I
__
Air surged into his lungs. When he came around, Sergei found that he was lying at the bottom of a hole with sides that sloped like an ant-lion pit. D was right in front of him, having just pulled his left hand away. In the palm of that hand was what looked to be an animated human face, but then he blinked his eyes and it was gone. Or rather, D had lowered his hand.
“Where are we?” he asked, still struggling with the cold air that filled him.
“At the site of the ancient battlefield. Not ten feet from where we tied our horses.”
He didn’t even think to himself, That’s impossible! So long as that young man was around, things like this were bound to happen. He looked up overhead. The stars were out.
“How much time has passed?”
“Exactly a minute.”
This time, his mouth actually formed the words. “That’s impossible!”
Sergei looked all around. The hole was a hundred feet in diameter, and above it the moon and stars shone. The hole was roughly fifteen feet deep.
Turning his back to Sergei, D bent over and reached one hand down to the floor of the pit. Catching hold of something, he pulled.
“Wow!”
A cry of frank amazement flew from Sergei’s lips.
Five somewhat slender fingers had latched onto the edge of a thick sheet. What rose from the ground was a stone tablet six feet long and three feet wide. It must’ve weighed in excess of a ton.
Was this the monstrous strength of a dhampir—the power of one of Noble blood? Sergei was left speechless.
Leaning the tablet back against one of the earthen walls, D brushed the dirt from it and pressed the palm of his left hand against it. He didn’t seem particularly concerned with Sergei. And Sergei didn’t feel alienated. The fact that the world of the gorgeous Vampire Hunter had no connection to his had already seeped into the marrow of his bones.
“Did you get that okay?” the hoarse voice asked. To Sergei, it seemed that the Hunter’s left hand had to be talking.
“No.”
“Then it’s locked, as I might’ve expected. Looks like it’ll take some time to undo that. Bring it along,” said the gruff voice.
Sergei was bewildered as to how the Hunter was going to carry away a stone tablet that looked to weigh about a ton.
D’s right hand rose. When he swung it down artlessly, the massive tablet shattered easily beneath his fist, instantly reduced to a mound of dust. Sticking his right hand into the huge pile, he quickly caught hold of something and plucked it out.
“See that?” he said. Stuck to the tip of the finger he held up to Sergei’s eye was a bit of metal a fifth of an inch square.
“What is it?”
“An account of General Gaskell’s victory and his personal history.”
“That . . .”
This was the only word Sergei managed to say. What of the endless plain of steel from earlier, and the lightning? What of the alien base? Had all of it been an illusion?
“It was all real,” D said, as if he’d read Sergei’s mind.
Sergei nodded. “What happened to the baron?”
“He was thrown by the shock when the defensive system was destroyed. Don’t know where he went.”
We probably haven’t seen the last of him, Sergei thought. A freak like that wouldn’t be killed that easily.
“Let’s go.”
By the time the man turned to where D had spoken, the figure in black had already begun to climb the slope. Muttering complaints to himself about who’d left this hole here, Sergei walked up the collapsing side as well, finally reaching the top. The horses were fine.
“No ride for the baron here, eh?” Sergei said, and after looking around he turned his eyes to the ground. There were ruts left by wheels both coming and going. Had the carriage brought its passenger out here and taken him away again? Or had it gone off in search of him when he vanished?
As he stood there absentmindedly, a succinct remark reached him, heading off in the same direction from which they’d come: “Let’s go.”
Was it a dream, or was it real?
Giving his head a shake, Sergei got on his horse.
They’d covered roughly half the distance back to the village of Jelkin when they met Juke traveling in the opposite direction. Informing the two of them as to what had happened back at the village, Juke also told them that he’d guessed the damned baron’s sudden disappearance was due to his going after them, and that they’d left the village because their welcome had worn thin. Leaving Gordo to wait with the wagon in the middle of the road, he alone had gone into the ancient battlefield to see what was happening.
“What about that damned baron?”
After letting out a sigh, Sergei replied, “He never came.”
“Huh?”
Never taking his eyes off the dubious Juke, he continued, “Nothing happened out on the ancient battlefield. There was just old junk lying around. The baron must’ve gone someplace else.”
“But you—”
“Nothing happened.” Repeating this, Sergei glanced briefly at D and said, “I just had a strange little dream, right?”
D didn’t reply.
Sergei thought, That’s fine. After all, the handsome young man belonged to an entirely different world from theirs. A world of endless night and moonlight and wind. It came as no surprise that he grew taciturn now.
“Our business is done in Jelkin, so let’s go camp somewhere for the night. Tomorrow we set off for the village of Krakow,” Juke said, grinning as if nothing but their next stop interested him. For the transporters who traveled the Frontier, maybe there was no such thing as yesterday.
The three of them returned to the road.
