DEATHS HAND IN HAND

DEATHS HAND IN HAND

chapter 4

I

—

A thousand yards shy of their target, the four men dismounted.
They’d heard the Black Death had scouts with keen hearing and the ability to see well in the dark. From experience, they knew they couldn’t go any closer without being detected. Though it was D who ordered them to dismount, no one voiced any complaints.

A light danced in the distant darkness, most likely a fire at the outlaws’ encampment.

“The enemy probably has scouts out,” Palau said as he looked all around. The hair that covered half his face glowed with the strange green light from his electronic eye.

“We’re counting on that peeper of yours. Come through for us, big guy,” Gil said, giving him a slap on the back. Since they were both huge, the other man didn’t even budge, though someone D’s size might’ve been sent flying.

“Well, I can see a structure. A farmhouse?” Palau ventured.

“That wasn’t on the map,” said Josh, cocking his head to one side.

“Let’s move.”

With this signal from D, they started off on foot, leading their horses behind them. After they’d advanced about five hundred yards, they saw a couple of riders to their right who were apparently on watch, but the four men slipped by them without the outlaws noticing, reaching a spot where they could make out the rest of the hostiles around the campfire.

“We’ve gotta find where the enemy’s got their weapons stashed,” Gil said, lowering his electronic binoculars and turning to Palau.

“Leave it to me.”

Taking off his backpack, Palau pulled a remote control and an odd-looking bundle out of it. When the remote was switched on, the bundle immediately transformed into an airplane with a three-foot wingspan. He apparently carried it around all folded up.

“I bought this little reconnaissance plane off a traveling arms merchant,” Palau said with delight as he fitted a hemispherical piece containing a lens—apparently a camera of some sort—into the metallic frame of the plane. “All set. Now, whatever this baby sees will go right into my eye. Stand back, guys.”

He worked the levers on the remote with one hand, and the plane glided off into the darkness without a sound.

“How’s it going?” Gil asked anxiously.

“At fifteen hundred feet, zooming in—okay,” Palau said with a nod. It seemed the camera had begun broadcasting the scenery below to his eye. “They’ve got some serious armament. One triple-shot missile launcher, an old-fashioned, fifty-ton intelligent tank like they used back in the Nobility Wars, and a ten-shot, fifty-millimeter laser cannon. Plus three heavy machine guns, ten light ones, a shitload of automatic rifles—”

Gil’s look became one of delight as he said, “Then no village could hold them off, no matter how tight their defenses. We’ll take ’em out starting with the biggest guns first, Captain, just as planned.”

“Just as planned,” D said, his eyes still on the fire and figures ahead. “What about guards?”

“One each on the four points of the compass. They’ve got short-range radar, too. Effective at maybe fifty yards? No surprise here, but the missiles, tank, and laser cannon each seem to have about five guys posted on ’em round the clock.”

“In other words, it’s gonna be tricky trying to get in without being noticed,” Gil said, tilting his head to one side. “Got any suggestions, Captain?”

“I could lay into them with this. One blast, and it’d be complete havoc. What do you say to running in, then?” Josh asked, slapping the antitank rifle on his back.

But Gil ignored him, gazing at D with searching eyes. He wasn’t so much judging D’s strength as he was simply trying to be disagreeable.

“We’ll use a diversion,” D said quietly. His voice was like steel reciting poetry in the depths of a dark and moonless night.

The Hunter reached with his left hand towards Palau’s face. The light from the man’s electronic eye was hidden as the palm of D’s hand covered it.

Josh reached for his knife.

Quickly pulling his hand away again, the Hunter said, “They’ve got a makeshift ammo dump set up behind that farmhouse. I’ll take that out.”

Gil inquired incredulously, “How do you know that? What’s the story, Palau?”

But the scout with the electronic eye nodded. “Pretty boy’s right. How’d you access what was in my eye?”

“Synchronize watches,” D told them. “I’ll take out the ammo dump exactly four minutes from now. As soon as it blows, we’ll get the missiles, tank, and lasers, in that order. You’re on the tank and lasers. I’ll handle the missiles.”

“You don’t seriously intend to haul them out of here, do you?” Gil asked, the intrigue plain on his face. “Because if you’re not careful blowing them up, not only will those guys get blown to pieces, but we will too! What are you thinking?”

