“Why do you think I’d want to know what he has to say?” asked D.
“Because in truth, there is one more word we were able to make out,” the grand duke replied. His words rang like a recited prayer in D’s ears. “The very last word of a ‘thought’ otherwise indecipherable to me. In point of fact, that word was ‘D.’ It’s been waiting for you for five thousand long years.”
II
The darkness squeezed tighter around D and the voice.
“What’d he come here for?” asked the hoarse voice.
The Nobleman replied, “That I don’t know. It was during my father’s reign, and I was still quite young. One day—as I recall, it was dark night, without a star in the sky and clouds piled all the way down to the horizon—I was in my room listening raptly to a performance by a band my father had summoned from the Capital when my father came in looking enraged and told me to get back in my coffin. Terrified by his demeanor, I went down into the underground crypt with the chamberlain. Though I had no intention of hiding in my coffin, the chamberlain told me to get in with an even sterner expression than my father’s. I had no choice but to comply. Once that lid was shut, I was in my own little world, beyond the reach of all light or sound. However, that night I heard something.”
“And what was that?” asked the hoarse voice.
“My father’s voice, his footsteps, his fear. My father had gone into the most spacious of the living rooms. And, haughty man though he was, he seemed like a trembling bunny fleeing from a beast. After that, something came in. D, that living room is above ground, while I was in a grave nearly two miles beneath the surface. And yet, I sensed it. Something incredibly large. I speak not of physical size alone, but I sensed a being with such a presence the mere act of conversing with him would leave one feeling like they were about to be destroyed—was that the Sacred Ancestor, D?”
Nothing from the Hunter.
“I was ordered to live down in the crypt for the next year. Even now I’m not entirely sure what happened to my father and his retainers during that time. However, he was like an entirely different man, a gloomy, soulless husk, and a year after that he went missing. Even now, he hasn’t returned. On exiting the crypt, my eyes were greeted by a remarkable change. The living room my father had been in with something else had become a much vaster space shrouded in darkness. And four colossal statues towered there. Right here.”
D looked up into the crushing darkness before him. “It doesn’t have a face,” he remarked.
“That is one of the mysteries. All four have heads, but lack faces. Therefore, I knew what they were. They had to be statues of the Sacred Ancestor. The night I left the crypt, I sensed ‘the thought’ for the first time. However, I could make out nothing save the beginning and the very end. And that only after five millennia and bringing all our science to bear on it. Someday, a man called D would come here. All I could do was wait for that eventuality. D, what was it the Sacred Ancestor wished to tell you?”
There was no reply to that. Instead, the Hunter asked, “Where are you?”
“Right here.”
A palpable presence seemed to coalesce about ten yards to his right.
D bounded. Twisting his upper body in midair, he struck with his blade over one shoulder as if returning it to its sheath—and there was no sign of fleeing, just the savage thud of bone being cleaved.
Falling to the floor with a geyser of black blood was the grand duke’s right arm, which had been severed at the shoulder.
“You bastard! Have you no desire to hear the Sacred Ancestor’s ‘thought’?!” the shadowy figure exclaimed in disbelief, he and his voice fading into the distance, but the figure of beauty gave chase.
“D!”
A diagonal slash cut right through the Nobleman’s cry. And his left arm.
In midair, D jerked his blade to the right. Was he preparing to make a thrust? He’d be aiming for the grand duke’s heart.
“Gaaah!”
The cry was a veritable death rattle.
A flash of purple ripped through D. Still poised for a thrust, he fell to the floor.
The grand duke had fled back beyond the light.
“Those are ‘black cosmic rays,’” the hoarse voice said with undisguised astonishment. “A millisecond’s exposure is enough to destroy DNA. They’ll screw up bones and nerves, brains and mind all down to the most basic level!”
Dhampir or not, if D was unable to prevent the mad rush of blood in his veins, it would be a poison that would paralyze him with fatal results. However, his fall became a graceful landing and a second later D went after the grand duke, true to form.
The light faded. Behind the grand duke, a blue cylinder came into view.
“That’s a transport tube! Don’t let ’im get in it!” the hoarse voice exclaimed, its words swinging around in an arc. For the Hunter’s left hand had just hurled a rough wooden needle.
The grand duke reeled backward, but then dashed a few paces and was swallowed up by the cylinder.
The very instant D poised to leap, the cylinder vanished.
“He got away?!” the hoarse voice shouted, but its tone quickly became one of surprise. “We nailed him with that needle. And before that, you put your blade right through his heart. Cut off both his arms, and got in another lick to boot. You of all people. And yet, he managed to get away—so who or what the hell is this joker?”
“We’re going after him.”
“I figured. First things first, though—this was obviously some sort of living room in the castle that was converted into a shrine. Seeing where he used a transport tube to get outta here, I’m thinking it’s been moved somewhere else.”
“Can you get us back?”
“I can try,” the hoarse voice replied with complete confidence.
Taking a small leather pouch and a bundle of red string from his coat, D dumped the contents of the former into the palm of his left hand. Black soil. It was immediately sucked into the palm of his hand. Following that, a tiny mouth appeared in it.
