Wendover Gorge
chapter 6
I
In this era, there were swords that could cut through stone. There were also those that could slice steel. However, they chose their masters. Cutting through stone and slicing steel were skills for an expert. At present, even out on a Frontier choked with warriors and superhuman Hunters, there was no woman who was known to slash through stone.
Now, bringing her blade straight down on the marker, Iriya sliced halfway through it without meeting any real resistance, then brought her arm back again. Suddenly, she realized that everything had ended. Around her were none of Those Who Wait. The lights were out in each of the homes, all of which had become dilapidated ruins.
“Meeker!” the Huntress called out.
“Miss Iriya!” he immediately replied. He was close.
Just as she was about to walk toward his voice, three cyborg horses came into view far down the road. A figure in a black coat rode one, and Meeker was on another. The third was Iriya’s steed. They galloped up, and then Meeker jumped down and threw his arms around Iriya’s neck. The girl bore his weight through sheer joy.
“You’re not hurt, are you?”
“No problem. It was looking bad, but D saved me!”
“Oh, that’s right. He was here, too.”
The gorgeous Hunter stood quietly before the two of them.
“How’d you know to cut through that stone marker?”
The question made the boy turn and look at D.
“Go ahead and tell us. It was all your doing.” Though the Hunter’s voice was steely, it somehow seemed gentle.
The boy nodded. Through the darkness, Iriya saw his flush of pride.
“In my dad’s room, there were a bunch of really old books. One of ’em was called Frontier Evils and Their Means of Destruction Based on Oral Tradition. It was about all kinds of demons and monsters—how to get away from ’em, how to hide from ’em, and even a little bit about how to slay ’em.”
“Up till now, no one’s known how to get rid of Those Who Wait! That must’ve been a pretty old book.”
“It wasn’t really a book. More like a bunch of ratty old papers bound together. My dad made the cover himself.”
“Looks like someone was a smart cookie,” remarked the hoarse voice. “Your father found all these old scraps and notes and put them together into a single volume. Any ideas whose notes they were?”
“Yeah, I think . . .” Closing his eyes, Meeker’s face took on an adult’s grimace. “I’m pretty sure it was Montague—Father Montague Lord Jessun.”
“Oh, him,” the hoarse voice said, seeming satisfied.
“You know him?” Iriya inquired.
“He was an eccentric holy man who roamed all over the Frontier about a century ago collecting all kinds of old legends and stories. But before he could put them all together in a single volume, he had a heart attack and died. Since he was staying at an inn for merchants when he croaked, his valuable possessions were gone before his relatives or apprentices could get there, and I heard that, aside from a small portion, his notes and other writings had scattered to the four winds. So, the squirt’s father got his hands on ’em, eh?”
“You’ll come in handy. You just saved me—and D, too.”
“That’s right,” D said.
Iriya gave the boy, so happy and proud he was frozen in place, a look of exceeding tenderness.
“And so another legend falls—let’s go!” D said.
When they were just shy of the village gates, Iriya pressed her hand against her chest and halted her horse.
“Oh, no—I wonder if I could’ve dropped it? Go on ahead.”
“What is it?” Meeker inquired with concern.
Giving him a wry grin, she replied, “A present from my mom—a bitty little pendant. The chain must’ve snapped while I was fighting. It’s probably no use, but I’ll try to find it anyway. I’ll catch up with you soon.”
“We’ll wait fifteen minutes,” D said matter-of-factly.
“Roger that.”
Wheeling her steed around, the warrior woman galloped off into the depths of the darkness.
D and Meeker decided to wait by the entrance. The gates were rotting away.
After waiting fifteen minutes, D murmured in a tone so faint Meeker couldn’t hear, “She’s gone, isn’t she?”
“That Noble?” Even the hoarse voice sounded tense.
“Viscount Albidozen, most likely.”
“But how’d he manage it?”
“Ask him.”
“Hmm,” the hoarse voice groaned. “If he was in the village, he would’ve had to deal with Those Who Wait, too. You suppose he worked his spell from outside?”
