Demon Deathchase (9 page)

Though the mountain looked like it might be easily scaled, no matter how tough the
human that challenged it was, partway up its scaly surface the rocks were laid out
in such an intricate way that they’d cave in a second. Even if by some slim chance
a climber got through that part, there were places on the route where every rock was
rigged to bury the climber in an avalanche of stone.

Still, if fortune smiled on them and, by some miracle, the climber made it into the
bowels of the mountain, their eyes would be greeted by a single cavern. While passing
through it they’d be blasted by damp winds that seemed to blow from the very netherhells,
and then they’d soon come to a fortress constructed from cyclopean stones and colossal
trees. Despite the fact that the very human sounds of laughter, shouting, and crying
could be heard constantly, and the smoke from cook fires never ceased, there was something
in the atmosphere that separated this place from the world of humanity, an eldritch
aura which hung in the air. This was the nest of demons that made the Marcus clan
shudder—the village of the Barbarois.

It was a mystery just how on earth the carriage and the six-horse team drawing it
had got into the village, but enter they did as the light of dawn was finally beginning
to swell with the vitality of day.

There were houses in the village, and plenty of men and women. Stopping where they
worked or poking their heads out of doorways, they formed a ring around the carriage
the instant it came to a halt. Perhaps they were already cognizant of the true nature
of their strange visitor, for not one of them tried to open the door.

Pushing his way through the ring which was now several bodies deep, an old man with
a hoary mane came into view. His white beard was long enough to sweep the ground,
and his back was so stooped that his chest was parallel to the earth. Untold centuries
old, his face was obscured by countless wrinkles, and yet every inch of him brimmed
with an ineffable vigor.

He approached the door on the left-hand side of the carriage and rapped lightly on
the steel surface with his cane. Following that, he nodded to himself, and, after
turning around to give a wink to the masses behind him, he put his withered, clay-like
ear to the door.

The wind died out immediately.

The deathly silence persisted for what seemed like hours, but in due time the old
man started to nod with the kindly countenance of a codger doting on his grandchildren.

“I see, I see. I’m glad you came. It’s guards you desire then, to protect your lady
love? Very well, very well. So, how many do you need? Three? Hmm, did you have anyone
particular in mind?”

The eyelids he had shut like a thin line flew open. A fearsome light spilled from
them, but, after a moment, he closed his eyes once more.

“Bengé, Caroline, Mashira . . . Oh, those are the very best, the cream of our village.
Fine. When your flare informed us that you were being followed, Caroline headed out
to toy with those wandering mongrels, but they’ll be back presently. They are entirely
at your disposal.”

Could one of the Nobility, who should be comatose by day, be holding a conversation
with this old man? Not one of those assembled seemed to find this the least bit suspect
as the old man’s eyes suddenly opened again.

“Oh, so you say you have one more favor to ask,” the old man muttered. “What’s that?
There’s another who follows you solo, you say? Hmm . . . a dhampir.”

The air stirred violently. None of the villagers moved an inch, as if a ghastly white
aura had enveloped them. Moans of shock came from the villagers’ lips as the following
words slipped from the old man: “His name is—D.”

In a while, when silence once again ruled the scene, the mutterings of the old man
were adorned with a tremble of unbridled delight. “Ah, the greatest Vampire Hunter
on the Frontier—I believe we’re up to the challenge. If we lure him into our stronghold
and attack, slowly wearing him down, that is. That service, however, shall cost you
quite dearly.”

—

An hour after his brothers had gone, Groveck’s condition took a strange turn. His
breathing became rapid and shallow, and sweat gushed from his lean face. His state
was more serious than usual, which panicked Leila. His pulse was racing, too.

“A seizure,” she mumbled to herself. “But not like any we’ve ever seen before. What
in the name of hell is this . . . ”

She put as much ibuprofen as she could into the bottle on his IV, and she was headed
toward the kitchen to cool down the cloth for mopping the sweat from his brow when
the bus rocked violently.

Metal eating-utensils fell one after another to the floor, and though the sound-dampening
carpet tried to preserve the silence, the vehicle was filled by a cacophony. Every
wound in the girl’s body pulsed sheer agony.

