CHAPTER 6

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I

-

Over the next three days, Matthew and Sue learned a number of things about the Nobility. First, don’t let them drive your wagon. By day, Count Braujou went into his vehicle to sleep, and it became Matthew’s job to take the reins. The problem was the nights. Worried that they weren’t moving quickly enough, the giant would settle his ten-foot-tall frame into the driver’s seat and whip the horses’ haunches. Realizing the strangeness of this nightly visitor, the horses galloped madly, chased by a fear they couldn’t outrun. They certainly went fast. Over rough terrain or cobblestone streets they galloped at full speed. They even took corners at the same breakneck pace. The back end of the covered wagon would swing off the road from the centrifugal force and the sides would slam against rocks and trees. That alone was enough to put a man’s heart in his mouth. One time, while they were driving along the side of a cliff, half the wagon was hanging over the edge. It was bad enough for Matthew, but Sue shrieked bloody murder, nearly fainting numerous times. She spent all of the next day sleeping.

“Take it easy, will you?” Matthew protested.

“You’ve seen the kind of people who’re after us. Every second is as precious as gold,” the other man replied, and the fact that the boy fell silent didn’t have anything to do with the speaker being ten feet tall and weighing six hundred fifty pounds.

It was also for this reason that D remained quiet—even more than was his habit.

Second, they learned that the Nobility had no regard for any other form of life. If they found a shortcut, the count would have them gallop through a forest or up a rocky mountain without pause. Of course, such places were crawling with dangerous creatures. There were three-headed hydras that attacked from the treetops and the tribe of twisted mole men who lived in burrows underground, thrusting out giant spears to impale their foes. The bat people were just like humans with wings, except their emotional torment drove them to tear others to shreds. They had human voices that pleaded for mercy or cried out in pain, forcing the siblings to cover their ears.

D was just as ruthless in putting his sword to use, only colder, and while his aloofness as he hacked through everything didn’t inspire anger in the human pair, the way the count seemed to enjoy the slaughter was more than they could stand. As the agonized cries of an impaled bat person showed no signs of ending, Sue pleaded with the count to put it out of its misery.

“It’s serving as an example. The two of you might not know this, but they frighten twice as easily as any human. When they hear one of their own screaming like this, they won’t come out of their lairs for three whole days. Our plan is to use that time to get somewhere safe.”

That was a reason, and an extremely good one. As Matthew and Sue knew of the bat people’s cruelty and how they would tear living humans to pieces, they thought it best to keep their silence. Nevertheless, on considering the hundreds of monsters that had been dispatched by D and the count over the course of three days, the pair was tormented by lurid visions of all the corpses that lay in the tire ruts behind their wagon.

Every time such thoughts troubled their spirits, the brother and sister seemed to seek salvation in the young man in black who raced alongside them—and his sternly handsome features. In a situation so ghastly it left them reeling, the Hunter’s exquisite looks remained unwavering. Life and death were both far removed from this young man. All they found there was the kind of beautiful visage that rarely graced the world. Was that what it meant to be a Noble? The siblings would stare in rapture, but then they’d find a danger there that snapped them back to their senses.

The third thing they learned was the Nobility were immortal. This fact was the stuff of legend, and the siblings accepted it naturally enough. However, on seeing it with their own eyes, they couldn’t help but be thoroughly chilled and horrified.

As they were racing along a road carved into the side of a cliff, they turned a corner and suddenly slammed into what was known as an “old man of the mountain.” A mass of fur so thick it was impossible to tell whether it had arms and legs (let alone eyes, a nose, or a mouth), it was thirty feet in diameter. More than half its body hung over the edge of the cliff. Though the horses slammed into it head on, it sent them flying back. The car’s control system proved useful in this situation, and the horses and wagon came through undamaged—but the count fell over the cliff.

The children jumped down from the vehicle and peered over the edge, only to find the Nobleman spread-eagled on the rocky surface fifty yards below. They didn’t know whether they should be saddened or relieved. An armlike mechanism swung out from the bottom of the car and lowered a cable with a strap on the end. When it pulled the count up a few minutes later, there wasn’t a mark on his body or his apparel. At some point, the old man of the mountain had disappeared.

