A VILLAGE OF FREAKS

CHAPTER 3

—

I

—

Elsewhere, another confrontation was about to unfold.

The Marcus clan’s bus was approaching a section of reddish brown valley, some thirty miles from the bridge.

The reason Kyle hadn’t been sent along ahead was that Borgoff had calculated the speed of the carriage and the time left until daybreak, deciding that the bus itself would be sufficient to catch up with their foe. Added to that was the fact that, if Kyle left, he would have had to look after Leila and Groveck himself. Plus, he had reservations about letting Kyle tackle the situation on his own.

He was also worried about Nolt, whom he’d sent to dispatch D. Though considering his brother’s special skills with that staff, the task of finishing off a Hunter who’d almost certainly drowned should be easier than busting a baby’s arm. Once they’d wrapped up their work here, they could always just shoot off a flare and call him back.

“Hold on. That’s a flare,” said Kyle, squinting to see it while he kept his grip on the wheel.

“What’s that?” Borgoff asked, poking his rough face out of the bedroom. A single streak of light rose into a sky already bright with the radiance of dawn. The streak quickly grew several times more brilliant. “A flare way out here, smack dab in the middle of nowhere? I’d say that couldn’t be nothing but the Nobility.”

“Bingo! Roughly three miles from here. We’ll be on them in five minutes. The bastard ain’t gonna be able to move a muscle.” Laughing confidently, Kyle added, “One good jab’ll do it!” As he licked his lips, Kyle stroked the tip of one of the stakes secured to the wall.

“Still, there’s something I don’t like about this,” Borgoff said, folding his arms. “What does he hope to gain by firing off a flare way out here? Even if he wanted help, there ain’t no one who’d come . . . ” After some consideration, Borgoff suddenly raised his bearded countenance again. “No fucking way!” he gasped. “We’d better make some speed, Kyle. If my hunch is right, that bastard might’ve called in some serious trouble.”

Kyle’s face grew tense at his brother’s grave tone. “Here we go!” he shouted.

With a sharp change in gear and a stomp on the accelerator, the bus raced forward. The scene outside the windows started to course by at an intense speed. The scenery of the stony mountain crags grew more and more desolate. White smoke gushed from the earth in odd spots and crept heavily along the ground, evidence of nearby volcanic activity. The area around the vents was caked with yellow lumps of sulfur. Even the rocks formed extraordinary shapes—some menacing the heavens like spears, others looking so impossibly fragile that they’d crumble at a touch.

The mere passing of the vehicle caused cracks to form here and there in the depressed earth, and, when something watery but not quite the shade of blood squirted up from below, the tiny insects that flew slowly through this world were seized by spasms and dropped to the ground.

A number of times the bus plowed over bleached bones—mountains of them, contributed by everything from huge fang-baring beasts down to the smallest of vermin. The atmosphere was permeated not only by sulfur, but by strong toxins as well.

Before long, the road narrowed and the rocky surface to either side grew higher, giving the dramatic effect of an avalanche about to sweep over the bus. Neither Kyle nor Borgoff could conceal their concern.

They continued down the menacing road through the valley for about twenty minutes. Then, without warning, Kyle slowed down. “There it is!” he shouted.

Ahead of them, the blurred form of the carriage was visible in the depths of the swirling white smoke.

“What should we do, bro? Just keep going and ram ’em?” The bus had plates of armored steel bolted to the front, after all.

“Nope,” the older brother replied. “Gotta keep in mind the girl might still be alive. Anyway you slice it, the Noble can’t move by daylight. We’ll get out and take care of ’em. Put on a gas mask.”

When the two brothers had turned themselves around, the door to the bedroom opened and Leila looked out. Not surprisingly, her complexion was still pale, but her eyes blazed with the will to fight. “Picked a hell of a place to stop,” she said. “Did you find them?”

“You get some rest now. And look after Grove,” Borgoff said as he slipped on his gas mask.

“No way! Let me go with you!” Leila caught the oldest of the clan by the arm. The muscles felt like stone. “This is a Noble we’re dealing with. Even if he can’t move during the day, that still doesn’t mean he’ll be defenseless. You can use all the backup you can get.”

“A gimp would just get in the way,” Borgoff replied.

“But—”

“Leila, why don’t you give it a rest?” Kyle interjected, a javelin tight in his grip. On his right hip, there hung another gas mask he intended to use for the abducted girl. “Look, you heard what Borgoff said. He told you to just leave this to the two of us. I mean, look how high the sun still is. There ain’t nothing to worry about.”

