“He’s making you say all that,” someone in the mob sneered, shaking his fist.
“Nothing doing. All he said was that Elena got the moss. I came here of my own free will. There’s no way you can seriously believe deep down in your hearts that the Noble’s way is the best. Elena only says what all of us think.”
“And I say that’s more trouble than we need. We’d be better off without Elena or that guy. When the night comes, the Nobility will retaliate. What the hell are we supposed to do then?!”
“Me and him will protect you,” Elena declared as she pointed at D.
“What good will the two of you do?”
“It’s not just the two of us,” said the girl. “All of you are gonna have to fight, too.”
“Don’t make me laugh!” the man snarled back at her in the most passionate burst of anger so far. “I’m sure you know just how powerful those four knights are, and they ain’t even Nobility! The real sorceress is up in the castle. If things get ugly, she’ll come down for us. And when that happens, a lousy stake of wood ain’t gonna do us a whole lot of good!”
“He’ll take care of the bitch in the castle for us. He’s a professional Vampire Hunter. If the knights come into town, the rest of us will have to kill them.”
Anxious chatter rolled through the crowd like a wind.
Before the murmur died out, the young man on the horse said in a voice heavy with rust, “All three of the girl’s friends were killed. Her right shoulder is dislocated, and she’s got a crack in her left femur. She’s also got countless minor injuries. Yet she still went and got the moss and fought her way back. Isn’t that enough?”
The crowd fell silent.
D continued, “I’ll be heading up to the castle soon. And if things don’t work out today, I’ll go up there again tomorrow. That’s my job.”
And saying that, the Hunter slowly rode away without anyone shouting at him to stop. The blacksmith and his son went with him.
The villagers looked at each other. Although some of them still muttered misgivings, they’d been robbed of the strength to veto the plan.
Nevertheless, someone said, “Okay, we’ll let this go for today. But if the village loses even one more person, Elena, there’s gonna be hell to pay. You remember that!”
“I know! I know!” Elena replied, although it sounded more like the words were directed at herself.
The members of crowd sluggishly turned around, then wasted little time in breaking into smaller groups as they dispersed, but Elena alone remained with her eyes aimed in the same direction as ever. That was the way the gorgeous young man had gone, seeming to glow in the sunlight yet, at the same time, like a chunk of ice that sucked the heat out of everything.
“D,” the biker tough mumbled as the first fat tear in many years welled in her eye and traced a glistening track down her cheek.
—
III
—
Breathtaking sunlight poured through a rainbow of stained glass in the vast chamber. Where the entrance to this room was located remained a mystery—all four walls were solid stone. Aside from the figure who stood in its very center, the room was bare of tables or chairs or anything else—an area so antiseptic, it seemed unlikely even a mote of dust lay there.
The figure stood looking straight ahead like a sculpted temple guardian, completely absorbed in his thoughts since the previous night, like a lifeless suit of armor.
“What is it, Sir Black Knight?” asked the crimson form who’d appeared from somewhere, though neither the walls nor the floor showed any sign of having opened. “You’ve been like this for a good five hours now. What holds your thoughts?”
The Red Knight’s query received no reply.
“If it’s the Blue Knight, what happened was unavoidable. While the princess may be angry, what we’ve done is absolutely correct. That’s what he died for. And I’m sure that’s exactly how he would’ve wanted it.”
“No, that’s not it,” the black sculpture replied. Low as his voice was, it echoed through the chamber nonetheless.
“What then?”
“It’s the princess that concerns me.”
“Oh.”
“I wonder just how our princess will take the death of the Blue Knight.”
“Really? That isn’t like you at all. Whether we live or die is of no concern to the princess, and you of all people shouldn’t need me to remind you of that. We only live to protect the princess and her castle, and to deliver her edicts to the worms below and see that they are carried out, do we not?”
“But do we really live?” the Black Knight said, seeming to heave a sigh.
His words took the Red Knight’s breath away.
“Did you happen to see the look the Blue Knight wore on his face in death?” asked the Red Knight.
Just before dawn, their comrade in blue had returned home impaled on his own lance. As the princess was already in repose and the appearance of the White Knight would only complicate matters, the Red Knight had summoned servants from the drifting fog of particles and had them see to everything, while the Black Knight had taken one look at the remains before quickly going back into the manor.
Over the centuries, he had never uttered a single compliment no matter what kind of action had been displayed, and such seemed fitting for a battle-hardened veteran. Therefore, the Red Knight didn’t pity the dead man, but rather admired what the Black Knight had done. As he spoke now, it was with all due respect toward his compatriot.
“I took off his helmet. He looked so proud. It was literally the face of a man who’d given his all and battled to the very last. Undoubtedly the battle itself was equally grand. His opponent—”
“It was D, wasn’t it?”
“Precisely,” the Red Knight said with a nod. The swords on his back clattered together.
“A satisfying death, was it?” the Black Knight muttered, and though the Red Knight tried to comprehend what sentiments might’ve prompted the remark, he had little luck. “How long has it been since you became one of the four?” the Black Knight asked, his face turned toward the ceiling as if seeking the light.
