WAR TAKES A HOLIDAY

by Neil Burns
[email protected]

DISCLAIMER-You know the deal
SUMMARY-War pays Santa Helena a visit
COMMENTS-QUEEN OF SWORDS/FOUR HORSEMEN crossover

~~~~~

The supply ship's longboat gently sild into the beach as its passenger got out and looked around, an approving smile on his fleshy, ursine face. He was a giant bear of a man with blonde hair cropped almost to the skull and dead steel-blue eyes. Anyone who looked in those eyes could see death. Centuries of death and those dead blue pools enjoyed seeing it. He saw a large building in the distance and turned to the sailor which rowed him ashore.

"What is that?" his voice was a bass growl with a noticeable Russian accent.

"That is the Alvarado residence," the sailor replied. "The woman's servant comes down here sometimes to pick up certain items."

"What does the servant look like?"

"A Gypsy. Thin. Sharp features. Sharper tongue but with a good heart."

"Is the woman looking for workers?"

"You can ask her."

Nodding, the man picked up his duffle bag and flung it over his shoulder next to the axe strapped to his back. The pole was long and slender, the blade almost the shape of the letter J. He entered the property and saw two well-dressed women sitting on the verandah drinking lemonade. One was a petite blonde with playful blue eyes and the air of a spoiled princess. The other was a bit taller with raven hair and expressive dark eyes. He walked over and nodded politely.

"Excuse me," he growled pleasantly. "Which one of you is Alvarado?"

"You are Russian?" the blonde spoke delightedly in that particular tongue.

"From the Ukraine." The man replied in kind.

"My family lived near there."

The dark-haired woman listened patiently as the blonde and the man held an animated conversation in Russian talking about their childhoods and their families, though the man was guarded about revealing his occupation. I don't know how she'd react to my revealing I killed thousands of people 2000 years ago. Finally, the blonde offered her hand. A giant paw gently shook it.

"I am Vera Alexia Hidalgo," she purred pleasantly.

"Ivan Silanov," the man replied. "I am looking for work and was told an Alvarado lives here. Do either of you know her?"

"I am Maria Teresa Alvarado," the dark-haired woman shook hands with Silanov. "I have a sufficient amount of workers, but more are welcome."

"Hello, ladies," a pleasantly dry English-accented baritone saluted.

Silanov turned and saw a slender, athletically-built man, his dark hair cut close and his green-gold eyes gleamed in the sun. A broad grin of recognition spread on Silanov's face as he grabbed the man and lifted him into an affectionate bearhug, his laughing sending a chill down the man and the two women's spines.

"METHOS! Where've you been, you sneaky bastard?"

"I beg your pardon?" the man asked confused, turning to Tessa. "He a friend of yours, I take it?"

"We just met," Tessa replied. "He was looking for work."

"Come on, Methos," Silanov chuckled. "It's me, your brother."

"I am sorry," the man replied. "My name is Robert Helm. I'm Santa Helena's doctor."

"That's right. After the Plague, you went to Heidelberg to become a doctor."

"Plague?! Black Death? That was five hundred years ago!"

Silanov studied the man he called Methos. It was not his fellow Horseman that rode with him slaughtering tens of thousands of lives over two continents. The man Helm just happened to bare an uncanny resemblance to his Horseman brother. He did not even feel the tingling down his spine signifying the presence of one of his kind.

"Your pardon, doctor," Silanov rumbled putting Helm down. "You just happen to look like somebody I know."

"The town blacksmith Alexei is Russian," Tessa put in. "He will enjoy talking to a fellow countryman."

"I would like that. I was a blacksmith back home."

"Let us see if Alexei will accept a co-worker,"

~~~~~

Colonel Montoya and Don Gaspar Hidalgo were sharing a bottle of wine and discussing a possible plan for all the Dons to profit share. The heavyset affable Don considered the idea.

"I might be interested, but I must check with the other Dons," Hidalgo mused. "Don Sanchez and Hernandez may not be willing."

"No pressure at all, Gaspar," Montoya purred, refilling Hidalgo's glass. "If they are not interested, there is no ill will."

"Stop the cart!" A bass voice growled.

Both men turned and saw Marta driving her cart and her passenger getting off and heading towards them. The man was thickset and enormous in stature. His steel-blue eyes seemed to convey a low animal cunning, his stare seeming to send a slight chill down the otherwise composed Montoya's spine. Silanov laughed as he hoisted Montoya up with his huge paws and embraced him. Marta observed this with a wicked smile on her face.

"KRONOS!" Silanov saluted cheerfully. "How are you, brother?!"

