Vampire Hunter D 16: Tyrant's Stars

by Hideyuki Kikuchi

  These thoughts were Matthew’s alone, and he could never speak of them to anyone. The harder they made his heart beat, the more dark anger he felt toward the trio he considered the source of their misfortunes, and now he’d begun festering inside. The decisive moment was when he’d noticed Sue admiring D. The count had been reduced to dust, and Duchess Miranda hadn’t returned after going into Galleon Valley with D. Now they had no one but D on whom to rely. However, Matthew’s perspective had become one of, “If only D weren’t here.” If he were to defend Sue on his own, surely she’d rethink her opinion of her brother and come to depend on him.

  There was a very good reason why he could entertain such a startling misconception. As strange as it seemed, since the trip began, the siblings hadn’t seen even one of the deadly battles D and the others had fought against the assassins. And since the inhuman nature of this conflict hadn’t sunk in, the Dyalhis children didn’t have a real sense of how terrifying their foes were. When they were taken from Marthias and carried off to Galleon Valley, no harm had been done to them. All of this could contribute to believing that they’d somehow manage even if D wasn’t around. That was the conclusion Matthew reached when he decided to defend his sister alone. He was intoxicated by the thought of being more than just her big brother.

  “We’ll reach the fortress in another hour,” D said to Matthew.

  The boy made up his mind. Looking straight at the Hunter, he said, “Would it be a problem if we didn’t go there?”

  “What do you mean by that?” D asked in return.

  Matthew already realized the mistake he’d made. This had nothing to do with whether you were male or female. Such beauty! As Matthew gazed, his brain became trapped in a wondrous fog and his heart began to hammer wildly. He could feel the very blood flowing through his veins. But stronger than anything was the impact of the eerie aura gusting at him. It made Matthew’s blood freeze, yet his mind still melted into a daze from D’s good looks.

  “It’s Sue—I wanna defend her. All by myself.”

  It was a miracle he even managed to say that much.

  “I have to protect the two of you,” D said. His tone was extremely soft. “That was the contract. Only the person who made it can nullify it. And she’s dead.”

  The boy was speechless.

  “But if that’s what you want to do, so be it.”

  From the Hunter’s left hand there was a cry of “Hey! ”—but D squeezed it into a fist and stared off to the west. Burning the edge of a barren, rocky mountain, the sun was about to set.

  “It’ll be the Nobles’ time soon,” D said.

  The remark wasn’t meant to threaten Matthew. He was merely stating a fact.

  Matthew shuddered. Fear of the night ran through Frontier people to the very marrow of their bones.

  “I’ll part company with you here. If you keep going straight, the fortress will come into view. You can turn back, camp out, or do whatever you like. I’ll be back for you at dawn tomorrow.” Giving a toss of his chin behind them, he continued, “I modified the car’s doors so they’ll follow your commands. I’ll leave it with you. Use it however you like.”

  “We don’t want the damn thing. Take it with you.”

  D was already in front of the covered wagon. The car silently followed behind.

  “Oh, damn you!” Matthew shouted, pulling on the reins and halting the cyborg horses. He was rather desperate.

  As D melted into the waves of the rapidly deepening twilight, the boy shouted at his back, “We’re never gonna have to count on you again. Don’t bother coming back tomorrow!”

  His cries were promptly swallowed by the darkness.

  II

  “Things have taken a strange turn. Or should I say an intriguing turn?” a voice murmured from the air.

  An invisible balloon with a light-bending coating floated a thousand feet above the ground—and in the gondola beneath it, the missionary Courbet was peering into a kind of periscope. Behind him were two of his compatriots—it was the preacher Curio and Callas the Diva.

  Curio had survived. When Eris’s deadly device created a small black hole, the preacher had narrowly managed to bring the tentacled tank to the well. Lucienne was concealed there, and she had aided him in his escape. However, his wounds were dire, and he lay in a bed to one side of the gondola. His throat and chest had been pierced by two of D’s needles, but the strength of the bulletproof glass had prevented them from finishing him off.

