Vampire Hunter D: Pale Fallen Angel Parts One and Two

by Pale Fallen Angel (Parts 1

  D’s left hand went into action.

  Something knifed through the wind and pierced the trees. There was a woman’s gasp, and then it quickly became quiet again. At the same time, the glowing Miska faded.

  Bounding to her without making a sound, D took a look at the plain wooden stake stuck in the tree trunk before he spun around. Ahead of him, a black fog had billowed up silently. D’s kicking off the ground and the fog’s enveloping him were almost simultaneous, and it was a few seconds later that a cry of pain arose from the bushes about fifteen feet away.

  “You did a wonderful job of seeing through my little deception, but you can’t stop the fog of death. I should’ve expected as much from Vampire Hunter ‘D.’ My carelessness has simply made more work for me,” said the figure in white who’d appeared from thin air—Miska.

  Apparently she’d taken D seeing through her illusion into account all along.

  “When my blood enters your body, it’ll become poison. Even a Noble can be immobilized for three days by it. But that’s nothing compared to what it’ll do to a miserable dhampir.”

  As her feet pattered across the grass to bring her to where D had landed, her right hand clutched an imposing foot-long knife. It was anyone’s guess where she’d kept it hidden up until now.

  As expected, D fell flat on his back among the roots of the tree.

  “I’m sure the baron will be rather cross with me, but I’m prepared to accept that.”

  The girl raised her knife, and then swung it down. But it was stopped cold in midair.

  “It can’t be!”

  As Miska’s eyes bulged in astonishment, the youth far more lovely than her slowly got back on his feet.

  “So, are you the real thing?” D asked.

  “Why didn’t my fog of blood harm you? Do you mean to tell me you’re indestructible?”

  Of course, Miska had no way of knowing that a faint snicker issued from the part of his left hand that came into contact with her wrist, holding back the deadly blow.

  “Kill me,” Miska groaned. Both her lips and her voice quaked. Her spell had been broken by a human/Noble half-breed. For a Noble like Miska, the humiliation was a fate worse than death.

  The young man wasn’t the sort of person to pardon anyone who’d made an attempt on his life. Miska would meet her fate here and now.

  D’s right hand flashed out as his longsword shot up above his head.

  The shadowy figures that’d just leapt down from the tree were bisected before they could cry out, leaving a total of six pieces.

  “It’s not over yet,” Miska said as she watched the dark forms. Shockingly enough, it looked like she was enjoying herself.

  D also realized it wasn’t over. Even before the half-dozen pieces of the bisected figures sluggishly got up again, he knew there was something wrong from the unusual feel of his blade as it’d gone through them.

  “It would appear you have someone else to take care of before you deal with me,” Miska said, her eyes turning to the half-dozen pieces.

  The figures didn’t move. Though they’d returned to life, they’d already tasted D’s blade once. But the right hand of each glistened with the cutting edge of a weapon.

  Still facing them, D raised his left hand, and then something whistled through the air. Just then, the shadowy figures pounced on him. D’s blade struck down only the first figure. The upper and lower halves of the remainder flew through the air, but they then fell to the ground like puppets that’d had their strings cut.

  The leaves trembled, shaking off the moonlight. Seconds earlier, D apparently hadn’t missed the groan up in the tree. The rough wooden needle had found its mark.

  “Done playing with your dolls?” D asked as he looked up.

  Miska knit her brow. She didn’t understand what D meant.

  From the treetop, a mournful voice flowed out, saying, “It figures he’d only hire the best as an escort—you’re the first person to ever find me while I was hidden.”

  “So, you’re a puppet master?” said D.

  “Aye. Folks call me ‘Mario the Puppeteer.’ Keep in mind; the ones I just threw at you were merely a test. I wonder whether you’ll be able to spot the puppets I use next time,” the voice said, laughing as if its pain were already forgotten.

  Once more an arrow of light flew from D’s right hand, and the stand of trees swayed in response.

