Assorted Traveling Companions

Assorted Traveling Companions

chapter 2

I

You need to tell me what the cargo was,” said D.

“That again? I’ll say no more about it. You’ll have to be content with my daughter’s secret.”

Something glittered and zipped in front of the director’s eyes. He shut his arrogant mouth. All the old man’s achievements as a scholar, his fairly good points as a person, and even his position in the Capital burned away like mist before that pale blade. Not that the man hadn’t been through tough situations before. Excavations always involved problems with landowners and villagers, and the thugs they hired could be set off with a single boast, so he’d actually engaged in gunfights with pistol in hand. He also considered himself to have a good deal of nerve. But now all of that bravado came crashing down, just like the glory of the Nobility. The blade in the old man’s field of view wasn’t the same sort of weapon that he’d wielded in those battles. Even Lilia, his professed ally, couldn’t so much as move a muscle.

“Answer me,” D said.

Marquis didn’t think he’d be able to reply. His fear was so great, it choked his throat. Yet from it issued the words: “A coffin.” And they came the instant he heard D’s voice.

“A coffin?” D asked, taking a step forward. Though he could no longer see the blade, the director moved too. The unlikely pair crossed the barroom and stepped out onto the planks of the wooden sidewalk. Walking down to the end of the building, they turned to the left. Just before the Hunter did so, he said, “Stay out of this.”

That one icy remark made Lilia, who’d finally started after him, halt in her tracks. “Don’t be such a spoilsport, D.” There was something coquettish about her tone. “The fact is, I’m plenty curious about the cargo myself. You might’ve been called to this village, but I came here after hearing rumors about what that plane was carrying. See, this is the only route up the mountain.”

“What sort of rumors?”

“Let me join up and I’ll tell you.”

“If they’ve hired you, we’ll find out sooner or later, I reckon.”

The sudden hoarseness of D’s voice made Lilia’s eyes widen. They shifted strangely to D’s left hand.

“You—you can talk out of your left hand?”

“Heh heh heh, so the jig is up?”

“You make that voice on purpose? I think you need a third party’s opinion on the matter. It’s crude, and it sounds like some country bumpkin—just the worst!”

“My sentiments exactly,” said D.

“Excuse me?” said the hoarse voice, but since both came from D, Lilia’s eyes bugged again.

“The mayor and the director of whatever-it-was say you’ll see what the cargo is as soon as you reach the aircraft,” said the woman. “That’s kind of obvious, isn’t it? But I want to know now.”

“You’d be betraying your employer,” D told her.

“No problem. This clown’s half-unconscious. He won’t even remember I was here—”

Suddenly the girl tore open the right side of her combat vest.

“My goodness!” the hoarse voice remarked with admiration at the full breast that glistened in the moonlight.

“—but if he does remember anything, this’ll throw him off track.”

“Whose coffin is it?” D asked. He sounded as if he’d completely forgotten Lilia was there.

“Duke Gilzen’s.”

The director’s reply drew a gasp. Lilia’s eyes were drawn to D’s left hand. From it, a groan of a voice had croaked Duke Gilzen’s name. “This is too dangerous. What do you say to passing on this one? Did I hear you right, mister? What you say and what you do are completely at odds!”

This time there was no reply.

As if there’d been no place for Lilia here from the very start, D and Director Marquis continued talking.

“The coffin was unearthed from ancient ruins about two hundred miles north of this village. It was made of stone, and devoid of any Noble title, name, or any other description. That in itself was rare, but then all the defenses around the coffin completely defied common sense.” As if even the memory itself were a curse, Marquis shuddered three times, but D’s blade would brook no silence from him. The director continued. “There was no trace of any of the defenses Nobles set about their coffins. Not only that, but it even had a heavy chain wound five times around it. As if to guard against anyone getting out. That’s all well and good—though no similar cases have been unearthed, if the chains were put there by humans, the reason for their actions is understandable. However, the following had been carved into the coffin’s lid with some sort of blade: The demon Duke Gilzen. Buried in the grave he truly deserves in the manner he has earned by Grand Duke Brubeck and his brave compatriots. This Noble was sealed away by other Nobles. That, too, has precedent. Relations weren’t necessarily cordial between all Nobles. However, the one ironclad rule among the Nobility was broken by those who buried him. No matter how loathsome their sworn enemy might be, Nobles always interred fellow Nobility in a fitting grave. But the grave we found Duke Gilzen in was—”

“—a wretched little grave marked with a bare stone. What’s more, it was buried ten thousand feet beneath one corner of a vast and sprawling ruin.” At that point, the hoarse voice sounded just like D’s.

