Black Easter

Chapter 1

I

It had stood there for precisely three hundred years. According to the standard map of the Frontier drawn up by the Bureau of Geography in the Capital, it was located five yards above Point Z-444 and 424. All those years ago, there had been humans who could make use of the Nobility’s technology. Perhaps they’d worked in one of the Nobles’ science centers or an engineering plaza. All it knew was that precisely three hundred years had passed since it had gone into operation. Even among the descendants of those who’d built it or positioned it in its present location there were few who knew of its existence. Regardless, it rounded out its third century of service.

Staining the edge of a chain of mountain peaks crimson, the sun sank in the west. Suddenly, it knew its task was over. The realization came just as the last remnants of redness vanished behind the mountains. Those long years of service were gone, and longer years of the same that should’ve been yet to come had disappeared as well. It activated the laser transmitter with which it was equipped, beamed a signal that’d been converted to electrical waves to its destination, and awaited the moment of truth.

“Now, I should like to discuss your work, gentlemen, as well as some relevant background,” the hoary-headed, silver-bearded old man said to the five men seated before him in wooden chairs, his tone as unsociable as his expression.

Since the town hall had burnt down two days earlier, the saloon that’d once been used as a meeting place had once again been pressed into service, with light flooding its interior. It was an hour past noon.

Though the old man had expected some tension from them, two of the men merely shifted their upper bodies slightly, but the dauntless demeanor of all was unchanged.

“Before we do . . .” The big fat man standing to the right of the older man spoke in a voice that sounded like he had something caught in his throat. The badge of a village sheriff caught the light from the cheap chandelier. “I’ve already told the mayor something about you, but at any rate, I’d like you to introduce yourselves.”

And saying that, the corpulent figure stroked his badge with plump fingers.

Not only did the men not look at the star, they didn’t even glance at the lawman.

Turning to the aged mayor, the man on the far right practically groaned his introduction. “Leica Slopey.” Both of his ears were weirdly tapered, his mouth was disturbingly large, and the man’s exposed face and hands were oddly hirsute. His longsword had been removed from his belt and rested against his left arm.

“Hiki.”

The second man was terribly thin. So slight of build it looked like a strong breeze might blow him away, he was wrapped in a semitransparent film reminiscent of the wings of a mayfly. All he had for a weapon was the knife on his belt.

“Barry Dawn’s the name,” said the youngest of the five. There was something off-kilter about this man, who had the gentle face of a woman combined with a ferocious physique. Those who saw his face alone would undoubtedly mistake him for a female. The longsword that rested against his left shoulder was longer than any of the others’, and it was in a scabbard that was 90 percent of his nearly six-foot-eight-inch stature.

“They call me the Confessor.”

On hearing the stocky man’s voice, the sheriff looked relieved. Since arriving at the village, he hadn’t said a single word. Had his likeness not been in the Hunter directory, the lawman wouldn’t have known what to do with him. His weapons were a run-of-the-mill short spear and a revolver he wore on his right hip. The bag that hung from his other hip undoubtedly contained ammunition.

“Quake Resden,” the last one said, thick, beard-hedged lips forming a smile.

Unlike the other four, he had an air of normalcy about him. His eyes as well as his lips were nearly hidden by his scruffy growth of whiskers. He wore a cotton robe that was like a potato sack, and as odd as it may seem, from the waist down it was strung front and back with weights the size of a child’s fist. Though it hardly seemed like the average person could even move with them on, he was such a mountain of a man it didn’t seem as if it would be an issue for him.

“The lot of you are ranked the greatest Vampire Hunters in the southern Frontier. The fact that you’ve been at it for more than a decade is proof enough of that. The average life expectancy of a Vampire Hunter is four years in the eastern Frontier, three and a half in the west, two in the north, and in the southern Frontier—considered the most brutal of the bunch—it’s only a year and a half.”

The corpulent sheriff checked on the mayor with a sidelong glance. It’d been his job to summon the strange collection of men before them. On seeing the mayor nod, he was satisfied.

