Mercenary Road

by Hideyuki Kikuchi

  A terrible sadness colored Zenon’s face. “We can discuss that later. There’s something I’d like to ask you.”

  “We’ve nothing to discuss,” D said firmly. “Let the girl go.”

  “How about joining forces with me?” asked Zenon. His tone was sincere. “As things stand, we’re pinned down. But if we had you along, it’d be a great help.”

  “Because you think a dhampir is bound to know about the mercenaries the Nobles made?”

  “That’s right,” Zenon said, nodding bashfully.

  “More than me, it’s the girl you need. She knows shortcuts and things like that.”

  “In that case, you’ll need her too. Let’s work together.”

  “What are you asking him like that for, Zenon? I’ll blow one of his arms off, and then he’ll listen to whatever you have to say!” Zack shouted from the loft.

  He was clearly mentally unstable. Quick tempered, wild, and impatient, he’d lived the kind of life those things embodied, and ultimately it was that which had brought him into contact with D.

  “Simmer down, Zack.”

  It wasn’t Zenon that cautioned the rifleman, but rather the man beside him—Yuri Tataika. While not as composed as Zenon, he still remained level headed.

  “How in blazes are we supposed to keep cool at a time like this? We’ve got freaking monsters in front of us and behind us! There’s no way in hell of telling when they’ll attack. Now our ace in the hole, Zenon, isn’t worth shit. And to top it all off, we’ve got a party after us.”

  “They’re in the same boat we are. Can’t you see that’s why Zenon’s saying we should join forces for the time being?”

  “Shut your pie hole! What are you gonna do if they stab us in the back while we’re shaking their hands? Hell, I’ve see the kind of shit bounty hunters pull!”

  The finger he had wrapped around the trigger was pulled back as far as it could go.

  “Zack!”

  The man being addressed simply went ahead and took things to the next level. Screaming like a lunatic, he pulled the trigger—but never finished. As he was shouting, Yuri had fired his crossbow at Zack. Bursting through the floor without losing any of its force, the arrow pierced Zack through the heart and came out his back. Even after the arrow had gone through him, the man’s impetus carried him forward. Like a marathon runner breasting the tape across the finish line, he sailed down to the ground. By the time he landed, he’d already breathed his last.

  Letting out a sigh, Zenon said, “Now, I’m not asking you to trust us just because of that, but you’ve got to know we’re talking straight with you.”

  “Let the girl go.”

  Shrugging his shoulders, Zenon pulled the knife away. Irene ran from him, circling around behind D.

  “I went looking for some medicine for Stanza. And then . . .”

  “Go back to the others.”

  Glaring at D as if he were a cold-hearted beast, the girl began to back away.

  After hearing her walk out the door, D asked, “So, what’s this talk of joining forces?”

  Relief skimmed across Zenon’s face.

  “You’re probably here to bring us in, but we know full well the death penalty’s waiting for us. Sorry, but we’re not going back. All we can do is run. Up ahead, though, the whole area is crawling with monsters. To be honest, we couldn’t cut our way through them on our own. And then along comes you. As soon as I saw your face, I thought to myself, God must really like me. What do you say to going to the ruins with us? The freaking mercenaries won’t go into their boss’s castle unless they’re summoned. Then all we have to do is wait until help arrives from the Capital. See, that’s where me and mine will just disappear in the confusion.”

  “You’d only be in the way.”

  “What?”

  “Two of my companions are already injured. I have no intention of picking up any more baggage.”

  “Well, we’re capable of taking care of ourselves.”

  “Then just go. After you leave the bank’s money, that is.”

  Zenon’s expression became that of a completely different person.

  “The job I took was to rescue anyone who might’ve taken shelter in the ruins. Since the supernatural soldiers have returned, their master probably lives again, too. As far as you folks are concerned, I was asked to take you down if possible and get the money back. There’s no need for us to fight.”

  Zenon closed his eyes.

  The hoarse voice was heard to say, “Oh, what have we here?”