D turned around and looked at the roughneck. Their eyes met. Though it was a pitch-black night, the Hunter’s dark eyes seemed to glow. Gil suddenly felt as if they were going to swallow him. Before he could fight it, he was falling into the depths of the darkness. Something came into view—and the instant he realized what it was, he cried out.

It’d been a dream. He trembled as his two comrades in arms stood watching him. A black-gloved hand was covering his mouth. The darkness remained still.

“Did you see?” D asked. His voice fell from high above. Gil didn’t bother looking up. For all eternity, he wouldn’t know what the Hunter was asking. But someone had loomed before him, oh, so black and oh, so high, challenging the heavens.

Gil mumbled something.

The black-gloved hand came away from his mouth.

“Not a thing,” Gil repeated. “I didn’t see . . . anything . . .”

As if nothing had happened, D said, “You have four and a half minutes to get it done. We’ll meet back here in five minutes.” The figure in black spun around, but none of the other three noticed that his left hand was missing from the wrist down.

—

The house was filled with the stench of blood. It had seeped into the very cores of the roof beams, the logs of the walls, and the floorboards, rotting them, and even if the house were razed, the area would retain a cloying smell that would keep any living creatures from drawing closer. Until this evening, it hadn’t been that way. The former residents had been very good about getting rid of the smell, which posed the greatest threat to their self-control. But at present, the floor was covered with blood-red plastic. Bags of plasma for medical procedures, each containing 100 cc, were spread across the floor. However, that wasn’t the source of the stench.

The fluid of over a hundred of those bags had been emptied into his body, and the blood now clung to his flesh and bones and organs. When he opened his eyes, it began to slosh, and when he got up out of bed, it eddied wildly in him.

“He’s coming,” the leader said, barely able to squeeze those two words from a body that felt as dirty and heavy as mud. “He’s coming. Yes, here he comes!”

A sword gleamed in either hand.

“Oh, come! Please, come to me! You’re the one who can kill me. Zeke, Bayon, Kronos—are you all set? Are you ready to sing the songs of death? Better think of some words to beg for your lives. This time, we’ll be up against a formidable foe!” He bellowed like a wild beast, whipped up by a dark desire even he couldn’t fully comprehend.

A black glint zipped to the wall. Striking the logs, it laid waste to the caulking between the thick trunks and shot through. After zipping along the ground for another twenty yards, it stabbed into something, and the instant it did, a low groan came from beneath it as something crept along, black and spiderlike. The ammo dump shielded by vinyl and reinforced plastic lay just ahead of those five painfully struggling “legs.”

—

II

—

The missiles were mounted on a steel truck. The five men didn’t move a muscle as they scanned their surroundings. It was easy enough to approach them. D’s feet didn’t make a sound, and his body melded with the darkness. On a night when even the stars weren’t out, he could stand right in front of a person without them even knowing it. Avoiding the watch fire, the Hunter glided toward the man guarding the rear of the truck. His gait wavered unexpectedly as vertigo suddenly assailed him. The bats’ venom hadn’t left him yet. Dropping down on one knee, he put an arm out to brace his upper body as it doubled over, but his hand was missing.

These sounds didn’t escape the guard. “Who goes there?” he shouted as loudly as he could, turning the flashlight he wore on his hip in their direction.

Even though he lay in the beam of light, D didn’t respond immediately. This time the venom was having a particularly strong effect on him.

In response to the man’s shout, the other guards came running with their firearms or longswords drawn. The air of malevolence that enveloped them was channeled through the looks they gave D, but it vanished with shocking ease. Merciless and malevolent faces acquired embarrassingly stupid expressions of rapture, for they had looked at D’s face.

This strangely amicable state between friend and foe existed for exactly one second. It was D that shattered it. To the men, it probably looked as if the gorgeous intruder had spread black wings and taken off. His talons were a blade crueler than any they’d ever known.

—

The tank in particular had a great many watch fires around it. The computer within it could navigate the vehicle, pinpoint enemies, and launch attacks that would destroy the defensive walls around a village. Its 150-millimeter cannon could reduce to dust anyone who resisted, while the four machine guns would turn them into hamburger. Three and a half inches of high-polymer armor were capable of deflecting any and all attacks by the enemy, making this tank essentially invincible out on the Frontier.

“He’s late. What do we do?” Josh asked Palau in the depths of the darkness about thirty feet away, having crawled over to the other man like an insect.