"Colonel Montoya?" Hidalgo put in. "Do you know this man? Who is Kronos?"

"I have absolutely no idea," Montoya replied, Silanov's bearhug compressing his ribs. "Excuse me, Senor. You have mistaken me for somebody else."

"Come, Kronos," Silanov chuckled. "Granted it's been six hundred years, but surely you remember me?" He then noticed "Kronos"' face was missing the five-inch scar bisecting his right eye. "What happened to your scar?"

"Senor. The name is Luis Ramirez Montoya, Military Governor of Santa Helena. I have never heard of or met this 'Kronos' person."

Silanov studied Montoya and put him down. Again he mistook someone for a fellow Horsemen, this time mistaking this Montoya for the bloodthirsty psychotic leader Kronos. Again there was no tingle of recognition. Silanov put him down and brushed him off.

"Forgive me, sir," he rumbled softly. "I am looking for work and the Gypsy woman there says you have a blacksmith?"

"Yes," Montoya replied, able to regain his dignity. How dare this oaf touch me! "Are you a blacksmith as well?"

"Back home in the Ukraine, sir."

"A fellow Russian. Black will indeed be pleased." He pointed toward the direction of the blacksmith's shop. "He is over there."

Silanov nodded and headed over as Montoya eyed his retreating back. Who did he think he was dealing with? Who was this Kronos and what was that oaf mumbling about six hundred years? Six hundred years since what? The man obviously possessed little intelligence, but there was a cunning about him and Montoya did seem to sense a vicious streak in him. Why was he carrying an axe on his back? Perhaps he was an executioner as well back home? Montoya smiled as he shook hands with Hidalgo.

"Please excuse me, Gaspar," Montoya oozed. "We will take this up later."

~~~~~

It was a picturesque evening and Montoya's party was in full swing. The courtyard was a kaleidoscope of colors and movement as guests talked and danced to the musicians providing the entertainment. Helm, Tessa were talking to Montoya and Silanov who wore one of Don Hidalgo's formal suits. Both Silanov and Hidalgo were approximately the same stature, though Silanov had perhaps a few inches in height.

"So how do you like Santa Helena?" Tessa queried pleasantly. "Do you enjoy working with Alexei?"

"Yes," Silanov replied. "It is good to interact with a fellow countryman."

"If you do not mind my asking," Montoya handed Silanov a drink, "Dr. Helm informs me you mistook him for a 'Methos'? Just like you thought I was this 'Kronos'. Who are these men? Are they friends of yours?"

"You might say that." Careful, Silas. Nobody needs to know. "We were like brothers--and we rode together a long time ago."

"Really?"

"Forgive me, Colonel, but some things are nobody else's concern."

"You know," Helm interrupted. "There were two people here not too long ago who were asking for this 'Kronos'."

"Oh?" Silanov's eyebrows arched skyward. "Who were they?"

"One was a man," Helm's smile broadened dryly, "who happened to look a lot like me. Benjamin Adams was his name. The other was a woman."

"Yes," Montoya put in. "She was tall and slender with long dark hair and had a sword that looked like it was from the Bronze Age."

"Said her name was Amanda LeFerve."

"I see," Silanov replied stiffening slightly. So that bitch was here! "When did they come by?"

"Perhaps several months ago," Tessa put in. "I do not know where Dr. Adams went but Senorita LeFerve is in Canada, I believe." No, Tessa. She is dead! But who was that I saw the next day? How could she survive that fall?

~~~~~

For the next week or so, Silanov (aka Silas) enjoyed a quiet life of being the town's co-blacksmith with Alexei, who enjoyed having a fellow Russian to talk to about childhood memories and other things. Alexei noticed that Silanov was reticent about his past, but having skeletons in his own closet, Alexei understood and did not press the issue. Both men were having their lunch break when Montoya walked up.

"Buenos dias, Senor Silanov," Montoya purred. "Are we enjoying Santa Helena?"

"Yes," Silanov growled pleasantly. "It's quiet and people seem to mind their own business."

"Indeed. Curiosity is not a healthy trait. Perhaps we can discuss some business."

Alexei immediately took that as his cue to busy himself for a bit. Montoya gave him Salan to fix the animal's horseshoes.

"I gather you have killed?" Serpentine steel-gray eyes met dead steel-blue eyes. Silas was about to speak when Montoya raised his hand. "They say 'the eyes are the mirror to the soul'. I simply read your eyes and see that you enjoy killing."

"And what if I did?"

"I might have a job for you. The compensation would be very handsome."

"Who is he?"

"It is a woman. The Queen of Swords."