“Enough about us. Just as long as you know what you’re getting. Let’s get down to business.”

The man named Leica twisted his lips. Though he brimmed with more wildness than any of them, he was also the most lacking in vigor.

Barry Dawn and Quake Resden looked at him from the corners of their eyes and grinned.

Outside, the weather was sunny.

“Ahem,” the sheriff said, looking to the mayor. The mayor nodded.

“Five days ago,” the old man began, “the regularly scheduled signal from Balsa Hill was interrupted, for the first time in three centuries. There have been no transmissions since. It is our opinion the surveillance system that’s been sitting up on top of that hill for the last three hundred years has been destroyed.”

Mention of Balsa Hill sent a strange current swirling around the men. A cocktail of seven parts fight, two parts murderous intent. The remaining part they would never admit to. The smallest component, but also the heaviest and most stuporous—fear.

“No one goes near the hill. Even if they did, the surveillance equipment was built using Noble technology. No human should be able to destroy it. I needn’t say any more, I suppose. I trust you can see well enough what your job will entail.” Here the mayor paused, running a wily gaze over the Hunters. “Don’t tell me some of you are afraid.”

As if that were their cue, the five men rose in unison. The whole room rocked. Looking up at the ceiling, the sheriff mumbled something about an earthquake.

The mayor’s expression swiftly grew severe, and he said, “I’ll be damned—who knew southern Hunters were all a bunch of cowards?”

His scornful words inflicted no harm on the men, crumbling against their garb.

“You know, we might be cowards, but we’re not stupid,” Barry Dawn said with a shrug of his shoulders. “The ruins of Viscount Xeno’s castle are at the top of Balsa Hill. The viscount had a wooden stake driven through his heart by the ancestors of your villagers, and his kin sleep their unholy sleep up there. Looking back on it, it’s surprising they could’ve done something so nervy. Legend has it your ancestors delivered poisoned drink to the wedding reception for the viscount’s daughter the night before, then burst in while they were paralyzed and slaughtered the lot. Women, children, servants—it didn’t matter. Everyone got staked through the heart and beheaded. It’s the one instance where history books in the Capital don’t call it a ‘battle’; they label it a ‘massacre.’”

“Be that as it may, it was a long time ago,” the mayor replied, regaining his composure. “No one really knows the truth. The slipshod work of investigators from the Capital is well known. It’s my considered opinion that, while they may have been a little out of line and maybe slightly overreacted, the humans waged a just battle against the Nobility.”

He ran his gaze over the group without trepidation. Here was a prime display of his authority and oratory powers as the community’s leader.

Suddenly, his eyes opened wide. In those eyes of blue, other red ones glowed. His eyes had met those of the man who called himself the Confessor.

As if somewhat drunken, the mayor slurred his speech as he continued, “The villagers, led by my ancestor Dominic Krishken, forced their way into the castle of the Xeno clan. Dominic left a detailed account of that day in his journal. I’ve read it. As you just said, led by Dominic, the villagers put down Nobles weakened by poisoned drink, one after another, before they could flee to their graves. Apparently their blood pooled an inch and a half deep on the floor of the great hall. But the most fearsome of the bunch, Viscount Xeno’s son and his four cousins, narrowly escaped harm, fleeing to the crypts beneath the castle to slumber. Fearing their vengeance, our ancestors used mining equipment and vast amounts of explosives to level the castle and block the entrance to the crypts with tens of thousands of tons of rubble. They then set a sensor on top of that, to warn us should the five slumbering Nobles awaken. That was three centuries ago. That’s a long time. More than enough time for our ancestors to pass away and the villagers to forget all about the Xeno clan. But to the Nobility—to immortals—an hour’s probably no different from three centuries or a million years. They’re coming. I’m sure of it. Nobles never forgive human insurrections. Particularly one like this where they were blindsided and killed so underhandedly. There’s no denying it was a slaughter. Dominic wrote in his journal about how the castle was strewn with the heads and limbs of the Nobles’ children . . .”

