was determined to learn its art. She went to that solitary glade time after time to practice bowshot.
Only a young warrior, Deel knew her secret. He was a guardsman of Attila. Not that the King would have needed any sort of guards. Still he had several, "for the sake of appearance" as Attila commented once.
All in all, Deel was willing to teach her the art of archery. Though lately, their lessons were continuously delayed, and he was late this time as well. People talked that Deel might have fallen in love, but nobody knew who was the intended. Whoever it was, she would hardly say no, R�ka thought, and smiled to herself.
Deel was a good-looking man, taller than the average, with light skin and eyes. It was because his parents originally were the members of the tribe of Kalas*. Those people originated themselves as the descendants of an ancient, world-conquering army. With their leader's death, the soldiers were compelled to remain on the steppes, and their descendants gradually became one of the nomadic tribes. The Huns considered those legends as tales, although they might have been true. R�ka saw Alexander's army headed towards the east, but no one returned. And the people of Kalas undoubtedly had lighter complexion than the surrounding tribes and kept a few distorted Greek idioms in their native language.
Drawing her bow again, she concentrated on the target. Before she could release the arrow, R�ka heard somebody approaching on the track.
Leading his mount, Bleda emerged from the trees.
"Milord Bleda," R�ka greeted him with a stiff bow. "To what do I owe the honor of your presence?" She tried to conceal her nervousness behind submission.
As the legal heir of Roua, the former King of the Huns, Bleda was the chieftain of several Hun tribes. He was in league with Attila for years, and ostensibly Bleda accepted Attila's leadership, but R�ka felt the delusion in his acts. There was a strain of malice in him, and she always tried to give him wide berth.
"Why do you interfere with men's business, R�ka?" Bleda waved at the bow in her hand. He released the lead of his horse and stepped close to her. "Why don't you find some woman's work to make yourself busy?"
"I'm just practicing..." She tried to draw away from the Hun, but he grabbed her wrists.
"I know what would suit good in these hands... a child." The man grinned wickedly as she desperately struggled to free her hands. The bow fell onto the ground but none of them even noticed. Bleda pulled her close and whispered into her ear. "People talk... They say that Attila has so many concubines but not a single child. I may help him with one... I may help you."
"You have only one yourself." snarled out R�ka, fighting fiercely to get out Bleda's clutches.
As he was a pre-immortal, it seemed impossible that Bleda would have been able to father a child and still, one of his wives bore one for him. Bleda often boasted of his offspring, proclaiming that he could give an heir for the Huns, as Attila could not. Though R�ka had her own opinion of Bleda's parenthood she knew better than to voice it. Especially not when they were alone at an out-of-the-way place, and all her efforts proved futile to free herself from his hands...
"Bitch!" Bleda cursed when she bit his forearm and backhanded her. The woman tumbled back, and Bleda was upon her, putting his whole weight on her body.
"If Attila gets to know..." she hissed panting.
"Then he will cut your pretty throat to preserve his reputation." He grinned wickedly and bit her neck as a demonstration. "But Attila would not do anything against me. He will not risk the unity of the Huns for the sake of a woman. But I might keep this affair in secret if you please me." Bleda buried his face into her hair. "You smell so good." His voice was a husky whisper. "Such a fool Attila is that he allows you roaming without guards. I would cherish you like the apple of my eye if you were my property."
R�ka was totally scared and helpless. Bleda pinned her body onto the ground with well-practiced efficiency accompanied with studied cruelty. She felt a knee pressed between her thighs forcing them apart while hands tried to rip her clothes off. Her own hands groped desperately for something to defend herself. At last, her fingers touched some thin object on the ground. It was the arrow, fallen from her hand before!
"I am no one's property!" she shouted and stabbed the arrow into the tender spot between Bleda's neck and collarbone.
The arrowhead tore open one of the main arteries. Blood gushed out both the wound and Bleda's mouth. His eyes wide, the man opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something but only more blood welled out of it. His hands were entwined around her neck but he had no strength to tighten the grasp. Life left his body as quickly as his blood, and Bleda passed out.
***
Toulouse...
"Holy shit!" Max gasped out. "Did you really kill him?"
"Bleda was a pre-immortal," answered R�ka quietly. "I did not take his head so he did not die permanently. But as for his first death, yes, I caused that."
"And what happened then?"
"There was nothing I could do but to stay there and wait for his recovery. I was in the thick of it, again. Attila made it very clear that neither Bleda nor his Immortality were my business. As for that, I have killed him... and Attila did not tolerate disobedience. On the other hand, the unwritten rules of the Game required me to stay and explain to Bleda what had happened to him. Not wanting the things to change to even worse I did so. It took a long time till he revived. The first death is always longer than the following ones. The Quickening needs time to infiltrate the body. So, I had enough time to think about what to say." R�ka laughed a short, bitter laugh. "What an idiot I was! Bleda did not believe one word I said. He did not even hear me! Of course not, I was just a worthless woman in his eyes..."
"Then what did he do?" Max's eyes were burning with curiosity.
"Bleda was always quite... odd. But after his first death he became a complete nut. He thought that the Gods chose him, that's why he got his life back. He thought the he would be the Great King of the Huns and conquer the world according to the old legends of the Huns. So what did he do?" She shrugged her shoulders. "He rode back to the city immediately to challenge Attila."
"Challenge? You mean some fight for life and death like in a movie? Cool." Max waited anxiously to hear the sequence of events that followed.