  “We’ll meet again, dashing Hunter! Perhaps next time it’ll be in the depths of hell,” the same voice called from the grove to D’s rear. The treetops rustled noisily before it became quiet again.

  D used his hand to bat away what was falling in front of him.

  Miska also seemed to notice it, and she said, “Whatever could these strings be for?”

  She then looked quickly at the figures lying at her feet and nodded knowingly to herself.

  “Say,” she called out to D, but then she noticed something that completely altered her expression. D still had a firm grip on her right wrist. One had to wonder how he’d managed to work his sword or hurl the wooden needles under the circumstances.

  Their eyes met. His were still ice, unchanged from when he’d told her he would dispose of her.

  “Do you still intend to do something . . . to me?” Miska said, backing away a step.

  Terror shot through her from the very top of her head down to the tips of her toes. The Hunter had just released her, and she knew what that had to mean.

  Glittering, D’s blade went into motion.

  And then—

  “Wait!”

  The voice was that of Baron Balazs. Crossing the grass, he said, “I came out here thinking something like this might’ve happened. Stop, D! I won’t allow you to lay a hand on this girl.”

  “She tried to kill me.”

  D’s reply left the baron at a loss for words. Noticing the black shapes lying at his feet, he’d thought that was what had attacked them.

  Quickly turning to Miska, the baron said, “That was a foolish thing to do—you must never do so again.”

  Miska lowered her eyes at his harsh tone.

  D stepped forward.

  Somewhat flustered, the baron told him, “Stop it! Dawn will be here soon. Then we part company. Just let her be.”

  “Out of my way,” D replied.

  “I’m your employer.”

  “And what have you employed me for? If you don’t have me around, you’ll be in danger. She was well aware of that.”

  “This time, I must ask you to restrain yourself,” the baron said coolly. “Besides, as my guard, you committed a major error.”

  “What error?”

  “I was attacked just now. See for yourself.”

  The left side of the baron’s cape was thrown back, revealing a jagged wound to his shoulder. Due to the incredible recuperative powers of the Nobility, the actual wound had half closed already, but the clothing over it was damp and red.

  “They struck at the same time. They must’ve waited for you to leave my side. And as my guard, your failure to realize that was an obvious mistake.”

  Although the Nobleman may have been exaggerating a bit, D’s sword returned to its sheath.

  “There won’t be a second time,” the Hunter stated, but it was unclear if his remark was directed at Miska or the baron. The young Noblewoman’s shoulders still dropped in relief.

  “We’re going back now,” D told him.

  The baron was captivated by a strange thought, and he followed the Hunter naturally enough. Although he’d agreed to comply with D’s instructions for the duration of the journey, a Noble would ordinarily never accept such an arrangement, particularly when it involved an employee whose way of speaking and general bearing were light years away from where they should be. Yet he wasn’t at all angry. In fact, he got the impression he could trust the Hunter, and that this was the safest thing to do.

  Of course, dhampirs had some Noble blood in them. The empathy that sprang from that connection was actually the biggest
reason the Nobility detested dhampirs. A human being with the same regal blood they possessed? Due to these feelings, the highest honor a dhampir could receive was to be treated as a Noble, but for a Noble, the very lowest form of employment was exterminating dhampirs.

  At a certain Noble’s mansion in the southern Frontier district, a “head market” was held once a year in imitation of the open-air markets in human cities. Of all the countless severed heads on exhibit there from humans and beasts, the cheapest of all were those of dhampirs—which were sold by the mound. Of course, you could say such excessive contempt only served to betray the Nobility’s mixed feelings about dhampirs.

  And the baron probably wasn’t exempt from these emotions. Though he was indispensable where this trip was concerned, taking orders from D the dhampir had to be more than a little humbling to his psyche. Miska’s actions were most likely prompted by this unease as well. And yet, the Noble couldn’t help but wonder if the young man wasn’t something far greater than even he could imagine. The baron had to consciously push back this thought when it suddenly popped into his mind.

  “What was your attacker like?” D asked as they were walking.

  “Someone made up of flowers.”

