“I know you’re not a servant of the Nobility,” the hoarse voice whispered in Brennan’s ear. “But that poses a new mystery. How come you’re still okay?”
“That was the deal we had. I’d stay human. And they’d leave my wife alone, too. In return, I was told to kill the man who’d come here today.”
“Hmm, so they knew he was a formidable foe? You’d better forget about assassinating D. Or he might end up having to get rid of you and your wife both.”
The hoarse voice harbored a certain intent. It robbed Brennan of his voice.
“Now, would you care to tell me more about who ‘they’ are?”
The warrior shook his head vehemently. “Can’t do that. If I talk, they’ll kill me for sure. That was the deal.”
“Hmph,” was all the hoarse voice said, but apparently it’d seen in an instant that the man wasn’t lying. It continued, “Well, we’ll just have to see what you do, then. I’m not gonna tell you to keep away from D, but you’d better not try anything funny. I have eyes everywhere!”
And the second it finished saying that, there was a maddening explosion of pain from the wound on Brennan’s back, and he passed out.
“That should be enough of a threat,” said the hoarse voice. “And now—”
There were indications of something turning toward the front hall, and then the sound of a brisk burst of fire whistled that way like a wind.
The front door fell inward—or was about to, but at that moment Josette unleashed a fusillade. The thick oak door was reduced to splinters sailing through the air. Two bursts of fire had sufficed.
Letting the power out of the finger on the firing button, Josette shook her head to throw off some of the tension.
A pair of black figures leapt in. Though she blew the upper body of the one on the right to pieces, the one on the left stayed low and kicked off the floor, bounding right for Josette’s heart. She slammed the barrel of her gun into the attacker’s face. Though it fell to the floor without saying a word, it immediately got up again. That was more than enough time for the woman to take aim.
Marked by the line of fire ripping up the floor, it was cut in two at the waist. The lower half bounded for Bligh where he fought by the window, and the upper half pounced on Josette’s chest, wringing her neck with furious strength. A metallic sound assailed her eardrums, and darkness closed over her field of view. The diagonal thrust of the minigun she’d had down by her waist took the last of her strength. The instant it struck, she fired without regard for anything else.
Suddenly the grip on the woman’s throat weakened, and something warm splattered her face and upper body. The light returned.
Coughing violently all the while, Josette looked over at Bligh. She thought she must be dreaming. Bligh was trying his best to block kicks from the severed lower body. Both his short spears lay on the floor. No doubt they’d been kicked out of his hands.
“Get back!” Josette shouted, and once she’d seen him spring away, she unleashed a burst of fire.
“Think you could make a little less mess with that thing?” Bligh said, turning a blood-spattered face toward her as he slumped back against the wall.
“We’re about even there,” she spat. Having been sprayed with gore from the upper half of their foe, Josette was every bit as dirty as Bligh.
For a while, neither of them moved. They realized the enemy had gone.
“Did we fight ’em off? You did pretty good for a woman.”
“You didn’t do half bad yourself, for a man.”
The exchange of ribbing between horribly gore-soaked compatriots was an unsettling sight.
“Think they’ll be back?”
Josette shook her head from side to side. Her golden hair swayed like something from a dream. Oddly enough, that alone had been spared so much as a drop of blood. “But let’s make preparations in case they do.”
The eyes of the pair fell on the hammer and the boards that’d been torn free.
Once their carpentry work was done, they decided that would have to be good enough, and Josette headed for the bath. Bligh, for his part, went into the kitchen and turned the faucet at the sink. He had his doubts, but water came out. It wasn’t even rusty. Washing his face, he stripped off his shirt and used a rag next to the sink to wipe down his upper body, at which point he finally felt like himself again.
No longer feeling the need for a bath, he headed toward D’s room. On seeing Brennan sleeping peacefully on the sofa, he was rather surprised. He’d figured the man had long since expired.
Why the hell’s he still alive?”