“Damned if I know. We’re running outta time. Do we do this, or what?” Palau said. Quickly he got to his feet, holding a small automatic pistol in either hand. Each had a silencer resembling a sausage on the end of it. “Cover me.”

He dashed away.

He came into the light of the fire. Spotting him, two of the guards raised their rifles. There were two faint phuuuut! sounds, like whispers from the spirit world. Shot right between the eyes, the guards flew backward.

Palau swiftly circled around behind the tank. The remaining three guards jumped out.

“What the hell?”

Two of them were wearing bulletproof helmets, masks, and body armor. Reconnaissance from the air hadn’t shown their gear.

“Seriously, what the hell?”

Phuuuut! Phuuuut! Phuuuut! Phuuuut! Phuuuut!

Spent casings of gold flew through the air, and one of the men fell after being hit ten times. One of the men in body armor was shot through the neck. The other one managed to deflect all the bullets as he brought his rifle to bear.

A report that was nothing like that of a handgun split the night air. The element of surprise was lost. The whole encampment awoke at once.

“Damn it—die when I shoot you!” Palau cursed as the massive round from the rifle scored a hit on his solar plexus. It left an entry wound the size of a grown man’s head. But flesh rolled into the wound like mud, filling it up again. Two more slugs hit him in the chest. And the same thing happened with both of them.

“Truth be known, I was born for shootouts—see, I’ve got this regenerative ability.”

Taking aim at the throat of the dumbfounded guard, he fired off ten shots, two of which found their mark.

Bending back like a longbow, the man fell. From behind him came shouts.

“We’re under attack!”

“It’s over by the tank!”

“Don’t let ’em get away!”

The voices and footfalls barreled closer.

Clucking his tongue in disgust as he changed direction, Palau fired indiscriminately. After two or three shots, the slide remained back.

“Oops, out of ammo. Some pro I am!”

As he stood bolt upright, something howled past his chest. Twenty yards away, flames exploded among the figures headed toward him.

“Consider yourself covered!” Josh called out in the distance.

“Took your sweet time about it!” Palau spat as he raced over to the tank, took an explosive charge and timer from his belt, and pushed them into the tank treads.

There was a mechanical whir.

“What the hell?”

The turret of the tank was turning.

“Don’t tell me it’s gonna fire that thing,” Palau said as the barrel of the gun swung over his head. He let out a sigh of relief, then cried out.

Right in front of his face was the smaller muzzle of the machine gun mounted beside the tank’s main gun.

—

A roaring sound and flames made Gil turn and look.

“That’s Josh’s antitank rifle. That idiot!”

It was time to prepare for a fight. Judging from the location of the explosion, the outlaws would probably figure the laser cannon was in danger too and come running.

“Took ’em long enough.”

Crouching down, Gil ran. The bodies of guards lay all around the laser cannon he’d rigged with explosives. The men who came running to the scene wouldn’t even have time to be surprised. In fact, they wouldn’t have time to notice anything. There were two minutes until detonation.

Grunting, Gil halted. His enormous frame brimmed with tension and impatience.

A figure stood there.

Is that D? he thought. The height and build were both quite similar to D’s. But it wasn’t him. Even the Hunter’s shadow was gorgeous. This guy was—

Time was too precious for him to give it any further consideration. Gil channeled his strength into his “gaze.” It was something he’d been born with, and family members, teachers, and friends who’d been exposed to it had died. If he concentrated, he could knock insects out of the air, make a person’s heart explode, or make plants wither with just a look. Fish would drown and bob to the surface. Classmates he didn’t care for would fall, and policemen dropped dead. The next thing he knew, he was doing it for a living. It wasn’t until several years later that he learned the nature of his power and how to control it—after taking nearly two hundred lives.

Clutching his chest, his foe toppled forward. That was the usual reaction, and Gil was satisfied. Quickly turning around, he was just about to leave. But a pained voice detained him.

“If you’re going to hit me in the chest, you should at least do it with a stake.”

The man rose from the ground, as strong as a mountain. He was in the midst of drawing the twin longswords that were crossed on his back. Clanging them together, the man charged forward.

Gil focused his gaze for all he was worth.

Just then, the ammo dump exploded. Josh’s antitank rifle was no more than a bottle rocket in comparison. The shock wave and shrapnel instantly killed twenty of the outlaws, and all of the rest were injured. Flames leapt wildly, trying to consume the encampment, and all told more than thirty of the men were charred to the bone.