  “Flowers?”

  Not long after D had gone off in pursuit of Miska, a golden pollen-like dust had blown in on the wind. Immediately holding his breath, the baron had seen a figure in all the colors of the rainbow standing just beyond the eddying swirls of yellow. The cape that shrouded the tall figure had spread wide. The reason he seemed to have every imaginable hue was because the body beneath that cape was covered with lovely flower petals. The dust—or pollen—flew from one of his blooms.

  The baron had taken cover behind his carriage, but a split second later, more madness assailed him from above. He’d narrowly escaped, though his shoulder was rent wide in the process. The only thing that’d allowed him to get off so lightly was the superhuman reflexes he possessed as a member of the Nobility. He’d quickly looked up to the sky, but even with the lyncean eyes of a Noble, he hadn’t discerned any more than a shadowy winged figure flying off to the south at incredible speed, and the multicolored assassin had also vanished.

  There had been two foes.

  “Do you know them?” asked the baron.

  “The flower character? Yes.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “He’s known as ‘Crimson Stitchwort,’ and he’s a famous Vampire Hunter in the eastern sectors. Mario, whom I ran into, is one of the top three out west. It seems you’ve got every half-decent Hunter on the Frontier out to get you.”

  “Do you suppose I have someone spooked?”

  “Only you’d know that.”

  The baron smiled thinly, but didn’t say another word all the way back to camp.

  SEVEN ASSASSINS

  CHAPTER 2

  I

  __

  Seeing Miska as far as her carriage, the baron said, “The eastern sky is beginning to brighten. You’d do well to get some rest.”

  And with that, he kissed her hand.

  “I’ll thank you to tell that savage not to set fire to my carriage,” she replied, glaring at the Hunter.

  “Certainly,” the grimacing baron replied with a nod. “When you awaken, we shall no longer be here. So this is farewell. Please take care.”

  “And what will become of me if I should be set upon by those villains from earlier?”

  “You must forgive me.”

  Miska spun about indignantly and disappeared into her carriage.

  Looking over his shoulder and seeing what D had in his hands where he stood behind him, the baron furrowed his brow. The dagger with an eight-inch blade had a cold, black gleam to it.

  “I’ll have to operate on you before you get into your coffin,” said D.

  “Why?” the baron asked without any particular concern.

  “I’ve heard a bit about the flower person’s tricks. Apparently his pollen is absorbed by the body, and flowers bloom in profusion in the blood. ‘The blood is the life.’”

  “I see. So?”

  “Do you know what happens to a Noble when his blood is drained?”

  “I’m in your hands, then,” the baron said, nodding. “There are operating instruments in my carriage, you know.”

  “There’s no time for that.”

  “But I—” he began to say, but his voice was abruptly choked off. Clutching his throat and coughing, the baron fell to his knees.

  And what did D do? Suddenly seizing the collar of the baron’s cape, he pulled him closer.

  At precisely that instant, a flash of stark light shot up from the ground . . . and D and the baron were in entirely the wrong spot. A blade more than three feet in length ran deep into the baron’s right lung.

  “D—” said the baron, his voice echoing with pain and astonishment.

  As well it should have. From any vantage point, it seemed as if D had pulled the baron right onto the naked steel that came out of the ground.

  One great leap back carried D away from the Noble’s caped form.

  His foe hadn’t fled—the fearsome assassin still remained beneath the black soil. However, even if he had dug a hole, the surface of the ground was still hard. Whoever it was, he wouldn’t be able to move freely. Realizing this, the eye D turned toward the earth was that of a man entering a life-or-death struggle.

  The sensation from beneath his feet changed without warning.

  D took to the air—and a stark flash of light thrust up after him. Spinning nearly one hundred eighty degrees, D countered the attack with his own naked steel. The flashes clashed together, and then one of them snapped off and flew away. Spinning around in a way that beggared belief, the blade that had shattered the attacker’s weapon was then thrust halfway into the earth beneath the Hunter’s feet.