His voice was coaxing, but had a touch of carnal desire in it, and Leila turned away. She nodded, apparently giving in.

“Now don’t you go out there!”

With that final admonishment, Borgoff and Kyle stood on the steps by the door. When Kyle pressed the switch by his side, a semitransparent veil descended from overhead, sealing the two of them off from the rest of the vehicle. This wasn’t the first time they had to stalk their quarry in a poison-shrouded environ.

Opening the door manually, the two stepped down to the ground. They wore no other protection besides the gas masks. Artificial antibodies in their blood could handle the rest of the poisonous vapors and radiation.

Their feet didn’t make the slightest sound as they hustled over the ground.

The Noble’s carriage was motionless, just branding the earth with its faint and lonely shadow. Even the six black steeds hung their heads, appearing either to sleep or to be absorbed in contemplation.

Contrary to what one might expect, this picture of defenselessness sowed seeds of tension and anxiety in the hearts of the pair. Kyle adjusted his grip on the javelin.

Ten feet to the carriage. White smoke robbed the pair of their vision, then cleared.

Without a sound, the pair leapt to either side. Between them and the carriage there suddenly stood a black silhouette. The elongated figure garbed in a black hooded robe seemed to be an illusion, something conjured up by the poisonous vapors.

“Who the hell are you?” Kyle asked in a low voice. The filters on their masks doubled as voice amplifiers.

Giving no answer, the shadow raised its right hand. Flying with a dull growl, a steel arrow pierced it through the wrist. The shadow shook.

There hadn’t been just one arrow. Thanks to Borgoff’s masterful skill, arrows also stuck in the shadow’s head and the left side of its chest. While it was true they were dealing with an unknown element here, three arrows may have been overdoing it a bit. But then, that was the Marcus way of doing things.

The shadow turned its face up. The brothers’ eyes opened wide. The hood was empty.

When the plain robe fell flatly to the ground with three arrows still stuck in it, Borgoff forgot to launch a second attack. Something had occurred to him, and, with no warning, he turned and loosed an arrow at the carriage. As he watched it punch nicely through the polished iron plating to the rear, the vehicle’s window lost its contours, the wheels twisted limply, and the entire carriage became a single sheet of black cloth trailing along the ground.

A silver flash raced off burning through the white smoke. It etched a graceful arc and ran through the horses’ necks. It was the flash of a crescent blade. Their heads drooped, thick necks hacked nearly in half.

No blood came out. There was no flesh or cross section of vertebrae to be seen in the fresh wounds. The inside was hollow. The pair watched in a daze as every last one of the half-dozen horses became black cloth and settled softly on the ground.

Eerie laughter rose like smoke around them. High and low, the weird but beautiful voice that seemed to escape from the bowels of the earth was that of a woman.

About thirty feet ahead of the pair, a slender feminine figure came into focus. Laughing haughtily, she said, “Followed a Noble all this way, have we? I came out here to see the extent of your abilities, but, as I expected, they really don’t amount to much. As such, naught awaits you on this road but the boiling fires of hell. You’d do well to scamper off now with your tails between your legs.”

Sensing an inordinate evil in the chiming golden bell that was her voice, Kyle shouted, “You the one who pulled that hocus-pocus just now?!” The javelin was in his left hand, and his right held one of his deadly crescent blades at the ready.

“Unfortunately, no,” the woman said. “Although, you’re actually quite fortunate it wasn’t me. Otherwise you wouldn’t have gotten off with a mere prank. If you value your boring little lives, you’d best turn back posthaste.”

“Where’s the Noble?” inquired Borgoff. The strange thing was, he had both eyes shut tight.

“In our village,” the woman replied. “He came to retain the finest guards as insurance against maggots like you following him.” Laughing snidely, she added, “Perhaps you boys should hire a few of us, too, to serve as Hunters and go after him?”

Beneath his gasmask, Kyle’s face grew black with rage. His left hand went into action. When the javelin flew through the air and passed vainly through the figure of the woman only to be embedded in the wall of rock behind her, indistinct shapes appeared all around them, hovering in the air. All of the shapes looked like the woman.

“Bitch,” Kyle spat after the flash of crescent blade he swept around passed through the specters without meeting any resistance. He looked to his older brother. “So that’s what you were up to, Borgoff?”

