“Now that you mention it, all I see lying here are guys in gray. You know, sometimes you start sounding like an old geezer, right out of the blue.”
Without warning, D halted. “They’ve been drained,” he murmured.
“Just like in the legends,” the old geezer’s voice responded.
This is a hell of a time to be doing a ventriloquist act! Beatrice thought. Is this some of that stand-up comedy like they do in the towns down south?
“What legends?” Beatrice asked, with a bad feeling all the while.
The hoarse voice replied, “They say that while Dorleac’s son drank blood like a normal Noble, the Grand Duke sucked life directly from his prey. In other words, he was an aberration. One theory is that it was the grand duke’s manner of feeding that put him on the Sacred Ancestor’s bad side.”
“So, no love for the freak? . . . Huh?” Beatrice exclaimed, turning his gaze to his left at the same time D faced that way.
A wind blew at them, or something like a wind. Was it someone’s aura?
The barricades that shielded the encampment were all being destroyed by it. Beyond them, there was someone. No, something.
“Unbelievable,” Beatrice said, shuddering. Behind his teeth, he began chanting something. A spell for trapping spirits.
D simply stared, saying nothing.
Footsteps were approaching from the darkness. Though whoever it was should’ve felt D’s unearthly air, the figure didn’t seem to hesitate.
D’s eyes could see clearly. They made out a caped figure nearly seven feet tall. From either hand dangled what were apparently soldiers. He gripped them by the belts of their uniforms. Each step across the ground sounded like a spade cutting into the earth.
The figure in the dark green cape loomed about ten feet from D.
“Who are you, that you might enter the land of death I’ve prepared without any fear?”
“I’ll have your name first.”
At D’s reply, the figure in green shivered faintly. “Such an exquisite voice—and what lovely features. Perhaps I shall have to fight you blind. O beauteous and fearless one, I am Grand Duke Dorleac.”
“I’m known as D.”
“Never heard of you. But I couldn’t be happier! How pleasing, that a treasure like you has been born in the last five millennia. This far-too-tedious world still has its graces, it would seem.”
“Why have you returned?” D asked bluntly.
“That I don’t know,” the giant in green—Grand Duke Dorleac—replied, his tone becoming distant. “Would that I’d been left at rest. But I’m not without my suspicions.”
“And they would be?”
“My son Drago has also come back. It’s likely due to that.”
“You intend to slay your son?”
“My son is out to get me, just as in days of yore. And for that we incurred the wrath of the Sacred Ancestor.”
“Why do the two of you fight?”
The grand duke’s lips twisted, revealing his pearly teeth. The trenchant fangs characteristic of the Nobility were absent, for he had no need of them.
“I’m quite proud of these teeth, you know. They’re much nicer than my son’s.”
Unexpectedly he raised his right hand high. The soldier he grasped stirred feebly. Apparently both were still alive.
“It’s a woman,” Beatrice croaked. It seemed he could also see quite well at night.
D’s eyes had made out the lines of the pale woman trapped in the darkness. The grand duke’s mouth approached her half-opened lips. A purplish glow linked the two of them. But it wasn’t from the grand duke—it came from the female soldier.
The mercenary had weathered brutal training with her womanly curves intact, but in the blink of an eye that softness was gone, exposing the underlying bones. At the same time, her skin lost its luster and yellowed, and she grew covered with time’s malicious gifts—wrinkles. Though the transition seemed to occur endlessly, it actually took less than a second. The desiccated female soldier fell to the ground with a dry snap.
“He sucked the life right out of her,” the hoarse voice groaned.
“Men may be more filling, but it’s the women that taste the best,” the grand duke remarked, lifting the soldier in his left hand—also female—up to his lips. But his weird consumption was halted by D’s voice.
“These troops—your son’s forces—made off with a woman. Where is she?”
“A very good question. We may be family, but at present we’re also foes. I have no idea what he’s doing. So, it’s a mortal woman he made off with? When we hit them, I believe I’ll take the woman as well.”
