Scenes from an Unholy War (4 page)

When outsiders committed a crime, inquiries about them had to be made in surrounding towns and villages, and in some cases even the Capital, which usually took a week at the very least.

Giving the names of all four, the sheriff said they were drifters and hit men. They had no connection to the pseudo vampire’s gang. It was probably the mayor, rather than D, that they’d been gunning for.

“He’s a real wheeler-dealer. In fact, the reason he hired me was because he heard I’d slapped down about a dozen drifters who were raising hell in the saloon. On the way here, did you notice the strange way the highway twists?”

D nodded.

“Originally, it ran straight. Until . . . Until he became mayor, that is. Being off the highway, this village was a desolate place. Not only did he get the road to curve so it ran right up to the village, but he took it upon himself to dub it the Geneve Highway and got it to intersect with the Alasmian Highway. In other words, he forced this village into a place of importance. Thanks to him, the village prospered, but violence began to increase, too. The mayor has a lot of friends, and more than a few enemies. Normally that’d bother some people, but he doesn’t care. Apparently he’s a shoo-in for another term. The deputy mayor’s looking to succeed him, so he’s none too pleased about that. He’s tried all kinds of tricks up until now, but he’s just not made of the same stuff. Everyone thought he’d finally thrown in the towel. Now, it seems that’s not the case.”

Rust smiled wryly, making the meaning of his last remark clear.

“We’ve learned who they were, but not who hired them. I wish one of ’em had been left alive, but there was no way around that. They bit off more than they could chew.” The sheriff scratched the back of his head. “If I might share my own personal opinion—since you’ve already signed on with us—the person who went after you with the bats presents more of a problem than the antimayor faction. We’re talking bats here—a symbol of the Nobility.”

“Do you have any idea who it was, D?” Lyra inquired, her expression rather grave.

“The strongest possibility is that it was someone who doesn’t want me sticking around.”

“An agent of the pseudo vampire?”

“Could be.”

“Have they already found their way in?” Rust said, pounding his fist into the palm of his left hand. “Well, I figured it might be any time now. We’re gonna have to do a thorough check again on everyone from outside.”

“You’ve already checked on them?” the Hunter inquired.

“Three days ago,” Lyra replied.

“Hmm.”

“If we don’t check them out, we’ll never get to the bottom of this. Let’s go over ’em again,” the sheriff said, eyes brimming with determination.

“What’ll you do about the drifters?” D asked him.

“That’s the problem. It’s impossible to verify their identities.”

“At any rate, we just have to smoke one of them out,” D said.

“I suppose so, but . . .”

“You have a gun?”

“Yeah,” Rust replied, placing his hand against his right hip. Ranged weapons were extremely valuable out on the Frontier. Even among sheriffs, there were few who owned them.

“Shoot out the windowpane.”

“What for? That’s town property.”

“Take it out of my pay.”

“I get you,” Lyra said, walking over to the window. Drawing a dagger, she used the pommel to smash the glass.

“You still don’t get it?” asked the Hunter.

“Nope,” the sheriff replied, shaking his head. “You trying to get them to come after you again?”

“Don’t give me any special treatment. Bring me meals like usual, and question me like you ordinarily would. I won’t leave the place. Let word trickle out that I’ll be helping you.”

“Understood. You’ll be a great assistance. Thanks.”

D gazed quietly at the lawman’s smiling and carefree visage.

“Okay, let’s get right to it. We’re off, Lyra.”

“Just a second,” the warrior woman said, turning to D. “You said we just had to smoke
one
of them out. What do you mean by that?”

“Surely you know.”

“That there are several others lurking in town?”

“That’s the way they always work. If need be, they’ll enter a village a year in advance and earn the locals’ trust just so they can help the rest of the gang get in.”

“That’s been the downfall of many a village,” said Lyra.

She and the sheriff looked at each other and then left.

“They’re quite a pair,” the hoarse voice said to the Hunter. “What do you make of this?”

“I think he has a handle on it,” D said, looking in the direction of the window. “But soon there’ll be the scent of fresh blood in the air. That’ll be the test.”

“And that’s part of why he hired you? He’s got a strong sense of responsibility.”