Taking a foot-long section of string from the bundle, D held one end of it between his teeth. It had a silver cap on it. Pulling that off, the Hunter waited a second, and then a blinding light fought back the darkness. The string was made of gunpowder. Pushing it into the mouth on his palm, which sucked it up like a long noodle, D then put his left forefinger against his right wrist. His nail was as sharp as it was elegant. A blur of motion, and blood gushed from his wrist. The tiny mouth gulped down the dripping river of red with the bottomless gluttony of an anaconda. D rolled the ball of that same finger over the wound once, and the bleeding stopped.
“Last one, now. Leave this to me,” his left hand murmured, and then it pursed its lips.
D raised his left hand. The wind howled. With a whoosh the air was being sucked in by those lips.
The elements earth, wind, fire, and water had all been assembled.
“First, we’ve gotta find out just where here is.”
D pressed his left hand against the stone floor. And he kept it there for several seconds.
“I’ll be damned,” the hoarse voice remarked with amazement. “I’d heard that bastard Grand Duke Bergenzy wasn’t just in charge of weapons, but was at the top of the Ministry of Technology, and damned if that ain’t the truth.”
“Where are we?” D asked, and on hearing his left hand’s reply, a coldly murmured “Oh” escaped him.
“There ain’t a thing we can do until we find one of them transport tubes. I think I have it. It’ll be a little bit dangerous, so you think you could feed me again?”
D got a gleam in his eye. He pulled out the leather bag of gunpowder fuses once more.
†
“You think D’s gonna be okay?” Leiden asked Elsa with apprehension, having looked over at the castle—the only building beyond their windows that was lit up.
“The castle hasn’t changed in the least bit,” Elsa said, the resignation deep in her tone. “Think he failed?”<
br />
Habaki was sitting across the table from them. The trio was in an abandoned farmhouse they used as their hideout. It had an ample supply of food and weapons.
“It’s a little too early to be jumping to any conclusions,” Habaki told them. “Let’s not write off the greatest Hunter on the Frontier until we’ve laid eyes on the grand duke again.”
And then all three of them sighed deeply, each fueled by their own musings. Start again from scratch. That thought was overlaid with their real misgivings and fears, now sharper than ever. They couldn’t close their eyes to this. And there’d be no backing down.
“The grand duke—you think he knows about us?” asked Elsa.
“Probably. I remember bats flying around over my house. And not just a night or two. I’m talking about for a month straight. It was tough for me to chitchat with my family like nothing was going on!” Habaki said, looking up. Even now, those symbols of the vampire apparently flitted overhead.
“Yeah, lately I’ve got the feeling somebody was prowling around outside my house at night, and it gives me the creeps,” Elsa replied. “My ma feels it too, and it’s made a nervous wreck of her.”
“Damn, we’re in real trouble now. Somebody probably tailed us out there tonight, too!”
Leiden scratched the back of his head, saying, “Screw that. We haven’t even done anything yet.”
“Then let’s get them before they get us.”
“Knock it off, Leiden!” Elsa exclaimed, her body trembling. But just then, she caught the faint but protracted buzz of an indicator.
Habaki boldly strode over to the south wall. An obviously handmade metal box had been set on a three-legged stool. Glancing at the screen, he said, “Got people coming. Eleven of ’em. All in hooded robes. ‘Murder monks’ from the castle. You two better get your combat suits on!”
New life flowed into the rough suits hanging on the wall by the door. Chunky steel fingers took up repeating bows and quivers.
“What the hell?” Leiden exclaimed as he was feeding one arrow at a time into the harmonica-like ammo cartridge.
Ordinarily, they’d pull arrows one at a time from a quiver and load them side by side in the harmonica-shaped cartridge, but Habaki loaded the entire quiver at once.
“Yeah, I forgot to tell you about this baby, didn’t I, Leiden? It’s Cornet’s latest and greatest. Same weight as the old one, but a helluva lot easier to carry.”
“Don’t suppose you’ve got another to spare, do you?”
“Sorry, but they’re handmade. Had him slap this one together as a special rush job.” As Leiden eyed him with envy, Habaki added teasingly, “If you want it all that badly, I’ll swap you, you big baby.”
“Shut up.”
The two of them were right up against the wall by the window. The sounds from the metal box—the radar—were becoming shorter. A sign the enemy was closing.
They stopped.
“Five yards out. They’re hiding between the trees.”
Saying that, Habaki flipped a switch, wrapped the box up in the bag it’d been resting on, and put it into a wooden backpack covered with thin iron plates.
No sooner had he strapped that to his back than Leiden asked him, “What do you suppose they’ll try?”
“If it’s the murder monks, they’ll open with poison gas. Get your masks on,” he told the other two, his hand reaching for a rough-looking item on the table.
Cornet had explained that chemical filters inserted into the part that covered their nose and mouth would absorb poisons. However, they were as yet untested. This would be the trial by fire.
“Here they come!” Elsa cried, and that was followed shortly by the sound of the windows shattering.
A yellow canister rolled across the floor, belching gas of the same hue. It was followed by another canister, and another.