"Something like that. Trial combat was very popular in those days. And the winner took all the prize... everything of value that the loser had... position, livestock, servants... and even wives." R�ka paused for a moment and took a sip of the orange juice. "Bleda did not know anything of that beheading thing, of course. I had neither time nor opportunity to explain the rules to him. But he was a formidable warrior. My wit knew that no harm could overtake Attila... not by Bleda. But still, my heart had a different opinion. After Bleda's presence vanished, I started to run..."
***
On the Eastern Plains...
The ritual had already started when she reached the city of the Huns. From the hillside, R�ka had a good sight on the warriors standing in the valley forming a loose circle. She saw the white smoke of the sacrificial fire. Wind-rumpled drumming and snippets of the shaman's song caught her ear.
She started to go down the hill. She was halfway there, when a strong grasp on her shoulder stopped her. It was Orestes, the Greek Hun. Though the man was not a born Hun, he joined to Attila' forces of his own free will. His quick mind, loyalty and reliability quickly promoted him to the lieutenant of Attila.
"What are you doing here, R�ka? Do you not know that no women are allowed to watch the judgement of the Gods?" Orestes asked sternly.
"But I have to... Please, let me go!" R�ka tried to free herself from the man's grab.
"What is wrong with your ears, woman? I said no!" He tightened his grasp and pushed her hard.
R�ka lost her balance and fell to the ground with a small desperate sound. The remnants of her strength failed the woman, and she did not even try to rise to her feet.
Orestes leaned over her. "Are you worried about him?" His rough voice softened slightly. "You shouldn't. People believe that no weapon can harm Attila. And I do believe it as well. I served him for years... saw him fighting in countless battles... I know that he is destined for much more than to die by Bleda's hand. He is invulnerable..."
Orestes put a hand onto her shoulder to help her onto her feet when he noticed her tattered attire. "What had happened to you, woman?" he asked. He licked his thumb and rubbed a blood stained bruise mark on R�ka's face. Removing the dirt and the dried blood, her freshly healed skin appeared. Orestes frowned. "Invulnerable..." he murmured. "You are his kind, aren't you?"
Sensing his dangerous curiosity, R�ka quickly rose onto her knees and prostrate herself before Orestes. "Forgive my misconduct, milord Orestes," she said trying to keep her tone as respectful as she could. "I am just a humble woman. There are things beyond me... like your question. May I go back to my Master's tent?"
Orestes was a wise man, and he had spent enough time with Attila to suspect something, R�ka was aware of that. She could only hope that the man let her go.
The drums silenced in that very moment. She raised her head and her eyes met with Orestes'. They both knew the meaning of that silence... the combat had started.
"Go and wait for your Master's return, woman." The man made an impatient, dismissive gesture with his hand. "I will talk to you later."
R�ka sent away the other women when she returned to the tent. Remaining alone she had a wash first and changed her clothes, dressing neatly. The familiar task stilled her nerves. She was sure that no harm would come to Attila or nothing permanent at least.
Though preparing for the worst, she hid her sword under the bed. It was not difficult to guess what would happen if Bleda won ... and where it would happen. Even if Bleda survived the combat, he would not live through the night... at least that was R�ka's intention.
Finishing the preparations, she went to the audience chamber and sat onto the platform, next to Attila's empty chair. His dog, Caesar, appeared as if he was waiting for the return of her man. The huge mastiff moved close to her and gently nudged her hand with his massive head.
"Do not worry, Caesar," she whispered and stroked the soft fur behind the dog's ear. "We have no reason to be afraid." The dog growled softly as always when she touched him but did not move away.
They were waiting silently, human and dog. Minutes seemed hours, hours seemed eternity... she lost track of time. At last Caesar raised his head and looked at the entrance. Orestes entered.
"Lord Orestes..." R�ka rose to her feet.
"He is still with the shamans." The man answered the untold question of her eyes.
"Thank heaven," she sighed. "And Bleda?"
"He is dead."
"How did he die?" R�ka asked quickly. The relief made her careless.
"Attila stabbed him in the heart." Orestes frowned and suspiciously scanned her face. "Even the corpse has already been entombed." He paused for a moment before continuing. "I answered your questions, woman. Your turn now. I saw you bruised and covered with blood some hours ago. How is that possible that I can't recognize even a small blot on your flawless skin now?"
"Forgive me milord, but I do not understand your question." R�ka bowed her head to shelter her growing anxiety. "I did nothing but made myself smart for the King's pleasure."
"Of course you know what I mean, woman!" Orestes made an impatient gesture then stilled himself. "I was with him for years," he continued, a little more calmly. "My hair was falling out during those years but Attila did not age a day. I am neither blind nor a fool, R�ka. There is something special with you... something in common with Attila." Orestes stepped closer to her. "Why don't you tell me the truth?"
"You are mistaken," R�ka answered. "I am just a humble woman... one of his many concubines. There is nothing mysterious about me."
The man stared at her for minutes before he stepped back at last and shook his head. Even if he wanted to say something he did not voice it. He turned away and called back over his shoulder. "Make preparations for the celebration, woman. Attila became the Great King of the Huns today."
****
Toulouse...
"We never talked on that topic with Orestes again. And I never mentioned that conversation to Attila. Did Orestes knew or just suspected something? I do not know. I think, even if he knew, it would have not mattered either. He was loyal to Attila till his last breath." Her voice sank and they were sitting silently for some long minutes.
"So," Max broke the silence at last. "You had a busy life, hadn't you? But still, I do not understand why this guy thinks that you betrayed him."