At that point the mayor put his hand to his brow, his upper body twisting theatrically. Straightening up again, he took his hand from his forehead and slapped it over his mouth in shock, groaning with disbelief, “I . . . er . . . What was I saying?”

“Well, you just gave us proof it wasn’t a ‘battle,’ it was a ‘massacre.’” Barry Dawn got a thin grin on his lips. He then looked straight at the Confessor and said, “That’s one weird little talent you’ve got there. Whatever you do, keep it away from me, all right?”

“The Xeno clan was legendary for their cruelty. Various accounts say his son and those four cousins in particular were so cold blooded even other Nobility were afraid of them. If they’re fired up for revenge, especially against someone who butchered their kin in such a dastardly way, this won’t be any ol’ vengeance,” said the man who’d identified himself as Hiki. With every word he said, the film he wore swayed like a mirage.

“We’re not cowards, and we’re not idiots either,” Barry Dawn reiterated. “It’s times like this you just have to say, ‘He who fights and runs away lives to fight another day.’ They’re just too much to handle.”

“Be seeing you,” Leica Slopey said, raising one hand lethargically as he headed for the door.

The other four followed suit.

“Wait!” the mayor shouted, holding out his hand. “If you leave now, I’ll spread word across the whole Frontier that this job scared you off. You’ll never work again!”

Quake Resden shrugged. “Can’t work if we’re dead, either.”

As the warriors shuffled away, behind them the mayor was so mad he could’ve stomped his feet, though he curbed his penury and said, “All right, then. I’ll double your rate—no, triple it!”

The men didn’t halt.

“Damn it, how about four times?”

Leading the pack, Leica was almost to the door.

“Five times?! No, make that—”

“Ten times.”

The men stopped dead. This was exactly what people meant when they talked about being in lockstep.

The focus of the eyes of both the Hunters and the mayor, the sheriff sheepishly inquired, “How about it, Mr. Mayor?”

It was the lawman who had offered them ten times their normal rate.

Knowing there was only one possible answer, the mayor nodded. “Fine—ten times it is.”

“Just one more thing,” said the taciturn giant—Quake Resden. “If one of us gets killed, I want his share to get divvied up between the survivors.”

A strange mood swept over the group. They would benefit directly from the death of their colleagues. A simple and delightful economic facet had been added. It came as little surprise that the sheriff glanced over at the mayor, but the old man said nothing, merely nodding.

The men noisily clopped back to their seats. From the look of things, these were true professionals.

II

“Five days have passed since the surveillance system was destroyed—that’s too long,” said Hiki. “In the interim, us Hunters have gotten no word of anything happening around Balsa Hill. How about you folks?”

The mayor shook his head.

The sheriff stepped in, saying, “Same here. Jagos is the nearest village to it, but just this morning we got word from their sheriff’s office that nothing was out of the ordinary.”

“By comm bug?” Barry Dawn asked.

“Yep. Why?”

“We can tell just by their voice if someone’s a normal human or a Noble. Or a victim of the Nobility, for that matter.”

“So can I!” the sheriff retorted, puffing his chest, but then his eyes went wide. It was a few seconds before he managed to say, “You don’t mean to tell me . . .”

Comm bugs were insects that would repeat the words they were told. In that respect, they were like parrots. There was no way to tell anything about the person who’d spoken those words to them.

“Don’t tell me the village of Jagos has been—”

“It’s been five days. If those five Nobles set their mind to it, even the most tightly guarded village couldn’t fend them off for a single day.”

“Then the comm bug . . . From one of the villagers they turned . . . ?”

“No doubt. Jagos has a population of roughly two hundred and fifty. That’s more than enough to slake their thirst for blood and yearning for slaughter, and they’d go through them in a day. If they dawdled too long, nearby villages might take notice. We must assume they’ve long since taken leave of the village, leaving behind villagers they fed on. Reports that nothing was out of the ordinary probably came from villagers trying to lure in fresh victims.”

The subject was so horrible, the sheriff made a choking sound.

“Well, where are they, then?”

