Is My Blood That of Friend or Foe?

chapter 7

I

The carriage raced on until daybreak with Iriya and Meeker sleeping within. When the girl awoke, she realized the carriage had halted in the woods. It was nearly noon.

Leaving the still-slumbering Meeker as he was, Iriya decided to step outside. The door wouldn’t open. A Noble’s lock was on it. There was no sign of D anywhere; when he’d gone outside, he must’ve locked the door. That would prevent anyone from getting inside while he was gone. She was about to give up and return to Meeker’s side when she heard the sound of the lock disengaging, and the door opened.

Outside was D—and a short way off stood a boy who wore protective armor made of high-polymer rubber over his clothes. To his rear were five or six lesser fire dragons. He was a dragon master, which indicated they were close to the northern Frontier.

D said there was a village called Jassum nearby. The boy was from there. On seeing Iriya, he informed her that today was a festival day. Apparently it was the date when the guardian deity—also named Jassum—had descended to Earth and told the founders to build a village there. Now that the boy mentioned it, she noticed the sound of what might have been firecrackers in the distance.

Looking back at the carriage, Iriya said, “Meeker will be overjoyed! Let’s take at least one day off. Give a thought to your traveling companions for once.”

“Please do,” the youthful dragon master said, grinning with pleasure. His blue eyes reflected Iriya. “My family runs an inn.”

Behind the boy, the fire dragons blew fifteen feet of flames in unison. The reason for that display was unclear.

Jassum was a miniature garden of a village that looked as though it might be swallowed up at any moment by the clear blue sky. Its population couldn’t have exceeded a hundred. Strings of firecrackers draping down narrow streets and across the roofs of houses exploded into flame, one after another; people wearing masks and costumes representing dragons, one-eyed beasts, armored serpents, and gods of all shapes paraded down the street; and old men who’d drunk their fill of the wine spilling from a portable shrine slumped all around. Meeker’s eyes were alight, and his upper body swayed to the tune of what were most likely folk songs drifting from unseen speakers.

On the west end of the square stood the establishment run by the boy—Al—and his family: the Bumper Crop Inn.

“Keeping dragons and running an inn—your parents have their fingers into everything, don’t they?” Iriya remarked, half in jest.

“We even do modifications on cyborg horses,” Al replied, beckoning to the trio to follow him in.

Rooms to rent were on the second floor, with the first floor occupied by a dining room, a small parlor, and the management’s living quarters. The dining room also served as a bar, where more than a few people were buying drinks to enjoy in the lobby. The half dozen guests they had took one look at D and Iriya and froze in their tracks. Ignoring the whiskey that spilled from tilted glasses to splatter on their knees, they stared stupidly at the pair. All of them were male. But beauty knew no gender.

Once in their room, Iriya ordered a soda water without even bothering to set down her load, while Meeker immediately began pleading, “I wanna go outside!”

“Sure thing, so long as D goes with you,” the Huntress said.

“No way. I couldn’t relax at all,” he retorted somewhat impertinently.

“Then no. There’s no telling who’s gunning for us.”

After that, she wouldn’t hear any more the boy had to say, and he started crying before crumpling on his bed at last.

Success! she thought, but just then Al came in and invited her to go to the festival with him. Inside, Iriya was cursing and grinding her teeth, but she resigned herself to it and said, “Sure. Is it okay if the boy comes with us, too?”

Disappointment showed on Al’s face, but he didn’t say no.

Iriya decided not to ask for D’s permission. Clearly it wouldn’t be forthcoming. She thought it’d be fine as long as they came back fairly soon. However, she had no firm idea of what would constitute “fairly soon.”

“They’re heading out,” the hoarse voice said.

D headed for the door. He could hear the voices in the next room as if the wall wasn’t even there. His right hand took hold of the doorknob, and at the same time his whole body turned to the right.

Swaying in the floor at D’s feet with a cold twang was a silver arrow. Did it come from someone else sent by their foes?

The sword that never left his side was drawn, glittering as it waited for its next victim.