“You knew about that?” the director said, staring at D in amazement.

A few seconds passed, and then the hoarse voice said, “A coarse stone grave that couldn’t be described as Noble, set deep in the earth. Actually, just as was carved into the coffin in that dead language, it probably was the only fitting grave for the coffin’s occupant, a Noble so abhorred by his fellow Nobility. Now I finally see. I know why that shudder passed through you, D. The devil Gilzen—the person in that coffin was feared by all the Nobility.”

D pulled back his sword—or that’s how it appeared to the director. Astonished, he blinked his eyes. There’d been no blade there at all. It had been returned to its sheath by the time they’d left the bar. The only reason he’d continued to perceive a sword pointed at his eye was because of the weird killing lust he sensed from D.

The aged director still hadn’t completely roused from its effects when a voice like a cold, still winter’s night filled his ear, saying, “I’ll take the job,” while another, hoarse one seemed to curse, “No, don’t!” or words to that effect.

The aged director’s brain was confused as to what to do until Lilia’s voice returned him to reason, saying, “Then it’s decided, Mr. Director.”

“That it is. We’re counting on you, D. Your job is to locate the coffin and bring it back down safely.”

“And what if its occupant has awakened?”

“You must take him alive.”

“You get no promise of that, where Duke Gilzen is concerned.”

If he were to bring up the matter of his daughter Vera, he knew that would be effective—and yet, he couldn’t do it. The old man nodded. “Understood. In that case, I shall leave it to your best judgment. Nevertheless, I want you to make the utmost effort to bring his body back down here.”

“I can’t do that, either.”

“Why not?”

“The effect bringing Gilzen down here would have would be clear enough. But I can’t allow that. The only Noble cursed by the Nobility must be destroyed in obscurity.”

These must’ve been D’s words. Could it be that D feared the man called Gilzen?

Before the aged director, the hem of the Hunter’s coat flared out.

“There’s some gear I need you to get. Come with me.”

The three of them walked off. Straight ahead lay their destination, which wasn’t the most fitting place in the world for the Hunter—a general store.

–

Leaving the director to settle the bill, D went to the hotel and got a room. Lilia left, indignant, going off in pursuit of the director. Now that D had taken the job, she’d been told that her services were no longer needed. By this point, she was undoubtedly embroiled in relentless, passionate negotiations in some room in the town hall.

“A snow-covered mountain? That’s the worst environment for you! And up against Duke Gilzen, of all people. Let’s pass on this one.”

His left hand had practically been foaming at the mouth ever since he’d stepped into the room, but D replied, “I can’t do that.” His tone was tranquil as always, yet carried a strength. It could probably be called determination. “This job is in my blood. I can’t run or hide from it.”

“The one who put it there took it upon himself to do so. You don’t have to take responsibility for this.”

“If I don’t, who will?”

The left hand fell silent.

“The offer came just as I was about to head into the northern Frontier. They wanted someone to rescue the crew and cargo of an aircraft that’d crashed in the snowy mountains. If there were no survivors, they asked that I bring back the cargo alone. True, dhampirs are impervious to the cold. But even given that, it wasn’t the sort of job I should take.”

“You mean to say the devil made you do it?”

“The cargo was Gilzen’s coffin—it’s safe to say his will might’ve put us in motion.”

“You seem pretty calm about that. And there’s nothing you hate more than being made to act on someone else’s wishes.”

“If Gilzen rises again, what will become of the world?”

D opened his left hand. Ripples spread across the surface of his palm, and a human face appeared. Covered with wrinkles that could be those of the very young or the very old, nevertheless it had eyes swimming with vitality as it gave him a wry grin. “Ruin,” it said.

“He knew that full well. Both at the time, and in the future. And that’s why he entrusted me with this.”

“ A ‘murder outside time’? Sounds like the name of a cheesy movie.”

Just as the left hand was grimacing, there was a knock at the door.

“That female Hunter back so soon?”

Turning toward the door, D asked, “Who is it?” Though his voice was low, the person outside could hear it clearly.

“Crey’s the name. I’m a traveling man. I’m here with a request for you.”

“It’s open.”

