Happy Sunday, all!

So sorry for the lack of post last week. I was away and I was hoping the internet would be more reliable, but that wasn't the case. But, enough excuses. Let's get back to it, shall we? I just hope this chapter was worth the wait.

Enjoy!

Linny

Chapter Fifteen

Allende stood on top of the steps that led into the Capitán's office. The yard was silent as his men kept watch.

The de la Vega's party had come at an opportune time. The longer Gilberto remained in a jail cell, the faster that stubborn and saintly Captain would get him to break. He continued to show mercy to the prisoner when all it would take was a firm hand. Luckily, that was not a tactic their righteous Comandante believed in.

But, that was only lucky for Allende. Gilberto was a problem and he needed to be disposed of.

He hadn't done it as soon as the rest of the soldiers had left just in case one had returned at an inopportune time. No, he'd waited until the fiesta had been in full swing with little chance he would be discovered.

The men that remained wouldn't give him any trouble. He'd made certain of it. They had all joined the cause and understood that one life was meaningless in the grand scheme of things.

Grinning at his own cunning, he crossed the yard, glancing up at the two men at the highest peaks of the cuartel. They were to alert him if anyone was approaching. Another was stationed in the guardhouse and there was one final one who stood guard over the jails.

His plan would make perfect sense. With only five soldiers on duty, it was quite plausible that Gilberto would have managed to outsmart the jailer and overpower the rest. After all, he had constructed a plot to assassinate the Comandante—for all they knew—on his own. It was too perfect.

Approaching the cells, he ordered the guard to open the door.

Gilberto, who sat on his cot, looked up at the sound of the key turning in the lock. "What is this?" he asked curiously as he glanced between the two men.

"What was promised, amigo."

Gilberto was skeptical, of course, but that didn't prevent him from getting up from his cot and apprehensively walked through the opened door. "I don't understand."

Allende grinned. "You will."

By the flick of the Lieutenant's wrist, Gilberto was on his knees—forced down by the jailer. Panic instantly set in his eyes as he turned his head to stare up at the uniformed officer. "I didn't tell him anything. I swear it."

"I know." Allende removed his gloves and tucked them into his belt before revealing a pistol. He admired the craftsmanship of the weapon—the way the moonlight glinted off of the metal, the detailed filigree on the handle. It had been a gun that had seen a great deal of death in its time. Smiling again, he met Gilberto's terrified gaze. "And now, you never will." He pulled back the hammer and aimed. He reveled in the moment as he saw the other man's body tremble with fear. He could smell his sweat and noticed the familiar glisten of tears in his eyes.

The guard forced Gilberto's head back down, chuckling at the events unfolding in front of him.

"Please, no. Please, no. Please..." Gilberto continued to mutter the words as his body became wracked with sobs.

But, Allende either pretended not to notice or was simply enjoying the other man's pain. "Adiós, my friend." He pulled in a deep breath as he took aim, his finger settling on the trigger as he slowly released it. He squeezed, but the shot went wide and a burning sensation began at the back of his hand. A streak of crimson blood contrasted against his white skin and a small blade rested on the ground a few feet away from him. It was one he recognized.

Searching for the source of it, he followed the path it had traveled until he was met with a figure clad all in black. "You!" he spat the word out like a curse.

The figure said nothing; merely bowed in his direction as the guards on the rooftops made their way over toward him.

Allende quickly reloaded his pistol and aimed in the direction of the masked intruder, but he moved too quickly to fire off a shot. "After him," he ordered the jailer as they watched the masked bandit traverse the roofs on light feet in the direction of the barracks. The man moved with such little effort, it was as if his feet never touched the tiles underneath him. He was a specter in the night.

Growling, Allende momentarily returned his attention to his original prey. "This is all your fault!" he growled as he began to circle Gilberto, like a mountain lion prowling after its next meal. "If you had successfully killed the Comandante, we would not be in this predicament." He pressed the hot barrel of his recently fired gun against the other man's cheek as he kept track of their intruder with his peripheral vision. Gilberto cried out in pain, but Allende paid little attention. His men were holding their own, but they would fail; he knew it. The soldiers of this garrison were so poorly trained that they wouldn't be able to keep him at bay for long.

"How was I to know that Zorro would interfere?" Gilberto's tears had returned more forcefully.

"You should have taken it into consideration, idiota. Now, we've got him on our tail and Estevez is still alive. You've failed us, brother, and now you must pay the price." He returned the pistol to the back of his prey's head and aimed.

"Open the gates!" the familiar call of the Capitán sounded from the other side of the wall. "Open the gates!"

The man in the guardhouse stepped out, glancing toward the Lieutenant for instructions.