To the sheriff’s quavering inquiry, Barry replied, “No idea. Could be they’re headed for another, bigger village. As I recall, about a hundred and twenty miles south of Balsa Hill there’s the town of Calico, right? There you’ve got flights to the Capital and regularly scheduled buses. But if I were a blood-starved Noble, the first thing I’d do is attack the nearest village. Once I’d satisfied my craving, I’d head straight out to exact my vengeance. I’d ignore Calico.”

Suddenly the mayor sank. He’d been standing, but he settled into the chair behind him—well, not so much “settled” as “collapsed.” The twitch in his face that rocked his white beard and the vacant look in his eyes announced that he’d realized nothing short of his own fate. Nothing could be crueler.

“My daughter . . . Annette . . . is coming home from the Capital . . . ,” he said as if delirious, squeezing the words through parched lips. “The university’s on holiday . . . This afternoon . . . she’ll be arriving at Calico’s airport . . . Tomorrow, she’ll head back here . . . And they know it . . .”

“How?” the sheriff asked, furrowing his brow. He wanted to throw his badge in the trash at about this point.

“Jagos . . . My daughter’s nanny lives in the village . . . I’ve heard she and my daughter still correspond . . . I’m sure she’d know about her vacation plans . . .”

“I see. First, they’ll hit you where it hurts, eh? Tear the daughter of their hated foe limb from limb—no, they’ll probably make her one of them. That would be the ultimate revenge!” the Confessor said with relish, but the mayor didn’t even have the strength to rail at the man.

“Set off at once. First, my daughter—you must protect my Annette. Once she’s safe, destroy them. Turn every last one of them to dust.”

The mayor’s words had begun to spin from dazed to crazed, but they sounded like derisive laughter to Barry Dawn as he said, “The town of Calico’s a full day’s ride on a fast horse. We’d better get going. You happen to have a picture of your daughter?”

“Come to my house,” replied the mayor, staggering to his feet.

“She’s a hell of a looker,” Barry Dawn said, holding the photo up over his head and shutting one eye.

“You can say that again. If I’d known that, I’d have told you to pay me half wages and throw in this little peach!” Hiki chimed in.

The group was on the street in front of the mayor’s house. All of them were astride cyborg horses, and at first glance they just seemed to be hanging around chatting, yet an air of danger slowly emanated from them. The battle wouldn’t begin when they came into contact with the Nobles. It would begin sooner—right now, in fact. The chances of them cooperating seemed about as likely as an atheist believing in God. The instant they’d learned the deaths of their peers would increase their own compensation, they’d all become enemies—almost as much as the Nobility were.

High in the saddle and looking as gloomy as ever, Leica said, “We’re all in the same boat. From here on out, we’re rivals! Godspeed to you.”

And saying that, he gave a kick to his horse’s flanks and galloped off to the north.

“Oh no you don’t!”

“You won’t steal a march on me!”

With those cries, the Confessor and Barry Dawn gave chase.

Quake Resden was also about to gallop off, but he quickly pulled back on the reins to stop his horse, then craned his bull neck toward the last of the group—Hiki. He alone showed no signs of following after the pack.

“Aren’t you going?”

From the back of his steed, the slim seraphim of a man grinned faintly.

“Sure I am. Last to leave, and first to arrive. Off you go, and don’t you worry about me. We’ll meet again after I’ve taken care of those lousy Nobles.”

In response to those strangely confident remarks the giant raised one hand and rode off.

Once the figure that looked like he’d crush his horse at any moment had disappeared down the road, Hiki spread his arms from his spot in the saddle. The sleeves of his thin garment ran from his wrists to his ankles almost like wings, and they became taut membranes.

“No wind, eh? Let’s make some, then.”

His slender foot kicked his horse’s flank. The cyborg horse galloped off down a road in completely the opposite direction from the man’s four colleagues.

“Last to leave, and the first to arrive,” Hiki murmured as if the words were a spell, then he lightly jumped up on top of his saddle and spread his arms.