“Outside the window,” his left hand informed him, but D ignored that and turned back toward the door.

Five seconds passed. Ten.

There was a knock at the door. Just as it burst open, D thrust the tip of his blade against the chest of his visitor.

“Inhospitable as ever. And after all the love I have for you.”

Showing him a quick grin before glancing down at the sword against her throat was a fairly young woman sheathed in black protective gear, with quivers on her back and knee and a lowered bow in her right hand.

“Remember me? It’s Gianne!”

“You the one who saved the boy?”

His question, which avoided her own and showed not the least interest in her actions or situation, led the archeress to look somewhat disappointed as she answered in the affirmative.

“And I provided the girl with backup when she was battling Albidozen, too. But during the fight the driver shot me in the shoulder, taking me out of the action. Judging from the way you folks are strolling around the village in broad daylight without a care in the world, I take it Albidozen’s been put down.”

“Who are you working for now?”

“That’s top secret. Are you ready to lop both my arms off to get it out of me?”

As she jokingly gazed at D, the color suddenly drained from her countenance.

“That was a joke! I’m just kidding.”

She barely managed something resembling a smile, but a drop of sweat fell from her suddenly pale face. The question remained unanswered.

“It’s Count Langlan.”

“If you’d like to tell me about it,” the Hunter said, “stay where you are.”

Apparently these two were meeting for the first time in a long time, yet D almost seemed to push the rooted girl aside as he stepped out into the hall.

“Don’t!” Gianne shouted. “Outside it’s Kraken’s territorial waters!”

Of course, the Grim Reaper himself could’ve been out there, and it still wouldn’t have halted the figure in black.

A sweets vendor had been set up right next to the inn, and Iriya bought three bunches of cotton candy on sticks and handed two to the boys. Meeker was absolutely delighted, taking the fluffy candy in hand and mashing it into a small wad that he bit into as if it were a dinner roll.

“That’s an odd way of eating it you have,” the Huntress said.

“No, that’s the way a man eats it!” Al replied, and he did the same.

With Al at the fore, the trio walked toward the town square. Usually, an image of the village’s patron deity, the focus of the festival, would be set up in the square to receive offerings of prayer day and night. A number of roads led to the square. They were lined with handmade stands run by villagers, as well as rows of stalls set up by the wandering mountebanks such festivals drew like a magnet. Beneath the rough canvas awnings, arrays of garishly colorful treats and toys that would make any child’s eyes sparkle awaited their pint-sized patrons.

Iriya noticed that as they got closer to the square, Al couldn’t stop looking all around them.

“What’s the matter?”

“It’s just that I don’t see any of the lookouts.”

Festivals drew trouble. Quarrels between villagers were bad enough, but when outsiders with questionable intentions were added to the mix, you ended up with more burglars entering empty homes or women and children being abducted than anyone could ever count. To guard against such occurrences, lookouts were posted—armed volunteers from the village who would split into a few groups and either keep watch in an assigned place or go out on patrol. Though each street should’ve had at least two men on it, Al hadn’t seen any.

They were just at the end of the street and the entrance to the square. Walk another twenty yards, and they’d see the little golden shrine surrounded by throngs of villagers. The sky was clear, and the cheery annual bustle continued to the accompaniment of firecrackers, sunshine, and voices raised in song.

“We’re going back, Meeker!”

The boy was amazed to hear that, seemingly out of the blue. Still, he didn’t make any objection because of the strain and deadly intent Iriya’s voice carried.

Al asked her quite innocently what was wrong.

“Are there any lookouts?”

Looking around, Al let a curious “hmm” escape.

As he did, Iriya took Meeker’s hand and began jogging back the way they’d come.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Meeker asked, going with her but not knowing why.

“I don’t know. We shouldn’t have gone outside!”

As Iriya spoke, a small spot on her back grew hot. Her blade shot out on reflex, and the dart it bisected fell to the ground.

Shocked, the people around her either froze in their tracks or gave Iriya odd looks as they passed her. Most likely all they’d seen was that the girl who’d been walking along normally one second had suddenly changed and was standing there now with sword in hand. Iriya’s speed was so great, it’d looked like a jump cut in a film.