“Roughly a hundred and fifty years, sir.”
“I’ve lived three times that. And having lived that long, one grows a bit weary.”
“I see.”
“But now,” the Black Knight continued, “I truly feel full of life. I’m actually glad.”
“You mean, because we’ve lost the Blue Knight?”
“Dolt. For the very same reason as yourself, for one thing.”
Beneath his helm, the Red Knight grinned. “That could only be D, then.”
“At long last, I’ve met a man who makes me feel in the bottom of my soul that he may well be more than I can handle. It’s been so long, Red Knight. For ages and ages I’ve searched for just such a man.”
“Truly—this is an opponent worth gambling our lives against,” the Red Knight said, showering their foe with heartfelt praise before holding his tongue for a moment. When he spoke again, it was to say, “But Sir Black Knight—it almost sounds as if you were choosing a time and place to die.”
The Black Knight laughed aloud. The same grand laugh as always, it served to ease the apprehension that filled the bosom of the Red Knight. “We have the princess to protect. Though the manor may be a shambles, so long as she remains, our swords and lances must stand ready to pierce her foes. In other words, we shall see to it that D dies for certain. No matter what.”
The Red Knight nodded an acknowledgment, but he didn’t reply. Battle was a religion to his compatriot.
“Take out your sword,” the Black Knight commanded.
Although the order came out of the blue, every inch of the Red Knight surged with vitality. He backed away a few steps. But even as he did so, the heavy armor he wore didn’t make a sound.
Before drawing his sword, he asked, “What other reason do you have for being so happy, Sir Black Knight?”
Giving no reply, the Black
Knight stepped forward.
When the Red Knight heard a great whoosh!, his body went into action. Drawn just in the nick of time, the Red Knight’s blade transmitted a terrific shock up his arms as he barely managed to strike out to one side, carving an arc to his right. His hands and feet came into the ideal position.
For an instant, a true killing lust hung in the space between the two of them.
The Black Knight was in the same relaxed pose as always.
The Red Knight was poised to draw another blade from his back with his left hand. The first sword he’d drawn lay on the floor.
The atmosphere suddenly cleared.
“As you’ve taken your favorite stance, there’s not a thing I can do to you now,” the Black Knight said, rolling his head from side to side.
“I might well say the same. I’m not certain whether I could’ve drawn in time to meet a second blow from you, sir,” said the Red Knight, and the words came from the very bottom of his heart.
At just that moment, a haughty laugh echoed from nowhere in particular to surround the pair.
“Princess!” the knights exclaimed in amazement, both taking a knee in perfect unison. The light from the dazzling human form before them etched their shadows on the far wall.
“As skillful as ever, I see,” the princess’s voice remarked. But was it actually the supposedly slumbering princess that spoke, or was this the work of some Noble machinery beyond the ken of even her knights?
“Please forgive our unseemly display,” the Black Knight said gravely.
“You’ve taken it upon yourself to do something rather interesting, my Black Knight.”
“Begging your pardon?”
“Don’t play coy with me. Last night, you and the Blue Knight ran amok down in the village, did you not? Why, it seems you were trying to destroy all the humans I’d gone to the trouble of blessing with my flowers. Wasn’t that a bit presumptuous on your part?”
The Black Knight had no reply.
“I would assume you’re prepared to accept your punishment?”
“I believe I am. But—”
“Oh, my! I don’t believe anyone has ever used that word with me before. Whatever could it mean?”
Once more at a loss for words, the Black Knight remained silent. Even as an illusion projected in the daylight, the lovely princess remained an absolute, godlike being as far as he was concerned. He was no Noble. He wasn’t even a human enslaved by their bite. If he had to be labeled as anything, then he was a bio-man—a human re-engineered by the Nobility’s science for extreme longevity. But, that wasn’t necessarily what made him their subordinate. The way the Nobility inspired a kind of voluntary subservience in humans was an ideal topic for psychologists to research. Why were there people who served the Nobility without ever being bitten by them? Though no conclusion had been reached, the most vivid example of that behavior was currently being played out between the princess and her Black Knight.
“The Blue Knight has been slain. Now you yourself must assume the same risk,” the shimmering princess said with a tilt of her glowing head. “Oh, I know! I’d like to see you do battle with the White Knight now,” she said.
At that, the Red Knight looked up at her, and then desperately lowered his gaze once more.
The Black Knight solemnly replied, “Understood.”
“As a matter of fact, I’ve already summoned him. Come out, please,” she said, turning matter-of-factly to where the white figure appeared like a ghost. “Here is your opponent,” the illusion of the princess said as she indicated the Black Knight. “Have at him until I call for you to stop. And you’re to hold nothing back. As for you, Black Knight—you aren’t to use your weapon. You shall battle him empty-handed.”
“But that’s—,” the Red Knight began to say, his head bobbing up in amazement.
“Silence!” the princess snapped, her rebuke shaking the very light that poured through the stained glass.