“I treated him,” said the hoarse voice that drifted through the room.
Look as he might, Bligh couldn’t tell where it came from.
“Well, you shouldn’t have. He’s the enemy!”
“And I told you you’re wrong about that. Looks like the attack’s over, eh? As soon as it’s daybreak, I’m going up to the castle to talk things over.”
“Talk things over? Hey, where are you, anyway?”
“Don’t you worry about me. I’m a messenger of the gods.”
“The hell you say! You’re useless. Do something about that stud over there.”
“That and everything else will have to wait until daybreak. You and the lady better keep watch and make sure nobody else comes to attack us.”
After Bligh left indignantly, Josette, who seemed like she might’ve been listening in, came in with a wry grin. Apparently she’d washed off her armor, and now beads of water clung to it instead of a film of blood and guts.
“I’ll head out there in a moment,” she said flatly before asking, “Will my man be okay?”
“He got treatment pretty soon, so he should pull through. Seems he somehow managed to escape. See if you can get more details out of him yourself later.”
“I’ll do that. I wonder what’s become of the others.”
“Seems he isn’t talking about that.”
Going over to her husband and gazing down at him intently as he took deep, stable breaths, Josette said, “He’s tough in battle, but he breaks pretty easily on other fronts.” Her words sounded as if she were peering down into the depths of the water. “Lately, those he killed in battle seem to haunt his dreams, so he hasn’t been sleeping well at all. He’s probably better off now. He can just forget everything and sleep. Or perhaps—”
“Perhaps what?” the hoarse voice inquired.
Josette just gave a little shake of her head and said, “It’ll be quite some time before we can leave the village, right? I need him to stay well that long. If you’re the one who patched him up, then I’d appreciate you helping with his recovery, too.”
Bowing her head, she left the room.
After a short time, in this room where light and dark intermingled, a voice said, “We’d probably be better off if we could sleep until the end of time. And so would this warrior.” Turning toward D, the presence continued, “And this man most of all.”
His tone was strangely tranquil. Perhaps that was just the sort of mood he was in. However, the voice soon headed for the doorway.
“How’d you get in here?”
The question was directed at a tall figure standing there in lavish attire. He stood taller than D. Six and a half feet at the very least. His shoulders and chest were scaled in the same daunting proportions. The deep blue fabric of his cape had Gothic patterns embroidered in gold thread, and though he wore no jacket, he had on a gold double-breasted vest with jeweled buttons—diamonds, no doubt. The long gloves that went all the way up to his elbows were also embroidered in gold. And yet, the mood he cast in all directions felt mysteriously profound due to his inborn grace. His eyes, nose, lips, the contours of his face—all were, in a word, elegant. Yet for all that, he was cheery—by human standards, he gave the impression of being a resolute and generous man, and certainly no villain.
Gripping a very long spear, his right hand rose, pointing the head of it—which was still sheathed in a vermilio
n cover—at the sleeping Hunter.
“I would have your name.”
“Feel free to introduce yourself first,” the hoarse voice replied.
“I am Lord Greylancer.”
The air rocked with indications of surprise.
“I know you. But it can’t be . . . I mean, it’s an honor to meet you.”
“The honor is mine.”
This man who spoke of being honored to the hoarse voice that accompanied D was a Noble who appeared to be in his midtwenties, and, having said that, he gave a smile that was equally elegant.
II
“To the man known as Lord Greylancer, my shields wouldn’t count for shit. Are you here to take D’s life?”
“Ah, it is he, then?!” Greylancer said, and now it was his turn to widen his eyes. There could be no doubting it was deep emotion that swayed his towering form. “When I saw the sensor readings, I judged it could not be this man, yet his dignity, his beauty—verily, he is the one called D.” Greylancer backed away. “My guess would be this is ‘sunlight syndrome.’ I believe I shall settle with him once he awakens. Kindly give him my regards.”