And they’d learned one last thing—the feelings the Nobility had toward human beings might be described as paradoxical. While the count was there to help them, when he sat around the fire at night with the siblings, the look he gave them was icy cold. It wasn’t scorn. In the same way that humans didn’t despise beasts, he merely viewed human beings as a lower form of life.

But there was a moment when this disappeared. One night, while they huddled around the fire, Sue sang a song. Popular in the Capital quite a while ago, it had a soft melody and frivolous lyrics, but Sue’s voice transformed it into a gem. On overhearing her singing in the kitchen, more than a few merchants and travelers staying the night at the farm had declared that if they took her to the Capital, she could be a first-rate singer; and, setting a bag of coins on the table, they’d asked to be allowed to manage her. Her singing was that good.

The count had been going to his vehicle, but then he walked back and requested, “Would you be good enough to sing another?”

It was little wonder that Matthew was astonished. All Sue could do was look up at the count with a face as blank as a doll’s. They’d never heard of a Noble having any interest in a human song.

Matthew looked at D. D was gazing at Sue. And Sue couldn’t take her eyes off the count. From his tone, she could tell his request was completely earnest.

However, she wasn’t able to sing. The overcast sky suddenly called in a downpour.

As their legendary inability to cross rivers suggested, water was one of the vampires’ weaknesses. The count hastily returned to his car. Since that night, he hadn’t asked the siblings for anything. But Sue’s mind kept returning to the expression on the count’s face that time. It was like the one those travelers had worn when they put the bags of coins down on the table. When it came to the face of one pining for something beautiful, there was no difference between humans and Nobles.

-

In the wee hours of the morning of the fourth day, the two vehicles and the rider came to the road that led to what remained of the central Frontier.

D explained it had been a long time since men and horses had traveled the road. “There are other roads that lead there, but this is the most direct and least populated way.”

The brother and sister had nodded at what D said, but when they realized what he’d meant by that, they got chills. He didn’t want to run into anyone else—because he was expecting a fight.

“How long will it take to reach this ‘fortress’?”

“Ordinarily, it’d be a month. At this pace, ten days.”

Matthew couldn’t help but grin wryly. By day, he took the reins, while at night he left them to the count, allowing the group to be constantly on the move. But the ride was so rough they couldn’t get a good night’s sleep in the wagon, and both he and Sue were positively exhausted. From what D had just said, deadly conflict lay ahead, and while the thought had filled them with terror, deep inside it had also come as something of a relief.

“Although it’s been two thousand years since people stopped using this highway, there are three villages along it: Marthias, Janos, and Razin. Along the way, there’ll be plenty of danger. It would be best to inspect our weapons.”

“Right you are,” the count said, his voice coming from his car. It was daytime. Undoubtedly he was speaking through a microphone installed in his vehicle. “Take a little break. We’ll set off again in an hour. But you have to stay where we can see you.”

As Matthew and Sue climbed out of the wagon, the count said in a quieter tone, “I wonder if Miranda’s not coming.” He seemed to whisper the words.

Saying nothing, D kept his eyes trained far back down the road they’d sped along.

“Appearances to the contrary, that woman’s got a strong sense of duty. She’s not the kind to forget a debt, even if it’s one owed to a human being. I feel certain she’ll catch up with us.”

“If the enemy hasn’t gotten to her first, that is,” D remarked.

“The residents of those three villages aren’t a threat, are they?”

“Not really,” said D. “But Janos and Razin—well, the village of Janos produces poisonous herbs, while Razin subsists by crafting weapons.”

“Do you mean to suggest the people there could be trouble? Good enough. If not for things like that, there’d be no point in having us along.”

“That hardly sounds like the words of an antisocial old geezer who locked himself in his room for five thousand years.”

“Did you say something?” the count inquired. Apparently his microphone had caught the mosquito-like buzz of the hoarse voice.

Not replying to this, D said, “The enemy is close.”

