“Forget that guy. Come with us, bro,” the beaming Tong said.
“Yeah,” Galil agreed, and Mikado nodded. “Let’s go have some fun!”
—
While there were some exceptions, most drinking establishments in Frontier villages were open during the day as well as at night. After all, in the evening their lights only served to inform night-flying monsters that there was prey inside. And those who wanted a drink didn’t care what time it was.
Reserving a room in the back, they started drinking. Tong sat to D’s right, while Enba was to his left. The eyes of both men held a reverent glow whenever they looked at D. They’d given it their all, and he’d still beaten them.
“Well, drink up.”
D coolly drained the glass of wine they poured him.
Eyes wide, Tong said, “You’re a wild man, brother. This stuff’s the strongest hooch on the Frontier. One mouthful will put most drunks on their ass, but then, we should expect as much from the guy who knocked us silly.” Still grinning, he sucked down his own drink, then let out a satisfied sigh.
Enba quickly brought the flame of a cigarette lighter to his compatriot’s lips, and a fiery tongue shot out. He’d ignited Tong’s breath. A second later, the fat man and his chair fell backward. He’d been bowled over by the very flames he’d expelled.
Enba snickered. “Serves you right for acting like such a big man. Okay, D, you and me are gonna have us a little drinking contest. You might’ve beaten me in a fight, but drinking’s another matter.” Grabbing a bottle off the table, he slammed it down in front of D. “We’ll never get anywhere sipping our drinks like this is a damned church social. So, try this on for size! I’ll go first.”
Grabbing his own bottle, he started noisily gulping down the contents. Draining half of it in one swig, he pointed to D’s bottle and said, “Ogay, D. Now yit’s jour durn!” And with that, he keeled over backward.
“Is that the end of it?” a hoarse voice asked softly, but just then a blazing head of red hair moved in from the Hunter’s left side.
“Oh, that’s just pathetic! It takes more than that if you wanna have a drinking contest.”
Delilah’s complexion was already the same color as her hair. Roughly kicking the supine Enba out of the way, she took his seat. “D, take me on, too,” she said, setting up two more bottles.
“You folks sure are big on challenges, ain’t you?”
“You say something?”
“No,” D replied, taking the bottle in hand, bringing it to his lips, and turning it on end in a single artless motion.
Rising to his feet, Galil said, “Hey, watch it! You’ll fry your brain that way!”
Mikado had watched in silence up until that point, but even his eyes held a gleam of surprise.
After about five seconds, D returned the empty bottle to the table.
“You’re still fine?” the dazed Delilah asked him.
“As you can see.”
“Jou’re damn right I yam,” Enba slurred, his head popping up over the edge of the table. Grabbing hold of it, he pulled his torso up. His face was pale, and his eyes crossed.
“Oh, sleep it off!” Delilah snarled.
But he just grinned back at her, saying, “Jou’re gonna make a pash at Mr. Hanshum here, ain’t jou?”
Jabbing a finger at his face, she shouted, “Shut your mouth, you lousy drunk. What a ridiculous thing to say!”
Though Delilah bared her teeth at him, Enba ignored her entirely, saying, “If jou’re gonna make a pash at a guy by getting him to drink, jou’d better have one yourshelf!”
“Shut up!” she shouted, suddenly grabbing the bottle and bringing it down on Enba’s head with a thud. Made of high-polymer glass that was hard as stone, it didn’t break or even crack, and Enba slumped backward once more.
“Lousy drunk,” Delilah grumbled, as a bottle banged down in front of her. “What?” she said, her eyes reflecting the dashing figure in black.
“Fair is fair.”
For an instant, an expression of something resembling rage shot across the woman’s lovely countenance, but she quickly sighed and accepted her fate. Taking up the bottle, she stared at D. “If I drink the whole thing, I’ll probably die. Even if I don’t, I could be left a mess for the rest of my life. If that happens—”
“Will you take care of me for the rest of my days? That’s the cheapest ploy ever,” Galil said, his lips twisting into a grimace.