—

The explosion could be heard and the flames seen from the village of Geneve.

“Looks like they pulled it off,” Lyra whispered to the sheriff up at the top of the watchtower.

“It’s even bigger than I expected. You think maybe those four didn’t . . .” Rust said anxiously.

“I can’t say about the other three, but D will probably be coming back,” Lyra told him.

“I sure hope so.”

“Want to send someone out to meet them?”

“No, I wouldn’t want to risk them running into any scouts the enemy might have out. We need every last pro we’ve got here.”

“That’s the right call,” Lyra said in a tone that suited her frosty nature, if not her lovely countenance. “Our responsibility lies right here in this village. What kind of Black Death spies do we have sneaking around? Who was it that killed one of their men? Maybe they’re one and the same. Then again, maybe they’re not. There’s only one thing we do know—they’re a poison pill that could wreck this village. That’s what should concern you and me both.”

“We’ve checked the village register. Only four people have moved into the village in the last decade: Codo Graham, Sergei Roskingpan, Stejiban Toic, and Miriam Sarai.”

“With one exception, they all seem pretty upstanding.”

“Check. All except Old Man Roskingpan, right?” Rust said, the wry grin that flitted across his lips betraying his partiality to the man he’d just named.

Through the window behind them, someone shouted, “Heeeeeeey!”

“Speak of the devil. It’s the old man.”

Scratching the back of his head, Rust walked over to the window and looked down. The wrinkled face of the man who stood at the entrance to the stairs in a straw hat and worn jacket was turned in the lawman’s direction. Seeing that it was Rust, the old man raised the bottle of liquor in his right hand, saying, “Bless your hide for burning the midnight oil. Brought you a little something. I’ll run it right up.”

“No, that’s okay. I’ll come down for it,” the lawman replied, not wanting the drunk to interfere with what they were doing.

For a second Old Man Roskingpan looked peeved, but apparently he got over it quickly enough, saying, “Okay, okay! I’ll leave it right here, then. This here’s the very finest champagne, which I happened to buy off a liquor vendor from Argo City. One swig of this and you won’t be able to drink the swill they serve in this town anymore!” The old drunk punctuated the remark with a hiccup.

“Okay, I’m sold. I’ll be right down!”

“No rest for the weary,” Rust heard Lyra remark snidely as he started down the five-story watchtower’s narrow staircase.

The old man wasn’t outside anymore. Where he’d stood, only the bottle of liquor remained. Picking it up, the sheriff saw that it was the kind of dirt-cheap champagne only the very worst of liquor sellers even bothered carrying.

“That lying old coot,” he said with a smirk, looking both ways down the street and finding cheerful humming flowing back from the darkness to his left.

Letting out a good-natured chuckle, Rust returned to the stairs. He casually glanced at the bottle. It’d struck him as odd at first that it was left open, but that had slipped his mind while he looked for the old man. Scanning the ground, he soon located the cap.

“Old man, I didn’t want your backwash.”

Though Rust had thought that might be the case, it still irked him a little.

As he reached down to pick up the cap, his fingertips brushed the ground. It was wet. Taking a pinch of dirt, he brought it up to his nose. It smelled like champagne. Really cheap stuff.

“Looks like he spilled some.”

Eyeing the bottle, he saw it was still about 70 percent full. Giving it no further thought, Rust headed back to the watchtower with the bottle in hand.

“That’s his big present?” Lyra said, a cynical look in her eyes.

“Yeah, the cheapest shit they make. You probably shouldn’t drink any of it.”

“I wouldn’t drink it either, if I were you.”

“Well, I’ll just have a sip.”

Lyra didn’t say another word as the sheriff put the bottle to his lips and took a big swallow. She knew better than anyone how much he liked to drink and how well he could hold his liquor.

A second later she realized he’d made a fatal error. Crying out as if something were stuck in his throat, Rust clutched his belly and doubled over.

—

III

—

The bottle broke when it fell to the floor. Though the lawman had only intended to have a mouthful, not a drop of its contents remained.

“Huuuuah!”

Rust vomited. But it wasn’t alcohol he brought up. A deep red mass of blood hit the floor, spreading wide.

“Rust!”

“Stay back!” the sheriff told her, sounding like he was about to suffocate. “This thing . . . just slid down into my belly all of a sudden—oof! Oof!”