“One thing more. When your soldiers came back, some people took refuge in your castle. Are they safe?”
“I believe so—if they’re in the castle. Come with me.” In the darkness he grinned, saying, “But first, let me finish this second one off—”
Just then, the grand duke looked overhead. A supernatural bird was swooping down at him—an ominous creature beloved of the pitch-black night. It glided on outspread black wings, and it had something longer and sharper than talons aimed at the top of the Noble’s head.
The grand duke opened his mouth—almost as if the beauty of the supernatural bird descending on him had entranced him—and from his mouth he discharged a glistening jewel. Before the green jewel could sink into the Hunter’s forehead, the sword cut through it. An explosion of light turned night into day, and D was thrown back. He landed some thirty feet away, and smoke poured from his body.
The grand duke’s laughter rolled across the death-strewn battlefield.
“Most impressive. You parry the energy of a thousand lives with a sword, of all things, and come off no worse than that? Well, time for a second wave.”
The Noble raised his right hand high. However, his arm fell off at the shoulder, crushing the neck of the desiccated female soldier with a grave sound. The grand duke’s unearthly air became one of terror when black blood bubbled and dripped from the wound.
“You—you’ve taken a Noble’s arm off at the shoulder . . . Who are you?”
“D.”
The grand duke heard the reply at his chest. The speed with which the Hunter had bridged the distance between them was startling; the Nobleman didn’t even know when his adversary had assumed a stance or made his thrust. A blade the hue of darkness now pierced the life-sucking demon through the chest and out the back. Releasing the woman in his left hand, the grand duke staggered.
“You bastard . . . you ran me right through my most vital point,” Dorleac said, and then he smiled. “But that won’t slay me. You see that by now, don’t you?”
Had any foe of D’s ever been so smug?
“Try to take my left arm,” he said, his mouth snapping open, his throat revealed.
—
II
—
Once more the power of the lives he’d taken shot out. A green globe a mere two inches in diameter sank into D’s forehead, intent on incinerating him.
“What?”
Eyes agleam with reflected green light betrayed tumultuous shock as they gazed at the fireball fading into thin air. In a fraction of a second, the mass had vanished, and the mouth that’d swallowed it had closed. Lowering the left hand he’d held out in front of his brow, D pushed against the sword he was still holding through Grand Duke Dorleac’s chest.
A strange roar that sounded like massive artillery split the night. The grand duke’s body was sent flying like so much twisted shrapnel. The twenty yards he sailed was twice D’s distance. The Nobleman knew of nothing that could hurl his titanic form so far with such ease. Landing on his feet, he found the ground that supported him had sunk substantially. Cracks ran off in all directions, like a spider’s web.
“You have a power to rival the life force that remains within me—so, who in damnation are you?”
Not answering, D made a sweep with his left arm. But his rough wooden needles were batted down with a single flour
ish of the grand duke’s cape.
Neither of them had lost even the slightest intention of fighting. D held his sword at eye level and aimed right at his foe, apparently anticipating the grand duke’s next shot, but the Nobleman’s mouth was shut tight.
Just then, a lone bat flitted down and landed on the grand duke’s shoulder. The Noble’s cruelly elegant countenance flooded with a blood-freezing look of malice.
“This duel must wait,” the Nobleman said.
And with that, the bat took off. As the bat ascended with a speed unimaginable, the grand duke clung to its feet with his left hand. Apparently the bat was not of this world. A few flaps of its wings and it’d risen a good fifty yards to meld with the darkness.
“Well, he got away!”
D asked the hoarse voice, “Did you hear that?”
“Yep. Damned if it didn’t say something about his kid throwing down the gauntlet,” the left hand replied, for it had no trouble deciphering the bat’s voice that even D couldn’t make out. “Father and son both do things big—so, what’s your next move?”