"That happened decades later. Sometimes I was allowed to go with Attila on his campaigns. I was with him at Catulanuum. Wanting to see the battle, I broke his order and left the safety of his tent. I was captured and dragged away. But because no one saw this, he could easily have thought that I left him following my own will. That was so simple." Though the bitter edge of her voice indicated that still was not so simple.
"Had the Romans captured you?" asked Max quietly.
"The Romans... Shit!"
R�ka squeezed the glass that she held in her hand with such a force, that it didn't hold. It cracked with a loud thump, and cut deeply into the woman's palm. Blood mixed with orange juice ran down onto the table. Cursing in some unintelligible language, R�ka quickly pressed a napkin on her hand.
"Hey... are you okay?" Max leaned towards her, concerned.
The wound was not serious and healed in no time, but she did not want to attract any attention. "I'm okay," she hissed. "Settle the bill, Max, and bring the car out the parking lot, please. I'll get myself together until then. We'll meet in front of the building." With that, she hurried towards the ladies'.
***
The race was over, only a few people hung about on the stands and around the box office. R�ka was driven by the flow of people towards the exit. She arrived in the front exactly the same minute as Max's car appeared from behind the corner. The man sounded the horn for a millisecond to attract her attention, the woman smiled at him in response and waved back...
The force of the explosion was devastating. Pressure knocked her backwards. At first, she didn't understand what had happened. She only grasped reality when she pulled herself to her feet and saw the ball of fire that only a few minutes ago was Max's car. She could hardly move from the shock...the same way as she only felt the presence later than normal as well. She only noticed it when a brutal hand grabbed her shoulders, and she heard a familiar voice whispering into her ears.
"Hello pretty! I hunted for a stud but found a heifer instead. What a lucky day! " The Immortal man took her bag out of her frozen hands, "even if a sword could not fit into this, but one could never know when it's about you..."
R�ka finally managed to find her voice, "Bleda! No! Anybody, but you." She groaned and tried to free herself, but the other one held her with firm hands. He twisted her arms, she cried out.
"Now we head off towards my car before the police shut the entire area off. Nice and easy, no scandal." Another twist, followed by her painful, quiet moan. "Don't go against me, I warn you, it will only get you into a worse situation." Another twist. R�ka felt as if her arm was going to break, it only needed one more millimeter to crack. She tried her best to nod.
"No... -scandal," she managed to say, "please...it hurts a lot." The grip loosened a little, and she used it immediately. She spun away from the man, and not taking notice of the sharp pain that stabbed her arm, she kicked in between the man's legs full force.
Bleda cried out and let her go. Before anything else could happen, she repeated the kick, this time cruelly making sure she had perfect aim. The man dropped to his knees, the bag he held in his hand fell to the ground with a soft thump. R�ka didn't pick it up. She started running.
She ran as if running from a curse, she didn't mind people looking at her suspiciously. She heard Bleda's words pounding in her ears; she thought the man was just behind her. She turned back into the more and more deserted building. Her thoughts started to focus on a certain person. The only one that can save her from Bleda. It could not have been a coincidence that they both appeared on the same day after so many years.
Even if there was little chance she would find the man in his box, R�ka headed off towards it. Maybe she could find some kind of a trail, and she could take off after him. She was next to the stairs, when a tall, dark figure attracted her attention. It was the same man that escorted her to Attila. Marcus, she remembered the name, and she hurried after him.
She lost the bodyguard after the corner. She stared at the empty corridor confused. "Marcus?" she cried loudly, but no one answered. She turned around with a renouncing sigh when she bumped into the man that towered in front of her. It was Marcus. He stepped behind her so quietly, that the Immortal didn't even notice a thing. The man seemingly enjoyed her being surprised.
"I have to talk to your boss, now." And when she only got raised eyebrows as an answer, she added, "it is a matter of life and death...please."
Finally, the man shrugged and started to talk into the mic that was pinned to his collar.
***
He was at the stables, with Imperial. The Immortal was engrossed in a talk with the trainer of his horse and conspicuously did not bother with her presence.
When they finished at last, the man who was called Attila once, turned to her. He did not say a word, and R�ka knew that he would not ask her again. He had already put the question to her and repeating himself never was his style.
After her worst nightmares came to life that day, R�ka couldn't see the point of concealing anything from him. Otherwise, it would have been futile to cherish the hope that he would help her unless she made a full confession.
"Thank you for receiving me again," she started quietly. "I shouldn't have run away but this whole thing was so... unexpected. And you have the right to know what had happened at Catulanuum. But not as a justification, I have no need for it. Yes, I broke your order that day." She hardly believed but this confession still made her cheeks burn even after fifteen hundred years. With eyes downcast, R�ka continued. "And I paid a heavy cost."
***
"And now you know why
There's no moon in her sky..."
Plain of Catulanuum...
There was no chance to meet the Romans so far from the battlefield. And still, a whole squad of them was there. As if they had been waiting for her...
R�ka never understood why the Romans trailed along so many unnecessary objects during their campaigns. Like chairs, for example. But then she was securely bound to one; she started to see the point of this strange habit. She easily recognized the standard equipment of a Roman military tent. After she was captured, the soldiers brought her there, binding her to that chair and leaving her alone. It had happened hours ago. The tent must have been close to the battlefield because she heard the din of battle even if she couldn't see that. The voices silenced with the growing twilight as the battle ended for that day. But the battlefield did not silence completely. Though the jingling of weapons had ceased, the moaning of wounded warriors and whinnying of horses still filled the air. R�ka hated those noises. She tried the bindings again but all her efforts proved in vain.