“Listen closely,” D said.
“I don’t get it,” the hoarse voice replied several seconds later. “They’re already three miles away. So—” The hoarse voice buttoned its lip, but quickly continued, “Oh, here comes something else!”
D’s left hand shot out. There was a dull thud, and his fist grasped a single silver arrow.
“There’s a thread tied to the head of this arrow. Seems like you’ve got all kinds of handy acquaintances.”
Ignoring the taunting tone of the hoarse voice, D followed the thread so fine it would’ve been imperceptible to the naked eye, then turned to the boy.
“The highway’s to the west. Is there a mountain or a hill along the way?”
Furrowing his brow for a moment, Meeker replied, “Sure. About a mile and a quarter up ahead, there are four hills.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I read maps of the Frontier.”
“You don’t mean to tell me you’ve got ’em memorized, do you?” the hoarse voice said.
“I do!”
“Little shit,” D’s left hand said, rising.
Using his right hand to pull it back down, D remarked, “It’s like Iriya said. You come in handy.”
“Don’t I, though?”
“Get on behind me. We’re in for a rough ride. Your tail end will be killing you.”
“Yes, sir!”
Meeker gladly transferred to the Hunter’s steed, and leaving the other two steeds there, D gave a kick to his horse’s flank—and with a toss of its mane, the cyborg horse broke into a gallop.
Though from the outside the carriage appeared to be of average size, the interior was strangely roomy. Iriya found herself resting on the floor of a room that looked to be about eighteen hundred square feet. Her arms and legs were immobilized. Though her body told her she was bound by some sort of fine thread, she couldn’t see it, no matter how she strained her eyes. Yet the pain of the thread biting into her and the deep welts it left on her skin told her it was no illusion. From the faint shaking, she determined that the carriage was still in motion.
Beyond a few sofas and tables, a wide staircase rose in an elegant spiral. Iriya no longer found it odd that a carriage that looked from the outside like it would have room for just four occupants had a second story. As she was thinking about how she was going to escape, a figure in a black cape came down the stairs.
“Send another dummy?” she asked. Iriya wasn’t the least bit cowed.
“I’m the genuine article.”
The caped figure came over. With the pale skin unique to the Nobility and red eyes that burned in the darkness, he had a slender frame that projected a particularly cruel image.
“The horses that draw this carriage are unusually swift. You should know we are already more than a dozen miles from the village. Not even the Hunter known as D could possibly catch up to us.”
“Sooner or later this shit heap of a wagon will have to stop. And when it does, you’ll have a fight on your hands. In fact, I don’t even need to wait for D. I’ll dispose of you myself. Okay, then. Cut me free.”
“Hmph. It would appear you are merely capable of making threats, human. And yet—”
Resting his hand against his slender chin, the viscount stared thought
fully at Iriya. Huntress though she was, the look was unsettling enough to freeze her solid. The viscount quickly bent over and gazed at the nape of Iriya’s neck. Though she tried to resist, her body was still bound tight. Iriya was seized by the fear of those vile fangs piercing her pale throat.
Reaching for her trembling chin and examining her scrupulously, seemingly in spite of himself the viscount murmured, “Hmm. It’s as if we never bit you. Who could do such a thing . . .”
“It’s just your imagination,” Iriya spat venomously. “No one bit me. If you want to, go ahead and try biting me now.”
“Yes,” the viscount said with a nod, and Iriya thought, Damn it! “That would be the best way to resolve this question. And I must thank you for making the suggestion.”
He smirked, stark fangs gleaming behind his lips.
“Save your thanks for your son in hell.”
“Regrettably, I have neither a wife nor a son. Therefore, I was able to join my compatriots, night in and night out, for the delightful sport of feasting on human blood. As I did when we called on your home.”
“You mean to say . . . that was a game for you?” Iriya asked in a voice like a crone’s.
“What else would it be? Killing your parents and abducting your siblings was merely a caprice! There was no need to tear open their throats, and we hardly wanted for servants.”