  Not even bothering to feel if it’d made contact, D pulled his steel back out and focused his senses on the ground.

  In order to travel through the solid earth, his foe sent out molecular vibrations that turned the soil into sand. Furthermore, once he’d moved, the ground promptly returned to its original state. That was why the enemy’s blade had easily been able to pierce the ground, but D’s sword had only penetrated it halfway.

  While D hadn’t been fatally wounded, blood was gushing from his right leg. Would he be able to parry a second attack from his elusive opponent?

  For a heartbeat, stillness settled over heaven and earth. Surely D must’ve noticed what was happening. The air had a touch of blue to it, and in the forest, the birds were stirring in the treetops. In less than twenty minutes, the morning sun would be shining down on the baron. A mere twenty minutes—all the time that stood between life and death for an immortal member of the Nobility. What if his subterranean foe didn’t make a move before then?

  Five minutes passed. Ten.

  The shadow at D’s feet was growing ever deeper.

  It was then that the carriage door opened.

  “Baron!”

  Standing motionless in the doorway, Miska seemed to shimmer like a mirage, backlit by the illumination from her carriage. Most likely she’d come out for a look after sensing danger.

  A heartbeat later, the ground broke at D’s feet. Another blade was thrust up.

  D was in the air. Not because he’d sensed the molecules beneath his feet transforming, but because he’d kicked off the ground with Miska’s appearance only a few tenths of a second earlier.

  As the blade sank back into the earth, the Hunter landed and drove the sword he had raised straight down into the black soil—and all the way to the hilt.

  Intense spasms traveled through the ground. Perhaps D even heard the cries of pain from the attacker in his death throes.

  Earlier, when his sword had only gone halfway into the ground, it was merely an act he’d staged when he realized his opponent had already moved. The subterranean assassin hadn’t comprehended the strength of the dhampir—the fiendish might granted him by his Nob
le blood. And seeing Miska’s arrival as just the thing to divert D’s attention, he’d casually drifted up to a dangerous depth . . .

  Having determined that the foe whose face he’d never even seen was dead, D raced over to the baron. Miska was already cradling his head.

  “D—why?” asked the baron.

  He wanted to know the reason the Hunter had put him in front of the oncoming blade. However, his discomfort seemed far less than before, and his breathing was deeper. The wound to his lung wouldn’t have caused him great pain, but what had become of his earlier agony?

  “From the way you were breathing, I could tell there were flowers blooming in your right lung,” said D.

  Though Miska was glaring at him, her cheeks flushed unconsciously.

  “I could’ve removed it myself, but the enemy showed up.”

  The baron’s eyes went wide with disbelief.

  Even Miska lost all her Noble restraint as her jaw dropped.

  “You mean to say you turned his thrust against those flowers? Impossible!” Miska cried.

  “You seem to be breathing easier,” said D.

  Everyone fell silent.

  If this were true, then in a split second, D had gauged the speed of the sword shooting up from the ground and the location of the malignant growth in the baron’s chest and excised the bizarre flowers with that thrust of the blade. He’d used one of the assassins’ attacks to remedy the damage they’d caused earlier . . .

  Through the silence, a roseate glow suffused Miska’s cheeks.

  Suddenly rising to his feet again, the baron used one hand to fend off the sunlight as he turned to D and said, “You’re a man of incredible practicality.”

  “We’ve got a long road ahead of us,” D replied. Rarely did he answer each and every comment made by someone else.

  __

  †

  After the two Nobles had returned to their respective carriages, D got on his horse. As the mount and rider started off in the watery light, the baron’s carriage creaked after them.

  When they came to the road leading out of the forest, D didn’t even look back. They’d left the white carriage in a clearing no human was likely to visit before nightfall. As the horses meekly continued to wait for further instructions from their slumbering master, their manes sparkled in the sunlight, and occasionally they’d make a movement that made it look like a bolt of white lightning had shot down their backs. No one would disturb them. Even if someone did come along, one look at that carriage would undoubtedly send them packing.