“Hold me for just one night.”
The silence of the seabed fell over the room. A heartbeat later, the seas boiled with explosive laughter.
“Delilah, my girl, don’t lay your cards out on the table like that!” Tong exclaimed, his body quivering as if from an electric shock.
“You’ve forced yourself on more guys than we can count,” said Galil. He wore a wry grin.
“Shut up, all of you!” Delilah turned and shouted. “Of course I was just joking. Don’t be so quick to start trouble, you jackasses!” She snarled at them. Her face was bright red, perhaps due to how much she’d already drunk.
Turning to her, Mikado nodded and said in a reconciliatory manner, “Okay, okay. The rest of us will look after you if it comes to that. So, go be a lady.”
“Thank you. Now, watch this.”
Holding the bottle, she tilted it back, her throat bobbing as she drained a third, half, two-thirds—and then both she and the bottle fell backward. The color drained from her face with chilling speed, her body bent like a bow, and every one of her joints creaked like a baby bird chirping. With a bizarre groan, she pushed her tongue out between her jaws.
“Oh, no! She’s having a reaction. Get her some medicine!”
Mikado got up and shoved both index fingers into Delilah’s mouth. He was trying to keep her airway open and prevent her from biting off her tongue at the same time.
In the meantime, Galil pulled an injector loaded with an ampoule from a pouch on his belt.
“Hurry! You’re taking too long!” Mikado cried, his voice taut with tension.
“All set!” Galil said, injector in one hand as he made his way over. But right next to him, a figure leapt up from the floor. Galil had no time to get out of the way, his compatriot’s head smashed into his hand, and the injector and ampoule were sent flying. Her one chance.
“You goddamned idiot!” he cried, delivering a chop to the man responsible without even thinking, but the other man narrowly avoided the blow by slumping back to the floor. Most likely, his rise from the floor had been a reflex. Either that, or he’d reacted instinctively to the cool and composed tones of their leader. It was Enba.
An inhuman sound issued from Delilah’s throat, and her body contorted to its limits.
“Damn!” Mikado shouted.
A black-gloved hand responded to his cry of despair. The men’s eyes were trained not so much on D’s handsome features as on the left hand he laid against Delilah’s pale brow. When his skin came in contact with hers, there was an entirely different sound. Like something was being sucked out.
Galil let out a low gasp of surprise.
Like a film running in reverse, Delilah’s movements retraced their former progression—her spasms subsided, her body straightened out, and the color flowed back into her skin.
After a prolonged treatment during which the woman’s life hung in the balance, D pulled his hand away as if nothing had transpired—and only two seconds had actually passed. At that point, the men saw something. As D pulled his left hand back, there was a vivid pair of vermilion lips on his palm.
At the same time, Delilah opened her eyes. She felt a hazy sort of vertigo, but it quickly cleared. Delilah sat up. Ignoring the hand Galil extended to her, she looked up at D. He didn’t offer to help her up. She got up again on her own.
“I’m afraid I caused quite a scene, didn’t I?” she said, but behind her wry grin churned an undisguised delight. “I guess I’ll be in your debt as long as I live, D.”
She extended her right
hand to him, but naturally D ignored it.
“Oh, this is a surprise. I’ve never had a man refuse to shake my hand before,” Delilah said, somewhat perturbed.
“We’re surprised at you,” said Mikado, a look of disbelief on his face. “A warrior being so quick to offer someone their sword hand, of all things. And this is the first time I’ve ever seen you looking to shake hands.”
“You don’t say?” Delilah turned away peevishly, and the flush in her countenance wasn’t entirely due to alcohol.
Mikado turned to D. “Thanks to you, we got to see a new side of one of our comrades.”
“Hey, don’t mention it,” a hoarse voice replied.
“Oh, you practice ventriloquism?”
“You might say that.”
“Well, that sure is a creepy voice. Sounds like an old crone playing madam at a whorehouse.” Tong laughed uproariously.
