Demon Deathchase (11 page)

“If I could, would you sell out your clients?”

At D’s reply, soft as ever, the smile instantly vanished from the old man’s face.
His wrathful mien was a sight to behold, and it looked like he might even take a swing
at the Hunter with his cane. But he unexpectedly threw his head back in a way that
almost seemed to straighten his spine, and he gave a hearty laugh. “Ho ho ho. Knowing
as you do that this is the village of the Barbarois, that took nerve to say. Oh, what
a treat, what a great treat! Why, the last time anyone spoke to me like that was precisely
three hundred and twenty years ago . . . ”

A strange expression skimmed across the old man’s face. As if groping in the misty
depths of forgotten memory with fingers that’d lost their sense of touch, he narrowed
his eyes impatiently. When he threw them open again, a hue of astonishment spilled
from his pupils.

“That face,” he murmured. “Could it be that you’re . . . ”

“I’m a Vampire Hunter,” D said quietly. “At the request of the father of an abducted
girl, I’m in pursuit of the culprit. I’ve come here as a result of that, and nothing
more. But I understand your position. All I ask it that you put him back outside and
let me pursue him in peace.”

“Oh. Better yet, a man of principle.” The old man seemed beside himself with joy,
striking his cane against the earth. “Out of respect for that, I’ll share a little
something with you. What his requests were. One was that we provide him with an escort
to protect him from you and other Hunters. The other was to dispose of a young man
named D who was certain to come here.”

The square was buried in an avalanche of killing lust. While the two were conversing,
countless villagers had encircled them. Not a single one of them had a weapon in hand.
Nonetheless, each and every one of them had a fearsome air that made it clear they’d
have no problem slaying a few humans at a time.

“What will you do now, D? It was remarkable how you made it all the way in here, but
getting back out looks to be somewhat more difficult, doesn’t it? Every man and woman
assembled here’s been trained in the most astounding of abilities. No matter how great
of a Hunter you may be, you can’t possibly kill them all.”

And what was D doing as the old man spoke the indisputable truth? He was looking up
at the sky. Gazing at the perfectly clear blue and the clouds cavorting there.

His expression was so intent the villagers stopped closing on him and exchanged looks
with each other.

“So, is that where he wants to go then?”

Perhaps mistaking the Hunter’s muttering as a plea for his life, one of the Barbarois
leapt into the air with a cry like a savage roc. When he straightened up, his body
was round overall, yet his stomach was flat as a board, a shape that was reminiscent
of a tortoise. The beast stretched his arms toward D’s face. The fingertips fused
with the nails and became like the horns of a bull. If they but touched him, they’d
gouge away a chunk of flesh and bone.

The two figures passed each other—one in the air and one on the ground—and the rotund
man landed lightly as he came back to earth.

Maybe it was the stirring of the villagers that called forth the bloody mist. A number
of them had caught the silvery flash that shot out faster than the eye could follow
in the instant the man had passed D. But, no—they’d certainly seen the man’s head
pull into his clothing just as D’s blade was about to strike. Like a tortoise, the
man’s body was covered by a carapace that was impervious to even bullets, and his
hands and feet could stretch like springs.

But his carapace cracked down the middle just as he landed. The face of the man that
appeared from the bottom, the serpentine neck, the tangle of intestines—all of them
had been split in two right down to the crotch, and the man sent up a spray of blood
as he toppled.

For the first time, the others saw the blade shining in D’s right hand. There was
no one foolish enough among them to press the Hunter a second time, despite the gut-deep
rage they felt at the death of their comrade and friend. The realization that this
youth possessed an unholy prowess with the sword seeped into the marrow of their bones.

In an attitude and pose no different from the one that’d greeted his attacker, D turned
to the old man and said softly, “You can kill me if you like, but many of your villagers
will die, too. Why don’t you stand back and let me stay here until night? When the
carriage leaves, I’ll go right out after it. That’s it. As the lot of you have entered
a contract to help the z, I’ll ask nothing else.”

If the decree of certain death the old man had pronounced on D was valid, what D said
was equally true.