But, he couldn't give it. At that moment, Gilberto's fight or flight response finally kicked in as he jumped to his feet and began to make a break for the main gate. Without hesitation and none of the flair he'd originally intended, Allende fired.

Gilberto fell and didn't get back up.

"By order of the Comandante, open the gates!"

With a grunt of aggravation, he signaled for the guard to open the gate. He then drew his saber and charged toward the interloper as he continued to overpower the rest of the soldiers.

Zorro didn't know what he expected to see when the gates opened, but the handful of soldiers fighting against the impostor while a man lay motionless in the center of the cuartel was not it. Dismounting from Tornado, he urged his steed outside of the gates and pulled his rapier from its scabbard.

He approached Gilberto's fallen form, noticing how still he was. No movement, no breath, no heartbeat; he was dead. The question on his mind was: who had pulled the trigger?

Footsteps approached and he looked up to find the Captain hovering over him. "Zorro?"

"He's been shot."

"I need to restore order in my garrison," Ramon growled, angrily.

"And I shall deal with my doppelganger," the bandido replied as he returned to his feet. The impostor was holding the soldiers at bay over on the second level of the barracks but there was a ladder near the stable. On quick feet, he crossed the yard and was halfway up the ladder before the impostor realized.

With Zorro closing in on him, he was cornered. There would be no escape. He searched for a clear path. Zorro was coming up from behind while the soldiers continued to stand their ground. They weren't as skilled with their swords as he was, yet there were still more of them.

He pushed them back toward the stairs, giving himself more room. Zorro remained at his back, not attacking, but studying him. The man fought with a skill that only the finest fencers in the world had. This was a man that hadn't learned with minor duels among his companions, but a man who had been taught by someone with just as much skill.

The soldiers had been pushed to their limit. With one final push, they were down, giving the impostor the chance to escape. He turned to face the outlaw with his rapier raised in defense. Zorro took his own stance and waited for a strike that would never come.

Instead, he jumped up onto the banister, balancing on it as he put his sword away. Then, with another leap, he jumped toward the flagpole. He grasped the rope and rode it down the pole to the ground.

Zorro was impressed by his athleticism. He'd been holding his own against the soldiers for quite some time and still, his stamina didn't waver. He continued to run around the cuartel, fighting off another back of drunken soldiers. They went quickly down due to their inebriated states.

Allende had remained in the yard, his saber still drawn as he watched the soldiers fail at every opportunity to capture their quarry. He took a defensive stance and waited to be acknowledged by the man in the hood. The impostor didn't hesitate to re-draw his sword. As soon as the blade was released from its scabbard, he lunged at the man in uniform.

From his perch, Zorro watched the battle ensue. No longer did the man in the mask look like he was fighting to make his escape. Now he was fighting to kill.

There was anger and aggression with every slash and while Allende had managed to block every single one, he was pushed back one step and then another with every hit. When the Lieutenant got the opportunity to parry, he did so with the same amount of anger and hatred. This was a battle that carried a past.

These two had met before, Zorro concluded. And it didn't look like one was going to go down without killing the other.

Allende lunged, catching hold of the guard of the man in the hood with the tip of his sword and relieving the man of his weapon. "Here we are again, my friend," he growled, "but this time, you won't survive." He lunged again.

The impostor swiveled out of the way and grabbed for the hand Allende still gripped his weapon with. With one hand, he twisted it hard enough that it landed at an awkward angle. Allende dropped his sword with a cry of pain.

The hooded man then came up behind him, one of his knives in his gloved hands. He pressed the blade directly against the Lieutenant's neck.

From where he stood, Zorro did not hear him speak, yet the garrison was so quiet that they all would be able to hear a pin drop. The hooded man glanced around at his surroundings. All eyes were fixed on him now and it looked like he was mentally calculating what it would take for him to make his escape if he were to slit Allende's throat.

His odds of escape were very low and he seemed to think better of it. For only a few seconds. There was a quick slash with his knife and a spray of crimson before he shoved Allende aside.

He rushed to pick up his sword, then climbed the ladder to the roof of the stables—a path Zorro knew all too well.

Zorro was almost trampled as the soldiers he had been fighting broke off to chase after the impostor. They were quickly dispatched and the masked intruder was able to slip away over the wall.

Zorro only caught a glimpse of the horse he rode as he disappeared over the darkened horizon.

"Never mind Zorro," Ramon told his men as he rushed to Allende's side, "chase after the other one."

The two men's eyes met briefly and an air of respect flowed through them. It would only be this one time Estevez would allow him to get away. The next time, justice would prevail.