“Indeed,” D said in his own voice.
By his hip, another voice could be faintly heard to say, “What’s that supposed to mean?!”
Mikado turned his head. Galil, Delilah, and Tong turned the same way at almost the same time. Surprisingly, even Enba, down on the floor, lifted his besotted head. Their eyes focused on D. However, they weren’t looking at him.
“Fifteen riders,” Enba said from the floor. It was unclear if he was even fully conscious. Actually, his expression and his posture showed him to be thoroughly relaxed.
“They came in through the northern entrance,” said Delilah.
“And they sure know how to ride,” Tong said, still cackling.
There was a wall behind D. Beyond the wall was a corridor, and on the other side of that was another room. There was a window in it, and that window faced the street. But as the walls were constructed to keep the din in that boisterous bar from being heard outside, how had they managed to hear people riding by, knowing their numbers and even how well they handled their horses?
“At any rate, they’ve got nothing to do with us. How about another drink, brother?” Mikado said, raising a glass.
—
II
—
As Mikado had said, those riders were no concern of his group. Turning up in the sheriff’s office without so much as a knock at the door, one of the riders showed credentials that impressed the mayor and other village officials who happened to be there.
“A patrol from the Capital?”
“That’s right,” said a man in a gray uniform caked with white dust, giving a grim nod. “I’m Donnelly, the patrol leader.”
“But we’d heard you were passing through the village of Dunnich just the day before yesterday. That’s more than a hundred and twenty miles east of here,” the mayor said, eyeing the other man suspiciously.
Calmly, the man said, “That was the main force. You know about the bandits who’ve been active in the Kezus Mountains, don’t you? Well, we’re a separate force sent out to crush them. Three days ago, we were searching the mountains when we got orders from the Capital to get here as fast as we could.” The mayor didn’t even have time to get a word in edgewise before Donnelly drove the point of his business at him like a spear. “I’d like you to remand the Noble you’ve taken into custody. By order of the Capital.”
Running his eyes across the papers the man tossed down on the desk confirmed to the mayor that they were, indeed, documents issued by the government in the Capital. They even bore the signature of the present head of the administration. They said that no matter what had been unearthed at the village, it was to be brought back to the Capital.
The mayor protested such unilateral action. “I don’t care if it is the government in the Capital—I just can’t accept that we’re expected to let them take what we excavated for free. You’ll have to give me a valid justification for this.”
“Are you familiar with Noble Law Article 9, ‘Regarding the Excavation of Noble Ruins and Remains,’ paragraph 7?” Donnelly asked, a cruel smile rising to his lips. Of course someone like you wouldn’t be, it said. And he was right.
As the mayor wallowed in humiliation, a low voice poured into his ears. “And I quote: Fundamentally, Noble ruins and the items excavated from them belong to the individual or community that owns the land. However, in cases where the government in the Capital deems a property of special interest, said individual or community must immediately comply with their requests. I believe that should suffice.”
“No, that’s a question of legal interpretation, and our circumstances—” the mayor countered, not ready to concede.
Donnelly interrupted, asking, “What did you intend to do with this Noble, then?”
“Er, actually—”
“In a Frontier village, there’s only one thing to do when a living Noble is discovered. What else can be done besides driving a stake through his heart and lopping off his head?”
The mayor and the sheriff both froze. He was right. That pudgy little Nobleman had come along quietly. He’d even gone into a cell. And though they hadn’t given it much thought, they had to wonder now if that hadn’t been because D had been present. But they’d gotten rid of D. Yet the Noble remained passive. Once he was sure D was no longer around, was the Noble planning to break out and exact a vengeance beyond human ken?