  His eyes still shut, Zenon said, “Well, I beg to differ.”

  “Zenon?”

  D dashed forward, the wind swirling in his wake. Light limned an iridescent arc. From the very start, D hadn’t needed these outlaws. His blade zipped toward the top of Zenon’s head. Impossibly, the sword was parried! When did the outlaw draw? And when did he position his sword?

  Biting into the blade Zenon held up over his head, D’s sword wouldn’t move. Zenon grinned. D’s eyes gleamed. Not only were the two blades locked in combat, but the minds of the men were as well.

  D pushed. Zenon pushed back. As they vied for supremacy, their power reached its zenith. Just then, D’s sword broke. The parrying sword became a blade of death, making a diagonal slash at D.

  D leapt back. The tip of Zenon’s blade missed him by a hair—or so it appeared, but was that a trick of the light? In defiance of the laws of physics, the steely flash stretched . . . toward D’s shoulder. The fresh blood that gushed out was no illusion.

  On landing, D saw something: the caped Zenon leaping above his head. How would D parry that?

  —

  III

  —

  A harsh sound ripped through the twilight. Reversing his blade, Zenon shot a glance at what he’d just batted down, then immediately looked at his side. An iron arrow was stuck in the ground by his feet, next to Yuri—the one who’d fired it.

  “You trying to screw with me?” Zenon asked, and his voice had a ring of intoxication to it.

  “No!” Yuri exclaimed in fear-fraught denial. “That’s not what I wanted to do. I was just following your orders.”

  “My orders?”

  “Yeah, though it looks like you might not remember them.”

  “Yes, you’re right.” Zenon’s body suddenly grew uneasy. “I don’t remember.”

  His sword limned an arc larger than itself as he swung it up toward the loft. There was a low groan, and the sound of flesh and bone being rent. Bisected at the waist, a figure fell to the ground with a bloody spray.

  “Be careful—he came from above!” Yuri said, the steel string of his crossbow snapping into action. All five of the figures who’d smashed through the windows in the loft and were charging forward were then sent flying. They looked like skewered dolls.

  The roof shattered. More figures rained down, along with pieces of solar panels. A number of the soldiers were sliced in two in midair by gleaming arcs, while others split in half the instant they reached the ground.

  D had already leapt from the barn. As he cut across the yard, he grabbed a mattock from the ground and snapped off its iron head. He was left with a pole a little over two feet long.

  Figures in gray flew down from the roof of the main house. They held pipes in their mouths.

  Without seeming to move at all, D dodged the darts that flew silently at him. He thrust the pole straight out. The instant he caved one figure’s face in, he then swung his weapon around to catch five more. The force of the blows was like the impact of a sledgehammer. The figures in gray were brutally ripped apart.

  Untouched by the swirling vermilion fog, D entered the main house. From his left, his right, and up ahead blow darts flew at him. The silent weapons were batted down by a single swing of D’s pole. Not giving them time for a second volley, he leapt, swinging the pole as he landed. The three supernatural soldiers were helpless as he smashed in their skulls or pierced their throats. D knew no mercy.

  The Hunter boun
ded into the living room.

  “D?” Strider said, turning where he stood in front of the sofa with a naked blade in one hand. Not only was his chest covered with blood, but his face as well. Seeing the Hunter, he planted the end of his longsword in the floor and leaned on it. A sigh of relief escaped him.

  “What about the other two?” D asked.

  “Stanza’s back behind the sofa. I haven’t the faintest clue about the girl. I heard voices out back, but that was all.”

  “You screwed up,” the hoarse voice said. D shouldn’t have let her leave the barn.

  “Time to clear out.”

  Pushing the sofa over, D pressed the palm of his left hand against the nape of Stanza’s neck. A violent shudder went through her for a second, and then Stanza opened her eyes.

  “D?”

  “We’re surrounded. We’ll make a break for it.”

  “Okay.”

  Clinging to the sofa, Stanza pulled herself up. D didn’t offer to help her, and Stanza made no request for his aid. He didn’t even ask her if she could stand.