  Not even looking at him, Courbet said, “It would appear that the Dyalhis siblings have been abandoned by D. Or perhaps I should say they abandoned him? Well, it doesn’t matter which it is. At any rate,

  I was worried that we were going to have a problem if they holed up in the fortress, but now a perfect opportunity has presented itself.” Courbet gave a low snort. His eyes burned with malice. He still remembered the blow he’d taken from D in the village of Marthias. Now he was hell bent for vengeance.

  “They come all this way only to part company with D?” Callas said, her eyes seemingly filled with dreams as she gazed into thin air. “Not even they could be that stupid. This is some kind of trap to draw us out, right?”

  “It might be. But if it were me who was an hour away from taking refuge in the fortress, I’d find that a hundred times safer than setting some weird little trap. My take on it is that they had a fight and went their separate ways.”

  “So, what now?”

  “Our job is to dispose of the siblings. Lucienne is on the ground and has probably already captured them by now. Callas, you’ll accompany me to the surface.”

  “Three of us to deal with two children? Isn’t that overkill?” “Lucienne will dispose of the children. Our job is to provide a little insurance.”

  “How so?”

  “By going after D and slaying him.”

  For a second, the impact of this darkened Callas’s lovely features, but the unholy diva soon shook it off, saying, “With pleasure. I’ll most definitely accompany you.”

  She gave him an elegant nod. Then, she shot a quick glance over at Curio.

  “Leave him be,” Courbet said curtly. Not a hint of his former reverence toward the preacher remained. “Now he’s worthless. He’s just waiting to die; there’s no point in relying on him. We’ll head D off.”

  Thirty minutes later, the two of them entered the escape hatch and closed the door. When the sound of the door locking rang out,

  Curio opened his eyes. A golden glow filled his sockets, the light swallowing his eyeballs. Getting to his feet, he looked all around as if he couldn’t decide what to do.

  The very existence of the central Frontier had been forgotten, and D silently advanced on his horse through a desolate landscape where the wind seemed to dine on death, and it alone was on the prowl for a meal. On either side of the road stretched dull red plains and rocky crags, and occasionally on the crest of a hill or at the foot of a mountain the apparent remains of ancient structures could be found. Lost travelers would ask where they were, and on learning this was the central Frontier, they would invariably cock their head to one side and ask if there was any such place.

  It was said that the central Frontier had been wiped from human memory due to its land being nibbled away on all sides by the northern, southern, eastern, and western sectors. Topographically speaking, that was correct, but people liked another story better. They said that brutal battles had been fought here specifically to expunge the place from the memories of every living being. Over the millennia, this attempt had proved successful. Now, no one but those called elders knew of the central Frontier’s existence.

  Twilight had given way to a darkness that grew even thicker and heavier, as if to mire those who traveled through it. After D walked another ten paces or so, a bizarre event occurred. To either side of the road, where not so much as a single blade of grass grew, there were suddenly tiny, but brilliant, points of light. They were the flames of candles set in bronze dishes, and the rows of lights
burning to either side of D were held up in the air by white marble pedestals. When the dozens, nay, hundreds of candles to either side of it appeared, the highway had started giving off a hard ring—the hooves of the cyborg steed were clomping against a marble road. And up ahead in the distance—in what had been a barren wasteland—there suddenly appeared the colossal shape of what was apparently a building.

  “Is that the fortress?” a low voice asked. It was far closer to the building than D, in a thick forest that hadn’t been there previously. The marble road ran through it.

  “When was this place built? What was the purpose of this fortress?” The first voice belonged to Courbet, while the second was that of Callas. Both of them were concealed behind a colossal tree of a variety they didn’t recognize. Judging from its trunk, it seemed to have been there since ancient times.

  “It’s said that, fearing the wrath of Grand Duke Valcua, those three Nobles constructed it.”

  “What a foolish thing to do. Our lord Valcua could blow something like that away with a single breath.”