“Look for Irene, then set off for the castle.”
“Hmm. Think finding her’s gonna be that easy?”
“I’ll search for an hour, and if I haven’t found her by then, that’s the end of it.”
“Isn’t that pretty cold?”
“My work is up at the castle.”
The Hunter’s bizarre one-man dialogue was interrupted by a certain warrior, who said, “Hey, I’m going too, D!”
“Do as you like,” D replied.
“But what about the others?” Beatrice asked. He was referring to Strider and Stanza, who were still back at the rest area.
“If they don’t come, we get their share. I would think that’d appeal to you.”
“Galloon galloon!” Beatrice exclaimed, expressing his thanks with words from an ancient people now long vanished. The gigantic warrior was beaming. Apparently he liked the way the conversation had turned.
“Well, time to start searching?” the warrior asked.
—
Zenon opened his eyes. Above him, he saw a strange sight: a girl with a big chunk of stone raised high above her head.
When their eyes met, the girl grimaced, asking, “Are you okay?”
“I think so,” Zenon replied, putting his hand against his feverish shoulder where the baronet had cut him. The bleeding had stopped. This waking was the same as always. It was his doing.
What happened, then? he thought, even though he really didn’t want to know.
“How about you put that down?” the outlaw said to Irene, who was still holding the stone.
“I think you’ve got a point. I’ve been holding it like this for two minutes. My arms are getting tired.”
Given a good toss, the chunk of stone landed to the right of Zenon’s face. Irene let out a deep breath.
Zenon sat up. His muscles and nerves screamed with agony. He managed to express the pain with no more than a slight tightening of his cheeks as he tried to get to his feet.
“It’s too soon for that!” Irene told him, stopping him. Her desolate tone made Zenon stare at her.
“What happened?” he said, not wanting to ask, What did I do?
Irene lowered her gaze. “The other you threatened me. He told me he was going to lay low for now. And he said I was free to run if I liked, but if I tried to hurt him, he’d make me pay.”
He didn’t imagine that was all it’d taken for her to want to bash his brains in. Wanting to know what had transpired after the Nobleman split his shoulder open, he once again asked, “What happened?”
Shutting her eyes, Irene leaned back against a nearby pile of rubble. It was probably part of the collapsed ceiling. Given that they could build palaces that stood up to a direct hit from a hydrogen bomb, the Nobility were funny. Decay seemed to be one of their tastes.
“There,” the girl said, pointing to the right—the direction from which the intruders had come.
Zenon stood up. His legs wobbled, and intermittent bouts of dizziness assailed him. His artificial bone marrow was working overtime to make up for all the blood he’d lost. His right shoulder was hot and numb.
He had the answer to his question soon enough—before he’d gone fifty paces. Zenon didn’t divert his gaze from the scene spread before him. It was the result of his own actions. His eyes alone weren’t enough—he had to let it all seep into his body.
Irene was still leaning against the rubble. Noticing Zenon, she asked, “You saw them?” She sounded absolutely exhausted. She must’ve witnessed the whole thing. No matter how severe the girl’s life on the Frontier might’ve been, she couldn’t see something like this and not have it affect her.
“You, too?”
She nodded, saying, “You’re really something, you know that? How many of them were there?”
“Around seventy.”
“And you killed them all in less than five minutes’ time. It made my palms sweat,” Irene said, closing her eyes. Her eyelashes were trembling. She was going through the whole scene again. There was nothing she could do to stop the memories.
Plopping himself down on the ground, Zenon laid back. “I’d tell you it wasn’t me,” he said to her, “but what’s the point? That rock you had earlier—I don’t care if you drop it on me.”
“It’s a little late for that now!” Irene replied, shaking her head repeatedly. “You saw them, right? Some of those soldiers were women and children! But you were merciless. What the hell’s wrong with you?”
“If I said it was because they attacked me, wouldn’t that count for something?”
“You even cut down the ones that ran away. They were kids!”