  Footsteps could be heard approaching from the back door. Strider braced himself for action.

  Zenon appeared, saying, “I took care of the barn and the backyard.”

  He was back to his normal self.

  “Whatever was possessing him has passed,” the hoarse voice said sarcastically.

  “This is Strider and Stanza. They’re with me. They’re warriors,” D said by way of introduction. “As for these two—well, you know who they are, don’t you?”

  “He’s Yuri Tataika, isn’t he?” Stanza said frostily.

  “And the other one—yeah, I remember seeing a wanted poster for him. Zenon something or other, right?” Strider said, his voice tinged with tension and delight. His probing look became one of suspicion.

  “Zack Morrowbak was killed by his friends,” said D. Ignoring the ever more suspicious looks from Strider, D told Zenon, “I have no intention of joining up with you. If you choose to follow us, that’s your business.”

  The two outlaws nodded. The situation D described would leave them free to stick a knife in his back, but they knew he wasn’t the sort of young man to worry about something like that.

  “Go upstairs and see what’s going on outside,” Zenon ordered Yuri.

  Without a word of complaint, the crossbowman headed for the stairs.

  “Now that they know we’re not pushovers, they’ll probably get to work on a plan, so we don’t have time to just hang around doing nothing. Let’s hit the road real quick. Right now, they’ll still be scattered.”

  “Without any horses?” Stanza protested.

  “Hell, we’ll take the family’s ride,” said Strider. “You know, the longer we flap our gums about this, the more time they’ll have to tighten their defenses!”

  “Their wagon has an engine,” Zenon said. “We can put boards all around the sides to keep out the blow darts. It’ll be crude, but it might be worth a try.”

  “Forget it.”

  They all turned in the direction from which the voice had come. Yuri was coming down from the second floor. His body was shrouded in a white fog . . . smoke. White smoke was pouring from Yuri’s body.

  “They took to the freaking air. I opened the window, and out of the blue . . .”

  They could all see the blow dart stuck in Yuri.

  “Damn, I’m hot! It’s gonna burn me right down to the bone. They’ve got you surrounded. You guys . . . better . . . watch it . . .”

  A second later, flames enveloped Yuri from head to toe and he fell to the floor. On striking it, he crumbled into fine ash.

  “Poison darts?” Strider groaned.

  “You mean to tell me that from the very beginning . . . ?” Stanza said, her voice tainted with fright.

  They’d been lucky.

  There were faint raps against the wall. It was as if hail or something like it had begun to fall. Except the roof was silent—it wasn’t falling from the sky.

  “Blow darts,” Zenon said, looking all around. White smoke was beginning to billow from the wall.

  “Seems like they work on more than just living things. I don’t know if even a boarded-up wagon would do much good.”

  “What’ll we do, D?”

  Their eyes all focused on the young man in black. He had kept his own eyes shut. And then he looked up.

  “You got a plan?” Strider asked, leaning closer.

  “I’ll tell you something,” D said. His response startled them, because the words had been delivered by a hoarse voice. “God will deliver us.”

  “What?”

  “Our salvation is in heaven above, friends.”

  They all looked up. Less than ten seconds later their eyes were back down and glaring at D, but another three seconds after that, the roof ripped open and something dropped from the raised ceiling. It was a brass communication capsule.

  At this point, everyone but D first noticed the sound of an engine in the sky above.

  Moving swiftly, D pulled the communication capsule from where it’d lodged in the wall by the stairs. At one end it tapered for eight inches like the tip of a harpoon. Twisting the other end opened it. Inside was a single piece of paper. As D opened it, three other pairs of eyes were trained on its surface. All of them had run over to him.

  The contents were simple. Scrawled on it were the words, Leave it to me! The note wasn’t even signed.

  Stanza coughed. Strider followed suit. The poison that was melting away the walls also had a gas component.

  The ground shook. Part of the wall and ceiling caved in. It was immediately apparent what was happening. At least three of them had recently had a similar experience.