The pair of membranes caught the wind, billowing out behind him like the wings of an angel. And then Hiki’s body drifted into the air, quickly rising higher and higher. Just like an angel. Perhaps that was why his name was written with the ancient characters for “flight” and “demon.” Catching the wind—or the airflow from his cyborg horse’s mad gallop—he had become a bird.

Perhaps the animal had been trained in this regard, because on losing its master the cyborg horse halted and raised its head, spotting the figure that’d already been reduced to a speck. Before long, the speck was flying north at a speed no bird could ever match, and the horse began to give chase with the wind swirling in its wake. No one save this faithful steed knew that its sky-bound master was now flying at a rate easily in excess of the speed of sound.

Three hours later, a comm bug from the town of Calico brought the sheriff shocking news. With the insect in hand the lawman ran to the mayor’s house and had it repeat what it’d told him.

“The village of Jagos is gone? Burned to the ground?” the mayor asked once more, and the locust-like comm bug responded in the affirmative. A product of the Nobility, not only could the insect understand human speech and engage in conversation, it could also fly to its destination at supersonic speeds.

“Five days ago, someone attacked the village of Jagos, turning its inhabitants into servants of the Nobility. For four days no travelers passed through there, but on the morning of the fifth day the town of Calico received this information via a comm bug from a traveler paying a call on the village.”

Word of this had shocked the town of Calico, and the reconnaissance party that was immediately dispatched had confirmed the accuracy of the traveler’s report. In Jagos, villagers had been sleeping in houses with all the windows shut, their fangs exposed. However, there’d only been five of them—the rest were in the village meeting place. They’d been reduced to brutalized corpses, their limbs either ripped or chopped off. The reconnaissance party had been reminded of the end the Xeno clan had met.

According to the comm bug, the strange devastation had come as evening approached. Having completed their investigation, the reconnaissance party had left the village, but there was an aircraft they’d spotted even before making their exit. For roughly an hour it’d circled at an altitude of about a thousand feet as if waiting for the group to leave, and once the reconnaissance party was some fifteen hundred feet from the village, the craft dropped something. Purely by chance, one member of the reconnaissance party happened to see it transpire.

“And then, the village was enveloped in flames.”

At that last remark from the comm bug, the mayor closed his eyes. The sheriff couldn’t tell whether the old man was trying to picture the fiery inferno, or to expel it from his memory. The lawman immediately thought of something else. What he’d discussed with the five Hunters just before they’d left.

After slaking their thirst in the village of Jagos and playing out their bloody vengeance, where had the Noblemen vanished to? And then, on noticing a certain sound, he turned his gaze out the window to a world approaching nightfall.

Damn it all. Rain at this of all times?! If they run into those bastards soaked to the skin, they’ll be off to their final reward! Of all the shitty luck.

In the blink of an eye, the light rains that’d started just around noontime had become a torrential downpour—the kind of “heavy” rain unique to the Frontier that would hammer those on the road. Hammer them? The terrible precipitation could strike a person with the same force as hail, leaving unprepared travelers unconscious on the road and openly inviting death. On meeting with the kind of downpour that occasionally killed even monsters, people would go into their homes, while travelers would either make use of a portable tent or retreat to one of the emergency shelters situated along the highways, where they’d pray that the savage rains wouldn’t become a thunder-and-lightning storm. Out on the Frontier, lightning would split massive trees and shatter boulders just like the spear of a great god of antiquity. Even greater fire dragons and armored beasts wouldn’t escape instantaneous death if they were struck. As a result, the people of the Frontier had come to refer to the lightning that bleached those downpours as “the Glittering Gates to the Land of the Dead.”

Out in those fearsome rains, a carriage raced recklessly on. It was a coach that’d been hired in town. Unfortunately for both the passenger and the driver, the day of their departure had been blessed with sunshine and blue skies. A crowning piece of misfortune was the fact that the aircraft carrying this passenger had arrived from the Capital more than an hour ahead of schedule. By the time the downpour hit them, the coach was in the middle of a high pass where both pressing on and turning back became impossible. While the driver recommended turning back, the passenger had insisted that they press on. If they continued on three miles beyond the pass, there’d be a shelter. The driver, who’d actually been on the fence about what to do, then decided to go for it.