Just as D responded, a lanky fellow slipped in like a breeze. Though his traveler’s coat and thermal trousers were threadbare in spots, his face was intrepid. It would be safe to say his expression was that of a daring man. The faint scar on his left cheek only served to heighten the intensity of the eyes that reflected D.

“You’d be Mr. D, I take it? I’m Crey—”

“Crey Jansen—a.k.a. Crey of the Deadman’s Blade.”

For a second, the intrepid expression turned to one of shock that peered at the source of that hoarse voice.

II

“To be honest, this is kind of a surprise,” the man who’d introduced himself as Crey said frankly. “I’d heard that anyone who got as far as D’s room either walked off disappointed without even reaching for the doorknob, or else got carried out—as a stiff.”

“That’s because those clowns didn’t even knock. They just barged in with a sword or a pistol or whatever in one hand,” said the hoarse voice.

“Then you mean to tell me my good manners saved my life?” Crey donned an intimidating smile.

D finally spoke. “Say your piece.”

Crey stared at D, stunned once more. Blinking his eyes stupidly, he eventually came to grips with matters and composed himself, saying, “I’ve heard all sorts of rumors about you, but I didn’t know you did ventriloquism.”

“Well then, it seems like a certain outlaws’ grapevine isn’t all it’s cracked up to—ouuuf!”

Giving a light shake of the fist he’d just closed, D gestured to a chair. He didn’t say to have a seat, nor did Crey move.

Moistening his lips with his tongue, he finally got down to business, saying, “I want you to take me up Mount Shilla with you.”

“I can’t.” D’s reply was terse. It left the man no footing at all.

“That’s right,” the hoarse voice interjected in a tone that sounded pained. “We’re the bona fide rescue party, working at the village’s request. If you want in, go get the village’s permission.”

“That’s out of the question.” Crey shrugged his shoulders.

“I thought as much. What with you being wanted for murder and all. A government official from the Capital, and an innocent family of three—Crey of the Deadman’s Blade has sunk pretty low, I guess.”

Disregarding the jibes of the hoarse voice, Crey wore an intent expression as he asked D, “You got a spokesman working for you now?” Apparently he’d noticed the inhabitant of the Hunter’s left hand. “And a pretty unsavory one at that. Want me to get rid of him?”

Crey’s right hand turned with a flick of his wrist, and like a magic trick, a thin double-edged knife lay in its grip. The only explanation seemed to be that it’d appeared from thin air. Was this the famed Deadman’s Blade?

“Don’t worry. You won’t feel a thing, and there won’t even be any blood. Once the little nasty living in it has died off, I could put your hand back where it belongs and it’ll move just the same as before. But only if it’s within three days of it being cut off.”

D looked at his left hand. “Is that so?” he said.

“Don’t do it!” the hoarse voice shouted.

“Well, if the boss says it’s okay—” The knife spun in Crey’s hand.

With a shout, the left hand circled around behind the Hunter’s back. Whether D moved it or the hand moved itself was unclear.

“I wouldn’t kill a fleeing man.” Crey grinned wryly, making to put his blade away. He’d only been joking.

“I’d see your skill,” D said.

Crey’s eyes glimmered. At that moment, the two men were no longer ordinary people.

“Are you sure? That’s not the sort of thing to joke about.”

“Let’s see the Deadman’s Blade.” Devoid of expression, D’s face was so beautiful, and so chilling.

“This comes as a surprise. I’d heard you never let on about giving a rat’s ass about anyone else.” Crey’s expression was intrepid, and dangerous. “Though it seems you make exceptions when it comes to exceptional abilities. Happy to oblige, D!”

This is what it was to be a fighting man. The Hunter didn’t say he’d bring the man along if he displayed his skill, and the outlaw didn’t even change his stance before launching his lanky form at D. The gleaming arc of his weapon, however, slashed the air an inch or more from the base of D’s neck. He’d blown it. No, not exactly. The edge of that gleaming arc clung to the tip of the knife like a thread. At that moment, Crey’s expression became as blank as D’s. An unvoiced battle cry—the tip of the knife trembled, and the thread of light that hung in the air without vanishing sped at D’s shoulder as if hurled at it. Blood spurted out.

“I think that’s far enough.” That declaration came from the attacker—Crey. There was no triumphant ring to the words. He was holding his own right shoulder. And from between his fingers dripped blood.