“Give me back my father . . .” Iriya’s voice trembled. A torrent of almost insane rage surged through her supple form, trying to transform it into wrought iron. “Give me back my mother . . . and my brothers . . . Give me back my little sister . . .”
And what should the Noble do but nod?
“Very well. In Vinmel I told you as much. Now I shall reunite you. Yan!”
The viscount’s grin broadened. His right arm rose, his cape hiding the staircase from Iriya’s view. Peering into her eyes, which had become vacant the instant she heard Yan’s name, the Nobleman grinned viciously. His cape quickly came down again.
II
At the foot of the stairs stood a young man, short but sturdily built. He was dressed in rough old clothes and sported close-cropped hair—for a second, Iriya thought her brother must’ve just come home from a hunting trip. The kiss of the Nobility had prevented the years from changing him.
“For your benefit, I’ve had him don the same clothes he wore that evening. Here you are, brother and sister, reunited by chance after all these years. We have plenty of time. By all means, please get reacquainted.”
A heartbeat later, Iriya realized she’d been set free. As she leapt to her feet with lightning speed, she saw the caped figure vanish into the depths of the darkness.
“Big brothers and little sisters are a thing for the world of humans. I look forward to seeing what becomes of the bond between you now that one of you is a servant of the Nobility!”
“Iriya . . .”
The mere sound of his voice left Iriya feeling dizzy.
“Yan . . .”
You’ve gotta pull yourself together, a tiny voice whispered to her, but its tone was also vacant and dazed.
“Iriya—you’re all grown up, aren’t you?”
Yan broke into a grin. It was the same warm and dependable smile she remembered from days of old.
Her older brother had carried a weapon as heavy as their father’s since the time he was ten and used it to bag game just as big, too. Taciturn by nature, he was warned by their mother that folks would take him for a mute, but with his evening drink he would give them a friendly grin. And every time he did, Iriya realized it was a treasure.
“What’ve you been doing all this time? Are Mom and Dad doing well?”
“No,” Iriya replied, shaking her head. “What are you talking about? The night the Nobles came, their throats were ripped open! They’re dead! You, Pol, Chulos, and Maggie all got bitten and were carried off. I was the only one they didn’t bite!”
“That . . . is a lie,” Yan said sadly.
“Why do you say that? It’s true! I don’t remember it happening. And look at my throat—there’s not a mark on it, is there?”
“I saw it, Iriya—I watched the great Count Langlan drink your blood. We’d all been bitten already. You were the last. And then they carried all of us off. If Count Langlan hadn’t told them to leave you there, you would’ve met the same fate we did.”
“No. You must be remembering it wrong, Yan.”
“You’re the one who’s wrong.”
Yan gazed patiently at his little sister.
“What’s with your eyes—why are they red? I’ll tell you what happened, okay? Just don’t look at me.”
“Iriya.”
“Afterward, I was rescued by a passing witch doctor. He took me on the road with him. With my whole family bitten by Nobles and taken away, I couldn’t very well stay in that village. After all, there was no saying you wouldn’t all come and attack the place. Then I learned how to use swords and other weapons, and I set out on a journey to find all of you. I wanted to rescue you—if you hadn’t been made servants of the Nobility yet. If I was too late, I would drive a wooden stake through your hearts before you could hurt anyone else.”
“Who taught you how to use those weapons?”
“Who? Different people!”
“Before you slew Baron Mitterhaus, you took care of Count Zegreib, Duke Schultz, and Baron Luzbon. And you had to deal with Pol, Maggie, and Shezk. Quite an accomplishment. I can imagine what Mom and Dad would call you—sibling slayer.”
“I didn’t have a choice,” Iriya protested.
The shock had been surprisingly faint. From the instant her blade slid into the heart of the first she’d dealt with—Maggie—all consciousness of their blood ties had been transformed into something else entirely. Iriya had since stained her hands with the blood of two more siblings.
“Being servants of the Nobility, you have to do whatever you’re told. And I had to stop that.”