  It was rare for this lovely woman to compliment anyone, even if it was Valcua in this case. Surprise showed in Courbet’s eyes as he stared at Callas, saying, “I wouldn’t necessarily say that. The fortress incorporates the Sacred Ancestor’s technology.”

  “Dear me!”

  Though the science of the Nobility had peaked five millennia earlier, there was another type of super-advanced technology, the Sacred Ancestor’s technology, which used physical laws not even the Nobility could comprehend. No one save the Sacred Ancestor understood the fundamental principles, but he permitted the Nobility, who generally understood how to use it, to incorporate his technology.

  “But the Sacred Ancestor’s technology was sealed away at one point, and everything that made use of it was destroyed.”

  Callas gave Courbet a pointed look. The missionary averted his gaze. For an instant the murderous malice that choked his brain was gone, transformed into something that was difficult to believe: grief.

  “It’s believed that was when the decline of the Nobility, as a race, began. Among the Nobles, many felt with the Sacred Ancestor’s

  technology they might’ve staved off that decline for another ten thousand years, and they suspected that perhaps the Sacred Ancestor was trying to hasten the Nobility’s deterioration.”

  “And what did the Sacred Ancestor do?” Callas asked intently. While they served a Noble and possessed incredible abilities, Courbet and Callas were not Nobles themselves, and they were not completely familiar with Nobility history.

  “Not a blessed thing. He’s not the sort of little man who needs to respond to every complaint. Also, there was no one to confront him directly. But as for what I think—hmm, I’d have to say the Sacred Ancestor chose destruction.”

  “And you mean to tell me our lord Valcua did nothing?”

  “That’s the problem!” Courbet said, his expression displaying his confusion. “When the Sacred Ancestor’s technology was locked away, the great Valcua was still hale and hearty here on Earth. He should have been foremost among the protesters. Word has it you could count on both hands the number of Nobles who complained to the Sacred Ancestor... and it’s said that our lord Valcua actually went to the Capital for an audience with the Sacred Ancestor.” Callas’s lovely features were filled with more interest and curiosity than ever before.

  “And?” she asked in a parched voice.

  “And nothing. Less than an hour after they met, Valcua left the Sacred Ancestor’s manse, returning to the Frontier that same day. To this very day, no one knows what they discussed. But I’ve heard that our lord Valcua—who was already terribly cruel to begin with— then went truly mad.”

  “Would that be around the time he had the fetuses ripped from the bellies of every pregnant woman on the Frontier and then tom to pieces? Ah, that is so like him,” the diva said with a light, seductive laugh.

  Courbet stared at her with a faintly disturbed expression, saying, “That fortress makes use of the Sacred Ancestor’s technology. It’s said to be the only use the Sacred Ancestor had no complaint about. Valcua himself says so.” “Now that you mention it—we were wiped out before this fortress was built, weren’t we? Wiped out by Valcua’s own hand.”

  Actually, the fortress had been constructed after the tragedy with Valcua had played out, as the whole purpose of the fortress was to guard against his vengeance should he come back. That point seemed to utterly elude the minds of the pair.

  “At any rate, it won’t do to have them get inside the fortress. Fortunately, D and the children have parted company. This is the perfect opportunity to accomplish our goal!” Looking back in the darkness at the fine, pale beauty of the diva, Courbet told her, “D will be coming soon. Give him a song.”

  He brought his hands up to his ears and put in earplugs. Nodding, Callas opened her mouth without any hesitation. What came out was like a breeze that carried both the melody and the words. From the way her song behaved, it might’ve been more accurate to call it a fog, for it traveled through the entire forest, permeating the place. In no time, she shut her mouth and touched Courbet on the shoulder.

  “Good enough,” Courbet said with a nod, pulling a lumpy object from a pocket on his robe and setting it on the ground. “I’ve already told you what to do, right? Get going.”

  Bowing its little head, it dashed off down the highway with a speed that startled even Callas. It looked like a little human, complete with arms and legs.