The weapon responsible was clutched in D’s left hand: a knife with a footlong blade—or rather, a dagger. However, considering that the two men were separated by almost fifteen feet, it would be impossible to attack with that. There wasn’t even any gore on its blade.

The victim alone understood. “So, you saw through my trick, did you? But I didn’t even see it coming. That’s the man called D, eh?”

“What you did just now isn’t all of it,” D said while returning the dagger to the back of his belt. “But I saw the Deadman’s Blade—as promised.”

“I get you. I had thought about putting a little scare into you, but you’re more than I can handle. But I don’t give up, D.” His knife spun. It vanished, then reappeared.

Crey’s face turned toward the door, an intrigued smile rising on it. “Got a visitor.”

As he said that, there was a knock at the door.

“A kid,” said the hoarse voice. The knock had sounded tiny and diffident.

D looked at Crey.

“Yeah, I know. Be seeing ya.” The knife master walked over to the door, grabbed the knob, and opened it. “C’mon in.”

On the other side of the doorway stood a boy who looked to be seven or eight. In stark contrast to his thermal coat, worn through in numerous spots, the boy looked cultured.

“C’mon in.”

As Crey repeated his invitation, the boy stepped in without hesitation.

“Thanks for coming. I’m D.”

As the boy looked up at Crey, his face showed expectation and anxiety—and was then suffused with joy.

“Just kidding—that’s him over there. He’s my brother from another mother. You know what that means?”

“Yes, I know what it means,” the boy replied with a nod. “You’re best friends, right?” He had the voice and countenance of a clever child.

“That’s right,” Crey said with a grave nod, then a shiver passed through him and he coughed once. “Mr. D can be a hard one to deal with. He ain’t the kind to hear requests too readily. Let me act as your go-between. You wanna climb Mount Shilla, don’t you?”

“Yes,” the boy replied with a nod, his gaze alternating between Crey and D.

“Care to tell us the situation?”

“Yes.”

The boy was going to nod a third time, but he was cut short by the egregious supernatural aura. It was the same air that’d just caused Crey to shudder and cough.

“This man has nothing to do with me. Also, no one can accompany me. If you wish to climb the mountain, do so on your own.”

“I can’t do it all alone!” said the boy, effortlessly breaking through the shackles of D’s unearthly aura. His weapon was single-mindedness. “My father went missing while climbing Mount Shilla last winter. During the winter they couldn’t send up a search party, and when they did launch one in the spring, half of them disappeared just like my father, and they never did find him. Ever since, no one’s gone up the mountain. Today, an uncle of mine who works in the town hall was good enough to tell me about you. I won’t be in the way at all. I’ll do whatever you say. I’ll even search for my father by myself. Just bring me with you for the climb—”

“Were you born around here?” D asked. Though he spoke in a tone like ice, there was no unearthly aura to him now.

“Uh-huh. Oh, I’m Lourié, by the way.”

“D.”

“I’m Crey.”

When D gave him a hard look, the outlaw turned away despondently. “Okay, okay. See ya around, D.” Raising a hand in farewell, he left the room.

“I, er—”

The boy was about to speak when D stopped him, waiting the span of a breath before walking over to the door. Although he walked normally, his footfalls made no sound. Grabbing hold of the knob, he pulled.

There stood Crey, with one ear pressed to the door. As D gazed at him without a word, he smiled sheepishly and said, “See ya.” This time he did indeed walk away. Even after watching him descending the stairs, D didn’t take his eyes off the man for a while.

Finally shutting the door, he turned to Lourié and asked, “As a local, you know about White Devil Mountain, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Then you know how frightening the mountain can be. This isn’t like climbing an ordinary mountain in winter.”

The boy’s tiny frame suddenly seemed to shrink to half its size.

D continued, “All I know are the rumors. But on its peak stood the castle of one of the three most atrocious Nobles in all their accursed history. Though the Nobility may be destroyed and their castle fallen to ruin, they say their ghosts still roam the mountains, draining the blood of any who would dare the slopes.”

The boy was speechless.

“Nor are they the only thing that threatens climbers. There are tales of beasts and demons of the Nobility’s crafting, various strange phenomena, and mountain folk who live up there and feed on the monsters. You talk about searching for your father, but I don’t think a child could accomplish that on his own.”

His tiny face turned toward the floor.

“Did you think that if I climbed with you, I’d help you as well? Don’t underestimate the mountain.”