Quickly pulling off his mask, Habaki said, “The bastards are waiting for us to come running out. I think we’ll wait for ’em in here.”
Putting his mask back on, he coughed a little. Apparently he’d inhaled some of it. His lungs burned—but he soon got over it.
“What’s wrong?” Elsa asked, turning toward him.
“I’m fine,” he replied, flashing her the okay sign with one hand.
The world beyond his goggles was already yellow. But still in his twenties, that young man didn’t realize just how cruel that world could be.
III
A minute passed in silence. The yellow canisters had stopped fuming. Now the smoke was just blowing out the windows.
“Our enemies have missed their guess. They’ll be coming in now!” Habaki tried to tell the others through his mask, but he knew it was no use.
The ceiling creaked. All eyes and ears trained on it, the ceiling caved in with a crash.
The yellow-robed figures had long scythes in their hands.
When he was just a little kid, Habaki had seen the body of a decapitated farmer. He’d run afoul of the grand duke, or so the talk went. That was their handiwork, eh? he thought to himself.
One of them was muttering something. The interior of his hood was shrouded in darkness, and crimson eyes glittered there.
“Habaki Mejiba . . . Thou shalt be delivered . . . to the Sacred Ancestor . . .”
The man’s blood froze.
“The hell you will!”
He spun his short spear around. Up until that point, he’d been pretty confident he was quicker.
Not seeming to mind as the spear pierced his chest, the monk swung his scythe.
There wasn’t time enough to dodge it. Habaki blocked the blow with his left arm. A ching! rang out. Thin iron armor covered the man’s left arm from the back of his hand to the elbow.
“Oof!” he grunted.
Dropping his hips ever so slightly and steadying himself, Habaki made a horizontal swipe with the spear in his right hand.
The monk’s body arced across the room to slam against the far wall and drop to the floor—and he immediately got up again. The red sparks blazed once more in his darkened hood.
A hard thunk took his head off. With oily black blood spraying from the wound, his decapitated torso thudded to the floor. There was no time to even thank Leiden, who’d struck him down from behind with a machete, as one murder monk after another dropped from the ceiling.
We will have thy head, Elsa Garry . . .
We will have thy head, Leiden Pomme . . .
These stammered, murmured prayers threw the two of them into mad action.
The repeating bow whined. A piston driven by compressed gas released an arrow a second, and they slammed into the murder monks with deadly accuracy. They struck them right through the heart with an accuracy that seemed like it would last forever.
From behind one stumbling monk another one pounced, swinging down with his scythe as he did so.
“What the hell?!” Leiden exclaimed, blocking it with his bow. Though his weapon was made of wood, key points had been reinforced with iron. It would have no trouble at all stopping the average scythe. This one cut right through it, though.
The blade that’d bisected Leiden’s bow struck his neck and stopped. He had the combat suit to thank for that.
“You sons of bitches!” Leiden growled, kicking off the ground powerfully. Catching one attacker in each arm, he slammed them into the wall, crashing into it himself in the process. He felt their skulls crack, and the murder monks spat up blood.
“There’s no end to them!” Elsa cried as she shot down the foes closing in rapid succession.
Leiden had spun around to go to her aid when three monks with shattered heads attacked him. That hadn’t been enough to kill them.
There was a streak of red light. A beam from Habaki’s ray gun. Their robes transformed into torches, his foes fell one after another.
Though the Nobility and their victims could only be destroyed by a sword or stake through the heart, apparently these monks were a different matter. Flames had begun to spring from some of the f
igures they’d mowed down.
“It’s working!” Leiden exclaimed, raising a fist.
But just then, Habaki clutched his right hand. His weapon fell to the floor. A robed figure who’d swung a great scythe at him had raised his weapon to strike again. He was less than three feet away. It was a guaranteed hit.
But he slashed through empty air.
Damn it! Leiden thought, the words flashing through his brain faster than they could spill from his lips, and at the same time he drew the machete from his belt and swung it down at the strangely posed foe.
“What the hell?!”
It wasn’t so much that he was thrown off balance, but it felt more like something had pulled his attack off in another direction. His blade, too, sliced only air, leaving the wielder crawling on the floor. Before he could even get up again, cries of surprise from Habaki and Elsa let him know he wasn’t the only victim of this bizarre phenomenon.
Swiftly getting to his feet again, Leiden found that the robed figure from a minute ago had stuck a familiar-looking weapon in his face. Habaki’s ray gun. No doubt he’d picked up the weapon Leiden’s friend had dropped.
Fear crushed the voice from him. Even his vaunted combat suit would be powerless before blistering rays that could melt solid iron. The barrel of the weapon had a steady bead on the left side of Leiden’s chest.
Somewhere, he heard a sound like insects taking wing. The realization that he’d heard the same thing earlier skimmed through Leiden’s mind, and at that very same instant the assassin before him fell flat on his face. At some point, the monk had pressed the weapon in his right hand against his own chest.
Suicide? It can’t be!
This time, Leiden most definitely heard a protracted buzz.
A strange man was standing in the doorway that faced the road. He had metal rings looped over his shoulders. They rotated without touching his clothes—and the sound Leiden heard was that of them moving.
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