Demon Deathchase

by Hideyuki Kikuchi

  Before long, the shrill sound of the wagon faded away, and the pair who had bowed as they’d seen the carriage off raised their heads.

  Smiling faintly, Mashira said, “What right does a Noble doomed to extinction have to order around the famed Mashira, when my skill is known throughout the village of the Barbarois?”

  “That can’t be helped. He’s our employer. We simply have to do our job.” As Caroline spoke, she watched the departing carriage with a feverish gaze.

  With a more lascivious smile, Mashira asked her, “Are you in love? With him?”

  “Whatever do you mean by—”

  “You don’t have to hide it. He’s the real thing. You’re a fake. It’s not like I can’t see why that would attract you.”

  “Hold your tongue!” Caroline bared her teeth. Were those sharp canines she had peeking out between her lips? No—she couldn’t be one of those.

  “So, we’ve established that then. I have a proposal.” Mashira smiled without a trace of fear, putting his best face on for the beautiful woman watching him with flame-like eyes.

  “What would that be?”

  “We’ve disobeyed the Elder,” said Mashira. “Might we not be better off if we now discarded the standards those in the village live by?” For an instant it looked like she might turn on him for this unexpected overture, but then an excited expression arose on Caroline’s face. “Oh, so I see the same thing had occurred to you,” he continued. “If we stick to the rules of the village, then he’s our employer, as you said. We mustn’t disobey him, or turn on him. Lusting after him would be absolutely unthinkable. However, if we were to ignore the rules . . . ”

  Mashira’s gaze was probing her face as he spoke, and at his words Caroline’s eyes glittered piercingly. They were the eyes of an apostate who’d set her heart on discord.

  “I thought you’d see it my way,” the Barbarois man continued. “The only reason he won’t so much as look at a gorgeous woman like you is because he’s got a girl he loves, and who loves him, too. To tell the truth, I fancy the girl. I want to make her mine. Under the circumstances, wouldn’t you say our interests coincide?”

  She said nothing.

  “During the day, he’ll be sleeping. Maybe the girl will, too. If I were to take her and run off while he slept, he’d have no one left to rely on by day but you. Why, she’s no more than a slip of a human girl. Could one of the Nobility seriously give his heart to that? He’s already beginning to have a change of heart. Do you really think he’d go looking for her? Even supposing he does, once I’ve shown him proof I’ve had her myself, I guarantee you he’d be over their so-called eternal love,” Mashira snickered.

  “You have a point there.” The flames painted grotesque shadows on Caroline’s pale countenance. “But if I am to take him, body and soul, every last one of the lowly Hunters pursuing him must be slain. Even if the baron was mine, I could never sleep at ease if even one remained. If I agree to cooperate with what you propose, we shall have to leave both our charges alone and do our duty until we can take care of all the others. How does that strike you?”

  “Fine by me,” Mashira said with a nod.

  “What of Bengé? Does he live?” asked Caroline.

  “Well, I can’t really say. He was certainly alive up till the point he used his shadow skills . . . You plan on letting him in on this?”

  “That should go without saying! Once day breaks, I’ll go off on a preemptive strike against the scum chasing us, and I’ll try to locate our Bengé at the same time.”

  —

  And where was D while these two ne’er-do-wells were plotting treachery against their charge? He was galloping down the road, through the fog, on a straight line from the spot where he’d encountered Bengé. In the haze to either side he could see shadowy images of the forest.

  From up ahead, the wind carried something back. The creaking of a carriage. The range was about a mile and a quarter. On a night that could only be described as silent, could D’s ears catch sounds from such a great distance?

  His horse’s hoofs beat the earth with increased impetus. The fog became a wall blocking him, then eddied away. Before long, a black carriage became visible ahead. There was no sign of the escorts.

  D made a break forward. Even if the escorts had been there, he would have ridden forward without fear. On the far side of the carriage roof he could see only the driver’s head. He was lashing away with a whip. D’s right hand went to the sword on his back.