His fingers, which had been pressed to his solar plexus, dangled limply now. Beneath them, Lyra glimpsed a bloodied blade. It had begun slowly sawing in a line along his stomach. The flesh split open, and his fingers fell off completely. Blood poured from the lawman like a waterfall.

“Rust!”

“It’s all right, Lyra. Don’t let the bastard get away,” he ordered her in a voice some would’ve called a death rattle.

“Roger that.” Taking a step back, the warrior woman drew the sword from her hip.

Rust staggered, his body wracked with pain, but he didn’t fall. He was gritting his teeth. Every one of his muscles tightened, and even his anus clenched. But it wasn’t in an effort to overcome his pain.

“You’ll never get away now,” Lyra said in a steady tone, her remark directed toward the now-immobilized knife jabbing from the lawman’s flesh. Her lovely countenance was as frightening as it was bewitching. “Identify yourself. Are you a spy for the Black Death?”

“This was a mistake,” said a shadowy voice inside Rust’s stomach. “Who could’ve known the sheriff was a pseudo Noble? There’s the screwup of a lifetime. My name’s Domon. Yeah, I snoop for the Black Death.”

“But you have another name, don’t you? Stejiban Toic.”

“I knew a farmer by that name.”

“You’re ready for what’s coming, aren’t you?” Lyra said, drawing back her right arm. “Just one last thing—are you the only one they’ve got lurking in the village?”

“Oh, wouldn’t you love to know!”

“Was it you that killed the guy with the bats? Or was it one of your friends?”

“No, it wasn’t any of us. That would have to be someone else.” The voice took on a malevolent ring as it continued, “Seems we’re not the only danger you’ve got here in town. You’d better look around real good. The gang will be here in two days. Then, no matter who you’ve got living here, you’ll all get sent to hell together. Okay, go ahead and stab away, if you must!”

“Thanks for the warning,” Lyra said, a fierce gleam in her eye. Her right arm trembled with an electric urge to kill. However, she quickly lowered it.

“What are you doing, Lyra?” Rust asked, covered with blood and sweat.

Not replying, she pulled a silver cylinder about the size of a cigarette from the pouch on her left hip. She then rubbed the black end of it against her cape. From within it came a sound like gunpowder burning.

“This remedy’s a little harsh, but hang in there.”

“Okay,” the sheriff replied.

They joined forces in an example of perfect teamwork. Showing no fear or doubt, Rust opened his mouth. Lyra shoved the cylinder into it. Rust swallowed it without biting down.

“What the hell do you think you’re—” the voice cried out.

There was a scream of despair. Before it had ended, fire shot from Rust. Ten-thousand-degree flames from the incendiary device spewed from his mouth, nose, ears—even his belly. Blazing like a torch, the sheriff said nothing as he fell to his knees—but another scream flew from his abdomen, then quickly died again. As he thudded against the floor, a white fog blasted his body and the flames on it.

“We were dealing with a liquid person here. If I’d stabbed him, he just would’ve spilled out through the wound and gotten away. Which is why he asked me to stab him,” Lyra said, her expression cold as she continued to spray out the contents of the small extinguisher, but her eyes were shaken by a hint of sadness.

—

Galloping on his cyborg horse, D pulled back on the reins about three-quarters of a mile away from the encampment. He was in the middle of the wilderness. After confirming that the tank and laser cannon had been destroyed, he’d gone to the rendezvous point. Gil and the others hadn’t come back. And that wasn’t all that hadn’t returned; D’s left hand was still missing. Without bothering to search for it, he headed toward the village. From the time they’d parted company, each of them had been responsible for their own fate. If the hand was still fine, it would come back. If it didn’t come back—that was all there was to it.

But D hadn’t halted his steed to confirm that the outlaw band behind him had been wiped out. He’d heard a cry of pain ring out in the darkness. It was the voice of his left hand.

D’s eyes focused on an area where weeds as tall as a man’s chest were swaying in the night breeze. From behind the tall grass a face came into view. The coat that covered a build closely resembling D’s own came down to the heels of the man’s boots. As the man trod through the grass toward the Hunter, D noticed that he had a longsword slung over his right shoulder. On the end of it was a human hand, stabbed through the palm.

“You forgot something,” the man said. “The first time I speared it, it ripped itself open and got free. And thanks to that, we kissed our ammo dump goodbye.” The man laughed in a low tone. There was no animosity, no sense of outrage, just innocent laughter. “But that doesn’t really matter. I caught it again and kept it with me so that through it, I could sense where to find you. My name is Toma. I’m the leader of the Black Death gang.”