His callous words were like an ice pick through the boy’s heart. The boy gazed down at his feet for a long time. Then, looking up, he quietly made his apologies. Just before he turned his back to the Hunter, he said, “I’ll see myself out.”

The door was opened and closed again behind him, at which point the hoarse voice commented with admiration, “That’s one focused little brat. I thought he was gonna squirt a few tears for us, but he left here with a composed face. I hope that’s the end of it, though.” The voice seemed to be gauging D’s reaction.

“There’s only one choice he can make,” D replied. That interest was rare for him. You might even call it miraculous.

“To give up? I knew a gorgeous little brat once who’d never give up. Made me sick and impressed the hell out of me at the same time. Kinda reminds me a lot of that kid—”

“Tomorrow morning, we set off,” D said, cutting the hoarse voice short.

The mountain could be seen through the window. It looked for all the world like an ordinary, snow-covered peak.

III

His departure early the next morning was forestalled by a knock at the door.

“What the hell do you want?” a hoarse voice of peerless unsociability called through the door, causing the person on the other side to fall silent. Finally, he said, “It’s the bellhop. Actually, we’ve got a number of dangerous-looking visitors downstairs—and they want to know your room number, sir.”

“Oh, thanks for the heads-up. Guess you earned that tip. Okay. Better go down and see ’em.”

“Beg pardon?”

“How many are there?”

“Ten.”

“That’ll be a nice little warm-up before breakfast, then.”

“Excuse me?”

“How do they look?”

“Like drifters, warriors, or bounty hunters—villains, plain and simple.”

“Pretty much what I figured. I’ll be headed right down. Tell ’em to wash behind their ears and be waiting in their Sunday best.”

“As you wish.”

Once the informant had left, the hoarse voice asked, “Who are they?”

“As the man just told you, people who heard rumors of me being here,” said D. His tone was just the same during the day as it was at night. When exactly did the young man sleep?

“Hoping to join you on the trip—or I suppose not, eh? Probably hoping to take your place.”

The voice gave a gloomy yet amused chuckle. But it broke off and muttered, “What’s all this?” It seemed to be listening rather intently. “A brawl’s breaking out down there! They’re turning on each other, jockeying for position, I suppose. Let’s go watch!”

There was no reply. D remained lying on the bed.

His left hand jittered. “Oh, man, we’re talking about complete strangers mixing it up! What could be more fun to watch than that? I wanna see it. I wanna hear ’em. The wilder it gets, the more fun it is. If someone gets killed, that’d be the best! C’mon! Let’s hurry up and get down there.”

D opened his eyes.

“Finally!”

“He said there were ten of them, didn’t he?”

“Yeah. No, wait a sec. Now that you mention it . . . We’ve got some late arrivals . . . Two of ’em. Probably more bounty hunters.”

Here the hoarse voice fell silent for a while, perhaps listening through the thick wooden door and floor for sounds from below.

“Oh, someone’s getting thanked. And the one doing the thanking . . . seems to be the hotel’s owner or something. And someone else says they’re welcome . . . A woman. That lady doctor from last night. Well, let’s go see ’em.”

Still, D didn’t move. This young man was absolutely indifferent toward other people.

Then the Hunter sat up.

“What is it?”

“The weather’s cleared. Time to climb.” His heavenly visage was peering out the window at Mount Shilla.

It was ten minutes later that D descended the grand staircase down to the lobby with a big backpack over one shoulder.

On the Frontier, they always cleaned up quickly after trouble, because it tended to hamper business. There was no sign of even a single wounded or dead person, and an old man who was apparently the janitor was busily mopping the blood from the floor. Judging from the fact that the great carpet had been pulled up, quite a lot of blood must’ve been spilled.

The man and woman seated on the sofa to one side of the lobby got to their feet and looked up at D on the stairs. It was the village doctor—Vera—and a bald giant of a man who stood nearly six feet eight. It wasn’t Baska. At the man’s feet was a pack that looked to be easily three times the size of D’s, and bearskin cold-weather gear. Other winter clothes were resting on the sofa. Vera wore black cold-weather gear, while the giant had on a wool shirt and thermal trousers. The shirt was made of the stitched-together hides of snow mice. In these parts, they were said to be the best protection you could have against the cold.

“Good morning,” said Vera.

D merely nodded slightly. Not that he was arrogant. Nor unsociable. That’s just the sort of young man he was.

Smiling, Vera continued, “Allow me to introduce you: this is Dust, a guard here in the village. He’s agreed to serve as my bodyguard, at the mayor’s behest. We’re to accompany you.”