“Yeah. And he got a great bargain.”

Chortling, the hoarse voice replied, “Oh, don’t say such things. You’re a sucker for folks like that.”

“Don’t think of him and the girl as a nice little couple, okay?”

“What?” the hoarse voice exclaimed, but it got no reply.

D’s eyes reflected the blue skies of summer. Perhaps to him they looked blood red.

—

“How are you doing?” Lyra called over to the sheriff from the back of her cyborg horse, which she rode alongside his vehicle as it progressed with the leisurely speed of a motorized tractor. They were on a path between the fields. Less than five minutes had passed since they left the sheriff’s office. Golden waves of barley rippled to either side of them. White clouds scudded across the heavens, and the forests were breathtakingly green. As it was summer, the clumps of trees were lush with foliage.

“You needn’t worry about it,” Rust replied.

“I hope so.”

“I’m fine—but wouldn’t it be better if I wasn’t?” Rust said, turning ever so slightly toward the warrior woman in crimson.

Lyra remained facing forward as she replied, “I suppose. Then I could conclude our business.”

Rust’s eyes were colored by a certain emotion. A sense of complete desolation. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

“It sure has.”

“But this is probably the end. I just have that feeling.”

“You said that four years ago in the village of Langel, too.”

Rust grinned wryly, scratching the back of his head. “Did I? Well, this time looks like it’ll
really
be it.”

Nothing from the warrior.

“If possible, I want you to finish me, Lyra. Just like we agreed.”

“When the time comes, I will—as agreed.”

Although his eyes had already shifted forward again, Rust could tell that Lyra had nodded. Her everyday expression was cold, but he knew it reflected a feeling as desolate as his own. Rust choked back the emotions rising in him, as he always did. He had a job to do as sheriff. At the very least, he’d have to ride along and check the wall around the village before nightfall.

Most of the sections of wall around the center of the village were man-made structures, but the section to the north was a natural feature—a wall of rock ten feet thick and over thirty feet high. It’d probably been thrust up by some ancient movement of the earth’s crust, and including the portion that remained buried, it had to weigh in the hundreds of millions of tons. This village was said to have much stronger defenses than any other, and they prided themselves on that northern section in particular as being impregnable. Rust and Lyra really didn’t have to go check on the northern wall, of all places. But the two of them went out there just to be on the safe side, as was entirely proper, given that they were the law here. The rock wall ran for a mile and a quarter across plains, through the forest, and between paddies. In places it was a single layer of rock; in others multiple layers were stacked together like a sheaf of paper, making clear to all who saw the wall the sheer power of Mother Nature. The western corner of the rock wall was surrounded by deep woods.

As they approached the end of their rounds, Rust declared, “All clear.”

“For the time being,” Lyra added as the sun went down in the west. As blue tinged the air, Lyra suggested, “I suppose we should start thinking about who to post as guards on the wall. Drifters and mercenaries will be coming in soon. So long as they get paid, they’ll do what they’re told. If the Black Death gang’s got sixty people, we’ll need at least twenty. The rest we’ll manage to cover with folks from the village. To save their own skins and everything they own, they’ll fight pretty much down to the wire.”

“If it looks like we’re going to lose, you know both of us will probably get it in the back.”

“Well, you don’t get to choose how you go.”

“Isn’t that the truth,” Rust said, a bitter grin rising on his lips.

At that instant, a black sphere came from nowhere and landed between the two of them. When it hit the ground, it transformed into hundreds of black bats, but by that point the pair had galloped a good thirty feet away.

“Must be the same person who went after D,” Rust groaned.

“Now it’s us they’re after,” Lyra laughed bitterly. Above her, she heard flapping wings drawing closer.

Lyra’s right hand flashed into action. Drawn from its sheath without a sound, her longsword limned an arc through the air, and a dozen or more bisected bats fell to the ground.

“Ugh!” Rust groaned sharply.

One of the bats was trying to sink its fangs into him through his bandanna. If the venom entered his bloodstream, he’d meet the same fate as D.

“Just hold on, Rust!” Lyra shouted to him.

Tearing the bat off, Rust threw it away. Its fangs hadn’t reached his skin.