THE WRAITH KNIGHTS
CHAPTER 6
—
I
—
Blasko the smith stared intently at the gleaming blue tip of the lance—he’d just put it under a particle spectroscope for analysis. This was the very same weapon that had stopped the mob in its tracks a bit earlier.
“So you say you want a sword just like this, eh?” said the blacksmith, his consternation and diffidence quite apparent both in his voice and on his face. “What you’ve got here is molybdenum, chromium steel, an iron polymer, plus some synthetic substance I don’t have a clue about—and that’s the secret of its cutting strength. Come with me,” the man said to D.
They’d arrived straightaway after saving Elena, and less than thirty minutes had elapsed since the incident. The blacksmith was about to walk away, but he stumbled to the ground where he was—as he was taking the lance from the spectroscope, he’d completely forgotten about its weight. And though this oversight was caused by his desperate urge to escape D’s exquisite countenance, the smith would’ve died before admitting as much.
Walking over without a word, D effortlessly lifted the lance.
“That thing’s mind-boggling! It must weigh a hundred pounds or more. Something like that could stop a fire dragon, or even a kraken.”
Rubbing his left arm all the while, the blacksmith led D around to his backyard.
Needless to say, D had requested that Blasko craft a sword that could penetrate the knights’ armor. While the Hunter was skillful enough to deal each of them a fatal blow even with a lesser blade, his opponents were also superhuman. It was entirely possible they might parry his blow or make him miss a vital spot. And if his sword were to break every time that happened, even the great D would be left powerless.
“What do you think?” the smith said with pride as they surveyed his garden.
“My, oh, my!” a voice exclaimed behind him.
Seeming satisfied with the appreciative remark, the smith took another step or two before the hoarseness of that same voice struck him as peculiar and he turned around. Quickly shaking his head with a quizzical expression, he then coolly strutted out into the middle of the garden.
Blasko certainly had every reason to be proud of his yard. The grass and black soil were crowded with rows of stone sculptures and metal castings that certainly looked to be the work of the Nobility. A hero of antiquity with sword in hand, a giant cyclops, a mermaid strumming a lyre, a hundred-legged spider from the stratosphere, the wildly cavorting Pan playing his flute, and on and on—some of the statues were life-size, but others were more than thirty feet tall. Since some of those colossal pieces were busts, the blacksmith’s garden seemed more like an enchanted arbor that left his guests feeling like they’d stepped into some avant-garde art museum in the Capital. And scattered among the statues were Noble coffins that were undoubtedly the genuine article.
“I don’t suppose it matters much which we use. But how about we try this?” the smith said as he indicated a black globe that lay on the grass. It alone seemed to have nothing whatsoever to do with the world of art. The globe was approximately three feet in diameter, and there wasn’t a single gleam or reflection on it, as if it were merely sucking up all the sunlight that touched it.
“All of this is stuff I picked up from a merchant who specializes in garden ornaments from the Nobles’ ruins. Not that I sit around admiring them or anything,” Blasko added. “You see, they’re all here so I can test my handiwork on them.”
Now that he mentioned it, every statue was marked with deep gouges or fine cracks, and some of them even had parts sliced clean off.
“You can’t go wrong with the stuff the Nobility made,” the blacksmith continued. “It’s a hundred times tougher than the crummy armor and helms you run into, but even then, there hasn’t been anything my blades haven’t been able to cut. Except for that one sphere there, that is. Gave it holy hell with some of the Nobility’s weapons, too, but the results were the same. What I’d like to see is what the point of that lance can
do. Would you give it here for a second?” he asked.
A true professional, Blasko was so well-braced as he took the lance from D’s hand that only the word “splendid” could do him justice. His lower body didn’t show the slightest danger of buckling under the load now.
“Take that!” he cried, putting more than enough resolve into a thrust at the center of the sphere.
But without so much as a spark the lance bounced off, and as the smith took a hard spill on his tail, the weapon came whistling down at him.
“Holy—,” Blasko groaned, but the tip of the lance stopped right before his painfully wide eyes.
Pulling the lance away with the same left hand that’d caught it, D eyed the sphere.
“From the way that felt, it’s no use. Don’t bother,” the smith said with a dismissive wave of his hands as he sat there on his rump. But when he saw how easily D held the weapon in his left hand, his face went pale.
Not seeming to make any real effort, D simply swept out with his hand.
The blacksmith stared incredulously at the sphere as the lance jutted from the heart of it. Looking at D, he asked, “Can you pull it out?”
After the Hunter easily drew it from the sphere, the smith ran his fingers almost lovingly over the tip. With a sullen face he said, “A hell of a thing, that is. I still doubt if I can even do this.”
“How many days to make a sword from it?” asked D.
“Three, working day and night.”
“Have it for me tomorrow night.”
“Good enough,” the blacksmith replied. “Not because I’m crazy about this weapon, but because I can’t get over your skill. I’ll craft it for you, but it’ll be no ordinary sword. What’s your name, anyway?”
“D,” the Hunter replied.
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