Now the rain sprayed off the carriage so hard it left a white haze over it as it was coming up on the crest of the pass.

“We made it,” the driver announced with an approximation of relief from beneath his vinyl slicker.

It was unclear whether the flash of white that bleached the world then was to celebrate that fact, or if it was just a mocking bit of irony. Only a heartbeat later came a crack of thunder like the howl of a colossal beast.

The pair of cyborg horses reared on their hind legs in an expression of the instincts they’d had since before their conversion. Fear.

“Gates to the Land of the Dead?” the driver murmured in a dazed tone as he desperately fought the panicked horses. “Got no choice but to shoot down from the pass in one go. Don’t know if the footing will be safe or not, though.”

As if his grumbling had been overheard, a voice from the brass communication tube set to the right of his seat said, “It’s okay. Just keep going.” It was the strong yet cultured voice of a young lady.

Like I needed you to tell me that, the driver thought to himself, but, recalling how she’d overruled him when he wasn’t sure whether or not they could make it over the pass, he responded, “Well, I aim to.”

He then raised his whip defeatedly.

III

Before he could strike a fresh blow with that coiling serpent of a whip, its length drooped down weakly. The driver had raised his right hand high but then forgot to follow through with the motion as he peered into the darkness ahead. He was certain the lightning that’d just flashed had picked out the form of a horse and rider.

One more time, the driver pleaded in his heart. I’m begging you—just let me see that gorgeous face one more time.

His wish was answered. Answered by a voice even more lovely than the face burned into the back of his eyelids.

“It would seem you’re in a bit of a jam, are you not?” said a voice that actually issued from the vicinity of the rider’s face. It had such a mysterious ring to it that it made the driver tremble again. However, its tone was no more than a whisper. So, how could it reach his ears through such a deafening downpour?

As if to respond in kind, the driver lowered his voice as well, saying, “No, not really. I was just thinking over whether to head down now or to sit the rain out here.”

“And which did you decide upon?” the rider asked, apparently able to catch the driver’s hushed tone as well.

Even as his body melted into warm putty with rapture, the driver got a chill.

“Well, I’m gonna head on down.”

“That’s the proper choice. Though sitting the rain out here would also be the proper choice.”

“How’s that?”

The voice rang out again, gloomy and gorgeous in the darkness.

“However, there’s an even better choice!”

The driver was at a loss for words.

“The passenger in your coach is a young woman, is it not?”

There was still no answer from the driver.

“She would’ve arrived at Calico Airfield from the Capital just past noon today. Is that not correct?”

The driver got the feeling he’d been caught up in some awe-inspiring fate. A horrifying fate.

“I should like to confirm her name with you. What does she go by?”

Silence spread along the road through the pass, with the darkness and the rain.

Yet, rising above it all, a sharp-toned voice replied, “I’m Annette Krishken! Do you have some business with me?”

Before the driver could open his mouth, a trembling voice like a plucking of golden harp strings covered with blood said, “Yes—just as I thought.”

To the driver, the speaker sounded moved nearly to tears.

“I was so excited, I set out before my compatriots and arrived first. Out on the plains it would be impossible to miss you, but it was in this auspicious spot that long ago our clan discovered Grand Duke Jekyll’s army in a driving rain, striking the first blow and wiping them out. Come to think of it, the hour is nearly the same, and just look at the weather. It must be through divine providence that I can now make the daughter of our nemesis one of our kind in this very place. Woman—descendant of the Krishkens—step down from the coach.”

“Now wait just a minute,” the driver interrupted. The speaker’s words had returned him to his senses. Letting the whip in his right hand lie across his knees, he said, “Just who in the name of hell are you, buster? Since you’ve flat-out ignored me, I don’t give a good goddamn about anything you have to say.”