“You’re right,” the count responded. As they’d been riding hard night and day, the brother and sister were surprised, but the one pushing them so hard apparently found it self-evident.

Just then, D raised his eyes.

The road stretched like a slender ribbon for ten miles, and then ran into a gorge. Dark clouds had quickly begun forming over it, and a shadow fell across the valley—a declaration of ownership, so to speak. The black clouds spread even further, and shadows fell on the faces of the human pair when they looked up. There was a flash. Light and darkness colored the world in rapid succession. Even when the black clouds formed a gigantic human face—easily a few miles long and wide—there was no change in D’s handsome visage.

Sculpted from those black clouds was the face of a dignified young man. Thick eyebrows, nose and lips with lines so elegant a master painter could spend his entire life trying to get them right—all of them brimmed with dignity, while his eyes tapered to slits at the outer corners and were flooded with such coldness and pitilessness they filled those who saw them with a soul-devouring terror.

“I am Grand Duke Valcua,” the cloud said. “Anyone who sets foot on this road will never reach his destination, nor will he be able to turn back. While the conspirators who drove me off among the stars have no choice but to continue on, you may leave, young man in black. I shall give you three seconds to do so. There’s nothing more to be discussed. One.”

At some point, Matthew and Sue had gone over to D, and now they were looking up at him.

The count’s microphone kept its silence.

“Two.”

The lightning gave D’s face a pale blue glow. Like a gorgeous statue, he stood there, not making a single move.

“Three,” the voice from the sky told him. Leaving no break at all, it continued, “Most unwise. So, you choose an agonizing death? With such an exquisite countenance, you’re probably a fellow child of the darkness. Proceed, then. My soldiers are waiting at the end of the road.”

There was a thundering sound that rocked the heavens: derisive laughter.

Suddenly the dark clouds sailed away, and the trio felt the morning sun.

“Are you feeling more rested?” D asked.

“Yeah. But this is no time to be worrying about rest,” Matthew replied, and Sue nodded her agreement.

The count’s voice said, “I’m surprised Valcua appeared out here. And even more surprised that he’d ask you to leave us. D, who in the world are you?”

As the gaze of the human pair and another set of unseen eyes fell on the Hunter, he merely replied in a cool tone, “Let’s go.”

-

II

-

That morning the chapel bell rang out in the sky over the village of Marthias. Among the villagers lived a huntsman with incredibly keen senses who was used to dealing with the supernatural creatures that lurked around their community, but the peals ringing across the empyrean vault gave him a feeling of dread, and probably made him want to spread an alarm. Most of the populace—which numbered under a hundred—were so surprised they ran outside, jogging toward the chapel before the huntsman (who’d been in bed with a fever the last three days) could make his appearance.

The population of Marthias had been about five hundred until, twenty years before, a traveling pestilence had invaded. The chapel had fallen into ruin when their priest succumbed to the illness. Though they’d made repeated requests to the Capital and to the parish committee, no one was willing to relocate to the central Frontier (as was also often the case with physicians), so the people were forced to live out their cruel days without heaven’s aid. They couldn’t complain about someone going into the unsecured chapel—especially not when candles burned in the decaying sconces, an icon of a goddess they’d never seen before rocked against one wall, and a tall figure in ash-gray vestments stood behind the freshly dusted altar.

The people froze in the doorway. An unfamiliar priest turned to them with arms spread wide and said, “Welcome, everyone! Please, be seated.”

His low voice was even clearer than the bell. While reserved, his tone carried a strength that would brook no insubordination.

Exchanging glances, the villagers seated themselves. The solid pews creaked but supported their weight.

“I am a traveling missionary. My name is Courbet,” the priest said with a bow, and then he began flipping through the pages of a hide-bound tome on the altar. It was probably a book of sermons. Everyone on the Frontier knew that the traveling missionaries who moved from area to area, teaching people about the gods they worshiped, carried books of sermons that explained the basic tenets of their faith.

One of the villagers sheepishly raised his hand. It was the mayor.

“Yes?”