"Queen of Swords?" I've killed thousands of women over the centuries. One more would make no difference. "Never heard of her."

"A demon from Hell who has been tormenting me from the day she appeared over a year ago."

"What compensation are you referring to?" Silas noticed Vera Hidalgo riding by as he asked this. Montoya saw this as well.

"Charming, is she not?"

"Tell you what, Colonel. I'll kill this 'Queen' of yours for a night with her."

"Very well." The two shook hands. "We have a deal." The Senora has had many lovers before Grisham and probably will after him.

~~~~~

The next day was another public hanging and again just as the rope was about to tighten and send the condemned to the afterlife, the Queen appeared and rescued him, parrying with the soldiers and making them look idiotic as usual. Surprisingly, Montoya held his hand up restraining Grisham from chasing her.

"You're letting her get away?" Grisham's eyes disappeared into his hairline.

"Of course not," Montoya smiled. "I have a trap set for her. Her head will sit on my desk shortly."

The Queen of Swords galloped for several miles before she noticed that there were no soldiers chasing her. She also noticed that the peon she rescued was silent the whole way. She glanced back at a glazed empty-eyed expression and touched his shoulder. To her shock, he fell off and landed on his side, an axe sticking out of his back. The Queen dismounted and removed the axe, examining it. The blade appeared to be made of some metal or stone carved into the shape of a J and the pole was long and sturdy. This looks like it's from the Bronze Age! How did it get here? Who could this belong to? Suddenly, she felt another presence and turned to look. She found herself staring back at Silanov with a similar axe in his hands and a bloodthirsty grin on his face, his dead eyes gleaming with glee.

"The Queen of Swords, I assume?" he growled.

"Senor Silanov?" she replied. "I have no quarrel with you. What do you want?"

"It's been six hundred years since I buried my axe into someone and I plan to bury it into you."

"Six hundred years? Senor, you are perhaps the Colonel's age. Nobody is six hundred years old."

"Colonel Montoya's compliments. You wish to die slowly or quickly?"

"How about not at all?"

"That is not an option."

Silas swung his axe, but the Queen was able to pull the one in the peon's body and block it. The masked woman was able to use her panther quickness and agility to compensate for giving away so much size. Fortunately for her, Silas was powerful but slow so she could easily avoid his strike. Yet, he also seemed indefatigable. No matter how many times she countered, he kept attacking. The Queen retreated then, in one motion, spun and hurled the axe at the advancing Silas who simply caught it in one hand.

"Give it up, girlie," the Horseman laughed mockingly. "I'll make it painless."

"Perhaps you did not hear me, senor," the Queen smiled. "I said I do not plan to die."

Sword in one hand and whip in the other, the Queen of Swords stood her ground and parried and countered every attack Silas launched. He rose his axe to hurl it at the Queen, but she was able to wrap her whip around it and pull it out of his hands, tossing it a safe distance away.

"You got spirit, girl. All the centuries I've killed, I never saw anyone fight me."

"You are mad, senor. What are you babbling about?"

"Doesn't matter. You'll die like the rest of them."

The Horseman launched himself at the Queen flailing his axe maniacally. The vigilantress pulled the dagger from her boot and hurled it dead center in Silas' chest. As he staggered forward, her blade sliced his throat. The Horseman crashed to the ground and lay still. Several hours later, Silas jolted back to life and rose. Looking back where the Queen had ridden from, he laughed.

"We'll meet again, my dear Queen."

~~~~~

The next day, Montoya was in his courtyard tending to his roses. With paternal loving care he gently trimmed and watered his babies, not noticing Grisham entering and standing behind him with a playful smile on his face.

"How are we this morning, my children?" Montoya smiled. "Did we sleep well?"

"Yeah, dad," Grisham quipped. "We slept like a log. How about you?"

"Good morning, Grisham." Montoya didn't bother turning around. "What is it?"

"Don't want to interrupt your 'quality time' with the roses, so here's the short version. Queen of Swords still alive. Your guy Silanov vanished."

"She is alive? How?"

"Beats me. Must be that Diablo's luck you refer to often. If you'll excuse me, Senora Hidalgo has asked me to breakfast. I'll send your regards."

The horse trudged along the desert through El Camino Rey, the rider a heavyset bearlike man, his dead steel-blue eyes staring straight ahead. It's a pity to have to leave. It was nice talking to fellow countrymen, but that bitch Amanda is in Canada. Won't she be surprised to see me. Whistling a melody he heard as a child, Silas rode his way up to Canada while reflecting on his brief stint in Santa Helena. When he, War, took a holiday.

THE END