She heard footsteps from the outside, and a high-ranked Roman soldier entered the tent. Taking off his helmet, a familiar, typically aristocratic face became visible. R�ka knew that man. A name emerged from her memories. Aetius Flavius. The patrician had already been in the city of the Huns years ago, visiting the King of the Huns. Rare thing, but he was almost on friendly terms with Attila once. But now, Aetius was the leader of the Roman army, and he intended to save the Western Empire as much as Attila intended to destroy it. While Valentinian, the Emperor was a spoiled fool, Aetius was a really dangerous opponent, R�ka was aware of that. But still, she had no idea why she was dragged to his tent. It was not of Roman style since the rape of the Sabine women.
"Who won the battle?" The question came from her heart.
"There were no winner or loser in this battle," answered Aetius tiredly. "Just survivors."
"Only dead people see the end of the war,**" she murmured then continued a little louder. "Is he...?"
"Yes," Aetius answered the unfinished question. "Attila is alive." He stepped to the table and helped himself to a cup of wine.
"And what do you want of me?" It was the next reasonable question.
"Can I get your name, first?" Aetius leaned against the table and took a sip of wine.
"R�ka," she answered, a little puzzled.
"Oh, I know that Attila calls you this way. But you are not Hun, are you? Your words betray you. You were Roman before, weren't you? I do not know why you had to leave the Empire, but all your sins would be forgiven if you help me. You have my promise."
Bloody good, she thought, this mortal thinks that I am his compatriot... if he knew that when I was born even the name of his city was completely meaningless. She almost laughed.
"My name is R�ka," she repeated at last.
"Pity. I hoped that we would make an agreement." Aetius drained his cup and stepped close to R�ka.
"What agreement?" R�ka had to look upward to see the Roman's face. "What on earth do you expect from me? If you think that I could influence Attila than you are quite out in your reckoning. Or do you plan to blackmail him with me? He will not give up his plans, even for me. No living man can stop him!"
"I expect nothing from you," Aetius answered quietly. "And as a matter of fact you were a part of an ... entirely different bargain."
At that very moment the familiar buzz warned her of an Immortal's presence.
A man stepped in, clothed similarly as Aetius but not even his helmet was able to conceal the ritual scars on his face... and the other one on his neck. The sight made her blood freeze.
"After hearing the news of his death, I was very surprised meeting Bleda. But who knows better the tactics of the Huns than their former leader... the former ally of Attila. And he did not ask too much for his services... but you were a part of his prize." With that Aetius turned towards the entrance.
"Wait!" R�ka shouted after him. "You can't throw me to this... barbarian!"
The Roman looked back over his shoulder. "No?" he asked quietly, with a touch of regret in his voice. "It was your choice... R�ka." Aetius left the tent.
***
Toulouse...
"So, you are already aware of the truth." R�ka finished her story. "As Bleda's slave, I had no chance to return to you. But as I said, it was not an explanation. The reason why I came back is that Bleda is here... I have just met him. I think he was after you originally, but now he will not leave any stone unturned to hunt me down either." She paused for a moment then sighed deeply. "We are haunted by our past, Attila." She deliberately used his former name.
He looked at her once as she spoke, and that was only in reaction to her last words. Otherwise, he had focused on Imperial, but still listened to every word. Now, he regarded her seriously, and the first embers of his temper flickered in his eyes. "And the past has a tendency to catch us."
He walked from the stall, silently inviting her to walk with him. Marcus fell discreetly in step some yards behind. "I have wondered from time to time, about Bleda resurfacing to settle old debts, when he would come and attempt to take my head." He took several paces, deep in thought as a plan began to form. "And from what you have said, you and he have unfinished business. It seems, R�ka, that we have the same problem. Marcus here will see you back to your hotel. As for Bleda, he's my concern now." Anger flared in his eyes again, fading as he beckoned Marcus to one side to relay instructions to him out of her earshot.
Then he faced her a last time and bent to kiss her cheek. "I'm glad you're safe, even if you did disobey my orders so long ago." A hint of a smile hovered on his face as he turned to leave.
***
She was standing beyond the range of the men's voice. Just some ragged murmuring caught her ear but she couldn't recognize any words.
Though she didn't want to hear the talk. The adrenaline slowly left her body and replaced by exhaustion. Suddenly, R�ka felt really old. And her thoughts wandering around Max didn't help her out of the dumps either. It was grievous to accept his death. They were talking at the bar just a little more than an hour ago and now... only aching void left.
And there was Bleda. His appearance pulled out the stopper of her bottled memories. She remembered everything. It took six months - and a great deal of luck - till she found someone who was rich and influential enough to free her from Bleda. Priscos was a good man, and R�ka was true to her words as well: she stayed with the mortal until his death. And when she became completely free again, she had already no reason to return to the eastern plains.
Somehow she always knew that Attila did not die. That's why she never changed the name that was given to her by the Hun. And when they met again only a few hours ago, she felt the same affection as if those fifteen hundred years had not passed. But it did. The world has changed, and those days would never come back again, she made herself remember.
R�ka saw as two men left the group and moved towards her. One of them was Marcus, that African-American guy who escorted her here. The other figure wasn't remarkably tall, maybe a few inches taller than R�ka, and did not seem too muscled either. But there was something a nondescript efficiency in his movements that betrayed the skilled soldier. One more bodyguard, or ... maybe a mercenary. So, that's your business now, Attila, R�ka thought. Considering his past, she was not even surprised.
The smaller man extended a hand to her with a friendly smile. "Andy McDonald, and you've already met my mate, Marcus. I don't believe Mister Haag mentioned your name. Or where you're staying."