Coughing to clear his throat, the mayor asked, “When did you clean the chapel? I’ve been awake since there were still stars in the sky, and I didn’t notice your arrival. When on earth did you get here?”

Courbet smiled. For the first time the people noticed he had a long, horsey face and beady eyes. “Before you got up. The cleanup took quite some time.”

“So, just what kind of gods do you believe in, sir?” asked a farmer’s wife.

Living as they did, elbow to elbow with danger, the people of the Frontier were more inclined to embrace faiths as individuals than as groups. A missionary spreading the word of another god was something of a threat. In this very village people had killed each other on more than one occasion over religious differences.

“Stern but peaceful gods,” Courbet replied. “But I can promise you this: My gods have nothing against whatever gods all of you may hold dear. You’re under no pressure. Once you’ve heard what I have to say, if you all decide you don’t like the sound of it, I’m willing to leave at any time.”

A wave of relief spread over the people.

Flipping through more pages, Courbet halted at a certain section and began to address the group in a soft tone.

“My gods are called Braujou, Miranda—and D. However, you’re not to mention this to anyone.”

-

In the afternoon light, the sound of nails hammering home rang out like echoes.

D hadn’t intended on halting the vehicles. They had sufficient food and water. Any place that might be used by their foes for an ambush was to be avoided or passed through as quickly as possible. Matthew and Sue had been told as much. Yet just as they were approaching the village, a young girl suddenly jumped in front of them. Letting loose a cry that was closer to a shriek, Matthew stepped on the brake, but she was too close. The girl fell under the animals’ hooves.

“Whoa!” Matthew ordered the horses, and then he leaped down from the driver’s seat. Some cyborg horses underwent operations on their brains that slightly increased their intelligence, and speaking was often the best way to communicate with them.

The girl who lay between the horses’ hooves looked to be about the same age as Sue. Her simple dress was torn in places, and her exposed shoulder was bruised.

“It hurts!” she groaned. Her voice sounded pained.

“Are you okay?” Matthew asked frantically.

There was no reply.

As clouds of anxiety blanketed his heart, Matthew picked up the girl. But another surprise awaited him. A wall of people blocked his wagon.

“What’s going on?” the boy said.

An old man in the front row of the crowd came forward with the aid of a cane and said, “I’m the mayor. We have a favor to ask.”

“A favor?” Matthew said, furrowing his brow.

“Forget it,” a voice like steel told the boy. “We’re in a hurry. Set that girl down and get back in the wagon.”

“But—” the mayor began, barely squeezing out the words, “that girl sacrificed herself to get you to stop. I beg of you—please, hear us out!”

“If she was a sacrifice, then it’s on your heads,” D said in a soft, cold tone. “Get back up there. We’re moving out.”

Matthew didn’t know what to do. The girl at his feet had just groaned.

“We’re begging you. Please!” the old man said, somehow getting down on his knees. The villagers behind him touched their heads to the ground in unison. “Someone has told us that gods are coming to rid our village of a misfortune. And we’re certain he was talking about you.”

The hands the old man clasped together trembled.

“So I beg you, just hear what I have to say. As you can see, we’re down on our knees.”

The old man and the other villagers all prostrated themselves.

“Out of our way,” D said, his words raining down on them like a cold drizzle.

“D,” Matthew said, turning to look at the Hunter.

“We don’t have any time to waste. I have to honor the deal I made with your mother.”

“We won’t move!” one of the villagers shouted. “If you leave, we’re all dead. So if you’re going, you may as well kill us before you do.”

The villager was serious. He wasn’t going to budge, even in the face of death. However, principles and actually dying were two different matters. His heart caught in the talons of a terrific fear, he stiffened.

The young man on the black steed moved forward smoothly.

I’m about to get killed, the man thought. Riding before him was a grim reaper of unearthly beauty. Not about to take pity on him just because he was old, and not at all moved by the way this man was willing to risk his life, he was a gorgeous fiend who would think nothing of hacking his way through anyone who opposed him. The old man was in a kind of rapture as he imagined himself releasing a bloody mist beneath that sword. And that’s probably exactly what would’ve happened if Matthew hadn’t intervened.