As the villagers turned toward the holding area door in spite of themselves, Donnelly asserted coolly, “On the whole, the northern Frontier regions have a relatively weak fear of the Nobility. In light of that, I imagine your aim was this: You’d make this Noble who can walk in the light of day a famous attraction to draw in tourists. That’d certainly be profitable. After all, all you have to do is give him blood, and even if you didn’t, Nobles are still ageless and undying. He’d still be alive long after this village ceased to exist. However, the upper echelons in the Capital have something broader and deeper in mind than a village out in the sticks. This is a living Noble—and one that can walk in the light of day. Think about what such a creature could mean for the whole human race. Okay, enough talk. We’ll be taking that Noble now.”
Just as Donnelly took a step forward, a shot rang out to his rear. One of the officials slammed back against the wall behind him, clutching his right shoulder. A single-shot pistol had fallen at the man’s feet.
As the sheriff instinctively went for his weapon, a gun barrel as big around as a pepper mill was jammed in his face. An inch and a quarter in diameter, the barrel was packed with spongy tubes. The sheriff slowly brought his hand away from his gun.
“You know what this is?” Donnelly asked him.
Nodding, the sheriff said that he did. Beads of sweat had formed on his cheeks. “It’s a microneedle gun, isn’t it?”
“That’s right.”
The instant Donnelly replied, a slot in the holding area door opened and the barrel of an old-fashioned rifle appeared. A roar shook the room.
While one member of the patrol was blown backward, a stark gleam on the surface of the door centered around the end of the gun. The gleam formed a circle a foot in diameter, which then became a gaping, black hole in the eighteen-inch-thick door. The sound of a body hitting the floor reached them through the hole.
“Nobody give them any trouble!” the sheriff cried out.
“The jailer? That was unfortunate,” Donnelly said, waving the barrel of his microneedle gun from side to side in a menacing fashion. “That’s Sasha, isn’t it? How is he?” he asked one of his men. He must’ve been talking about their colleague who’d been shot.
“He’s dead,” someone replied.
“I’ll have to file a report with the Pension Bureau. You’ll all be witnesses.”
There was a low grumble of assent.
“The Administrative Bureau will notify you eventually about what actions will be taken. Now, turn that Noble over to us.”
The sheriff made a toss of his chin, and a deputy who’d been beside the mayor went over to the iron door with a fresh hole in it, and grabbed the key ring that hung on the wall. Using one of the keys to open
the iron door, he went inside. There was presently the sound of another door being unlocked, followed by the creak of hinges, and then the pudgy Baron Macula appeared.
“Who the hell are you guys?” he asked, furrowing his furry brow.
Donnelly explained the situation.
“Hmph! If humans are running the world, it doesn’t matter to me much where I go. Well, I suppose it’s better than staying in this hick village so tourists can gawk at me. Lead on!”
He peered about the room, his eyes halting on a battered leather satchel resting beside a desk. The same bag he’d brought out of the sleep capsule with him, it was a favorite of his. It hardly seemed to suit a Nobleman, though.
“Fetch me that,” he commanded haughtily, and one of Donnelly’s men grabbed the satchel. He then turned to the mayor and asked, “Did you take a look inside it?”
The mayor shook his head. “Despite how worn it is, we simply couldn’t get it open.”
A daunting smile formed on his round face. “You’re a lucky bastard. Maybe you’ve got a guardian angel,” he spat, his words chilling the mayor before the grinning Nobleman left the sheriff’s office.
A number of Donnelly’s men hastened out after him, while one who seemed to be his second in command looked up at the sky and whispered to Donnelly, “We were a little late getting here. By the time we hit the Valley of the Salamander, the sun’ll be going down.”
“Then we’ll just have to camp out. He’s an odd little Noble, but he’s definitely a real treasure. We’ve gotta get him to the Capital as fast as we can.”
It was nearly noon then, and the air was losing its determined clarity.
—
III
—
The party of fourteen riders arrived at the Valley of the Salamander with only an hour to spare before evening paid its call. The westward faces of the rocks were stained rosy pink by the light. The patrolmen halted their steeds at the entrance to the valley, for the figure of a lone horse and rider had appeared in the languid light.
The men exchanged glances. The figure also wore a gray uniform.
Record of the Blood Battle Page 3