"How do you do." R�ka smiled faintly. "My name is Stella R. Winter," She told him that name was in her driving license recently. "Just call me by my middle name... R�ka. I'm staying at the H�tel de Bernuy. Why are you interested?" She frowned suspiciously. "Are you going to get me there?"
He nodded. "Mister Haag insists, for your protection. So R�ka, if you'd come with us." He spoke pleasantly enough, but his tone and the hardness of his eyes told her a refusal would not be an option.
The H�tel de Bernuy was situated at the centre of Toulouse. In normal circumstances, it was easy to get there along the Avenue de Lombez. But the police closed that route for the traffic because of the explosion. To avoid the jam and the identity check as well, they chose a roundabout route, driving along the Route de Saint-Simon and the Rue de Cugnaux. From afar, R�ka saw police cars, fire engines, and even ambulances. Though it seemed impossible that Max would survive the attack. Most likely, other people might have been injured in the detonation.
To take her mind off Max, she had a closer look at her escorts. R�ka had already scanned Marcus before, so she gave her attention to the other guy. Andy was sitting behind the steering wheel. He drove his car with that same efficiency as he moved. In spite of its high speed he had full control over his car, as if united with the vehicle. He seemed a few years older than Marcus was, though it was difficult to estimate his real age. He was in his early thirties maybe, but his eyes were too hard for a mortal. As if he saw too much pain, which made his gaze much older than he was in reality.
Though there was nothing similar in them, Andy reminded her of Orestes, the Greek Hun. As a born leader, Attila always had a unique sense to choose his man. Both Marcus and Andy seemed as reliable as Orestes was in the past.
They reached the hotel at last. Seeing her, the receptionist smiled broadly. "Ah, Madame Winter, I'm glad to see you. We started to worry about you. A man brought this here half an hour ago." The receptionist took her handbag out from under the counter. "He said that it was found outside the Hippodrome. Hearing the news of the explosion we thought that you might be injured as well."
"I'm fine, thank you." R�ka reached for her handbag hesitantly. Considering where she left, it was to be expected that Bleda put something very unpleasant into it. Like a bomb, for example.
"Anticipating your approval, I opened it to make sure that it is really yours." The receptionist continued.
"I see," She breathed a sigh of relief. Even if Bleda put something into her bag it did not explode... not at the opening, at least. "What did he look like? I mean the man, who brought it here."
"He was tall, strongly built... with scars on his face. He did not ask any reward for bringing back your bag." The receptionist shrugged his shoulders. "You may know him?"
"No. Thank you again." R�ka turned away.
She stepped close to Andy and cast a thoughtful glance at him. "What do you think, shall I open it?"
His eyes flicked from her to the bag and back again. "Go on�slowly."
The contents of her handbag seemed untouched first, but then she noticed a scrap of paper in it. There were a few words on it, handwriting full of flourishes. It said:
// "We will meet again in a little while. You have my promise." //
"Bastard," she hissed and crumpled the note. "Time to get out of here." R�ka looked around nervously.
She turned towards the stairs, but Andy stopped her and asked for her bag. She handed it to him with a shrug, and the man looked it through carefully. Apparently he didn't find anything suspicious in it.
He searched it again more thoroughly than R�ka had. Running his hand against the lining, he felt a small, round metallic object. A quick look confirmed his suspicions, a bug of some description, and at a guess, probably some kind of tracking device. This man hunting her was certainly well-equipped.
"Shall we go now?" R�ka asked impatiently when she got back the handbag.
"Sure, lead on," he said with some sarcasm, making no mention of his discovery.
***
Standing at the door of her apartment, R�ka did not feel the warning buzz. Nevertheless, she thoughtfully let the men to go ahead. Staying behind, she admired the precisely carried action as the duo covered the room. She recognized the military training in their movements. They moved in perfect unison, fast and deadly accurate.
Fortunately, her apartment proved empty, and everything seemed untouched as well.
She changed her clothes and did her packing with record pace. Before she closed her suitcase, R�ka rummaged her pistol out of it. It was a Five-seveN Tactical. She liked this relatively small and still very effective firearm. Notwithstanding it was available only for government and law enforcement, she managed to get one.
She took out the magazine as well and loaded the weapon with a deft hand. Her sword had blown up with Max's car, but these bullets could hold up Bleda, though they would not kill him permanently.
R�ka caught Andy's inquiring look as she put the pistol into a pocket of her jacket.
"A single woman needs something to defend herself." She shrugged and flashed her most innocent smile at him.
"What, pepper spray doesn't cut it anymore, pet?" Andy replied. He had recognized the gun, and the fact she probably possessed it illegally. Admittedly, her connection with Haag now didn't seem so implausible. "You must keep some interesting company."
"Pepper spray against Bleda!" In spite of her anxiety she had to laugh at his remark. "It would be as much as trying some incantation." Reflecting on the second part of his comments, R�ka gave a mental shrug. So, Andy was skilled not only in driving but weapons as well. Most people would have hardly been able even to recognize a Five-seveN. His comment made it clear that Andy was fully aware of the illicit origin of her gun. Notwithstanding his only reaction was a knowing smile, giving some more evidence that they might have some illegal business too. She grinned to herself and gently tapped her pocket, in which the gun lurked inconspicuously. "I'm ready to go."