“So, it’s just as I thought then . . . ” The old man nodded, his face showing understanding.
“Such abilities, such dignity,” he muttered. “Yes, I was right all along . . . ” Then,
waving his right hand so the villagers backed off, he said something unexpected in
a weary tone. “If you should ask that all in the village drown in a lake of blood,
I could not deny you. I implore you, take the shriveled head of this old fool for
our rudeness and grant us your forgiveness.”

“What are you talking about?!” someone shouted. This one angry outburst parted the
wall of villagers.

A woman in a dress an unsettlingly deep shade of indigo stepped from the mob to stand
between the old man and D. The spot of pink on her exposed right shoulder was strangely
conspicuous against her white skin. Her voice was a venom-dripping howl as she said,
“Why the fainthearted drivel? Elder, have you forgotten the law of our village? Once
we have a contract with one who’s come seeking our aid—regardless of who they may
be—we must uphold the wishes of our employer or die trying. And I, Caroline, intend
to do so, with the aid of Mashira and Bengé.”

“Absolutely,” an impudent voice added in agreement. Pushing his way through the ring
of people, a middle-aged man of average height and medium build tossed the hem of
his gray coat and took his place alongside the woman. “By failing to honor a contract
we’ve already agreed to, you’d be doing more than just breaking the law of the village.
It would mean the ruin of the village itself. Elder, leave this young pup to the three
of us.”

“My sentiments exactly.”

The third speaker drew a dramatic reaction. The voice came from behind the middle-aged
man, and it must’ve caught him off guard, because he flinched momentarily and took
a step back.

Framed by the other two but standing behind them was a strangely elongated man, as
thin as a preying mantis. His hands and face were as black as if they’d been dipped
in ink, and his coat was the color of midnight. Though this was the same color as
the leather Kyle garbed himself in, there was something peculiar about it that gave
it an entirely different feel.

“I believe we met earlier,” the tenebrous man said, winking at D. The man was so thin
it seemed plausible no one would be able to see him hiding behind a fair-sized pole.
But there hadn’t even been a single tree nearby to conceal him. “Allow me to do the
introductions. The lovely lady you see here is Caroline, while this is Mashira. And
I am Bengé,” he said, turning with a smile to the elder. “Since he’s already here
there’s not much we can do. Elder, you may relent, but we’re going through with this.
You can strip us of our right to reside here if you so desire.”

“Friends of his marred my skin,” Caroline said in a quivering voice as she pressed
her left hand to the pink spot. “I won’t forget that. I’ll never forget the pain.
Even pounding an iron wedge through this rascal’s chest won’t make it go away!”

“There must be others besides us who feel the same way. Step forward!”

But when the middle-aged man—Mashira—had made this call, the old man shouted “Idiots!”
so loudly that the rebellious trio and a number of villagers coming forward to join
them flinched. That wizened feline form of the old man had caused the group of malcontents
three times his size to tremble.

“Do you fools know I’ve looked like this since the village was founded? Have you any
idea how your ancestors suffered and sweated to build this mountain village after
they were chased from their homes for carnal relations with demons? I’ll have you
know, all their hard work was poised for destruction at one time.”

Even the young ones—those for whom the past did not yet exist—were riveted in place
by the purposefulness of the old man’s voice. It was the sort of voice that would
steal into their ears even if they had their hands clamped over them. Perhaps the
only one who could ignore it was D, standing solitary and forlorn.

The bloody screams of the old man continued. “On that day—the first day of our ten-thousand-year
history—a horrible toxic gas gushed from the earth and onto our land. Half the villagers
died, and the other half could do naught but wait for death as their flesh festered.
If a certain personage hadn’t appeared, the village would’ve become the domain of
the Grim Reaper, and none of you would’ve ever been born. Listen well, for that person
traveled with a certain grand purpose in mind. He’d heard rumors of us, and was the
first to rush here. And this is what he said. ‘Let five of your strongest, bravest
men accompany me on my journey. If you do, I will take away this calamity that has
befallen your village, and fortune shall instantly smile upon you.’”