There was a round of applause. Iriya turned and looked behind her.

On the opposite side of the street a dart booth had been set up. Since the street was narrow, the ten-foot-deep booth extended down a little alley perpendicular to the street. The booth was just about wide enough to allow two adults or three children to line up and throw at the same time. At a range of ten feet, even adults would have a hard time hitting the center of the circular targets. A man of average height and build in a hunting cap stood in front of the booth, which surprisingly enough was devoid of patrons. There was a red towel draped around his neck. Iriya’s eyes caught the gleam of darts between the fingers of his right hand.

“What the hell was that all about?”

The fortyish man grinned and replied, “Well, you just looked like you were out for blood, so I couldn’t help but take a poke at you. And just as I suspected, you’re damned good. Just about shriveled my balls!”

“Thanks. So, what do I owe you for the dart I—”

“Don’t sweat it. See you around.”

Before the man had even finished speaking, Iriya started to walk away again. And her blood froze. She was no longer holding Meeker’s hand. She’d let go of it the instant she cut down the dart.

Before she could call out the boy’s name, she heard a familiar voice say, “Iriya.”

Al was standing in an alley directly across from the dart booth, beckoning to her.

“The kid went that way,” he said, pointing down the alley.

Thank heaven for small favors, Iriya thought as she charged forward. When she looked over her shoulder, she saw Al following.

To her left was the side of someone’s house, while to her right were some woods.

“You can’t come with me!” she told the young man.

“Why not? Up ahead’s the swamp. You’re safer having me along!”

“No,” she told him, but he came along anyway. Iriya hadn’t yet noticed the flames of affection that burned in the boy’s eyes.

Suddenly she thought, If only D were here.

II

The Hunter left his room—or he thought he did, but he found himself back inside it. The window was now in front of him. It seemed as if he’d just charged in through the door.

D turned around. Gianne was in the doorway.

“It’s a fold in space,” the hoarse voice said, sounding intrigued.

“My, you’re still tied to him, Left Hand? How tenacious of you! Mind if I come in? Oh, just for your information: cutting me down won’t get you out of the fold. So, let’s have a little talk.”

D raised his left hand.

Gianne let the tension drain from her body. She was relieved that D hadn’t drawn his longsword.

“Could it be you’re playing nice because I saved those other two?”

“You’ve got three minutes before you have to leave.”

After D spoke, his right hand flashed into action. All Gianne saw was a momentary gleam. She hadn’t been able to move a muscle. She couldn’t even begin to guess what had occurred.

Finally she cried out in shock, “You were out for my blood?” and backed away.

Though she knew full well what D was capable of, she still couldn’t believe her own carotid artery had been cut. She touched it to see. The wound had already closed. Not only that, but it didn’t even hurt.

Acting as if nothing had transpired, D put the blade of his sword against the palm of his left hand. The steel was wet and red—with blood from Gianne’s artery. He immediately brought the blade away again. All the blood had been wiped from it.

“Tell me about the connection between Langlan and Kraken,” D said before going over to a small table beside the bed. On it sat a ceramic pitcher full of water and a cup. He put the lip of the pitcher against his hand. With the slightest of slurps, the pitcher was sucked into the palm of the Hunter’s left hand. There was the sound of chewing.

The pitcher was fired clay. That made water and earth.

Gianne began to speak by asking, “Do you believe Nobles can be conscious of their crimes?”

There was no reply. That was D.

Gianne went on. “Langlan was one of the few in the Nobility who possessed a conscience. That girl—Iriya, was it?—well, he has long regretted the fact that they attacked her home, slew her parents, and abducted her siblings.”

Between the sounds of crunching and chewing, the hoarse voice grumbled something about it being a little too late for that.

“When they learned that the girl they’d bitten and left behind had become a Hunter and was out to get them, he alone was delighted. At that point his compatriots had a half-serious meeting about how to stave off her attack, and he was the only one who failed to attend. Not only that, but he hired me—and others—to secretly keep her and her friends safe!”