Down in the vicinity of D’s hip, his left hand groaned.

“Why?” D inquired.

“Would you come down here? I don’t care to have you looking down at me from the stairs.”

Saying nothing, D came down the stairs. His next question wasn’t a reiteration of the last. “What happened to the ten people who were here?”

“Dust was kind enough to take care of them.”

One look at the man would be enough to convince anyone that he was probably up to such a task. It looked as though, if his massive form were hollowed out, D in his entirety would easily fit inside. Even through his heavy shirt, the bulging lines of his biceps and pectoral muscles were evident. Judging from the splashes of blood he wore in a variety of places, there must’ve been some fierce fighting, but he was sufficiently composed.

Not responding at all, D headed for the exit. Their request to accompany him up the mountain seemed lost in the depths of forgetfulness.

“It’s not known how many people were onboard the aircraft, but if there are any wounded—well, you know where this is going. Orders from the mayor. Here it is in writing.”

Dashing his eyes across the stark sheet of paper she produced from her cold-weather gear, D told her, “Good enough.” His tone carried not the tiniest fragment of interest. Nor did he ask her anything about the business with the Sacred Ancestor. “But I’ll be too busy to look after you. He alone will have to serve as your babysitter. One more thing—you’ll have to follow my instructions.”

“Understood.” The doctor nodded, turning her gaze to the giant.

His enormous bald pate slowly dropped and rose again.

“Quite a pair they make. They’ve got their act down pat,” a voice fairly whispered, but apparently it reached the ears of Vera and the giant, who furrowed their respective brows but ultimately didn’t understand where it’d come from. The hoarse voice asked, “What happened to that fella who ran amuck in the bar last night?”

“He’s in the hospital. It seems when you threw him, he broke his neck.”

There was an appreciative whistle. When the man had gotten up again so easily, he must’ve been hiding the pain he was in. He was possessed of a good deal of nerve.

“We’re off, then,” D said without turning, pushing his way through the doors.

“Just a minute!” the doctor cried after him in an agitated manner.

The beginning of the route up the mountain was to the west of the village. The entrance to the trail up the slope was blocked by thick concrete slabs and barbed wire. Next to the door waited a middle-aged man.

“Mr. D, isn’t it?” he called out, his words seeming to float into the air. That was on account of D’s good looks.

“That’s right.”

“The mayor told me to wait here. I’ll open ’er up for you straightaway.”

To the right side of the door was a little steel hatch for making inspections. Pushing his key into the heavy lock and opening it, the man stepped to one side.

“How long have you been here?” D inquired.

As if in a dream, the man replied, “Since daybreak.”

“Anyone come by besides me?”

“Not a one. Why would they?”

“Any other routes up the mountain?”

Shrugging his broad shoulders, the man said, “If you were of a mind to, you could climb it from anywhere. Only you’d be stranded before you’d climbed fifty yards, I kid you not. Every place but here the rock goes straight up more than a hundred yards. What’s more, you’ve got an overhang at the top. Oh, what have we here?” On seeing the lady doctor and the giant of a man racing closer, the middle-aged man furrowed his brow. “Those two climbing too? Well, good luck with that!”

When he turned to face D again, the young man in black was already through the doorway. As he listened to the snow crunching under the hasty footfalls of the approaching pair, the man looked up at the sky above.

The light had dimmed. Clouds had formed. And on seeing the white flecks dancing on the slope before him, the man shuddered.

“So, the second that young fella went through, maybe the only clear day we’ll see all winter goes to pot? And now we’ve got snow, to boot. This is gonna be a snowstorm. A hell of a time to be climbing Mount Shilla. Who in blazes is this guy?”

“Looks like they’re following us,” the hoarse voice remarked when the Hunter came to a sign marking two thousand yards above sea level.

It’d taken D less than an hour to climb that far. Mount Shilla reached 3,657 yards above sea level. It was a little less than twenty-five hundred yards from the village of Mungs to the top of the mountain.

“Another fifteen hundred yards—compared to the Great Mountains of Madness in the southern Frontier, that’s child’s play . . . but they don’t have any Noble castles on ’em, I suppose. From here on out, there’s a route, but no path. The monsters out in the snow are probably limbering up their tentacles. If we reach the aircraft and there are wounded up there, we won’t be able to bring ’em down. We don’t even know if Duke Gilzen is still shut in his coffin or not.”