“Stop it, D!” he shouted as if he were writhing in pain. “You said you had a bargain with my mom. Well, there’s no way she would’ve abandoned these people at a time like this. And I don’t want to, either.”

The black horse halted.

“Then we’ll hear them out,” the Hunter said.

“Thanks,” Matthew said in a terribly blunt fashion, and then he pointed to the girl at his feet. “Get this girl to a doctor.”

Villagers ran over and carried her away.

The boy then went over to the prostrate mayor and said, “Let’s hear what you have to say.”

-

III

-

Matthew, Sue, and D went to the mayor’s house. Though Matthew hadn’t wanted Sue to accompany them, D had maintained that it’d be dangerous for them to split up. The ever-present sound of carpentry slipped in through the open windows. Leaving Matthew and Sue in the care of the mayor and several other villagers, D stood in the corner with his back against the wall. No one noticed that he was in the shade.

What the mayor had to say was as follows: “This morning a traveling missionary came to the village church. He was no ordinary human being. This man arrived in town before daybreak, cleaned the chapel, and was ready to greet all of us by dawn. I got up pretty early myself, and there were others who were up all night in the saloon, too. And none of them heard him walk into town or any kind of commotion from the church. From the moment he called us together with the sound of the church bell, I knew what he really was. And on top of all that, he was so happy to tell us all about these strange ‘gods.’ ”

“Strange gods?” Matthew said, getting the feeling that this was going to be trouble. But it was his own impetuousness that had gotten them involved with these gods. What did any of this have to do with them, anyway?

“According to him, these gods are named Braujou, Miranda, and D. Though he did say we weren’t supposed to tell anyone that. Your name wasn’t mentioned, but if D works for you, you’d have to be even more important than a god.”

Having spoken, the old man finally showed them a smile. The others laughed.

D’s connection to the siblings had already been explained. The purpose of their journey had not.

Perplexed, Matthew turned to D. The young man in black had melted into the shadows in the corner like some dark, supernatural blossom given human form.

“What are they putting together?” the Hunter asked. He was referring to the carpentry.

“That’s the rub,” the mayor said, slapping his knee. “It’s a shrine to honor these gods. Of course, it’s no more than a plank-covered shack, but the missionary said that would be fine.”

“What’s his name?”

“Courbet.”

“So what the hell is he trying to do? He comes here this morning, says D’s a god, and tells you to build a shrine—what’s he got in mind?”

Matthew’s question made the mayor and villagers look at each other. Suffering and uncertainty flowed around their wrinkled features like a gas.

“Where is he?” D inquired.

The mayor, Matthew, and everyone else trembled. Sue even put her hand on her brother’s arm. She’d felt the unearthly air D’s soft tone had carried.

Matthew asked, “You think it’s them, D?”

“Yes.”

The mayor was reflected in dark eyes that could only be described as awe inspiring. The old man backed away as if trying to escape something, stopping just as he was about to fall over.

“I don’t know,” he said, his face like that of a dead man. “Before he left, he said he’d be back tonight. Told us to have the shrine ready for the gods by then. A number of us went after the missionary, but there was no trace of him.”

“And those were his only demands?”

“Yeah, that was it,” the mayor replied, lowering his gaze.

On noticing this, Matthew said, “He threatened you, didn’t he? What did he say?”

The mayor gnawed his lip. “If we don’t do as he’s asked, the curse of the Nobility will be on our village.”

“What kind of curse?”

“If you were to go to the church now, you’d find a bloodstain on the floor. A villager who laughed out loud was crushed when a piece of stone from the ceiling fell on top of him. And all that bastard had to do was wave the book of sermons in his hand. He laid it out for us. If we didn’t follow his instructions, the same would happen to everyone in the village. Then he added something else—said the only thing that could save us was these gods. And right then, we decided we had to come clean. To be honest, we don’t know what he’s after. We figure you folks would know more about that than us.”

“Where’s that girl from earlier?” D asked, oddly enough.