Eyes still shut, the giant nodded, and the sneering yet mellifluous laughter stole into their ears again.

“You still don’t understand, do you, little fools? May you wander this poison smoke for all eternity.” A split second later, her words became a scream.

One of the shimmering figures behind them had been pierced by Borgoff’s arrow. When and how the giant fired was a mystery. Kyle hadn’t seen his brother’s hands move. What’s more, his bow and the arrow cocked in it had been pointed straight ahead from the start.

Blood’s own aroma mixed with the stench of poisonous smoke.

“You . . . you bastard!” she screeched, the shadowy figures fading as quickly as her cry.

“Bro, you did it!”

“Yep.” Borgoff gave a nod, and perhaps it was the knowledge that the woman was gone for good that made his tiger-like eyes shine so strangely. Immediately, the brothers headed back toward the bus.

The door closed, and, once the poisonous gas had been evacuated through the exhaust vents, they entered the main cabin. There, for the first time, Borgoff struck the wall of the vehicle with his boulder of a fist. The ceiling rattled.

“What do you wanna do now, bro?”

“This is a huge fucking mess now. That bastard Noble’s gone and holed up in the village of the Barbarois.”

Kyle wasn’t the only one who grew tense at his brother’s words. Leila, who’d been waiting for them, reacted the same way. For the first time, something resembling paling fear flowed through the faces of the siblings. But even that was transient.

“Sounds like fun,” Leila muttered, and it even seemed a vermilion flush of excitement was rising in her pale face. “The village of the Barbarois—monsters and freaks have been interbreeding there for five thousand years, honing their sorceries and skills in the darkness. I always hoped to try my hand against them someday.”

“Damn straight.” Kyle bared his teeth. “If he’s holed up in their village, there’s a pretty damned good chance he’ll—well, actually, the woman already told us what he was gonna do. Said he’d come to hire her and others. There ain’t no two ways about it, he’s definitely got himself some freaky guards now.” Kyle snickered. “I’m just itching for a piece of them. We’ve all heard rumors about the supernatural powers of the Barbarois. The question is, whose skills would come out on top, ours or theirs? I mean, wouldn’t it be great to throw down with them just once?”

“Of course it would,” the oldest Marcus replied. “I don’t care if it’s the Barbarois or the Nobility’s Sacred Ancestor himself, we’d dye our hands in their blood. Just one thing, though. Our first order of business is that bastard Noble and the ten million dalas. I don’t wanna do any fighting unless we’re getting paid for it. For the time being, we’ll keep a watch on this nest of freaks and wait for Nolt to get back. Me and Kyle will go. Leila, you send up a flare as soon as you’re clear of this corner of hell and then wait there for Nolt.”

The brutal siblings looked at each other and let out a lurid, blood-curdling laugh. What then was this village of the Barbarois that even they found so difficult to dismiss? Who resided there? And what were their darkness-spawned powers?

—

II

—

Down the road three miles from the spot where the Marcus brothers encountered the strange woman, a particularly high and rocky mountain loomed off the left-hand side of the road.

To the eye of the uninformed traveler, the heap of countless rocks, large and small, was merely a product of nature. But, upon closer inspection, the pieces of stone that at a glance had seemed to be stacked haphazardly were, in fact, arranged systematically by someone or something with an understanding of dynamics. And, as the arrangement of the rocks became clear, so too did the eerie aura surrounding them. A chill was carried down like a ghost from the icy heights of the mountain, rising up the backs of the most courageous and the most fearful travelers alike.

Though the mountain looked like it might be easily scaled, no matter how tough the human that challenged it was, partway up its scaly surface the rocks were laid out in such an intricate way that they’d cave in a second. Even if by some slim chance a climber got through that part, there were places on the route where every rock was rigged to bury the climber in an avalanche of stone.

Still, if fortune smiled on them and, by some miracle, the climber made it into the bowels of the mountain, their eyes would be greeted by a single cavern. While passing through it they’d be blasted by damp winds that seemed to blow from the very netherhells, and then they’d soon come to a fortress constructed from cyclopean stones and colossal trees. Despite the fact that the very human sounds of laughter, shouting, and crying could be heard constantly, and the smoke from cook fires never ceased, there was something in the atmosphere that separated this place from the world of humanity, an eldritch aura which hung in the air. This was the nest of demons that made the Marcus clan shudder—the village of the Barbarois.

