Arch Wizard

She followed, then as a test turned back in the direction she'd first headed, still running hard. All the wolves pressed close in around her, bounding along to nudge her with their noses and flanks, all of them working to turn her this time.

She ran where they led her, barehanded and bareskinned, hunger for the blood of Cauldreth Jaklor growing in her again.

For some reason, she felt very happy.

Rusty Carroll was gasping for breath. When had so many God damned steps been added, between the gleaming glass ground floor of Holdoncorp headquarters and Rear Second, where the Security Office was?

It sure as blazes hadn't felt like this many the last time he'd run up them.

Huh, and when exactly had that been?

Long ago, was all he could recall just now, with a freaking sword in his hand, twenty-some frightened secretaries and managers hurrying up the stairs at his heels-and six lunatic murderers on the loose in the building!

Dark Helms, mind you, who'd come striding in here with a lorn flying backup for them!

He didn't know what he'd do about them, but he did know he had to get back to the office before they went up the stairs-or, bejesus, took the elevators! — and got there first.

To where they could watch every corner of the building, turn off the lights and heat and air in any zone with the flick of switch and a spin of a dial-and lock or unlock any doors they pleased, too.

And Pete Sollars would be sitting there with his coffee cold and forgotten in his hand, staring at the forest of monitors and flickering alarm telltales and doing effing nothing. Except maybe shifting from camera to camera to watch them better, as they came to kill him.

Sollars was a nice guy, but he'd never had a swift and original thought in his life. Thinking on his feet was something he just didn't do. He was the other sort of security guy; the stolid, too dull-to-get-bored watcher at his post.

Rusty topped the last step-at last! — stabbed his fingers at the codepad, and flung the heavy metal door open. 'Pete! Where are they?'

Sollars swung around in the high-backed swivel chair-the Chief's chair, Rusty's chair-and stared at his boss, looking guilty. 'Uh, I-ah-No!'

Rusty saw where Pete's stare was aimed, and flung himself at the floor and toward whatever Sollars was staring at.

Which meant the head of the fire axe came crashing down not through Rusty's skull, but over his diving body-to chip the concrete floor, right through the No-Slip tread coating. Secretaries screamed, and Hank staggered back, face going pale.

'M-mister Carroll?'

'I'm fine. No harm done, Hank!'

Rusty didn't have time for all the apologies; he was up on his feet and running to the monitors, sword in hand. He used it to point to the corridor running west. 'Pete, take Hank and get all these ladies into Brain Central! Lockdown drill! Lockdown drill!'

Brain Central was the vault-like computer room not far behind him and one office to the west. It had walls like a battleship, a secure air supply, and its own power generator. It was a safe bet none of those oh-so-haughty managers had ever used such a primitive chemical toilet before, but… it beat having their throats sliced open or a sword thrust through their lovely midriffs, that was for sure.

Sollars was staring at him. 'Lockdown? Brain Central?'

'Yes!' Randy roared into Pete's face. 'Move!'

A frightened hubbub was rising, behind him-and amid it he could hear the President's unmistakable spluttering. Hank, at least, must be following Lockdown procedures as fast as he could.

He turned, seeing the tall custodian shooing well-dressed women ahead of him like a farmer herding chickens. 'Hank?' he called. 'Leave me the axe. Get another from the station inside there.'

Hank turned his head and nodded, grinning apologetically. He leaned the axe carefully against the wall, then started moving toward the west corridor, spreading his arms wide and murmuring, 'Let's go, people. Let's go.'

He was sweeping the women-and a few bewildered-looking men in shirtsleeves and bedraggled ties, too, the angrily bewildered President of Holdoncorp among them, his golf putter still clutched in his hands-before him. Good. The fewer people screaming and rushing around to where they could be sliced open or taken as hostages, the better.

Where were those Dark Helms? By the looks of things, Sollars had been enjoying watching Holdoncorp vice presidents get chopped apart-and Rusty couldn't find it in himself to blame him for that- but had been so intent on watching tall, handsome, blustering Executive Vice President Jackman Quillroque plead for his life and loudly try to call various Holdoncorp designers to their dooms via the intercom from desk after desk, that he hadn't kept close watch over the grim Dark Helms to make sure all six of them were still together.

They weren't.

Rusty dialled most of the long row of doors shut before he even started checking monitors. Lock them in little boxes first and foremost, then worry about what to do to them.

Four of them were bullying Quillroque, slicing away clothing as the man blubbered and pleaded. Jack the Mouth was bleeding from somewhere, but Rusty didn't think he was missing any fingers or ears yet.

The other two…

He caught sight of one of them almost immediately, skulking along a corridor that would take him right to the stairs up. Up to this floor, of course.

All that was delaying him was the time it was taking to peer into every cubicle, to make sure no Holdoncorp employee still lived, cowering in hiding. Sword drawn, helmed head thrust forward, the Dark Helm was the very picture of confident menace.

Damn. Rusty looked wildly around, at monitor after monitor. He couldn't see the last of the six at all.

Had Mase or Sam or one of their men actually managed to take out one of the intruders, before getting killed?

Rusty doubted it. 'All in,' Hank called from behind him, and Rusty heard the heavy Brain Central door clank shut before he could even reply.

He looked around. 'Pete?'

'Y-yessir?'

Rusty pointed at the monitors. 'Find me the sixth one. Fast.'

Two strides took him to the phone, and he found himself ridiculously relieved to hear a dial tone when he slammed it against his ear.

There was no way these Dark Helms could get to the underground fiber optic bundle, to cut it, but he'd been beginning to fear they could do bloody anything.

He pushed the panic button, that got him straight to the police.

'Yo, Rusty! What's up?' The sergeant's voice sounded bored. 'Someone steal your corporate headquarters while everyone was on coffee break?'

Rusty sighed. 'Derek, this is serious. We're under attack. We have dozens dead. Repeat: dozens of fatalities. Six-'

'Under attack by what? A friggin' army?'

'Uh-' Rusty caught himself on the verge of saying 'hijackers.' How do you 'hijack' a computer company? An office building?

Right. Terrorists, then.

'Terrorists, six of them, and-'

Rusty paused again, deciding he wouldn't mention the lorn just now. The disbelief was strong and clear in the sergeant's voice; this wasn't the time to give the man any stronger ideas of introducing overworked security chiefs to looney bins.

'Like World War Two commandos,' he said instead. 'Only with swords.'