“And you shall stop me?” the voice from the darkness asked with amusement.

“It’s my job to see to it my passenger makes it safely to her destination. Sorry, but as a rule, this is how I deal with thieves, highwaymen, and kidnappers.”

He turned the butt end of the whip toward the source of the voice. A concealed trigger was revealed, and the driver’s finger curled around it and pulled. Though he held the weapon at waist level, long experience guaranteed the accuracy of his aim.

With an impact like a blow from a small dragon, a ball of hot lead was swallowed up by the pitch blackness of the man’s gut. While that wasn’t as lethal as a shot through the heart, ninety-nine times out of a hundred it would take the fight out of an opponent.

For his next attack the driver discarded the whip, grabbing the repeating rifle that stood next to the driver’s seat. This time he took careful aim. He braced the weapon against his shoulder.

Suddenly white flames glowed right before his eyes, not two inches from him. No, not flames, but a pale face. It only looked like flames on account of its beauty. Before he could even wonder if there could be a man with such exquisite features in this world, the driver was drowning in that beauty. He didn’t even have time enough to question when the man had come right up in front of him.

The gun fell.

The other man’s face smiled alluringly.

“My name is Baron Nichol Hayden, of the first house of Xeno. When you reach the hereafter, you may tell them this: I had the good fortune of being sent to hell by a kiss from the esteemed baron.”

And then the driver was as motionless as if he hung in midair while the alluring red lips of the other face pressed to his like a lover’s. Two seconds passed . . . three . . . A bewitching time passed in the darkness where none would see. Even the thunder held its breath.

Finally, the pale face pulled away. The driver’s face remained there.

Lightning zipped down. The face it illuminated was as shriveled and dry as that of a mummy. Like a dead branch, the body dropped jerkily from the driver’s seat to the ground, its fall punctuated by a roar of thunder.

“The obstacle has been removed. Come, child!” She was addressed by a voice matching a face that’d returned to its rightful place atop the steed. “You saw the kiss I just gave, did you not? Did you find me comely? If so, there shall be no escape for you. Come out. Surrender to the desire burning so fervently in your heart, and accept my kiss.”

His face was turned toward the coach door, watching.

It wasn’t long before it opened from within. The girl who stepped out into the falling rain looked to be about sixteen or seventeen years of age. She wore a frilly white blouse and a blue skirt that went down to her ankles. Rain bounced off her round-brimmed hat decorated with flowers. And just as Baron Hayden had suggested, she swooned from his pale countenance, far lovelier than her flowers or even the girl herself. In a manner of speaking, she was mesmerized by his good looks, the mind of even this pure girl invaded by lewd thoughts.

Baron Hayden let a little smile escape, as if his work were a fait accompli.

“Come,” he commanded.

A flash of light exposed him on his white steed for a single instant. A long robe the color of darkness covered him down to the knees, and if he were to stand on the ground, it would undoubtedly conceal his boots of the same color as well.

Annette walked up to him. Leaning over in the saddle, the baron cupped her face between his hands.

“Though it’s a shame to drain the life from one so lovely, my hatred burns hotter than the flames of hell. Your death will no doubt plunge your father, your mother, and your entire family into a boiling morass of grief. Such sweet expectation.”

He whispered those deadly words from so close their lips nearly touched.

The girl let out a gasp. But was it a groan of fear, or an exhilarated moan?

The baron turned his grinning face ever so slightly, preparing for that deadly kiss, and then—

The baron spun around as if he’d been shot. It was toward the same road through the pass that’d brought him here that he turned. Perhaps seeing something through that weighty darkness, perhaps hearing something, he cocked a willow-thin eyebrow. There was no more laughter swimming in confidence.

“They come. My compatriots are on their way. But before them comes a lone rider—oh, who could this be? Can you see him, child? My hands are trembling. My feet are riveted. My heart hammers madly. Tell me, if you will, what this is I feel? Is this the thing known as fear?”

However, the baron’s eyes were wildly aglitter, and a pair of gleaming sharp fangs poked from the corners of his mouth. His body swelled with enmity and the lust for battle.