Hastily securing the IV bottle with electrical tape, Leila raced around the vehicle
looking out all of the windows, checking in every direction. There was no one out
there. They were parked in the middle of a circular clearing about a hundred yards
in diameter that wasn’t far off the road. With a click of her tongue, Leila dove into
the garage to the vehicle’s rear.

Ignoring the five cyborg horses stored there with their limbs retracted, she leapt
into the driver’s seat of her battle car. As Leila turned the key in the ignition,
a comforting vibration swept through her. Without looking at the digital gauges beside
the steering yoke, Leila grasped the condition of the car like it was something she
could hold in her two hands.

“Atomic fuel at ninety-eight percent of capacity . . . Engine, check . . . Stabilizers,
check . . . Puncture damage, negligible. Propulsion voltage good to go up to ninety-seven
percent. Weapon controls, okay . . . Here we go!”

The rear doors of the bus opened, and, without waiting for the ramp to slide into
place, the battle car flew out. She gave it full throttle just as it touched down
and took it for a loop around the bus.

The bus was the only thing shaking, and there really was no one out there after all.

Leila parked the battle car broadside to seal off the entrance to the clearing, then
stood up in her seat like a vengeful god. “Who’s there? C’mon out. I’m Leila Marcus,
of the Marcus clan. You won’t catch me running and hiding,” she declared, trying to
keep the pain that knifed through her body from showing on her face. Then, as suddenly
as it began, the shaking of the bus stopped.

A cheerful voice came in response. “My, missy, aren’t you the high-spirited one.”

Leila spun around in amazement. The perplexed expression she’d donned just before
turning her head was because she didn’t know where the distinct voice was issuing
from.

There was no one behind her. Nor to her left, nor to right.

“Where are you?” she asked. “Where the hell are you?! C’mon out, you lousy coward!”

“There’s nowhere to come out from,” the voice jeered. “I’m right beside you. If you
can’t see me, the fault is with your eyes.”

Her blood nearly curdled. Once again, she scanned her surroundings. She realized the
voice spoke the truth. Whoever it was, they had to be somewhere. Right under her very
nose, no less.

Leila harnessed every fiber of her being to search in all directions. Like her brothers,
she’d honed her five senses to a razor-sharp level. Now her hearing and her sense
of touch told her there wasn’t another living creature in the clearing. Yet, despite
that, she could hear the voice.

Leila was seized by a fear unlike any she’d felt before. It sprang from a loss of
self-confidence and wounds that hadn’t fully healed.

With the sliver gun from her side now in hand, Leila jumped out of the car. Her bloodshot
eyes darted around her. She hadn’t given up the fight yet.

A stabbing pain shot up her back.

Catching a hail of fire from the sliver gun she unleashed as soon as she whipped around,
one of the chunks of rock hemming the clearing was reduced to dust. Fired by highly
pressured oxygen, the half million, one-micron-long, .001-micron-wide needles in the
gun could leave the walls of a Noble’s castle as friable as unglazed pottery. But
that didn’t count for much against an unseen opponent.

Leila reached one hand around to her back. The stickiness she felt was blood. Clearly
she’d been cut by some sort of blade, but she was powerless to do anything about it.
Agony assailed her for a second time, and Leila fell to her knees. Her strength was
dwindling rapidly.

The voice returned. “What’s wrong, missy? Compared to the wound my colleague suffered,
this is nothing. Nothing at all. It’ll take a lot more than that to drive you mad,
won’t it?”

“Who the hell are you? Where are you?!”

“I already told you, didn’t I? I’m right beside you. If you look hard enough, you
should see me.
You don’t see me because you think you can’t
. Here, maybe this will help you understand?”

The Marcus girl gave an agonized cry. Fresh blood spilling from the back of her shredded
shirt, Leila crouched down on the ground.

What kind of cold-blooded torture was this, slashing the flesh of a defenseless girl
with deep cuts and shallow? Perhaps in some sick way her attacker was aroused by the
sight of Leila in agony, because the voice had a ring akin to lust when it asked,
“Well, how do you like that? Taste more pain, more suffering. Your brothers will be
getting a taste of very same treatment from me before too long. Ha ha ha ha!”