Gordo stood out in front of the wagon looking like he didn’t know what to do. From the look of relief that rose on his face on seeing them, Sergei sensed that something had happened. Apparently Juke did as well, and on dismounting he asked, “What happened?” He also scanned their surroundings with a sharp gaze, for good measure.
After hemming and hawing, Gordo gave a meaningful look to D, who was still in the saddle.
“Was it the baron?” Juke asked, understandably tense.
“No, I just . . .”
“What is it, eh? Get a grip, man. Pull yourself together.”
“I just thought it must pay to be a looker.”
“What?”
Shrugging his shoulders, Gordo reached for the door to the living quarters behind the driver’s seat. Inside were beds for four people. On peering inside, Juke exclaimed, “Huh?” and quickly looked back at the others.
“What? What is it?” Sergei said, following after him. He was intrigued. Although he also quickly turned again, his eyes were full of surprise when he looked up at D.
“Hey, D,” he said, tossing his chin at the room behind the door.
Dismounting, D calmly approached the door. Still as a wintry night, what his dark eyes beheld was a girl with long hair lying on a bed. She was snoring faintly, as if she’d just returned from a long trip.
It was Rosaria.
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II
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The ride to the village of Krakow took two full days. During that time—or to be more precise, on the very first morning—Rosaria opened up to the rough men.
They’d camped out, and even Gordo—who’d been on guard duty—had fallen fast asleep, but before they knew it, breakfast had already been prepared. The usual “cup of hell” had been replaced by insanely strong coffee, and the instant-food packs that were ready three seconds after you pulled a string had been transformed into crispy bacon and eggs, golden brown toast, and vegetable soup.
“I’m sorry. I’m afraid I went ahead and helped myself to what was in the freezer,” the girl apologized shyly, while the men could only stare at her stupidly.
When it came to travel out on the Frontier, it was always a dangerous undertaking, but for transporters carrying valuable goods, the danger was particularly acute. If members of the party took so much as a pebble by the side of the road to be a threat, they’d be on it mercilessly in a second’s time. Needless to say, all manner of bandits, monsters, demons, ghosts, or any other fiendish entity would attack them to get at both their goods and themselves. For this reason, transport parties needed to have skilled guards and more than enough weaponry. To make the rounds in three villages they’d need ten men at the very least, while covering a whole Frontier sector would generally call for more than thirty. That was why transport companies were constantly trying to recruit new personnel and had to enter into contracts with arms dealers in the Capital to acquire the latest firepower. At present, the run Juke and the others had undertaken would hit five villages in all, but common sense said that doing so with a mere five people was akin to committing suicide. However, quality could be better than quantity at times. The three transporters were forced to believe that.
After eating, the first danger zone they encountered was a heavy forest. Frontier forests were teeming with demons and supernatural creatures—it was said you gained a gray hair for every hundred yards you traveled through one. As soon as they entered, the whole group sensed countless sources of malice and eeriness. Every inch of their flesh ached as if it were being needled, and their body temperatures dropped by the minute. And as soon as terror swept over them, the pernicious fangs would flash into action.
But there was none of that. Before they were out of the forest again, there were thousands or tens of thousands of times when it wouldn’t have been at all strange for monsters to have attacked them, but those monsters never descended, as if they’d lost their nerve. Not only that, but from stands of trees where branches spread so wide they kept any beam of light from passing, fear and horror had emanated. They knew why. There could be only one reason. Just before they’d entered the forest, D had sat down in the driver’s seat. That was it. That alone had been enough to leave the ravenous, bloodthirsty monsters cowering, as if they’d been laid low by the Hunter’s handsome visage.
It was sometime after they emerged from the forest that Gordo let the word “incredible” slip from his mouth.
“I’m not scared of no monsters, but I can’t scare the damned things either. To do that so easily . . .” Juke said, his admiration showing what was really to be feared.
Up in the driver’s seat, D had the reins in his hands, his profile glowing palely even in the sunlight. They had to wonder if perhaps the supernatural creatures had remained silent because they were captivated by his beauty.
As noon approached, Gordo whispered to Juke, “Hey, aren’t the horses crazy fast? I’m positive they’re going nearly twice the usual speed.”
The reply was this: “Of course so.”
__
In addition to their fearsome bodyguard, they were joined on this trip by a lovely cook and songstress. Where transport-party meals were concerned, time and nutrition were the first considerations. If it was reasonably filling while providing sufficient nutrients and calories and could be done quickly enough to not keep them off the road too long, then the taste and appearance were, respectively, secondary and tertiary concerns. But in Rosaria’s pale and dainty hands, their meals became something else entirely. On seeing the food laid out on the table, the men’s eyes went wide, and they couldn’t even sit down.
“What are you doing?” a hoarse voice called out teasingly from where D leaned back against the wagon.