  The distance continued to diminish. Perhaps the Hunter’s approach had been noticed, for the whip danced wildly now. The gap between them widened slightly, and then rapidly grew. This would’ve been out of the question at the vehicle’s usual speed. It seemed impossible that the most renowned steed, even with a legendary rider, would be able to keep on their tail now.

  The carriage changed direction. Leaving in its wake a tortured squeal like its bolts were ready to pop free, it went into the woods to the right. It already had a lead of half a mile. And still the gap continued to grow.

  D’s heels pounded the flanks of his horse. Gradually, the dhampir’s eyes began to give off a phosphorescent glow. He shredded the fog, and the gap shrank.

  D came up alongside the carriage. Easily standing atop his saddle, he leapt for the carriage roof. It was as if all movement had been reduced to slow motion as D landed feet first on the roof of the vehicle. Crouching down, he advanced on the driver’s seat. Ripples of suspicion crossed his face. The driver made no attempt to look his way, but worked the whip mechanically through the air. D’s hand seized the supple lash. Even after it’d been taken away, the driver tried to crack the whip.

  D set his right hand on the driver’s hair. The instant he tugged back, the Hunter was tossed into the air by a violent shock. Incredibly, the hair in his hand, the carriage, and the horses all became a sheet of black cloth that fell to the ground, and D alone, completely ensnared by the inertia of their forward momentum, was thrown through the air.

  Just as he was about to slam against the earth, the hem of his coat spread like a gigantic pair of wings, and D turned an easy somersault before landing feet first on the ground.

  He gazed at the black cloth he held in his right hand. It cascaded across the ground, stretching another six feet. If spread out, there was enough to cover the floor of a small room. It must’ve taken a piece at least that large in order to make a carriage and driver, plus a half-dozen horses.

  Discarding the cloth, D turned his face to the sky. He’d heard a voice from nowhere in particular cursing. Bengé’s voice. D gazed at the sky in silence. In the east, beyond a range of mountain, a faint and watery light was beginning to shine. Surely the phantom carriage had been leading him in the wrong direction to buy Mayerling some time to escape. In terms of distance, it’d bought them perhaps an extra three-quarters of a mile. Racing at full speed, it’d take D less than two minutes to make that up.

  Not bothering to search for the source of the disembodied voice, D straddled his horse without a word and galloped off. He was headed west, to where the sun sinks.

  —

  For the last ten or twenty minutes, the man had sat on a chair in the center of the dilapidated shop, his eyes shut tight. Dressed in black, the man was as thin as a half-starved crane. The sweat coating not only his brow but his whole body was not due solely to the stream of blood spilling from his flank—it also seemed connected to an extended period of concentrated mental effort.

  When a faint blueness streamed into the dust-and-grit-covered shop, which was apparently a saloon, the man’s whole body quaked, and his eyes bulged open. A scream of “Damn!” spilled from his mouth. Letting the tension drain from his body, the man slumped back in the chair in disappointment.

  “Seems I underestimated him—the damn freak. Can’t believe he caught up to my shadow carriage,” he muttered. “Well, since I’ve blown it, I’d better let Mashira and the others know as soon as possible . . . ” Wearily getting to his feet, Bengé tr
od across the dusty floor and left the shop.

  On either side of a street only the wind ever crossed, ruined houses stood in rows. The hotel, the drugstore, the cobbler, the saloon he’d just come out of—every single shop had broken window panes with gaping black maws, and the signs above the doors swung idly. It was a ghost town.

  Here in this town, less than a mile and a quarter from where he’d fought D, Bengé had done his very best to see to his wounds and to manipulate his shadow carriage. Coming to the center of the street, Bengé took a long, thin tube from the breast of his black robe, pulled the ring at one end, and thrust it up over his head. An orange ball of light shot from it, rising with a long tail behind it, and presently it could be seen no more. Shortly thereafter, a dazzling ring of light blazed in the heavens, maintaining that brilliance for a few seconds before it faded away.

  “I sure hope they notice that and come for me,” he muttered anxiously. When he started toward the horse tethered in front of the saloon, he heard the sound of hoofbeats and a car engine coming from one end of the long, central street.