***
It was as if they traveled back some hundred years to the past. Attila's residence was set at a manor house belonging to the period of Luis Umpteenth. Apart from the up-to-the-minute locking system on the Baroque wrought-iron gate, and the almost-well-concealed cameras, there was a perfect illusion of Dumas-like scenery. R�ka almost laughed loudly as she imagined the Hun wearing powdered wig and white hose. Then suddenly, another image appeared in her mind's eye: he was riding on a huge black destrier, encased in armour, lance in one of his hands and shield in the other. She frowned. The second image was too vivid for a simple vision. It might have happened to the man centuries ago and now nestled into her mind for some mysterious reason. She shook her head vigorously to get rid of the visions.
The Hun was waiting for them at the lavishly decorated hall. He acknowledged her presence with a cursory glance then turned towards his men. Beckoning them over to one side, he lit a cigarette as they joined him. "Well?"
He listened intently as they reported everything that had happened at the hotel. The tracking device was handed over to him and he studied it carefully. "What do you make of it, Andy?"
"It's state of the art technology, sir," Andy replied. "As good as anything we can get."
Haag nodded as he spun the tiny device between his fingers. Bleda had certainly gone to lengths to track R�ka down. He looked back to his men and handed the bug to Marcus. "Take it outside, by the tennis court and leave it there. Then you can head back into Toulouse. See what you can find out about that car bomb."
The black man exchanged a glance with his partner, uncomfortable with just leaving one of them as back up, if and when this man showed up. But he nodded.
"And what do you want me to do, sir?" Andy asked, already mentally planning his weaponry for going up against Bleda.
Haag looked long and hard at his first lieutenant, knowing that he would not like what he would hear. "To go with Marcus."
"What? That would leave just you and her to deal with this bloke." His stance and expression added that he was not prepared to let that happen.
"Your math is as good as ever, McDonald; however, I need no one's assistance in dealing with him." His voice grew quiet. "Go check on that car bomb."
Andy either didn't recognize the sign of his boss' growing anger or chose to ignore it. "It doesn't need the two of us to do that! What if this bloke brings backup? We've already seen how well-equipped he is." He took a deep breath, trying to calm his own increasing temper, but he still sounded strained. "Look�sir�you're good in a fight, bloody good for not being in the service, but that's not always enough. And it's my job to see nothing happens to you."
Taking a step closer, Haag towered over the smaller man. His eyes narrowed at Andy's defiant glare, and from nowhere, his hand whipped upwards, striking him square on the jaw, sending him sprawling onto the floor. "No, McDonald your job is to obey my orders, like a good soldier."
Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, and he wiped it away with the back of his hand. The blow hadn't knocked Andy's insubordination out of him. The former Marine had never been too good at following orders, a contributing factor to his dishonorable discharge. "But sir�"
He didn't get the chance to finish as Haag bent down, grabbing his shirt into his balled fist. "Before you say something we'll both regret, get out of here." He practically lifted the man and threw him to Marcus. "Get him out of here, before I lose my patience."
Marcus held the smaller man up, but was quickly shrugged off. For a moment, it looked like Andy would argue further, but instead, he straightened his jacket and with his partner walked out, kicking over a nearby priceless vase in petulant rage. Their boss' parting words rang in both their ears. "You would not like the consequences if I should find you disobeyed."
When they had gone, he spun on his heels and headed further into the house. "R�ka, come with me."
***
R�ka thoughtfully remained in the background and watched as the Hun instructed his men. No. This man was not the King of the Huns anymore, she corrected herself. She scanned him from head to toe as if she saw him first time. R�ka made a mental note of his cutting edge Italian attire, the expensive jewelry and the natural self-confidence as he wore them. He had come a long way from the steppes to this exquisitely furnished residence. But the man, who was referred as the Scourge of God once, was known as Dieter Haag now, a Swiss multi-millionaire, who keeps world-class racing stable and presumably earns more money during a simple week than Attila ever had.
But still, even if his veneer has changed, the diamond hard will with which he briefed his men remained the same. R�ka knew much better than to interfere in his business. Her eyes widened when the blow nailed Andy and expected the next one with silent disgust as Haag leaned over his man. To her surprise, the Immortal held back his temper, and instead of the next punch, he simply threw the smaller man to Marcus as if he was a rag-doll. He must be really reliable, she thought, otherwise he would not have forgiven his disobedience so lightly. Andy would have paid with his head for such insolence one and half millennia ago, she added to herself with a bitter smile.
After the mortals left, they went to a control room sort of place where her host left her alone for a few minutes. There was a table in the middle of the room with a dozen monitors arranged on it in half circle. Various parts of the building and the surrounding garden were visible on the screens. R�ka caught sight of Marcus on one of them. He was at a tennis court and did something she was not able to discern because of the growing twilight. Then he got into the car, and Andy revved the engine so much that the wheels spun, spraying gravel high into the air behind. After the departure of the mortals, there were no visible activities on the screens. R�ka realized that they remained completely alone.
The man returned to the room with a sword in his hand. He had changed from the expensive suit into the more practical jeans and a collared tee-shirt. Her eyes widened at the sight. "Bleda will come here, won't he?" she whispered. "But how..." The revelation stopped short her words.
Haag used her as bait to lure Bleda to there! That was the reason why they went back to the hotel. Not for "her protection" as Andy commented, but to make sure that Bleda would find her traces. R�ka turned to her host with a calling-to-account look but adjourned her questions as their eyes met. A shallow observer would hardly have been able to recognize the difference, but she knew all about that expression on his face. The excitement of impending fight lit small fires in the striking blue gaze. And there was no room for a woman's complaints before the battle. Instead of questions, she sat down quietly next to the other Immortal.