“Wait—you’re supposed to be . . .”
Disregarding the hoarse voice, the shadowy figure departed. Though the lights were on, he headed off into the darkness framed by the doorway.
“You fought the OSB three millennia ago, slew any Nobles in opposition—and you were supposedly destroyed,” the hoarse voice murmured.
For the Nobility, there was no “death.” They could merely be destroyed. And only those who were certain to shine even at the very moment of their destruction were called “Lord” by the Nobility.
“Lord Greylancer.”
Something rested on D’s chest. His severed left arm.
“D will probably regret for the rest of his days that he wasn’t awake to meet him on his first visit.” Then, the left hand added, “Oh, I remember the sound of the rain. As if it were to fall forever, in darkness and in light. Is that where a man deserving of the title Nobility returns?”
The next day the rain didn’t abate, and the houses looming beneath the leaden sky and the people were all reduced to vague shadows. Shrouded in a white spray of rain as he rode through it on a cyborg horse, a figure climbed the sloping road to the fortress.
On reaching the summit, the rider remained facing straight ahead but said, “We’re there.” It was Bligh.
“Okay, head back,” the hoarse voice replied in the epitome of ingratitude, and something somewhere seemed to move away from the horse. Indeed, there was a sound like something wet had struck the road.
However, by the look of Bligh, he apparently didn’t spot anything. Quickly tugging on the reins to wheel his steed around, he made his way back down the road without a backward glance.
“Good job, scaredy-cat,” the hoarse voice said from somewhere down on the rain-beaten ground, and there was a sound as if some small object were gliding like the wind across the brick-paved road, bound straight for the main gate to the fortress.
“What’s this?” the left hand blurted out.
At the main entrance to the fortress—the same one Bligh and Josette had used to get in—it had spotted four figures.
What are they up to? it thought without drawing any nearer, but the quartet sent up splashes as they drew closer.
“Lord Greylancer has sent us. Please, come this way. If you would be so kind as to come out of there.”
In addition to the aged steward in a tuxedo that hardly seemed to suit the rugged fortress, there were three younger stewards. They held elegant umbrellas. The aged steward was addressing the trunk of an enormous tree planted by the ramparts.
“You’re not gonna get rough with me, are you?” a voice inquired suspiciously from behind the tree trunk. The hoarse voice.
“Don’t be absurd. Were we to do any such thing, our master would erase us from existence.”
“Okay, then. I’m gonna trust you.”
“Thank you,” the steward said, bowing his head respectfully, and the source of the voice appeared sheepishly at his feet.
Had ever a single hand blended hardness and elegance so perfectly? It was a left hand that’d been severed cleanly above the wrist. There wasn’t a trace of scorn, or suspicion, or surprise—nor was there any hesitation to hold out their umbrellas for it, and the four stewards surrounded their guest on all sides almost protectively and began to walk toward the front entrance with a gait that suggested they were ascending to the heavens themselves.
As soon as they set foot inside, they were greeted by rows of women in maid uniforms on either side. There was no way they’d be human. They had to be synthetic people or illusions.
“Nothing but cuties here, eh? They don’t really fit with a castle like this, you know.”
“The one we serve is, in a manner of speaking, coarse.”
“What, Lord Greylancer?” the hoarse voice murmured nonchalantly.
“No.”
“Not him?”
That was a surprise. A man like him was sure to have a domain and a castle of his own. Was he a visitor, then? No, in light of the reason the village had been created, someone of his station wouldn’t be staying here.
As the left hand was bewildered, the aged steward asked it, “Which would you prefer, the elevator or the stairs?”
“What are we talking, time-wise?”
“The elevator takes precisely ten seconds, and the stairs approximately two hours.”
“Elevator it is.”
“Very good, sir.”
The steward was speaking in all sincerity, their conversation rooted in the Nobility’s “nostalgic tastes.”