  Without even time to hide his horse, Bengé leapt across the street into the shadow of what looked to be a cyborg horse repair center. He had to wait but a few seconds for the body of a bus he’d seen before to appear from the other end of the street. The drivers must’ve installed some sort of non-reflective glass in it, because he couldn’t see through the windshield.

  The wheels ground to a halt right in front of the saloon, the door opened, and a pair of men stepped out. It was the guys he’d toyed with on the road through the mountains a day earlier. Hunters after Mayerling.

  A killing-lust welled up, filling Bengé’s entire being. The shadows of the buildings fell across the street. Between them and the men’s shadows lay open ground. “Come on. Closer. Come to Bengé,” he muttered to himself. If even part of one of their shadows touched that of the building where he concealed himself, he could slip into theirs in an instant. He’d become Death, invisible and inescapable.

  The giant who called to mind a rock drew closer, with bow and arrows in hand. For an instant his shadow touched that from the tip of the roof of a building. Bengé’s form faded away. The younger Hunter set his eyes on the other side of the street, and, when the giant changed direction and the shadow spun to his rear, the shade-like figure in black that silently rose behind the bigger man had the base of its neck covered with what looked like fine silvery feathers.

  Faster than the giant’s arrows in their indiscriminate flight, a swish of white knifed through the Barbarois’ body as it first reeled back with an anguished cry, then went quickly into a face-first drop. Sending black blood out in all directions, Bengé’s body split in half just above the waist. The two parts of his body quickly thudded to the ground.

  “Is this the guy, Leila?” Borgoff called in the direction of the bus as he checked out the back of the enemy’s head and its glistening feathers—needles from the sliver gun.

  The driver’s window slid open, and Leila’s face and the leveled sliver gun appeared. “Yep. I got my payback.”

  Anticipating that they’d run across the foe who’d attacked her earlier, she had the window open a crack from the very beginning and had kept her brothers covered. And, while Bengé had by no means forgotten about Leila, his scorn for a girl he’d abused once already and his overwhelming confidence in his own abilities had dug his grave.

  “No doubt about it—this is one of the threesome Grove mentioned. What the high hell was he doing out here?” Kyle said, spitting on the corpse.

  “Dammit, how am I supposed to get any sleep now,” Borgoff muttered. “Well, we’ve killed one of them, at any rate. Where I see he’s got a horse tied up there and all, I’d say he’s the only one here. But just to be sure, check out the area. Once we know it’s clear, we’ll take a little break, then head out again.”

  “Hold on, Borgoff. Can we afford to take it easy? We gotta gain all the ground we can while the sun shines,” Leila called out from the window, but Borgoff swept her words away with one hand.

  “See, he’s got two drivers now that daylight don’t bother. Besides, we’ve heard that it’s the Claybourne States he’s headed for. Well, if that’s the case, I know a couple of routes we can take to head them off, so there’s no need to get all flustered. To the contrary, I wouldn’t mind letting D go on ahead to see if that Noble and him can’t kill each other. I say it’s a lucky thing we hit this town looking to bed down under a roof for a change.”

  Naturally, the oldest brother didn’t catch the shade of emotion that rushed into Leila’s face at the mention of D’s name.

  “Still, bro,” Kyle began, as he used a finger to wipe the gore from his crescent blade, “you know, a long time ago, that the Claybourne States used to be a space port. There ain’t nothing there but rows and rows of trashed rockets. What the hell could they—No, you don’t think they could be planning to go to another planet, do you? Maybe for their honeymoon?!”

  Even as she heard Kyle explode in laughter, Leila shut the window.

  —

  The road was constantly bombarded by the chirping of little birds from the woods to either side.

  In the spring sunlight, D raced on. Compared to when he’d chased the shadow carriage, his speed had decreased somewhat, but that was unavoidable. D’s rein handling forced the cyborg horse to gallop at speeds far exceeding its abilities. The knee joints, metabolizers, and other parts already exhibited signs of severe stress. There was some question as to whether the horse would last another twelve hours, even if D eased back to his usual pace.