It was a mystery just how on earth the carriage and the six-horse team drawing it had got into the village, but enter they did as the light of dawn was finally beginning to swell with the vitality of day.

There were houses in the village, and plenty of men and women. Stopping where they worked or poking their heads out of doorways, they formed a ring around the carriage the instant it came to a halt. Perhaps they were already cognizant of the true nature of their strange visitor, for not one of them tried to open the door.

Pushing his way through the ring which was now several bodies deep, an old man with a hoary mane came into view. His white beard was long enough to sweep the ground, and his back was so stooped that his chest was parallel to the earth. Untold centuries old, his face was obscured by countless wrinkles, and yet every inch of him brimmed with an ineffable vigor.

He approached the door on the left-hand side of the carriage and rapped lightly on the steel surface with his cane. Following that, he nodded to himself, and, after turning around to give a wink to the masses behind him, he put his withered, clay-like ear to the door.

The wind died out immediately.

The deathly silence persisted for what seemed like hours, but in due time the old man started to nod with the kindly countenance of a codger doting on his grandchildren.

“I see, I see. I’m glad you came. It’s guards you desire then, to protect your lady love? Very well, very well. So, how many do you need? Three? Hmm, did you have anyone particular in mind?”

The eyelids he had shut like a thin line flew open. A fearsome light spilled from them, but, after a moment, he closed his eyes once more.

“Bengé, Caroline, Mashira . . . Oh, those are the very best, the cream of our village. Fine. When your flare informed us that you were being followed, Caroline headed out to toy with those wandering mongrels, but they’ll be back presently. They are entirely at your disposal.”

Could one of the Nobility, who should be comatose by day, be holding a conversation with this old man? Not one of those assembled seemed to find this the least bit suspect as the old man’s eyes suddenly opened again.

“Oh, so you say you have one more favor to ask,” the old man muttered. “What’s that? There’s another who follows you solo, you say? Hmm . . . a dhampir.”

The air stirred violently. None of the villagers moved an inch, as if a ghastly white aura had enveloped them. Moans of shock came from the villagers’ lips as the following words slipped from the old man: “His name is—D.”

In a while, when silence once again ruled the scene, the mutterings of the old man were adorned with a tremble of unbridled delight. “Ah, the greatest Vampire Hunter on the Frontier—I believe we’re up to the challenge. If we lure him into our stronghold and attack, slowly wearing him down, that is. That service, however, shall cost you quite dearly.”

—

An hour after his brothers had gone, Groveck’s condition took a strange turn. His breathing became rapid and shallow, and sweat gushed from his lean face. His state was more serious than usual, which panicked Leila. His pulse was racing, too.

“A seizure,” she mumbled to herself. “But not like any we’ve ever seen before. What in the name of hell is this . . . ”

She put as much ibuprofen as she could into the bottle on his IV, and she was headed toward the kitchen to cool down the cloth for mopping the sweat from his brow when the bus rocked violently.

Metal eating-utensils fell one after another to the floor, and though the sound-dampening carpet tried to preserve the silence, the vehicle was filled by a cacophony. Every wound in the girl’s body pulsed sheer agony.

Hastily securing the IV bottle with electrical tape, Leila raced around the vehicle looking out all of the windows, checking in every direction. There was no one out there. They were parked in the middle of a circular clearing about a hundred yards in diameter that wasn’t far off the road. With a click of her tongue, Leila dove into the garage to the vehicle’s rear.

Ignoring the five cyborg horses stored there with their limbs retracted, she leapt into the driver’s seat of her battle car. As Leila turned the key in the ignition, a comforting vibration swept through her. Without looking at the digital gauges beside the steering yoke, Leila grasped the condition of the car like it was something she could hold in her two hands.

“Atomic fuel at ninety-eight percent of capacity . . . Engine, check . . . Stabilizers, check . . . Puncture damage, negligible. Propulsion voltage good to go up to ninety-seven percent. Weapon controls, okay . . . Here we go!”

The rear doors of the bus opened, and, without waiting for the ramp to slide into place, the battle car flew out. She gave it full throttle just as it touched down and took it for a loop around the bus.

The bus was the only thing shaking, and there really was no one out there after all.

Leila parked the battle car broadside to seal off the entrance to the clearing, then stood up in her seat like a vengeful god. “Who’s there? C’mon out. I’m Leila Marcus, of the Marcus clan. You won’t catch me running and hiding,” she declared, trying to keep the pain that knifed through her body from showing on her face. Then, as suddenly as it began, the shaking of the bus stopped.