“And now it’s my turn?” Yan’s smile broadened. His meaty hands grabbed hold of Iriya’s shoulders.
“I know how you feel about me,” her older brother said.
What’s he talking about?
Terror squirmed somewhere in Iriya’s heart.
“I knew perfectly well how you viewed me. But there was no way I could accept it. After all, we’re brother and sister.”
His rugged face drew closer. In the old days, he’d often smelled of sweat. Now, however, he carried the stench of blood.
“But things are different now. You don’t have to hide anything, Iriya. I like you, too.”
“Yan, don’t talk craziness.”
“Why can’t brothers and sisters be together? Who decided that? That’s a human rule, isn’t it?”
Before Iriya’s brother’s face approached hers, his powerful chest crushed against her breasts. His waist melded with hers, and her brother’s hands slid from her shoulders to her back.
Iriya couldn’t shut her eyes, which saw those of Yan as they glowed burning red, like coals. Iriya’s right hand went for the dagger on her hip. It was still there—not because Viscount Albidozen hadn’t noticed it, but rather because the Nobleman considered Iriya to be a slip of a girl who posed no threat to him. Her weapons had been left alone, and even her longsword had been placed on the floor by her side.
“Iriya.”
Her brother sought her lips. Iriya didn’t refuse him. Even when her brother reached for the hand she used to grip her dagger, she didn’t fight him. Her brother was far more passionate than she’d imagined back in those distant days. He sucked against Iriya’s lips so hard it seemed he’d pull them right off, and their teeth made a noise as they banged together. And then—
There was a scream that fell short of words. Yan leapt back, bright blood gushing from between the fingers pressed to his mouth. His tongue had been bitten clean off. As he stood there frozen with surprise, a dagger plunged into his throat, and while he staggered backward, Iriya pounced on him with her sword in one hand�
�and split her own brother from the top of the head right down to the crotch. As Yan fell without a word, his eyes weren’t those of a brother looking out for his little sister. As if to escape those eyes crazed by loathing and hunger, Iriya made a second swipe, this one from the side—and her older brother, split crosswise from the base of his throat, flew into the air. Still breathing easily, Iriya raced over to the shuddering body, reversing her grip on the longsword and dealing the final blow to the still-pulsating heart.
“This comes as a surprise,” said Viscount Albidozen, his voice drifting out from nowhere in particular, yet Iriya remained facing straight ahead, her face a mask devoid of all emotion as she sheathed her blade. “I would have thought your feeling for your brother would trump your pride as a Hunter, but I see how callously you cut him down. Your great accomplishments up until this point are understandable. Another notch for your belt, sibling slayer. Acting dazed and compliant, then biting his tongue off—whoever could have taught you such a tactic?”
Ignoring him, Iriya mouthed a farewell prayer, then turned to the staircase.
There, on the landing halfway up, stood Viscount Albidozen.
“Is that how you put your relations at peace? Who did you learn this from, and who will you pass it on to? You are a deeply troubled girl. However, I admire your resolve! Your cold-bloodedness. Be mine, child. Then you shall be able to call on the true power that the gods or whoever granted you.”
He wasn’t joking. The look in the viscount’s eye was the same he’d give any beloved Noblewoman.
“Look into my eyes—that is what I would normally tell you, but you were unperturbed by the Noble’s gaze of your brother. It would seem I have no choice but to resort to force. Child, are you prepared to do battle with Viscount Albidozen?”
“Come and get it,” Iriya responded with a terrible gleam in her eye.
The carriage was approaching an old suspension bridge. It wasn’t one of the Nobles’ making. About a century earlier, this six-hundred-foot bridge had been designed by humans and fashioned from wood, steel, and cables. The iron plates and bolts supporting it were rusted and loose, leaving it in such poor shape some joked about whether it would support the weight of a crossing baby. What would happen when the Noble’s carriage rode onto it? Or if it were struck with a single arrow, for that matter?
Iriya the Berserker Page 10