“I shan’t let anyone have you. Here and now, you shall receive my kiss.”

And as he spoke, his deadly lips drew closer. The baron had supreme confidence in his abilities, and in the fact that the girl would let him do this without showing a whit of resistance.

The heavens and earth were bleached white. The Nobleman’s handsome visage twisted in amazement. Annette backed away wildly. Her rain-slick face had returned to its senses—no, if anything, it was more feverish than ever with rapture.

The baron realized the girl was looking over his shoulder at something. Now he had no choice but to turn and look.

Again lightning flashed, revealing the sight to him—the stark image of a rider in black on a black steed about fifteen feet behind them. Beneath the wide-brimmed traveler’s hat, an exquisite visage was trained on him.

“Who in the hell are you?!” the Nobleman asked in a groan that reeked of defeat and despair.

More than surprise at how the rider could draw so close without his superior senses as a Noble detecting him, it was the humiliation the baron felt at those gorgeous features that seared his body. For the traveler’s face, illuminated by the lightning, was ten thousand times more exquisite than his own.

“Identify yourself. I should like to know your name. Your name, sir!”

Though the baron bellowed like a madman, there was no reply. Almost as if it were a reminder of one of the laws of the Frontier—there was no need to give your name to those who didn’t give theirs.

Suddenly, a different voice cried out. “This man is of the Xeno line. He said he’s Baron Nichol Hayden. And he came here to abduct me!” Annette shouted as her whole body went as limp as a wet doll.

“If you’ll get out of the way, I’ll be going,” said a voice of steel struck by the rain. “I may make my living off the Nobility, but I’m not under contract to hunt this man.”

“No . . .”

As Annette stood there rooted in astonishment, her ears caught the clopping of the approaching cyborg horse’s hooves in the mud. It was going to pass right by both the baron and her.

Two voices rang out at once.

“You can’t . . .” Annette moaned dolefully.

“Hold,” Baron Hayden groaned in a voice mad with resentment.

The rider in black didn’t halt his steed, but rather rode on. He was almost to where the road began its descent.

“Hold,” the baron groaned once more, gnashing his teeth. “My name is Baron Nichol Hayden of the same Xeno clan the Sacred Ancestor honored with control of the southern Frontier wards. I shall not allow you to leave. No, this is unforgivable. No man should be more gorgeous than me.” After drawing a breath, he continued, “Such beauty. You will not always be counted among humans. Tell me your name.”

A flash of light lit the world like midday. Lit the rider.

Annette swooned. Even the rage-twisted Baron Hayden lost himself in rapture for a moment. Though neither of them could see anything but the figure’s back, that alone was enough to refresh the memory of his exquisite features.

The figure in black rode away as easily as if he were on a peaceful lane.

“I shan’t let you go!”

With that spiteful declaration of war, the baron urged his horse forward. His obsession reduced the lashing rain to steam as he closed on the rider ahead of him. He covered thirty feet in a heartbeat.

Lightning flashed. Annette saw a different gleam.

The baron and his steed had passed the rider in black on his right, stopping in front of him and turning to face him. Rain bounced off the strange weapon in the baron’s right hand. Though its blade was more than a foot long, it was so thick it seemed it would easily slice even the body of an armored beast in half. If an ancient human had seen it, they might’ve found it resembled a Japanese pole arm called a naginata. The Noble had either kept it hidden beneath his robes or on one side of his saddle, but it didn’t seem the sort of thing a mere mortal could wield with just one hand.

Not moving a muscle in the saddle, the baron said, “Identify yourself.”

“D.”

At that same moment, the top half of the baron’s torso slid off at an angle and fell to the ground. Black blood fountained up, raining down on both the half still in the saddle and the one on the ground. Naturally, Annette hadn’t known that the Nobleman had been cut in two from the left base of his neck to his right hip in the instant he and the Hunter passed each other.

The black horse and rider began to walk off. Only then did Annette notice the longsword the figure in black gripped in his right hand.