Through this gloomy commentary, D silently gazed at the mountain peak. His whole body had already been plastered in white. While it wasn’t exactly a blizzard, in another five minutes the wind-whipped snow would probably earn that name.

Setting down the pack that’d been over his shoulder, D opened it and pulled out a red paper bag. It was a heat pack intended for mountain climbing in winter. Sticking it inside his coat, D looked off to the right—and up at the snowy path that continued all the way to a rocky ridge. The path was lined on both sides with white rocks. Atop one of those to the right was a creature whose white hide was flecked with black spots, clearly poised to pounce. Had D caught its faint snarl? Or had he merely sensed its presence?

A stark flash of light shot from D’s right hand, searing through the cold air. Piercing the snow panther’s hide, it struck a rock a few yards distant.

“Oh, so it vanished, did it? Look for the black spots.”

Still in the act of reaching for the hilt of his longsword, D became a statue. His eyes squinted to a thread-thin line. At the focus of his gaze—an area of white snow about ten yards ahead—black dots came into view, and D moved forward with slow, almost gliding actions. The instant it was at his feet, D’s right hand flashed into action.

The unique snarl of a carnivore rang out, and bright blood scattered on the snow to D’s rear. Returning a sword devoid of even a drop of blood to its sheath, D turned around for a look.

The foe he’d slain with a single blow, guided not by sight but by instinct, was slowly taking shape on the white snow. Its form, semitransparent like a jellyfish, had been cleft in two in a manner that could only be described as exquisite, but the beast didn’t have a single black spot on it. The black dots still lay scattered in front of D, undisturbed. They were to draw the attention of the creature’s prey, allowing it an opportunity to strike them from behind. This was something only a creature able to blend in with the snow could do, but the trick hadn’t trumped D’s superhuman senses.

“By the way,” said the hoarse voice, “that snow panther wasn’t after us initially. Which means—”

The beast’s target had been off to D’s right. Where the strange rocks were lined up.

Silently, D began climbing the snowy trail.

“Hey, are you just gonna ignore ’em? From the sound of the breathing, it’s a human!”

D must’ve noticed that from the moment he first encountered the snow panther. But the young man was ready to ignore the person and move on.

Chortling, the hoarse voice said, “I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t just like you. Just make sure you won’t regret this later, you hear?”

“The doctor’s coming up behind us.”

D extended his right hand. The wooden needles he’d hurled at the snow panther had struck the strange rock beside him. Four needles were clustered within a half inch of each other. Grabbing the lot and pulling them out, D took one of the needles and threw it again. It was aimed at the same rock the snow panther had been facing.

There was a strident sound, and the needle split in two. That was followed by the clink of a sword returning to its sheath, and then a figure stepped out from behind the rock carrying something wrapped in a battered thermal cape.

“Is that how you always say hello?”

Taking her hand away from the sword on her back and using it to support the worn cape as she smiled at the young man was none other than the Huntress Lilia.

The watchman for this route up the mountain had said no one had been there since daybreak. Lilia had undoubtedly gone over the gate before that.

Before she could get another word out, D said, “The village doctor will be along shortly. Have her look at that kid.”

The fighting female made a surprised face. “You knew it was a child? He’s got some scratches, so was it the smell of his blood that tipped you off, I wonder? After all, you’re a dham—”

Lilia held her tongue. D had already turned his back to her. Flustered, she called after him, “You know, it’s great that you’re really focused on your job and all, but do you just intend to run off and leave the kid to the women? Huh?”

Lilia put her right ear against the bundle in the cape.

“And on top of everything, he seems to know you,” she said. “He keeps calling out, ‘Mr. D! Mr. D!’ ”

D didn’t halt. He’d already covered more than thirty yards.

“Give it up, sonny. I didn’t think he was as cold as all that. Though for a pro, that’s perfectly natural, I suppose.” Crinkling her brow, Lilia set the figure wrapped in the thermal cape down on the ground. “He threw that needle of his to mark your location, but I cut it down. If I leave you out here, they’ll be able to see you. Look! See those two down there? They’ll be here in another seven or eight minutes. If anything weird jumps you in the meantime, you’ll just have to chalk it up to piss-poor luck. I’m a pro, too.”

And then, making a looping cruciform gesture that those in the western Frontier believed warded against bad luck, she headed after D without a backward glance.

The wind and snow had begun to intensify.