  “Bombs!”

  D could feel the incredible turbulence being generated outside. Those he’d sensed surrounding the house now scattered in shock.

  “Here we go!” the Hunter called out, heading for the fallen wall. This was their nearest means of egress. He didn’t so much as spare a glance at the pair of warriors writhing in pain. The young man didn’t feel even a trace of fellowship with them. But then, that was understandable. They weren’t as gorgeous as D.

  D never stopped until he was out of the house. Mortar-shaped craters had been left across the site and on the highway. Darkness held sway. There wasn’t a supernatural soldier to be seen anywhere.

  Sparks shot up on the far side of the road. After they lent a reddish tinge to D’s face, there was a roar. Footsteps halted behind him, followed by a succession of coughs. Apparently everyone had managed to escape.

  “Seems they’re on our side,” Zenon said to the Hunter.

  D nodded. “There’s only the sound of one engine. Can’t be the military or a private defense unit.”

  “Well, we’ll see soon enough.”

  Just as Zenon spoke, there was the hum of an engine, and an object that called to mind a thick slice of ham came flying from the direction of the explosions. It was about six and a half feet in diameter and ringed by a metal handrail. It landed on the road five yards from D and the others. Judging from the way it kicked up dust and pebbles, it apparently had an engine and fan at its base.

  The craft was now facing them. The figure atop it dropped the yoke-style controls and extended a set of stairs off the right side before stepping down to the ground. With what appeared to be a heavy machine gun under one arm, he came toward them. Something like a long ribbon hung from the bottom of the gun and trailed across the ground. It was an ammo belt for the machine gun.

  “How’s tricks, everyone?” the man who halted before the group asked in an unguarded manner, but D alone recognized him. It was Beatrice, known for his husky voice, wild beard, and gigantic stature.

  THE WAY TO THE VAMPIRE CASTLE

  CHAPTER 6

  —

  I

  —

  About a thousand yards ahead, the highway ran into the forest. After loading Stanza and Strider onto Beatrice’s “flying platform” and telling t
hem to go on ahead, D entered the forest on foot with the outlaw. The horses Zenon and his men had stashed near the service area had been taken by the besieging forces.

  They soon found a place to make camp. It was a bungalow meant to keep travelers safe through the night. Constructed of reinforced plastic, the domed building could accommodate more than twenty people, and it was equipped with baths, restrooms, medicine, food, and weapons.

  Arriving at the bungalow a short time after the flying platform, D went straight into the storeroom, grabbed a longsword, and came out again. As this bungalow had been set up with Nobles and other nocturnal monstrosities in mind, there were no cheap knockoffs inside. Though the sword D chose had been mass produced, it was good enough to allow a novice to penetrate a fire dragon’s armor. And while it was a simple weapon, in D’s hands it would become the match of any of the famous swords of old.

  “Get some rest,” D told Strider and Stanza, and then, putting the longsword over his shoulder, he headed for the doorway.

  Just then, Beatrice stepped through the door. He’d probably been making adjustments to his flying platform. He was the one who’d spotted the bungalow from the air.

  “Hey, mister,” Stanza called out to him.

  “Yeah?” Beatrice responded, turning around. His hirsute face wore a lewd grin. His eyes were riveted to the lovely woman’s impressive chest.

  Ignoring this, Stanza continued, “A long time ago, I saw someone who looked like you. Back in my hometown in the western Frontier—there was this Hunter who took down five Nobles in Sierra de Cobre Castle all by himself. Ever since the day he came back to the village covered in blood, they’ve lived in peace. He was incredible. Was that . . .”

  “Yeah, that was me. All me,” Beatrice said, pointing a thumb at himself, his eyes gleaming.

  Seeing that he could barely keep from drooling, Stanza heaved a sigh. “Guess I was mistaken.”

  “Don’t be silly. I remember you, too. You know, you haven’t changed a bit. Yeah, that really takes me back.”

  “That was twenty years ago. I was four.”