“D.”

Toma flinched at his own gasp of astonishment. “So, you’re D? I’ve always wanted to meet you. Come to think of it, we had to meet. Oh, this makes me so happy, D!”

Toma was truly enraptured. His eyes were bloodshot, and a little drool ran from his mouth. A chattering sound came from his fangs.

“So, you’re a pale imitation of a Noble, are you?” D said, his right hand going over his shoulder for the sheath of his sword.

“Oh, hold up, there. Get too hasty, and I’ll have to kill this hand of yours.”

“Do whatever you like.”

Toma’s eyes bulged. Here the outlaw had thought he was holding all the cards, but he’d been dealt an unexpected blow.

“Wait. Just hold on, now. You don’t have a problem with going the rest of your life without your left hand?”

Nothing from the Hunter.

Toma blinked his eyes. He seemed to be at a loss. “Then I guess there’s no point in me keeping it. You can have it back. But first, I’d like a little something in return. Like hearing about those missiles, for starters.”

D said nothing. Knowing the true nature of his foe, he normally would’ve attacked the man without any further discussion.

“I figured you’d blow them up or carry them off, not launch them. What’s more, you scored a direct hit on that big old glacier way off in the wilderness, and that took real skill. Our tank and laser cannon got taken out, too. Thanks to you, we won’t be able to steamroller the target on our next job. You think maybe the two of us could talk some business?”

“What happened to the other three?” D inquired. This was not a question he’d have asked ordinarily, but this time he was the group’s leader. Out of responsibility to his subordinates, he had to ask.

“I faced them. That’s all you need to know. And the next one I’ll face is you.”

“Give me the hand back first.”

“Sure—here you go!”

Wiggling the sword over his shoulder back and forth, Toma freed the left hand. His sword moved forward and back. There was a single, garbled cry. The left hand was brutally chopped in half in midair, with the halves landing in the grass to either side of D.

“I just get the feeling it wouldn’t be wise to have you putting that thing back on. Now, show me how good you are, Vampire Hunter D. Let me see with my own eyes and experience firsthand whether you’re able to kill me or not.”

Toma bit down on the fingers of his left hand. There was the sound of teeth coming together, and then another sound rang out. A crunching. He was chewing up his own fingers. He extended his hand. His thumb alone remained, the other four fingers having been bitten off.

“Now we’re the same. I want to do this fair and square. Okay, D? Why aren’t you looking for your left hand? You don’t even seem worried. Good! That’s just the sort of man I’ve been waiting for,” Toma said, saluting the Hunter with his bloodied hand.

When the outlaw dashed into action, D bounded.

“Yes!” one of them exclaimed.

One in the air, the other on the ground: as the two figures passed, the clash of their blades echoed and dazzling sparks flew. The pair faced off with more than twenty feet between them and once again raced forward like two winds, winds well suited to the desolate place they were in. Accursed winds. The black wind of unearthly beauty struck with his silvery fang, and the gale that blew against him raked with steely claws. Particles of light danced, and each time a faint light filled some corner of the pitch-black wasteland that was the plain. The winds blew against each other, around again, and collided once more. A cry of pain shot out in the darkness, and something heavy thudded against the ground.

“Aaaaaah! Why, D?”

Arching backward as if he were going to keel over, Toma shook. Deep red blood flew from all over his body. He pressed his right hand against the stump of his left arm.

“Why, D? Why didn’t you kill me? Why’d you take off my arm and let me stab you through the heart?”

D staggered backward. Toma’s blade jabbed through his chest at an angle.

What had happened was obvious. During their deadly battle, the residual effects of the venom and the sunlight syndrome had struck him.

“This is no good, D. No good at all. You were supposed to slay me. You were the Hunter who could do it. If you can’t, I’ll . . . I’ll . . .” Bending back so far he faced the sky, Toma howled. “I’ll become a Noble!”

D fell. Without looking, Toma reached over with his right hand and pulled the sword from D’s heart.

“There’s no one now. No one at all.” A voice that sounded like a sob traveled through the brush. It conveyed nothing short of heartbreak. A short time earlier, while working to save the burning sheriff in the watchtower in Geneve, Lyra’s expression had showed exactly the same emotion.