The sneering laughter ended sharply. Leila could feel someone shaking intensely right
beside her. An unearthly aura was gusting their way, coming from the entrance to the
clearing.

Must be Nolt
, she thought.
No, it’s not
. Another disappointment lodging in her breast, Leila twisted her face around in desperation.

It was unclear how he’d gotten by the battle car, but a black-garbed youth stood casually
in the center of the clearing, not making a sound. Forgetting her pain at the beauty
of the one who now gazed at her, Leila swooned in glorious intoxication. The unsettling
presence vanished in an instant.

Waiting for a while on horseback while he seemed to size up the situation, D quietly
guided his horse to Leila’s side. “Your opponent’s not here any more,” he said. “Can
you stand?”

Torpidly, Leila pulled herself up. “No problem at all, as you can see. What in blazes
brings you here?” Her bluster carried no animosity. Borgoff had told her that someone
had taken care of her when she was hurt, and no one but this gorgeous young man could’ve
fit that bill.

“I saw your flare and came. Where’s the rest of your clan?”

“In the bus. Try anything funny and they’ll come flying out here,” Leila lied.

“So they’re just sitting back watching their little sister do battle, eh? The Marcus
clan has hit a new low.”

At D’s tone, which merely conveyed the truth without sarcasm, Leila became enraged.
She staggered. The substantial blood loss she’d suffered had caught up with her. Her
other wounds hadn’t healed yet, either. Glancing once more at the cold beauty of the
youth staring down at her from horseback, Leila passed out.

—

The next thing she knew, she was lying on a bed. Before she had time to notice her
bare skin was wrapped in bandages, Leila flipped herself over and looked toward the
door. A black figure was just leaving. Without a sound.

“Wait. Please, just wait a sec!” Leila herself didn’t know why she called out to him
so frantically.

The shadowy figure stopped.

Leila got up. She jerked the tube out of her right arm. The attached bottle of plasma
rocked wildly. It was plain to see who’d gone to the trouble of setting up her transfusion.

“Go back to sleep,” he told her. “You’re liable to open your wounds and wake your
brother.”

“Never mind him,” she replied. Yet, despite what she said, she peeked in on Groveck
across the aisle. Confirming that his condition was stable, Leila felt relieved.

Suddenly the piercing pain returned to her body, and she let out a groan. “Don’t go,”
she cried. “If you go, I’ll die.”

The young man headed for the door.

“Hold on. Don’t you even care what happens to me?” Leila didn’t know why she sounded
so miserable as she said this. Could it be that she simply wanted him by her side?
No, that thought didn’t occur to her.

She was going to follow him, but her foot caught on something and she tumbled to the
floor. The scream that escaped her was no fabrication.

The youth walked over calmly and picked her up.

“My back—it’s killing me.” That was a lie. “Carry me as far as the bed.”

The young Hunter turned his back to her again.

“Wait! What was that thing? If you leave, it might come back. Please, stay with me.”

The youth turned around. “I’m the competition, you know.”

“You’re my savior. Mine and Grove’s. And if my brothers come back, I won’t let them
lay a finger on you.”

“There’s something I should tell you first,” the young man continued without concern.
“I cut down your brother Nolt.”

Leila’s eyes shot up to him. A wild rage spread through her body. It looked like she
might leap at D, but instead she let her shoulders drop. “I see,” she muttered numbly.
“So my brother got killed . . . I think I understand why. I mean, he went up against
you, right? Wait, don’t go. I want you here by my side, even if it’s just for a little
bit longer.”

Something besides her anguished cries must have stayed the stride of the icy youth.
He returned to the bedroom. Leila lay down on the bed, and the young man put his back
against the wall, looking down at her.

“Why did you save me, not once but twice now?” she asked.

“I had some time on my hands.”

“You’re not after the Noble then?”

“I’ve figured out where he’s headed.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t be kind enough to share that, would you? My brothers would be overjoyed.”