  III

  D halted his steed.

  Fifteen feet or so ahead on the marble road, a kind of midget ran out of the forest on the left-hand side and stopped right in the middle of the road. Less than eight inches tall, he was dressed in a long robe and trousers, and on his head he wore a brimless, boxlike hat.

  “You’re D, aren’t you?” the midget said in an ear-piercingly shrill voice as he looked up at the Hunter. “I’m the missionary Courbet. We met once in the village of Marthias. Do you remember me?” “Where’s the real one?” D asked the midget—the fake Courbet.

  “Don’t talk nonsense. I am Courbet,” the midget shouted, his already narrow eyes rising menacingly. “And I’ve come here to slay you. You’d best prepare to meet your maker.”

  The Hunter said nothing.

  “Forget going to the fortress and fight me here. I’ll crush the life from you now.”

  As he said this, he staggered and let out a groan. A stark needle had pierced him between the eyes, poking out through the scruff of his neck. But given his size, it seemed more like a thick stake.

  Without a backward glance at the midget, who’d fallen so easily, D turned his gaze toward the forest on the other side of the road, where the figure had emerged. It was a look that could shake even stone.

  There was a flash of light at his back. He’d drawn his sword. He remained just like that, motionless. His blade hung in the air.

  From behind a tree, Courbet and Callas continued staring at the gorgeous young man. Courbet was shaken. In the village of Marthias, he’d taken a blow from D’s sword. The pain of that, however, was child’s play compared to the ghastliness of the unearthly aura that radiated in their direction from the young man. Courbet had been through hell more than once slaying many of Valcua’s foes, including Nobles, but now he was so scared he was about to faint. Although he’d escaped by a hair’s breadth—his power working its magic to manipulate a small hot-air balloon up in the air with great difficulty as he fled—the pain and high fever that had him screaming that night in a disgraceful fashion were due more than anything to his nightmares of a gorgeous young man staring him down with sword in hand. And now the Hunter turned that same gaze in his direction. The unearthly aura that radiated from every inch of the young man passed through a tree trunk so large it would take two men to get their arms around it. Courbet’s blood froze, leaving the missionary utterly paralyzed.

  “He’s so ... so fearsome,” Callas said, and on the inside Co
urbet was violently nodding his agreement.

  They heard birds chirping—not just one or two. There were hundreds or perhaps even thousands of them, all crying out in unison. All the sleeping birds had been awakened by D’s unearthly aura. The trees rocked as if blown by a storm, and there was a terrific beating of wings as countless forms took to the air. Courbet and Callas could only look up awestruck, as the night sky became the stage for an enormous flock of wildfowl.

  “A beautiful... monster,” Callas moaned as if approaching climax.

  Just then, a keen sensation split the night air. The birds fell noisily from the sky. At the peak of their maddened dance, they’d all been rendered unconscious with a word from D. Simultaneously, the pair in the forest let out cries of terror from the very depths of their hearts—hardly appropriate for two assassins.

  D leaped from his steed’s back.

  “Run for it, Callas!” Courbet shouted, and he was about to run himself when above him there came one, two, three deadly bounds— and D crashed down through the tree branches with his sword held high before bringing the blade whizzing down into the missionary’s head. Or so it appeared for a second, but the blade changed direction and severed the black band that had wrapped around D’s chest. A vine. The vines clinging to the trunks of the stand of trees had wrapped around D’s sword to stay his hand.

  Watching Courbet and Callas flee, D swung his sword once again. All the vines were cut in two, and D went after the pair of assassins. But vines coiled around his waist and shoulders like serpents.

  “Leave ’em to me,” his left hand said.

  Several of the vines restricting his right arm were seized in his left hand, instantly bursting into flame. Once more D’s sword flashed out, slicing away the rest of the vines, and he advanced.

  A succession of explosions rang out. Fire welled up by the roots of the trees surrounding D. It was the work of explosives set by Courbet and Callas.