Although the Nobility had undoubtedly reached the highest pinnacle of scientific inquiry in the planet’s history—and used that to fight on equal footing with the OSB—they were slaves to an almost unfathomable love of antiquity. While they’d developed spaceships that could travel at light speed, the craft that crossed the Earth’s skies were enormous dirigibles sporting countless propellers, or single-seater flying machines with gasoline-driven engines operated by pedals. Though the continents were linked by gravity-powered roads that could propel cars sixty thousand miles per second, the Nobility’s favorite mode of transport were opulent carriages like those in days of old drawn by living horses. Nobles headed toward the moon were first greeted with the question, “Shall it be the Lightspeed Express, or Traditional Rocket?”
So, the left hand had chosen the elevator.
They arrived in ten seconds, on the dot. They were five thousand stories below the surface—thirty miles underground. With stewards young and old to either side of it, the left hand went down the transparent corridor, while scenes that were a compromise between super-scientific civilization and nostalgic tastes appeared and disappeared, one after another.
An assemblage of enormous stone gears seemed to go on forever, each gear three-quarters of a mile in diameter and every tooth on them as large as a house, so it seemed it wouldn’t have been strange for them to have a window from which residents might peer. Antigravity aircraft that were the pinnacle of aerodynamics were clustered there to repair a cracked gear. A portion of the energy they emitted became a crimson lotus blossom of flame, with more welling up from down below, threatening to broil the strange group of pedestrians.
“How far down does it go?” asked the left hand.
“More than four thousand miles.”
“Nearly to the outer core, eh? What’s the big idea of making a facility in a place like this? Granted, they’re cursed to live in a world without light anyway.”
The aged steward turned right. Straight ahead, a thirty-foot-tall iron door covered with rivets came into view. Their surroundings remained the same, but the way the door opened to the sound of creaking hinges was jarring to an almost supernatural degree.
Suddenly, the scenery that’d surrounded them was gone. A vast chamber greeted the visitors. The left hand crept across the white floor, where bi
zarre devices loomed to either side. No engineer could’ve guessed their function from their appearance, but every time one of the stewards was about to bump into one of the devices it would reposition itself or, on occasion, change its shape. Up high off to the left were rows of what looked to be wooden coffins, stretching as far as the eye could see and seemingly numbering in the tens of thousands. From the gaps between coffins and lids that were ajar, pale hands wormed and pale faces peeked. All had eyes that were burning red.
There was no saying which direction they traveled or how much ground they’d covered.
About ten yards up ahead, a pair of figures stood. On the right was a lovely woman in a white dress, and on the left was Lord Greylancer with spear in hand.
The aged steward halted about ten feet shy of the pair and bowed his head, and, once both of them gave him a nod, they then respectfully greeted the left hand down on the floor.
It was most unusual that these dignified Nobles had salutations for a hand creeping across the ground.
The beautiful woman opened her mouth, saying, “My name is Duchess Heldarling. I serve the Noble Medical Association as its highest ranking member. His Lordship has told me about you. You’re a part of the man they call D, are you not?”
“Yes, your grace,” the left hand replied in a dignified manner. Though nothing existed of this being from the wrist up, it possessed a certain grace.
“In that case, we shall welcome you as we would D. It is on that account you’ve been permitted to pass this far.”
“What are you folks doing here?” the left hand inquired.
“This,” the duchess replied, eyes gleaming.
A stark naked woman floated up from the floor. She was followed by a creature that was clearly not of this world. It looked to be composed of tens of thousands of bluish-black strands or worms. Although it possessed a head, neck, torso, and four limbs, each of those parts looked weak and undependable because of their composition, as if even the normal force of Earth’s gravity would be enough to flatten it so badly it might be reduced to two dimensions. And deep within that amalgamation of strands, packed so tightly there was no space between them, red eyes were visible. Those eyes might have held all the justification the Nobility needed for waging war against their kind.
Vampire Hunter D Volume 27 Page 7