Zenon let out a long sigh.
Silence descended, the kind of silence on which no one wished to intrude.
Soon, a faint sobbing began to fill the air. Irene’s body was quaking. Her sobs flowed through the murky world like an unending stream of woe.
It was unclear how many minutes passed. Suddenly, Irene lifted her head.
—
Fortunately, they were able to locate one magneto car that was only slightly damaged. Opening the hood to examine the engine, Beatrice stated, “It’s okay. I’ll have ’er fixed inside of five minutes.” To D he then said, “All the tools are here and everything—but are you sure you’re okay with this?”
He was talking about Irene and Zenon. Though they’d searched for an hour, they hadn’t found any trace of either one.
“Are you worried?” D asked.
“No, not really,” Beatrice replied, already busy with his repairs. Wherever his fingers made contact with the exposed engine, blue sparks flew.
“A long time ago, I heard about a certain Hunter of Nobility. It seems he was even better at repair work than he was at Hunting.”
“Wow, that’s really something else.”
“Only, he had one fatal flaw.”
“Really? What’s that?”
“He was too kindhearted.”
“I see. That’s not the sort of thing that mixes with the Hunter profession, is it?”
“I hear that’s why he retired. He was only active for about three years.”
“But in that span of time, I bet he put a lot of ’em down, eh?”
“A hundred and one, I heard.”
“How about you?”
“Not even close.”
“I’m sure he regrets it. Taking all those lives, I mean, Nobility or not. He probably realized that sooner or later, his time was gonna come, too. And once he did, he couldn’t work as a Hunter anymore. He must’ve got out to live his life, taking the money he’d socked away and starting a repair shop for farm equipment somewhere or something.”
While this conversation was taking place, the gigantic warrior’s hands continued their deft movements, and before two minutes had elapsed, he stood up again and said, “All right, now she’s just perfect!” Slamming the hood shut, he gave it a couple of pats.
&n
bsp; “Shall we go?” D said. The darkness was receding from his face.
Beatrice turned his gaze to the east. Shadow and light were swapping places.
“It’s dawn,” he said.
From much higher up, a single streak of light knifed obliquely through the darkness. Death and darkness left as a new time began.
Zenon’s face took on a white glow.
“Dawn!” Irene declared.
—
Carrying the Hunter and the warrior, the magneto car ripped through the wind with a speed that hardly suited its stocky appearance. Beatrice had settled into the driver’s compartment, while D was in the combination seating area and cargo bed behind him.
“What’d I tell you? She’s just perfect. She’ll do up to a hundred twenty. If we gun it, we could get to the ruins in three hours.”
“If there ain’t interference, that is.”
“You know, it’s creepy when you do that hoarse voice, D. Knock it off.”
“I wish I could.”
“Damned joker,” Beatrice grumbled, and then he turned his head and twitched his nose. “Something smells good. Hey, D, you think maybe there’s a service area around here that hasn’t—”
“It’s the enemy.”
“Yeah, I suppose you’re right. Still—”
He cut the wheel sharply to the right. They raced through a dense forest.
The palm of D’s left hand was placed against the scruff of the warrior’s neck.
Mumbling something unintelligible, Beatrice decreased their speed as if in a trance. A second later, the vehicle pitched wildly. The two men and their cargo flew through the air. While the magneto car rolled, kicking up black soil, D watched from the spot where he’d landed more than fifteen feet away. In his arms he carried Beatrice, the machine gun, and the ammo. Only the box of grenades was in the car.
“That’s some lousy driving.”
Not replying to the hoarse voice, D stared straight ahead. “It was control smoke,” he said.
“Hmph. That stuff can even reel in someone with a full stomach. But it ain’t the army.”
“The lord of the forest?” D said in reply, but just then from beyond a stand of trees to his left there was a sound like a great rumbling in the earth drawing nearer. The sound of something scraping against the ground.
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