“Sh-shut your trap!” Gordo shouted, his face reddening. “You and your funny voices. H-how are we supposed to eat this f-f-food?”
“Oh, is there some problem?” Rosaria said, bringing her hand to her mouth as if she’d done something wrong. The rifleman began to quake.
“No. Let’s eat,” Juke said, taking a seat.
“Count me in,” Sergei added, following suit.
“Use your napkins, please.”
Looking at each other, the two men opened the folded pieces of cloth on the table and tied them around their necks. They tied them so tightly they looked like baby bibs.
“What are you looking at?” Juke sneered at Sergei with a derisive look.
“What’s your problem? Oh, my little baby, can’t have you slobbering all over yourself now . . .”
Just as they were about to come to blows, a sweet yet strangely stately cry struck both men full in the face and a hand slammed down on the table.
“Be quiet! I won’t have any commotion at mealtime! The next time you do this, you’ll go without!”
Certain situations arise that call for certain people. In this situation, that person was Rosaria.
“Yes, ma’am,” Juke said, reluctantly returning to the table.
“Okay,” Sergei said, following suit, and then the two of them began noisily working their cutlery.
“Are you dead set against this?” the matriarch asked the last insurgent. Her tone was gentle to the very end.
“W-well, of course I am. You won’t get me to cave. Out on the Frontier, we’ve got our own way of doing things,” he retorted, taking a rebellious stance.
Beside him, Juke said in a menacing tone, “Hey, pass the pepper.”
As Gordo trembled, his mouth and nose twisted, and the other man told him, “Okay. Well, we’ll make something fit for you to eat. Have a seat.”
Juke quickly cleared away the knife and fork and colorful plate from before Gordo.
“Here you go!”
A slab of bacon thudded on the table.
“This is for you, too,” he said, giving him a raw egg in a bowl. It was followed by a head of cabbage, whole bulbs of garlic, and potatoes with the skins still on.
“How’s that suit you?” And with that he stuck out his tongue.
“It, uh, it suits me just fine. Don’t mind if I do!”
Gordo was too old for this sort of nonsense, but now his dander was up, too. Treating the slab of bacon like it was a steak, he sliced off a thick piece and put it in his mouth, then clawed a chunk out of the cabbage and stuffed that in as well.
As he was going great guns, his colleague beside him commented, “Serves him right.”
“Yeah. This is how civilized folks live. Oh, I almost forgot—what would you say to offering him a lemon?”
“Hell, yeah—I mean, indeed. Oui, monsieur.”
As the pair continued to harass him in this fashion, Gordo finally exploded. Having pulled off the apron he was using as a bib, he threw it at Juke and Sergei, shouting, “You traitors. Being won over by a little slip of a girl. Get ready to take what you got coming.”
The pair looked at each other.
“This is a fine mess, Juke.”
“It certainly is, Sergei.”
“Getting so worked up over a simple meal. I never wanna wind up one of those people.”
“What’s your problem, you numbskulls?”
“Let him be, Sergei. People learn the error of their ways soon enough.”
“How right you are, Juke,” Sergei replied, taking a piece of steak dripping with gravy and chewing it noisily.
“You bastards!” Gordo snarled at that point.
“Don’t mind if I do,” D said, taking a seat.
“Et tu, Brute?”
“It’s not often you see a spread like this on the Frontier. There’s no way I could pass up tasting it.”
“You goddamn pretty boy—always acting like you’re from another world. But what you’re doing is no different from those thugs right there. Oh, this burns my britches!”
“In that case, why don’t you have some, too?” the Hunter said, pushing aside the plate of bacon and setting a steaming bowl of soup in its place.
As he grunted unintelligibly, the original plates were rearranged and Rosaria went so far as to personally wrap the napkin around his neck. There was nothing Gordo could do, and the next thing he knew he was holding a knife and a fork. On putting a piece of the steak in his mouth, the man got a different look in his eyes.
Seeing that this was no act, Rosaria inquired concernedly, “Does it taste okay?”
Giving no answer, Gordo swallowed what he had in his mouth and stared at his plate without moving a muscle. The gaze of his two colleagues—and that of D—was trained on his massive form.
“Don’t you like it?” Rosaria asked dolefully and, as expected, he still didn’t reply.
With a disappointed expression, he somewhat bashfully cut another piece of steak and put it in his mouth. After devouring the whole thing, he asked, “Is supper gonna be more of the same?”
“No. I’m sorry; this was just something I wanted to try. Next time, it’ll be back to the usual.”
Snorting, Gordo turned away dejectedly and said, “Hold off till tomorrow on doing that.”
__
That night at their campsite, Juke muttered in a tone that was entirely too loud, “Damned if we won’t be there by tomorrow afternoon!”