“There were others?”

“Five, all told. Did you think the girl had slain all those Nobles on her own? Most were actually slain by her guardians.” For just a moment, a faraway look came to her eye. “I’m not sure whether or not you’ll believe me, but Langlan is prepared to let the girl destroy him. That’s why he defied his father-in-law and had us protect the girl.”

“Father-in-law?”

“Didn’t you know? Langlan’s wife was Kraken’s only daughter. Of course, two hundred and fifty or sixty years ago she was destroyed, not by you but by some other Hunter. Ever since, Langlan has been a confirmed bachelor.”

“That’s one messed-up Noble,” the hoarse voice remarked.

“Now, I only happened to glimpse it by chance, but he has a photo of a human girl on display in his private quarters. A beautiful lass of seventeen, maybe eighteen. There was no name written on it.”

“Is Kraken aware of his son-in-law’s meddling?”

“Vaguely. If he had any real evidence, I suppose he’d have done away with Langlan by now.”

“If Langlan wants Iriya to attack him, why is he trying to stop me?”

“Because you’re in the way!” Gianne stated brazenly.

Less than ten minutes later, Iriya and Al were at the edge of an ancient swamp where the air was heavy with a miasma that distorted the sunlight and stands of trees. The place was the very embodiment of decay. The only saving grace was that they could still hear music playing at the festival.

Just beneath the surface of the black water, algae moved.

“Fall in here and there’s no saving you,” Al said, surveying their surroundings with distaste in his eyes.

“Did the kid walk off alone?”

“Nope. He had a tall, thin guy with him. It wasn’t anyone from the village.”

“Who was he? . . . Meeker!”

The Huntress had cupped one hand beside her mouth and shouted the boy’s name, but Al grabbed her elbow roughly and tugged on it.

“What?”

“There,” he said, pointing into the swamp.

Sure enough, the boy stood in the center of it. The water only came up to his ankles. It was almost as if someone were underwater holding him up, or—

Iriya turned to Al and said, “Go home. Or if you don’t wanna do that, at least find someplace safe. And no matter what happens, don’t leave that spot!”

Not waiting for him to reply, she called out into the swamp, “Meeker, come back this way.”

Her reply came from down at Meeker’s feet.

Iriya’s eyes widened. She’d just noticed that on the water’s surface, Meeker’s reflection stood side by side with that of someone else—a tall, thin man.

“That’s him!” Al yelled from a spot fifteen or twenty feet away. His eyes too were trained on the man reflected in the water’s surface.

Indeed, the man was standing to Meeker’s right. It was reflected in the water. Yet there was no one next to the real Meeker.

The man smirked. “If you want this kid back, come into the water in his place.”

The voice came from the water’s surface.

“Don’t do it,” Al said in a firm tone.

Iriya made her decision quickly. Her foe could manipulate water. She knew as long as she remained on land, he couldn’t hope to win.

“Okay,” she told the man in the water. “But in return, you have to let the kid go right away.”

“Fine with me.”

“I think it’s only fair to tell you, I can’t swim!”

“Not to worry. All you have to do is look at me and keep walking.”

“Let the kid go first. Otherwise, I’m not going anywhere.”

The man nodded, giving a push to the back of the Meeker reflected in the water. Apparently the boy must’ve been through a terrifying experience, because he didn’t say a word. Showing no happiness at escaping his abductor, the boy silently walked across the water’s surface.

With a plop the Huntress’s foot sank up to the ankle, but there it stopped. Her footing was unsteady, but she’d get through this somehow. Planting one foot after another, she managed to maintain her balance as she proceeded in the direction dictated by the man reflected on the water’s surface. Her progress was intentionally slow, so that Meeker would have time to get back on dry land. If she reached the man first, he might take Meeker prisoner again, and this would all be for naught.

Every time one of them took a step, ripples spread across the water’s surface, distorting the man’s face.

The two passed each other when Iriya had gone a third of the way.

“Go straight back to D,” she told him in a low voice, and the boy’s face—a mask that didn’t even register fear—bobbed up and down.