Other than a brief glance, he didn't acknowledge her, but lighting another cigarette, he returned his focus to the screen. He sat motionless, but relaxed, leaning back against the wall behind, a leopard waiting for his quarry.
They didn't have to wait for long. The garden plunged into darkness, and as if the shadows came to life, a figure slipped across the park quickly and quietly. It was Bleda. And he was alone.
Haag stiffened, eyes narrowing. The leopard had found his prey, now it was time to strike. He stubbed out the half-smoked cigarette and picked up his sword. "It's time R�ka. Come." Without waiting to see if she followed, he left the room.
"Where are we going?" she asked suspiciously.
"Ever play tennis?" he answered with a growl.
R�ka frowned. Marcus did something at the court before he left... something to lure Bleda there, presumably. "I hope you have strong backhand," she muttered then frowned again as some of her memories emerged. "Oh, of course you have..." She hurried after the man.
***
She must have been close. The small, fluorescent numbers glowing on the display of the device informed Bleda of this fact. And the nearer he got to his aim the more excited he was. As a real hunter, Bleda couldn't imagine a more blood-stirring thing than stalking after game. And though he had already been all over the world hunting rare, endangered animals, but none of them were even comparable with a manhunt. Let alone when Immortals were involved.
And R�ka... Bleda didn't believe his eyes when he caught a sight of her at the racecourse. What a fate willed her appearing, he pondered. Especially now, the time when he also happened on the track of his sworn enemy. The man who stole everything important from him called himself Dieter Haag recently. Bleda knew that he had met with R�ka that day. His men informed Bleda that she stormed out of Haag's box with tears in her eyes.
The next step was to eliminate her mortal fellow, depriving the woman of her companion. Even if she had managed to flee from him at the racecourse, R�ka had just put off her fate for a little while. Knowing that she surely was alone, Bleda decided to leave his men behind. The Immortals' business needed no witnesses. And for the same reason he brought no other weapons but his sword... and a very special dagger, just in case.
Bleda felt her presence already. Or were there a couple? Getting to a brightly illuminated tennis court, he caught sight of them. R�ka was not alone. A tall figure stood one step ahead of her with sword in his hand.
"So, you took your whore back, Attila... Or shall I call you Dieter Haag?" Bleda flaunted his knowledge. He slowly closed some distance between them and drew his own sword either. "All the better. I can kill two birds with one stone this way."
"She served her purpose. And I knew you would come sniffing after her, as you always did."
Suddenly Bleda whipped out his dagger and threw it towards R�ka. She was quick, as she ducked, but not quick enough. The blade took her shoulder, cutting a deep, though not nearly lethal wound. Before either man could react, the Five-seveN appeared in R�ka's hand. She pointed the gun at Bleda, ignoring Haag's prohibitive gesture.
"You bastard! Tell me just one reason, why I do not blow your head off your shoulders." Her voice trembled with rage. "I don't care for your dirty games. You..." The words stuck her throat and her hands started shaking.
"Giddy, are we?" Bleda sneered at her. He couldn't help grinning as R�ka desperately tried to pull the trigger, but her fingers gave up. The woman swayed, the gun slipped out of her numb hands. In spite of the light wound, R�ka fell onto her knees, gasping.
"Curare." He shrugged his shoulder. "It'll make her still for four or five hours. I do not want her to try anything foolish till I recover myself after taking your Quickening, brother. Though I won't take her head," Bleda let out a beguiling sigh. "It gives too much pleasure to make her beg for it."
"As boastful as always. It was always one of your weaknesses." Sword held ready, Haag's eyes never left his opponent's. "I'm sure she will be very grateful for that, assuming�brother�you succeed, which is very doubtful." He began to slowly circle Bleda, twice tapping his blade against the other.
Without warning, Bleda swung his sword viciously, blade whistling in the air. He did not put all his strength into the first blow, but it was heavy enough to demonstrate his power. Then lashed out in a backswing, cruelly going for the long desired head. The other man parried and stepped back. Bleda followed him, striking down again and again. His blows were stronger and stronger, not letting his opponent to recover. The swords clanged, throwing out sparks into the night. Haag blocked Bleda's sword and they were looking into each other's eyes steadily over their blades. Then Bleda freed his weapon with a fierce movement and grinned triumphantly as the other Immortal staggered back.
He regained his balance, eyes never leaving his opponent. The sword twirled once in his hand before he launched into the offensive. Again the ring of metal on metal rang out as their blades connected.
The swords connected again and again their clang continued ceaselessly - a steady metallic rhythm in the night air.
Bleda broke the rhythm as he leapt forward and attacked with brutal efficiency. He swung, aiming for the neck again. The stroke was parried, and his backswing immediately flowed into another blow to the opposite side, cutting a curve into the air, barely missing Haag's shoulder.
Haag defended himself, but he was hard-pressed to keep up and unable to take the offensive. Step by step, he was compelled to give ground. He backed to the tennis-net and almost fell over it. Unable to keep his balance he ducked and rolled away from the next blow.
Bleda stroke downward and his sword bit into the other Immortal's flesh with a lucky hit. The blade cut a deep wound on Haag's chest reaching his ribs. Bleda felt as the metal connected with the bones and saw bursting flashes of pain in his opponent's eyes. The blow was not heavy enough to break through the ribs but caused a painful, serious wound cutting through the pectoral muscles on the left side of Haag's chest.
Instead of the next, lethal blow Bleda stopped to take pleasure at the sight. "I have long been waiting this moment." He breathed heavily but his voice rang clear and triumphantly. "And now I will kill you as you killed me. I will take your life as you stole mine from me. I will have my revenge taking your Quickening then taking your whore over your beheaded corpse."