After a pause, the mayor replied, “In the town hall. We don’t have a doctor, but we’ve got medicine there.”

By the time he’d said this, D had already left the shadows and was headed for the door. He looked like a beautiful shadow.

Matthew and Sue hurriedly stood up.

-

At the town hall some five hundred yards from the mayor’s house, they witnessed a miracle. The girl who’d fallen under the hooves was there with her mother. When D put his left hand against her forehead, her labored breathing was gone in a heartbeat and her fever passed. The girl recovered in seconds.

As mother and child hugged each other, beside them D said, “I’ve fixed any damage my employer has done. Now we’ll be leaving.”

Dumbfounded, the mayor shouted, “Please, wait! We’ve been completely honest with you and asked you to save our village. If you leave now, we’ll be annihilated. He’ll get us. Do something about him. After all, you’re the reason he came here, aren’t you?”

D looked at Matthew.

Thinking for a few seconds with the expression of a much older man, Matthew nodded and said, “If you were to put him down, it’d make things easier for us, too. D, let’s give it a shot.”

The young man in black remained silent as the group went outside.

“I’m going to the chapel,” D told them, and then he started walking over to where they’d parked the vehicles.

Halting in front of Braujou’s car, he turned toward the door and said, “This concerns Matthew and Sue. Keep them safe.” His tone was the same as always.

When a hole opened in the seamless body of the vehicle, Matthew and Sue stared at it dazedly.

“Stay inside until I get back. No matter what happens, don’t let them out, Braujou.”

“Leave it to me,” Braujou responded in a sleepy voice.

The pair were shaking all over, but D somehow managed to get them into the vehicle, and once the hole in its side had vanished, he began to head back to the village.

Completely ignoring the group of people that had formed in front of the mayor’s abode, the Hunter went into the chapel. The villagers froze at the doorway.

The stone interior was quiet and cold. Crude stone statues stared at D with the faint outlines of eyes. Though the villagers believed in different gods, they apparently worshiped here together. Between the second pew and the wall, a bloodstain remained on the floor. A bloodied chunk of stone had been set beside the door. Putting the palm of his left hand against the stone, D raised it toward the ceiling.

“No doubt about it—it definitely fell from the spot right above him. The whole ceiling’s in terrible shape,” his left hand said. “But the piece that fell wasn’t rigged in any way. It seems like it was a complete coincidence that the only part to collapse was right on top of a nonbeliever. As you can probably tell, there’s no trace of any spell or telekinesis, either. That’s one weird trick he’s got.”

“You remember anything like this?”

“Not—” was all the hoarse voice managed before D’s hand was tightly squeezed into a fist and the Hunter went outside.

The sounds of carpentry echoed in the air without a moment’s respite. A number of colorful kites danced across the sky. It must’ve been some of the community’s few children amusing themselves.

“Hey! Where are you going? You’re not gonna saunter right into this trap, are you?” the hoarse voice asked frantically.

“The trap’s not very well laid.”

“Yeah, that’s true—but that’s no reason to jump into the lion’s den for the fun of it.”

Not replying to this, D took the road up a slope. As he came within view of the wooden structure that was nearly fully framed at the top of the hill, hurried footsteps and a taxed voice chased after him.

“Wait! Please, wait just a moment . . .”

D turned, and the mayor finally halted in front of him, taking several deep breaths to calm himself.

“You don’t seriously . . . plan on . . . going into that thing . . . do you? I thought I . . . made it clear . . . that it’s dangerous!”

The old man’s winded delivery only served to demonstrate his sincerity.

“It’s not finished yet. If it’s meant as an obstacle for us, perhaps I should destroy it.”

“If you were to do that now, the villagers would all be in danger,” the old man said, looking to D for agreement, but then he held his tongue. His expression quickly grew clouded with fear. “Oh, that’s right . . . You don’t give a rat’s ass about the people in this village, do you? All that matters is that the lot of you finish your journey safely.”

“That’s my job.”

“We told you everything, regardless of the danger we were putting ourselves in. Don’t you think leaving us to fend for ourselves would just be heartless?”