When the Huntress had gone two-thirds of the way, she heard Al call out, “He made it!”

She was glad he’d insisted on coming along and wanted to shake his hand. Now she needn’t hold back any longer. She’d find her foe’s weakness and run him through. There was no hesitation in Iriya’s heart.

Once her feet had almost reached the man’s face, he ordered her to stop.

“Are you relieved that the boy is standing on dry land?” said the man reflected in the water’s surface. It looked for all the world like he was just a reflection there. Not underwater. “Well then, stand right beside me. Once you do, you’ll soon be just like me. Traveling through the water, we’ll reach Viscount Kraken’s castle in no time.”

That’ll happen . . . Iriya murmured in her heart of hearts . . . “In your dreams!”

Drawing her longsword with that cry, she drove it through the man’s heart. It was exactly like stabbing into water—and the instant Iriya realized that, her body was enveloped by a great splash.

Holding her breath, she madly tried to rise to the surface—but couldn’t. The man was above her. Was he on the water’s surface, or in the water? At any rate, he was holding Iriya’s head down with both hands.

On closer inspection, there was no dimensionality to the man at all. Just as before, he was an image reflected on the water’s surface. Nevertheless, Iriya found it impossible to break through him and reach the surface. Though she thrust her longsword at him, the result was the same. When she tried to move away, the man’s image mirrored her movements. He stuck with her.

“You won’t die. I’ll transform you once you’ve passed out.”

The man’s voice echoed through Iriya’s head, which felt like it would explode, just as she was running out of breath. The last air left her lungs. Black water rushed into them. She would’ve choked violently, but that would’ve required her to be able to breathe. Her vision grew dark.

Suddenly her head broke the surface. Even before she was aware of the heat, she was coughing half to death as she bobbed and sank over and over again.

“Come this way!”

It was Al. He stood at the water’s edge, beckoning to the Huntress. She spied a pair of fire dragons by his right side.

How did the boy summon them?, she had to wonder. Judging from the heat, she knew the dragons had released their flames.

There was still water in her lungs. Giving up on her question, Iriya began feverishly clawing her way through the water. Something caught hold of her foot.

She turned around. The man was on the water’s surface. It wasn’t his weird appearance that held Iriya’s attention, but rather the burn marks that clearly remained on the right half of his face and body.

The fire dragons’ flames could wound the water monster.

“I’m not letting you get away. Come here!” the man said in a voice like a wraith’s. He pulled her closer.

Wringing out her last bit of strength, Iriya spun herself a hundred and eighty degrees.

“Dive!”

The man probably didn’t realize what that cry from shore forewarned until the instant the scalding flames once again shot across the water, vaporizing the lower half of his body.

Having dived under to escape the boiling water, Iriya resurfaced to find the man had vanished without a trace.

Once she’d swum to shore, Iriya, still coughing, confirmed that Meeker was safe. Something must’ve been done to him, because his eyes were vacant and showed no emotion at the sight of her.

“Got to get him back to D. I need a breather!” the Huntress said, seemingly addressing herself, before she turned to Al.

“Thank you.”

She wrapped her arms around him.

The boy became a stone statue.

“How did you call the fire dragons?”

“Er, um . . . with a flute.”

He seemed to be in a daze after watching his home burn to the ground.

“But they got here so fast. It’s almost as if they lived around here.”

“Well, my house is on the other side of the swamp. It just happened to be watering time for them, and—”

“And they get their water from the swamp.”

Once again, Iriya hugged the young man with all her might. Even after she let go of him, Al remained in exactly the same pose.

“Let’s get going.”

Taking the two boys by the hand, Iriya was leading them toward the village square when she heard something knifing through the air.

III

Arriving in the square, D and Gianne collided with the throng.

Desperate cries intermingled there.

“Carry him to Dr. Torres!”

“No, he’s past saving now.”

Pushing his way through the mob, D saw Al lying at its center. Darts impaled his heart and throat. It was clear at a glance that he’d received fatal injuries.