His breathing ragged from exertion and pain, Haag spat to one side as he drew his free arm to press against the open wound. He looked across, glowering, at Bleda's taunts. "You haven't improved with age, I see and neither has your memory." Gripping the bejeweled hilt of his sword tighter, he readied himself. "You should learn not to gloat, but it's too late for any lessons now," he finished harshly.
Bleda knew that he made a mistake. It was a bad move to let his enemy recover himself. The flickers of pain disappeared from Haag's eyes and were replaced with cold determination as he raised his sword again. He lunged forward, and Bleda barely had time to bring his own blade to block. He took the blow and felt the shock all over his arm. As if Haag had just only played with him so far... as if the other Immortal have had absorbed the pain of his injury and converted it into power. Gritting his teeth, Bleda tried to take the offensive but he couldn't. He was forced to withdraw several steps. The Immortals drifted towards the side of the tennis court.
Bleda blocked a swing with his own sword and kicked his opponent hard. Haag staggered back against the post holding the floodlight projector and ducked as the blade whined over his head. Bleda's blade hit the switchboard attached to the post. Blue sparks flashed out and entwined the metal of Bleda's sword. The bulbs of the floodlight exploded one by one covering the Immortals with rain of fire. The switchboard also blew up and the force of explosion tore the weapon out of Bleda's hand.
The sword flew high into the air, spinning an arc as it went before landing with a clatter on the court. Haag placed himself between where the sword had landed and Bleda then slowly advanced on his enemy. His eyes remained fixed on him, wary of any last minute trick he might produce. Bleda began to edge around in an attempt, in Haag's view, to retrieve his weapon. With a slight shake of his head, he launched himself at the scar-faced immortal. Sword drawn back, he slashed down viciously. The blade sliced down from the shoulder to the belly. It wasn't deep, but it was enough for Bleda to take a few staggering steps backwards, but Haag allowed him no chance of escape or reprieve. He grabbed the man's throat and, his lip curling in a snarl, ran the sword cleanly through him. "You were always the fool, Bleda."
He twisted the blade, half-smiling at the flash of intense pain that crossed Bleda's face. "I should make you beg for your life, but I know you too well. You can kneel now though!" As he withdrew the sword, he kicked the man's legs, forcing him down. "You never understood the power we could have been together." Then the blade hissed down towards his neck. A moment later, the body tipped forward and fell to the ground.
There was calm before the storm. Silence. Darkness. Then fine, glowing mist swirled up around the Immortal's beheaded body. Sudden wind whirled around and ozone-smelling tension filled the air.
Haag grabbed the hilt of his sword with both hands and raised it above his head, waiting. The strange eddy encircled him slowly. Then the first bolt of quickening hit and he yelled with pain and victory. The bulbs of the floodlight that had remained intact went up first then exploded. Splinters and shards rained down but didn't reach the ground but joined the mist whirling around Haag's body. Coming from nowhere lightning struck down again and again flashing down the blade was called the Sword of God once. Wind howled and roared as if the ancient Gods came back to greet their favored one again. His yells became lost in the storm. And in the middle of all that chaos and destruction, the Immortal was standing erect, triumphant and magnificent.
The tempestuous force began to abate, and he threw his head back as the last bolts struck him. Finally, he lowered the sword as if it had suddenly become very heavy, and he lifted his head, his shoulders and chest rising and falling deeply as he recovered from the rush of the Quickening. And it was a rush. Nothing in this world gave him such a taste of complete power and dominance over the world; the two things he hungered for most. As that sensation reluctantly too dissipated, he gazed around the tennis court: the burned out lights, a fallen sword, a wife's still lifeless body, and a brother's headless one. In the middle he stood, Bleda's memories mingling with his own, for a moment a king once again.
He sighed. The whirl of thoughts cleared from his mind, and he tucked the Sword of God in his belt and strode across the court to R�ka. He picked up her pistol and slipped it into the waistband of his jeans and crouched beside her. Some hair had fallen across her face, and he brushed it aside as he remembered with startling clarity the day she stepped from the river. The fight and the Quickening had fired his blood, and the desire he had felt for her so long ago re-ignited with a passion. But thanks to Bleda's poison, it would still be some time before he could do something about quenching it. So, scooping her into his arms, he draped her over his shoulder as a fireman would and headed back to the house.
He carried her to his bedroom and gently laid her on the spacious bed. He removed her gun, placing it on the dresser before pulling off his ruined shirt. Not bothering with a fresh one, he sat on a nearby chair and cleaned his sword. Once finished he safely stowed it away, lit a cigarette and waited for her to revive as patiently as he'd waited for Bleda.
***
There was silence in the garden after the supernatural storm; the silence of death. Then the voices of the night crept back with the passing of the time. The garden revived. But Bleda did not. The headless body still lay at the court, alone and forgotten. Then the moonless sky lit up with stars veiling the corpse in a silvery shroud. The bright ribbon of the Way of Warriors*** outlined against the black-clothed firmament as if it was going to guide the tattered remnants of an Immortal's soul.
********
The End
********
Notes:
* The Kalas are an existing tribe. They are living at the area belong to Kazakhstan and Tajikistan. And for some mysterious reason they have different complexion than the surrounding peoples. Are they the descendants of Alexander's army? Nobody knows, but still, the idea is more than exciting.
** Quote from Plato.
*** The Milky Way. Equal with the "Path of the Dead" according to the Finno-Ugrian mythology.
***
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