“No, I can’t,” the sheriff replied, his tone low and morose. He looked up at the writhing ball of darkness formed by the flapping wings. “Besides, it’s the only way the two of us will ever get out of here. Lyra—stop me again!”

Dozens of the flying creatures swooped down toward his neck and back.

Twisting around, Rust looked up. The black cloud of winged demons that’d blotted out even the darkness had suddenly vanished. They’d flown away like a shot from a gun.

The moon in the night sky glowed ever brighter.

—

III

—

“Rust?”

“Stay back.”

His vehicle growled, the roar echoing from its exhaust pipe. As Lyra gave a kick to the flanks of her cyborg horse and put some distance between them, the sheriff vanished into the depths of the forest.

Lyra poured on the speed as a cry reached her ears. Saying nothing, she galloped on. The moonlight made her lovely face glisten like a death mask.

She spotted the skeleton vehicle parked among the trees. In what could only be described as a lithe movement, Lyra leapt down from her cyborg horse before it’d come to a halt. She quickly surveyed her surroundings. Her nose had already caught the scent of blood. Before she could ascertain where it came from, a voice called from the trees to her right, “Over here.”

Circling around the front of the vehicle, Lyra headed toward the source of the voice. The warrior’s eyes could see through the pitch-black darkness as if it were midday.

Rust stood with a short bow in hand, and at his feet lay a figure in black.

“How on earth did you—”

“Don’t worry about that,” Rust assured her. His face was hidden by the darkness. “It wasn’t me. See for yourself.”

Lyra squatted down beside the shocking remains of the corpse. The stink of blood was incomparably worse than before, assailing her stomach right through her nose, putrid enough to make a strong man vomit.

“He’s been cut to ribbons. And his head’s been lopped off, too.”

“It sure as hell has,” Rust replied in a muffled tone.

“I’ll check into this,” Lyra said. “You’d better keep your distance.”

“Okay.”

Going behind a tree about thirty feet away, Rust leaned back against its massive trunk. Both hands covered his face, as if it were melting. He shook violently from the spasms racing through every inch of his body, the result of his maddening hunger and thirst. His teeth chattered. Jamming his fist between them, he fought the urge.

When he’d finally overcome it, he heard Lyra say beside him, “Rust?”

Though she’d approached with completely silent footsteps, Rust must’ve been used to her ways, because he didn’t seem at all surprised as he asked, “What’d you find?” He was still panting.

“The murder weapon wasn’t a sword.”

“What was it?”

“A butcher knife. And a big, heavy one at that. Depending on the user, it could do worse damage than a sword.”

“Any clues?”

“Nope. You didn’t see anyone?”

“I didn’t even hear anyone running off.”

“That’s the guy who attacked D,” she said, referring to the victim.

“You sure?”

“In his shirt, he had a ton of dried blood cake—bat food.”

“If he was killed, then, as unlikely as it seems, it might’ve been a falling-out between coconspirators. If not, there wouldn’t have been any need for the person who did this to run off,” Rust said, his voice carrying a secret fear.

A fiend who could control mutated vampire bats had been slain in a matter of seconds. It didn’t seem likely that he and his killer had met by chance in the forest at this hour. The bat master’s death had been sudden—an ambush by one of his cohorts. That still left the cause of the falling-out a mystery, but he and Lyra would look into that next.

Rust continued, “The deceased—”

“He was one of the travelers camped out on the edge of town. His killer probably hasn’t had a chance to take off yet. I’ll ride on ahead.”

“No, I’ll go,” the sheriff said.

“But you’re . . .”

“I’ve got to get used to this, Lyra. I need to if I’m going to live here.”

Nothing from the warrior woman.

“Besides, I’m the sheriff.”

A few seconds passed, but to the two of them, it seemed like an eternity.

“Okay,” Lyra said, walking back the way she’d come.

About ten minutes later, Rust’s vehicle sped off, leaving just as the warrior woman was beginning a more thorough investigation of the area around the corpse.

—

When he came to the sheriff’s office, Rust hit the brakes. The heavy tires kicked up dirt, almost coming to a stop—and then they sped up.