“What happened?” D asked a nearby farmer.

“Damned if I know. Just now, he fell to the ground as soon as he stepped from that alley.”

“What’s back that way?”

“The swamp. Nothing but that.”

To D’s rear, Gianne gasped. She said, “The waters are Kraken’s domain! But—” She drew a breath. “This dart belongs to Don J. Aside from me, he’s the only one left of those Langlan hired. If he’s here—”

The archeress stiffened. And it wasn’t just her—the surrounding villagers froze as well. The young man in black stood at the focus of a dead gaze.

“It’s just a coincidence. All of us . . . We were working independently . . . You have to believe me!”

The mysterious tableau Gianne had witnessed a short time earlier flashed into her brain like lightning. As the left hand that’d consumed the entire ceramic pitcher told D that water and earth should be enough, the Hunter’s sword had flashed out, and Langlan’s fold in space—something a nuclear weapon wouldn’t be able to scratch—had been broken.

What was this gorgeous young man? For the first time Gianne had felt true fear.

However, now the superhuman killing lust had vanished, and he pressed his left hand to the boy’s bloodied throat. The boy had already breathed his last. But then, with the murderous implements still stuck in him, Al squeezed out a faint thread of a voice.

The villagers pulled back like a sudden fleeing tide.

“The dart guy . . . from the festival . . . suddenly showed up . . . Said something about . . . taking Iriya and the kid . . . to Langlan’s castle . . .”

D stood up. As soon as the Hunter’s left hand came away, Al went to his reward.

On seeing how the young man of unearthly beauty put gleaming coins in the boy’s mouth in keeping with Frontier tradition, the villagers were stunned. Those five-thousand-dala coins were worth about the same as the village’s annual budget.

“Give him the best funeral the village can offer. What’s left goes to his family.”

No one needed to be warned against trying to pocket the money.

D turned to Gianne.

“Going to kill me, too?”

The whole village froze.

“Please . . .”

That was all Gianne could manage by way of a reply. And it took her eleven seconds to muster that much.

“Show me the way to Langlan’s castle.”

Gianne could only nod her consent to D’s demand.

The whole reason Gianne had called on D was to inform him of Count Langlan’s intentions and to get him to stop Iriya’s travels. Before Langlan let Iriya exact her revenge on him, he wanted to solve the riddle of why she remained physically human despite having been bitten. Toward that end, Iriya alone was to be led back to his castle. D was in the way. Gianne had orders to get rid of him. And now—they were riding their cyborg horses night and day in a five-day trip to Langlan’s castle, and she was staring at D’s profile.

From the very start, she’d known it was no use.

Two years earlier, as a newly trained archer, Gianne had been pursuing a group of five outlaws when she fell into their trap and was brought to the brink of death. Just as the pitch-black nothingness was about to swallow her up, D had come rushing in and laid waste to them. The keenness of his swordplay, along with his good looks, was enough to drive Gianne to rapture. She’d certainly been disappointed to learn that D had been pursuing the same outlaws.

When she’d first entered the Nobleman’s employ, she hadn’t known the Huntress had traveling companions. However, on learning that it was D that accompanied her, Gianne had given up the fight. Only partly because she was in his debt. Ever since, she’d burned as a woman. No, as a human being. In Gianne’s eyes, D was an object of adoration surpassing the ideal man—a being who would allow her to maintain her purity.

“What in the—?”

Far in the distance, a purplish light was rising from the desolate plain. At supersonic speed.

“. . . One thousand . . . One thousand five hundred . . . Two thousand . . .”

The afternoon sky was clear. When the light burst, the heavens darkened. Rain clouds. But they weren’t hanging over D and Gianne.

“Roughly thirty miles ahead of us,” the hoarse voice said. “Someone shot off a rain shell—and Kraken favors the water.”

The man—Don J—had taken great pains to avoid the water. It was the source of the opposition’s power. It existed everywhere. Though he had faith in the implements his employer had provided, the enemy was simply too powerful.

Don J also saw the point of light.