  He had no choice but to wait for a nearby village or motorized mobile shop, but that was a faint hope.

  The time was eight Morning. Could he catch up to Mayerling’s carriage now that it could run by day as well? The prospects looked bleak. Still, he had to go on. It is the destiny of the huntsman to chase his prey.

  How would his opponent react? Surely the Noble was aware that D and the Marcus clan were in pursuit. There was no way the Noble would just keep running. He’d definitely strike back at them. But when, and how?

  Aside from the obvious psychological edge, those giving chase weren’t necessarily always at an advantage when both parties were on the move. If the pursuers ran into an ambush, the tables could be turned. And there was nothing fiercer than cornered prey baring its fangs in its own defense.

  The features of the young Noble skimmed across D’s heart. The Noble wasn’t lying when he said he wouldn’t do anything to the human. D could almost picture the face of the girl in the carriage, and the look she’d have in her eyes.

  The scenery before him suddenly changed. Gone was the constant greenery, replaced by a rough desert plain. In various places, the land was fused into a glassy state, and eye-catching machines and vehicles of titanic proportions jutted from the ground. There were heaps of pitiful, mechanical corpses left on the field, each and every one red and crumbling with rust. They seemed to stretch on to the ends of the earth, and the disturbing, ghastly air they had about them didn’t seem in the least bit like that of anything mechanical. When night came, would the bitter voices of single-minded machines echo pathetically across the plain?

  This was one of the ancient battlefields where, long ago, machines that’d evolved into sentience fought each other out of hatred. Even now, a number of them still hadn’t ceased functioning, their bodies squirming around on a pale and feeble current, wandering night after night in search of their enemies.

  The ambush could come any time now. That was the feeling D had. As day broke, he’d seen the flash of what seemed to be a Hunter’s signal flare in the dawn sky to the rear. Undoubtedly it was the signal from Bengé, reporting his mission had failed and that D was still in pursuit. Of course, the remaining pair of guards would see it and take the necessary countermeasures. The question was, would some of the party keep moving? Both of the Barbarois probably wouldn’t come after him, but one of them might attack.

 
Then there was the other group to consider. No doubt the Marcus clan had noticed the flare, too. They had much more detailed knowledge of this area. There was every reason to worry about them taking some little-known shortcut to head off the carriage. And, in the world of day, swimming with the song of life, even D couldn’t possibly hear their footfalls. Would they let him go on ahead? Or would he fall prey to one of their ambushes?

  D’s face clouded ever so slightly. Perhaps he’d been thinking about the youngest, the little sister. About the girl with the big, round eyes who said she couldn’t live any other way but as a Hunter. If she let her hair down instead of pulling it back she’d probably look a good two years younger. With a touch of rouge to her cheeks and some lipstick, she could pass for a regular girl from any old town. She wouldn’t have to cry out for her mother, tortured by fever.

  D’s countenance lost its shade of humanity. Far ahead of him, he’d sighted a toppled column of mammoth proportions. Running in a straight line across the fifteen-foot-wide road was a gigantic, rusted forearm.

  —

  Just before D had intruded on the ancient battlefield, there’d been a woman by the side of the road in what was just about the center of this vast expanse of land. She was combing her hair in the morning breeze. The dress she wore was bluer than the bluest sky, and the voice spilling from her lips in song was as beautiful as any jewel. If only she didn’t have those spiteful red lips. However, a black shadow fell clearly across the cylindrical generator against which the woman was leaning. The demons of the night weren’t supposed to have shadows.

  It was unclear how long she’d been there, but the woman seemed to be absorbed in toying with the golden thread that was her hair. Suddenly, she looked up. Her gaze went in the direction from which D’s hoofbeats echoed.

  “Ah, someone’s coming,” the woman—Caroline—laughed, but her rose-like beauty soon grew tense. “Those hoofbeats don’t sound like any human’s horse. It’s D. Now there’s a man to be feared . . . ”

  Even now, the image of D’s swordplay in the village of the Barbarois was burned into Caroline’s retinas. But, an instant later, her blue eyes blazed with a lust for blood and battle. A smile warped her ruby lips.