She was speeding along the trail, standing on the pegs again as she slitted her eyes against the rain. Her face stung and her vision occasionally blurred, but she held the motorcycle to the course. She gained ground quickly, but knew she was going to arrive too late when she saw Roux lose the motorcycle. Roux and Avery tumbled across the ground, trying to get up even as Lesauvage and the remaining rider bore down on them.

Roux stood but appeared dazed. Avery didn't get up.

Lesauvage and the other rider roared past them and came around in tight turns, putting their motorcycles between Roux and the one he'd lost.

Roux fumbled for the assault rifle draped over his shoulder. Somehow he'd managed to hang on to it.

Lesauvage pulled his pistol from his shoulder holster and took aim. At that distance, there was no way he could miss.

"Lesauvage!" Annja screamed.

The other rider raised his assault rifle, bringing it up on a sling.

Annja hit the same rise that had dumped Roux and Avery. But she twisted the accelerator, gaining speed, then yanked back on the handlebars.

The motorcycle went airborne. Throwing her body sideways, Annja turned it with her, performing a tabletop aerial maneuver she'd seen on X Games.

Not wanting to be trapped under the weight of the motorcycle, Annja released it and kicked free of the pegs. The motorcycle rider dodged to one side as her bike crashed into his and they bounced away in a rolling mass that exploded into flames.

Annja landed hard on the ground. Out of breath, her lungs feeling paralyzed by the impact, she managed to push herself to her feet.

The motorcycle rider rose up on his knees, cursing foully. He pulled the assault rifle to his shoulder.

Without thinking, Annja summoned the sword and threw it.

Glittering in the sudden flare of lightning, the sword seemed to catch fire as it looped end over end. It struck the gunman full in the chest, driving him backward, his heart pierced by the blade.

For a moment, everything was frozen.

Lesauvage stared at the dead man in disbelief. Then he started laughing. "That was stupid!" he roared. "You threw away your weapon!"

From more than thirty feet away, Annja reached for the sword. It faded from sight where it still quivered in the dead man's chest.

The sword was in her hand.

The confidence drained from Lesauvage's features. He lifted his pistol and took a two-handed grip on it.

Annja rose, knowing it would do no good to run. He would only shoot her in the back. She held the sword in front of her, the blade bisecting her vision, her left foot in front of her right.

She thought about Joan of Arc dying on the pyre. Annja didn't want to die, but if she were going to and she couldn't die old and famous and in her bed with a man she loved, this was how she wanted it to happen, looking death in the eye.

"You brought a sword to a gun fight," Lesauvage sneered. He fired.

Annja saw the muzzle-flash rush from the pistol barrel. She even believed she saw the bullet streaking toward her, knowing there was no way it was going to miss her. She waited to feel it bite into her flesh.

But her hands moved instinctively, tracking the projectile. Incredibly, she saw sparks as the bullet hit the sword, felt the vibration race through her hands, then heard the bullet whiz within inches of her ear.

Annja was already moving toward Lesauvage instead of away from him. She threw herself into a flying kick, sailing above Lesauvage's next round, then lashing out with her left foot when she came within range.

The kick drove Lesauvage from his feet, knocking him backward. He lost the pistol before he slammed against the boulder behind him.

When Annja stood, she held the sword to Lesauvage's throat.

He stared at her over the blade as lightning blazed and burnished the steel. The sound of the rain drowned out everything but the hoarse rasp of their breathing.

"Kill him," Roux directed, limping up. Blood threaded down the side of his face, diluted by the rain.

"I can't," Annja said. She couldn't even imagine taking a man's life in cold blood.

"He would have killed you."

"He didn't."

"He tried to kill you."

Annja trembled slightly. "That wouldn't make killing him right."

Roux grinned and shook his head. "I hate moral complications. Wars and battle should be so much simpler." He bent down and picked up Lesauvage's pistol, taking time to wipe the mud from it. "You have to realize that you've made an enemy here."

"Like you did with Garin?"

"No, that's different," Roux said. "Garin made an enemy of me. If he had the chance to kill me, I truly think he would." He nodded toward Lesauvage. "This one, if he gets the chance, will kill you someday."

Annja lowered her sword and stepped back. She glared at Roux. "I'm not a murderer."

"There are," Roux said, "worse things to be." He shot Lesauvage between the eyes.

Lesauvage pitched forward onto his face. The back of his head was blown off.

"Thankfully," Roux continued as if he hadn't a care in the world, "I'm none of those things."

Annja wheeled on him, looking at him and realizing that she didn't know him, and certainly didn't know what he was capable of. She held her sword ready.

Roux tossed the pistol away and spread his arms, leaving his chest open to her attack. He smiled benignly. "Lesauvage still has other drug-crazed fools in the mountains tonight. Do you want to argue about this right now?"

Annja knew he was right. They still had to escape. "No," she said in a hard voice. "But we willtalk about this at a later date."

"I look forward to it," Roux said. "There's a lot you're going to have to learn. If you want to survive your destiny."

Ignoring him, Annja turned back to the two surviving motorcycles.

Avery Moreau sat huddled in a ball and looked consumed with fear.

She righted one of the motorcycles, threw a leg over, started it and looked back at the young man. "Come on. Let's get you safe."

Slowly, Avery climbed onto the motorcycle with her. He wrapped his mud-covered arms around her, shaking with terror as he held on.

Annja didn't wait to see if Roux could manage. Even though he was limping and banged up, she felt certain the old man could fend for himself. She accelerated and raced down the mountain, hoping to get out of the cold and the wet soon.

Epilogue

ANNJA CREED SWAM with an easy stroke. As soon as her feet touched the sandy bottom, she stood and walked out of the ocean. She was conscious of dozens of male spectators watching her, maybe wishing she'd gone topless instead of wearing the bright red bikini she had on, and for a moment she luxuriated in the harmless attention.

She crossed the beach, basking in the heat after the cool of the sea, knowing that her tan was unblemished by scratches or bruises. She had healed quickly from her minor injuries.

Annja thought the sword had somehow enhanced her, but Roux didn't believe that was true. He wished she knew who her parents were. But if anyone had ever known, all that information had been lost when New Orleans drowned during the hurricane in 2005.

Roux was sitting in a chaise longue near hers when she returned to her seat. A large, colorful umbrella shaded both chairs.

"Enjoying the afternoon?" Roux asked.

"Yes." Annja wrapped a towel around her waist and sat. "There's not much of it left."

"Ah, well," Roux said. "That only means the evening and all the nightlife won't be far behind."