Oh, shit! he thought, because it’d been fired from somewhere terribly close by, and the instant those dark clouds spread overhead, rain began to pound down like a waterfall. However, he had no choice but to keep going.

The man advanced his wagon and its two-horse team beneath the dark clouds. Iriya had been injected with a hypnotic drug, Meeker seemed to have had his soul sucked out to begin with, and both of them lay in the cargo bed behind him. He’d had the foresight to purchase the wagon from a farmer in advance.

The rain intensified, and the horses and wagon seemed to give off white smoke. Don J was already soaked to the skin. The rain was bad enough, but water from the wagon wheels splashed him from head to toe, forcing him to hold his breath.

“To the east it’s all swamps and lakes—can’t go that way, not even by accident!”

The fight hadn’t gone out of Don J’s eyes.

Suddenly, the horses changed direction. They turned left—onto the road east.

“Idiots! Where do you think you’re going?”

Though he madly tugged on the reins and cracked the whip, the horses wouldn’t halt their crazed gallop in the one direction they weren’t supposed to go in. Almost as if they were receiving orders from some other, more capable driver.

“What gives? Whoa! Would you stop already?”

Shifting his gaze from the backs of the horses to their hooves, Don J widened his eyes.

The damp black earth held a reflection of the horses’ legs and the driver’s seat. He also made out a man cracking a whip. Too shocked for words, Don J fearfully turned his eyes to his right. There was no one there. And there was no way there could be. Yet—he looked down again. There was a man. Wasn’t he covered in bandages and sitting to Don’s right, working that whip?

Don J lashed with the whip like a man possessed. The bandaged man struck as well. Though it was Don J’s whip that actually struck them, in his reflection in the water he had no whip in his hands, and the bandaged figure’s whip alone controlled the horses.

Rain surrounded him. Driving rain. And wasn’t the water Viscount Kraken’s world?

It was unclear just how much time had passed, but the world was sealed in darkness, while only the pounding of iron-shod hooves defied the sound of the rain—but they stopped unexpectedly.

Taking a repeating rifle from the weapon locker under the driver’s seat, Don J braced the weapon against his shoulder.

“Come on! I’m just waiting for you!”

His shouts were instantly obliterated by the rain. But look! Not thirty feet ahead of the wagon, an unmistakably human figure had taken shape. The instant Don J was sure it was a man wrapped from head to toe in bandages, he pulled the trigger on his rifle. The force of the large-bore rifle was evident in the way the nearly twelve-pound weapon kicked.

The bandaged figure’s head was blown to bits. Just like the rain, they were clear water. From the neck down the figure had collapsed, clothes and all.

“Did that finish him?” Don J said to himself, thinking he had an eternal mystery on his hands.

“Nope.”

The voice came from down at his feet.

Looking down reflexively, Don J saw on the water’s surface the figure in bandages sitting in the driver’s seat.

“Son of a bitch!”

Standing up and quickly firing a shot into the mysterious form, all he saw was a splash of water, and once that was gone the bandaged figure was in the driver’s seat again.

“You son of a bitch, you!” Don J shouted, so whipped up all he could do was adjust his hold on the rifle.

That same rifle was wrenched from his grip by a hand that’d suddenly reached around from behind him.

“What are you—?”

Was what Don J saw real? Or was it some dream reflected in the falling rain?

Grinning by Don J’s right side, the bandaged figure pulled the trigger of the gun now leveled by his hip.

Taking the kind of massive sixty-caliber round that would pierce a fire dragon’s armor to the center of his chest, Don J was blown fifteen feet from the driver’s seat, sending up a great splash as he hit the black ground.

Lowering the rifle, the bandaged figure let out a low laugh. “The water is Viscount Kraken’s domain! As soon as you were soaked in the rain, this fight was as good as over.”

He turned to the bed of the wagon.

“We may need the woman, but the brat’s of no further use. Here’s where you buy it.”

Not hesitating in the least, he turned the cruel barrel of the weapon on Meeker. The bandaged finger around the rifle’s trigger gave a strong squeeze.

A heartbeat later, there was an explosive flash.