This was the first time more than half of the villagers had heard these facts. Engrossed
by this sudden tale of days gone by, the villagers failed to notice two things that
were happening. The first was that, perhaps due to something in the old man’s story,
D’s eyes had begun to give off a piercing light. And the other was that a young man
was walking down the road from the supposedly locked main gate, making his way through
the deserted village as he headed towards the square.

“This entire square,” the Elder continued, “and the whole village, for that matter,
was filled with rotting, dying souls. But the instant that person’s proposition reached
their ears, they forgot all about the excruciating pain. And then, one villager came
from behind a pile of rubble over there, and another came from back beyond the withered
trees. The people went to him as if they’d been summoned by name—exactly five of them.
What’s more, they were the toughest we had, and everyone knew it.”

The young man approached the entrance to the square. Taking a quick peek around, a
charming smile nudged his ruddy cheeks as he headed in.

“And then, the village of the Barbarois came back to life.” The old man’s voice was
boundlessly deep. “As soon as that personage had left with the five, why, the ground
the village sits on rose toward the sky and came to be where you see it now. In the
space of three breaths, new growth budded on the trees, and the flowers bore fruit.
It wasn’t until later we discovered the toxic subterranean gases had been diluted
to harmless levels, too. All we could do at the time was chant out his name and press
our faces to the ground. Heed my words!” the old man said, his voice that of the Elder
that commanded all. “I’ll tell you a law that you youngsters don’t know about. When
that person or any of his bloodline should appear, then and only then must all in
the village bend any subsequent laws and comply with his wishes.”

His awe-inspiring tone was an order. Even the rebellious trio was speechless.

The old man bowed deeply to the beautiful Hunter, whose black hair was swaying in
the breeze. “Long have we awaited you. All that your highness desires shall be granted.
If you wish that carriage ripped apart, or burnt to the ground where it stands, we
are yours to command.”

As they watched him with eyes full of an awe that surpassed fear, D’s reply came to
the villagers’ ears.

“I appreciate the offer, but you have the wrong person. Let those three go and guard
the carriage, as they wish. I’ll be right behind them.”

“What are you trying to say?” the old man asked in astonishment.

“What an honest fellow,” black Bengé laughed shrilly. “Well, since he says so himself,
this law you’ve brought up doesn’t apply, Elder. But in light of his frankness, we
won’t let anyone else touch him. The three of us alone will take him on.”

“I have one juicy tidbit for you to take to your grave,” Caroline laughed, her crimson
lips curling back. “This carriage is bound for the Claybourne States.”

“Let’s go, whippersnapper!” Mashira cried out as he crouched down. A heavy ax glittered
in his right hand.

It looked like even the old man lacked the means to forestall the vicious attack by
the trio. Just then, a harsh query of “Who the hell are you?!” could be heard from
the rear of the crowd, but the question soon became a drawn-out scream.

The rows of people kicked up sand as they parted, and, at the far end of the straight
path they opened, a rosy-cheeked young man smiled brightly. It was an angelic smile,
the kind anyone would return without thinking twice. However, the fetid stench billowing
up before him was part of the smoke rising from the chest of a fallen villager. Though
it was unclear just what sort of energy had struck the villager, flames were still
licking the carbonized and perfectly circular wounds on his chest and back.

D became a black shooting star flying through the air. The ray beam that shot through
the space he’d occupied an instant earlier continued past him. With nothing to strike,
it scored a direct hit to the carriage parked to one side of the square.

“That’s not good!” someone cried out. Startled by the flying sparks and energy discharge,
the team of horses whinnied especially loudly and bolted for the exit on the far side
of the square.

“Close the back gate!”

A few villagers ran off in response to the old man’s shouts, but an instant later
a beam intercepted them, and they fell forward with their heads blown off. Nobody
could tell where the beams were coming from. The square had become a place where bolts
of light flitted madly, and, as fleeing villagers vanished in the flashes, the origin
of the murderous beams still seemed impossible to determine.