“The person who hired me asked me to protect her children with her dying breath. Nothing else concerns me.”

Leaving the mayor standing there awestruck, D walked away.

Though only the frame was standing, this was clearly going to be a house. It was square, with each wall thirty feet long, and just a little bit taller. Five villagers hung from the wall and ceiling beams. As soon as they noticed D, two of them let out screams and fell to the ground, while the rest clung to the closest post or beam for dear life. The reason their compatriots had fallen was obvious: D’s good looks had robbed them of their souls. The other three soon ran over to pick those two up, and luckily they’d landed on their asses and were okay.

“At this rate, they’ll only have the outer walls done by tonight,” the hoarse voice said. “So, what do they hope to accomplish by sealing you inside?”

D looked back at the mayor.

The mayor was backing away, as if he’d seen something horrifying. His body sank unexpectedly—the earth had subsided. He sank down to his waist, and then stopped. The old man braced his arms and tried to pull himself free. But when the villagers started to race toward him, his screams made them stop. His hair stood on end, his upper body went into fierce spasms, and then his eyes rolled up into his head. At the same time, bright blood shot from his mouth and nose like a ruptured hose, sending up terrific splashes when it hit the ground.

Telling the paralyzed villagers to step aside, D moved forward. Ignoring the mayor, whose head had slumped limply to one side, the Hunter slowly started down the hill.

A quiet murmur from the villagers came after him. The bloodied mayor had jerked his face back up and then fallen forward. There was nothing left of him from the waist down. His body had been brutally sliced in two below his hips. The villagers’ terrified murmuring was reignited like a flame when the old man’s upper body dug both hands into the dirt and pulled itself toward D like an insect.

“Behind you!” someone shouted, but the upper body had braced itself in a pushup position, and then it sprang up over D’s head like a bug. It was unclear whether D noticed the single line that stretched between the torso and the ground.

The Hunter made a silvery sweep behind himself, while the mayor’s torso reversed direction in midair and landed with a thud on the ground. Ignoring the vain twitching of the fingers curled before its chest like claws, D took to the air like a supernatural bird, exquisite and black, coming down to assail its earthbound prey. Backed by the force of a leap that carried D from a spot fifteen feet away, plus the acceleration from his descent, the blade he gripped struck with precision. His longsword sank halfway into the earth, and as he pulled it free, a black fluid shot out of the ground with terrific force. No one there noticed it was blood.

D made a horizontal swipe to his right with his sword hand. The gleam collided with a black, sickle-shaped object that appeared from the earth, making the strangest sound in the world. Fifteen feet long, the sickle made a tearing sound as it was cut free. When it was finally embedded in a boulder that lay by the side of the road, it proved to be indeed a giant, steel scythe.

“It’s a subterranean doll master!”

“No, it’s a corpse rider!”

It was difficult to say whether the terror in the voices of the villagers who’d witnessed this was inspired by the creature with giant scythes that had just expired underground, or by the young man in black who’d sheathed his blade and turned back toward the mayor’s remains.

Without a doubt, a fearsome subterranean creature had just breathed its last—a creature that burrowed underground, killing anyone who fell through the last bit of earth it left over its pit, then sending one of its “control lines” into the nervous system of its victim so it could be in command of the deceased and hunt for food up in the surface world it was fated to never enter.

“Hmm. To be honest, I’ve had a suspicion all the villagers were under something’s control, but it looks like such concerns were groundless,” D’s left hand said in a voice that he alone heard.

When the Hunter walked toward the partially constructed hut once more, no one stood in his way. As if they were watching a demon that appeared in broad daylight, the villagers opened a path for D, and he stood in front of the hut. A wind was stealing up on him.

Raising his left hand, D caught something borne on the wind. A sheet of paper. The vermilion characters scrawled on it seemed to be written in blood.

If you lay a hand on that hut, the villagers will all die in horrible accidents.

There was no signature.

Before he’d finished reading it, D turned around. In the direction the wind had come.

-

DEADLY BANQUET, SCARLET BANQUET