Demon Deathchase (13 page)

Taking an easy step forward, D then did something strange. As he turned back to whatever
he’d just stabbed, he jabbed another needle into the ground at his feet at the same
time. “What’s wrong?” he said. “Until that needle gets pulled out, you can’t get into
my shadow, can you?”

It sounded like someone was grinding their teeth, and then something fell to the ground.
A wooden needle stained with blood. It’d been tossed
up
from a patch of ground where there was nothing at all. Thrown out of the shadow of
a tree barely cast on the ground by twilight.

As long as you’re here, I’m here,
he told D.
If you concentrate, you can see me. You don’t see me because you think you can’t
—that was the secret he’d imparted to Leila.

Bengé lurked in the shadows. But that wasn’t all. His skill was such that even D couldn’t
detect his presence when he’d slipped into the Hunter’s shadow. What’s more, the way
his attacks came from utterly impossible angles suggested he required no time at all
to migrate from one patch of shade to the next. The slight delay between attacks was
actually just the time it’d take to aim and throw a dagger. Once he’d slipped into
his foe’s shadow, he became an invincible assassin. So long as that foe wasn’t D.

“Stanched the bleeding, have you? Too bad the fog is moving in,” said D. Before he’d
finished speaking, a dense white flow rolled in from the depths of the woods and boiled
up at his feet. The twilit region lost its light.

Without light, no shadows can form.

D alone saw it. He saw the figure on the ground some ten feet ahead, clinging to the
earth like a veritable sheet of black cloth. Their duel was as good as decided.

But at that instant the shadow tossed up a tiny ball of light. A blinding brilliance
filled the milky white world, and the trees threw shadows across the ground.

“This time you have me beat. But we’ll meet again,” Bengé shouted, his pained parting
words ringing from deep in the forest.

D slipped out of the woods and got on his horse. Within a few hours, he’d be within
range of his target.

—

II

—

Hmph. Bengé isn’t as great as he makes himself out to be. Looks like he got whipped,”
Mashira spat after he’d taken his ear from the ground and raised his head.

“As I expected, it was too much for him to handle, was it not?” It was Mayerling who
said this. He, Mashira, and Caroline had camped out for the night in the middle of
the forest, deciding that it would best to await Bengé’s return.

Drifting around them was the savory aroma of birds cooking over the camp fire, skewered
on sticks. Mashira reached out for one and offered it to Mayerling. “Would you care
for some?”

“No.”

“Suit yourself. The Nobility have no need for meat, right?” The Barbarois bodyguard
said this as if he’d known that all along, but that was a lie. Somewhere in his tone
there was malice. Mashira tore into the golden brown flesh, stuffing his cheeks. His
yellowed teeth continued shredding the meat with a vulgar sound.

Not giving her compatriot so much as a glance, Caroline gazed at Mayerling’s profile.
Perhaps she’d eaten something already, for she ignored Mashira’s roasting fowl. Not
exactly the eyes of one in love, hers were feverish and clouded with passion.

“If he failed, the enemy will be after us. They’ll catch us if we stay around here
waiting. We’d best set off at once.” Perhaps angered by Mashira’s rude behavior, Mayerling’s
tone was enough to chill the blood. He turned abruptly from the fire.

“Please put your mind at ease,” Caroline told him. “Our enemy won’t be here any time
soon. Not if he’s pursuing a different carriage.”

“A different carriage?” Mayerling asked as he turned to face them again.

“Correct,” she replied. “A shadow carriage, if you will. It’s one of Bengé’s skills.
Once someone begins chasing it, they’ll never catch it a million years.”

“I’m sorry to say I have no faith in the skills of one already bested in battle,”
said the Noble. “It occurs to me now that perhaps retaining the three of you was a
mistake.”

“What are you trying to say?” Caroline asked in an agitated manner. “I’ll thank you
kindly not to judge the abilities of the two of us unsatisfactory merely because the
likes of Bengé proved a failure. Oh, that Bengé is an idiot. We would’ve been better
served to let that damned Hunter go on pursuing us.” Beneath her vermilion lips, her
white teeth ground together.

“You’ll see our true power, and I don’t just mean someday. Perhaps as early as tomorrow.
I believe there’s another pack of bloodhounds on your heels.”

“Yes, Mashira’s right,” said Caroline. “Tomorrow, I shall join forces with Bengé and
slay every last one of those dogs, mark my words.”

“I leave it to you then,” Mayerling told her. “But tonight, we move out. Our destination
is close at hand. We should be there the evening after next. A good time for our departure.
I’m going on ahead. You two follow behind. By day I shall be sleeping in the forest.”

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 trod 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.