Zorro acknowledged him with only a nod of his head and the soldiers retreated to their horses. With a whistle, he did the same. Yet, before the soldiers had been able to fully mount up, he and Tornado were already on the move.

He road Tornado hard over the hills. The animal gave no protest as his master bowed low over his neck and pressed his legs harder into his sides. Tornado understood his purpose and ran as fast as he could.

Crossing over the next ridge, the vigilante pulled back on the reins and paused. His steed shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another at the sudden stop. They'd lost sight of the impostor soon after leaving the pueblo and it was becoming far too dark to follow any tracks he would have left.

The horse he rode was extremely fast. Tornado could barely keep up and had fallen behind.

Zorro couldn't believe it. Only one horse could have outpaced Tornado; the white stallion he'd had in Monterrey—Phantom. He'd been a warhorse belonging to a fallen officer Don Diego and Bernardo had come across while visiting the pueblo by the sea. He'd never thought he would find an even faster horse.

Tornado's ears twitched at a sound in the distance. His great, black head turned to see into the darkness.

Zorro saw it then, too. The gray dappled mare he'd seen in the pueblo a few days before. It was the wild one the two men had been trying to wrangle in. Its rider was in control now as the impostor sat in the saddle. The wild beast was long gone and a tamed creature now raced over the landscape ahead of them.

Tornado snorted impatiently. His rider patted his neck in a soothing nature. "What do you think, boy? Should we follow him?" Would it even be worth it? He wondered.

The soldiers weren't too far behind; he could hear their thundering hoofbeats in the distance. Yet, the thrill of the chase was exhilarating and it had been far too long since the last time they had faced off a challenger such as this.

His blood pumped quickly through his veins as he felt the electric-like excitement dancing within him.

Tornado shifted underneath him again, feeling that same energy. He snorted and pawed anxiously at the ground. He was up for a challenge.

"Alright," Zorro agreed, "Let's go."

The black horse whinnied and reared up on his hind legs before breaking into a sprint. The bandit on his back leaned close to his body, allowing him to pick up more speed.

The two animals raced across the terrain. It was almost like a game to the other rider as he allowed Tornado to catch up to him, then breaking away to leave the bandit and his horse in the dust.

He was uncertain just how long he'd trailed the impostor, but it was long enough for him to tell that the gray dappled was slowing. She'd been run hard over the hills and Tornado could now keep a steady pace. The impostor urged his steed to go faster, but she just couldn't do it.

Now, it was time for Zorro to make his move. He released the reins and stood up in the stirrups. Timing his move just right, he jumped. He made impact with the other rider, knocking him from the saddle. Both of them landed hard onto the ground, rolling until their momentum slowed.

That had hurt, Zorro thought to himself as the wind was knocked out of him and a sharp pain raced through his entire body. Taking a moment for it to dissipate, he pulled in a few deep breaths and climbed to his feet.

The other man said nothing as he did the same. The two circled each other, hands on the hilts of their swords. Neither brandished them yet, though. They were each sizing up their opponent, which is when Zorro noticed their height difference. The hooded man stood inches below him. Was this man only a boy?

"I have been waiting for this moment, señor impostor," Zorro told him as he untied his cloak and tossed it to the ground. The hooded man said nothing as he stood his ground. "Your time in Los Angeles is over." He was the first to pull his sword from its sheath.

The hooded man followed suit, remaining silent. It wasn't the oddest thing about this man, but it was one of note. He would say no words, yet his intentions were clear. His blade twirled through the air while he prepared his arm and settled into his stance.

Zorro did the same, pulling in a deep breath before lunging forward. Their swords flashed like lightning in the night. The freshly-sharpened steel of both weapons sent out sparks as they met.

The impostor was just as skilled as he'd believed. He held a firm stance and carried a good form. He was certainly a match for El Zorro, but the outlaw was still considerably better. With a well-timed parry, he used his free hand to pull out the dagger he kept tucked inside the banda at his back. Swiftly, he slashed at his opponent's passive arm, victorious when he felt steel meet flesh.

It would be short-lived. While he expected the outcry of pain that came from underneath the bandana-like mask, he didn't expect its high pitch. He froze, his eyes shooting up to meet the only visible body part of the masked vigilante standing in front of him. How had he not noticed before? How wide they were, their soft shape, the way they curled up at the corners. They were not a man's eyes. Nor a boy's.

His distraction gave the bandit the chance to escape. Tucking her arm to her chest, she rammed into him, knocking him to the ground. She saluted him like a well-trained fencer would by lifting her blade up straight in front of her face and quickly returned to her horse while putting her blade away.

The animal was already in motion before she was completely in the saddle. Still stunned, he watched as they vanished into the night like ghosts.