“It’s only natural,” Sergei replied, giving him a blank look.
“Seems when there’s a looker in the driver’s seat, even the horses go that extra mile,” Gordo said.
A short while earlier he’d been hanging around the back of the wagons and Juke, who was lying down, had asked him what he was thinking about. “Tonight’s menu,” he’d replied, only to be met with a glare. That meal had since been finished and the night had begun to grow deeper, so it was now time to decide who would stand watch this evening.
“I’ll do it,” D offered.
“That’d be setting a bad precedent,” Juke said, so they drew straws and Gordo lost.
Transporters had to get an early start. Juke and Sergei hastened to their beds while Gordo and D remained outside.
Watch duty consisted of circling the wagon a number of times and making sure the fire didn’t die out. Around the middle of the night the understandably tired Gordo sat down by the campfire, poured a cup of coffee from what was over the embers, and began to drink it. The moon was so bright and pale it seemed to glow with its own light, and the wind that blew from the depths of the forest carried the baying of wolves.
“Care for some?” Gordo said to D, who was leaning back against the wagon.
“Sure,” D said, uncharacteristically taking the cup and downing the steaming-hot contents without another word.
“You gulped the whole thing down in one shot?” Gordo said, his eyes wide with amazement. “Sure as I live, you dhampirs are mighty different. I’m stunned. You know, I hear Nobility can drink molten lava and still be smiling just as pretty as you please, but is that really true?”
“Probably.”
“Why would a dhampir wanna be a Hunter of all things? That’s like killing your own, in a manner of speaking.”
Setting his cup down on the ground, D asked, “Do you hate dhampirs?”
“Yeah, they give me the creeps. Ol’ Juke likes to fight, so it’s his nature to respect someone when he hears they’re tough, but I just see things the way they really are. I don’t care if they hunt the Nobility; I don’t care what they do. Dhampirs are half Noble, and there’s no denying that. In other words, they’re half monster. You think someone like that can be trusted?”
“Good point,” a hoarse voice agreed.
Grimacing, Gordo said, “I’m begging you, knock if off with the ventriloquism. If you’ve gotta use a different voice, make it a sexy female one . . .”
The man’s unreasonable demand dwindled and was swallowed by the darkness. A lovely singing voice had rung out in the night air from nowhere in particular.
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III
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“Is that a land siren?” Gordo said, quickly pulling out his earplugs.
No one had ever seen the source of those sad, sweet voices that flowed through the midnight air. The men they lured into leaving the land of the living were always found as withered corpses the next morning. However, whatever it was that they saw in their final seconds, the dead always wore smiles of supreme bliss. Fortunately, all that was needed to resist the unholy singers who tempted those who traveled by land or sea was nothing more than earplugs. At present, experienced travelers were able to pass the night in peace, enraptured by the faint song echoing in the depths of ears plugged with cloth or paper.
However, what this pair heard wasn’t the song of an unholy creature. Rosaria was standing in front of the door to the living quarters.
__
Somewhere a shining windmill
Changes the wind when it hits
The scent the breeze carried becomes a song
Rushing to the village in spring
Only to the ears of my love
__
D was gazing at the girl who sang out in the moonlight. Gordo—and Juke and Sergei, who’d both poked their heads out of the open door—listened intently.
Her song finished, Rosaria gave a natural reaction to the applause she drew. Surprise flushed the girl’s cheeks. Going over by the campfire as if taking flight, she crinkled her brow and said, “Dear me, were you listening?”
“You’re something else. On top of your cooking, you had another weapon tucked away in your arsenal, did you?” Gordo said, sounding thoroughly enchanted. “Would you take a request next?”
“No. That’s the only one I know. One song is all Papa ever taught me.”
“Stingy old man, was he?”
“Don’t speak ill of my papa.”
Rosaria’s arched eyebrows got Gordo to hold his tongue, after which he said in a strangely pensive tone, “No, you’re right about that. It ain’t right to speak ill of someone’s father, sure enough.”
The campfire crackled—D had thrown a branch on it. The flames transformed the faces of the trio into a stage for dancing shadows. Mournful. Laughing. Angry. Crying.
“My father was a huntsman,” Gordo began. “He was good at it. I thought he’d always be able to take care of me, my mom, and my three brothers and sisters all on his own.”
Once again, there was the call of the wolves. Then the night quietly wore on.
“We all had a future. It was a rough existence out in the middle of nowhere, but we all dreamed of becoming a huntsman, or marrying one.”
And then one winter’s day a woman had come and begged merely to stay the night. His mother insisted there was something strange about her, but his father thought the winter’s night was too cruel and invited her in.
“But the next day the woman didn’t leave. She said supernatural creatures had attacked her village, separating her from her parents and leaving her on her own. My father told her she should stay until the snow had melted.”