James Axler – Stoneface

Then a smile crossed her face. She eyed Ryan with a murderous glee and declared, “A track stand.”

Ryan didn’t say anything for a moment. He remembered what he had overheard of track standstwo combatants, both astride motorcycles, each armed with only a whip, a knife and the individual warrior’s skill. He wasn’t at all certain he was qualified. His experience with motorcycles was limited. Nor was he confident he could handle Fleur, a cold heart whose crazed ego demanded Ryan’s life.

“Well?” Hellstrom challenged. “Are you up to it?”

Ryan wiped a thread of blood from his lower lip, surveyed the expectant faces all around him and said, “Name the time and place.”

Chapter Seventeen

Ryan awoke at dawn, feeling as if all the bones in his body were stitched together at the joints by wire. Everyone was awake, and they crowded into the room he shared with Krysty.

Mildred brought him coffee, and J.B. handed over the eighteen-inch panga. “I’ve spent the last hour sharpening it,” he said. “It ought to cut through plate steel.”

“Or that bitch’s throat,” Krysty said coldly.

Heavy footfalls sounded out in the hall, and a knock came at the door. Ryan opened it. Six sec men, all holding Tec-10 machine pistols, stood there. Phil was in the lead, though because of his freshly shorn appearance, Ryan didn’t recognize him at first. His scalp was crisscrossed with tiny scabbed-over lacerations. He wore one of the corduroy vests decorated with locks and hanks of his own hair.

“I like the new look,” Ryan said. “Suits you.”

“We’re here to escort you to the track,” he said in a clipped, businesslike tone, not responding to the gibe. “Everybody leaves their blasters here.”

Ryan exchanged a long, warning look with Krysty. Her finger tensed on the trigger of her Smith amp; Wesson, but with a curse she tossed the weapon onto the bed.

Phil jerked his head toward the hallway. “Let’s go.”

“Is the escort a courtesy?” Doc asked. “Or a guard detail?”

“None of your fucking business, you old sack of shit.”

Doc smiled gently and rapped the ferrule of his swordstick against the floor. “I shall remember you said that, my good man.”

There was a carnival air around the gathering in the large open field a half mile outside of Helskel. Children squealed and chased one another, climbing over the mothers who were dressed in holiday finery. There were scarfs, headbands, shawls and quilted cloaks of every conceivable color and style. The men wore deerskin tunics, ruffled silk shirts and talismans of animal claws and mummified human fingers.

Ryan shivered in the chill air of early morning and inspected the field of battle. It was the same area where Zadfrak had been cremated a few nights before, but all signs of the huge funeral pyre had been removed, except for the raised dais. A dozen poles, ornamented with colored glass prisms and feathers, formed the boundaries of a giant circle, at least five hundred yards in diameter.

Two motorcycles were parked at opposite ends of the field. J.B. identified them as a Husqvarna 450 and a Honda Motosport 250 trail bike. Both were clean and seemingly in good running condition.

Phil indicated the Motosport with the barrel of his blaster. “That one is yours, Cawdor.”

Ryan and his people walked over to it. J.B. gave it a quick inspection, checking the tire treads, the gas tank and the transmission gearing. “Looks in good shape, Ryan, probably easier to maneuver than that Husky. So far, I think they’re playing fair.”

“Just don’t try to pop a wheelie,” Mildred stated.

“I won’t,” Ryan replied. “Sounds like it could hurt.”

Hellstrom arrived, borne in his chair by a three-man detail. They placed him atop the dais, which Ryan noticed was positioned directly in the center of the field. It presented an obstacle as well as a viewing station. Hellstrom caught his eye and beckoned to him with a finger.

After giving Ryan a quick hug and kiss, Krysty led the rest of the companions toward the throng at the sidelines.

Ryan joined Fleur as she stood before Hellstrom. There were no words of encouragement, no briefing concerning rules. He merely studied them silently with his hooded eyes, then raised a hand. A great shout was voiced from the eager throng ringing the field, and the two combatants trotted toward their mounts.