A cheerful voice came in response. “My, missy, aren’t you the high-spirited one.”

Leila spun around in amazement. The perplexed expression she’d donned just before turning her head was because she didn’t know where the distinct voice was issuing from.

There was no one behind her. Nor to her left, nor to right.

“Where are you?” she asked. “Where the hell are you?! C’mon out, you lousy coward!”

“There’s nowhere to come out from,” the voice jeered. “I’m right beside you. If you can’t see me, the fault is with your eyes.”

Her blood nearly curdled. Once again, she scanned her surroundings. She realized the voice spoke the truth. Whoever it was, they had to be somewhere. Right under her very nose, no less.

Leila harnessed every fiber of her being to search in all directions. Like her brothers, she’d honed her five senses to a razor-sharp level. Now her hearing and her sense of touch told her there wasn’t another living creature in the clearing. Yet, despite that, she could hear the voice.

Leila was seized by a fear unlike any she’d felt before. It sprang from a loss of self-confidence and wounds that hadn’t fully healed.

With the sliver gun from her side now in hand, Leila jumped out of the car. Her bloodshot eyes darted around her. She hadn’t given up the fight yet.

A stabbing pain shot up her back.

Catching a hail of fire from the sliver gun she unleashed as soon as she whipped around, one of the chunks of rock hemming the clearing was reduced to dust. Fired by highly pressured oxygen, the half million, one-micron-long, .001-micron-wide needles in the gun could leave the walls of a Noble’s castle as friable as unglazed pottery. But that didn’t count for much against an unseen opponent.

Leila reached one hand around to her back. The stickiness she felt was blood. Clearly she’d been cut by some sort of blade, but she was powerless to do anything about it. Agony assailed her for a second time, and Leila fell to her knees. Her strength was dwindling rapidly.

The voice returned. “What’s wrong, missy? Compared to the wound my colleague suffered, this is nothing. Nothing at all. It’ll take a lot more than that to drive you mad, won’t it?”

“Who the hell are you? Where are you?!”

“I already told you, didn’t I? I’m right beside you. If you look hard enough, you should see me. You don’t see me because you think you can’t. Here, maybe this will help you understand?”

The Marcus girl gave an agonized cry. Fresh blood spilling from the back of her shredded shirt, Leila crouched down on the ground.

What kind of cold-blooded torture was this, slashing the flesh of a defenseless girl with deep cuts and shallow? Perhaps in some sick way her attacker was aroused by the sight of Leila in agony, because the voice had a ring akin to lust when it asked, “Well, how do you like that? Taste more pain, more suffering. Your brothers will be getting a taste of very same treatment from me before too long. Ha ha ha ha!”

The sneering laughter ended sharply. Leila could feel someone shaking intensely right beside her. An unearthly aura was gusting their way, coming from the entrance to the clearing.

Must be Nolt, she thought. No, it’s not. Another disappointment lodging in her breast, Leila twisted her face around in desperation.

It was unclear how he’d gotten by the battle car, but a black-garbed youth stood casually in the center of the clearing, not making a sound. Forgetting her pain at the beauty of the one who now gazed at her, Leila swooned in glorious intoxication. The unsettling presence vanished in an instant.

Waiting for a while on horseback while he seemed to size up the situation, D quietly guided his horse to Leila’s side. “Your opponent’s not here any more,” he said. “Can you stand?”

Torpidly, Leila pulled herself up. “No problem at all, as you can see. What in blazes brings you here?” Her bluster carried no animosity. Borgoff had told her that someone had taken care of her when she was hurt, and no one but this gorgeous young man could’ve fit that bill.

“I saw your flare and came. Where’s the rest of your clan?”

“In the bus. Try anything funny and they’ll come flying out here,” Leila lied.

“So they’re just sitting back watching their little sister do battle, eh? The Marcus clan has hit a new low.”

At D’s tone, which merely conveyed the truth without sarcasm, Leila became enraged. She staggered. The substantial blood loss she’d suffered had caught up with her. Her other wounds hadn’t healed yet, either. Glancing once more at the cold beauty of the youth staring down at her from horseback, Leila passed out.

—

The next thing she knew, she was lying on a bed. Before she had time to notice her bare skin was wrapped in bandages, Leila flipped herself over and looked toward the door. A black figure was just leaving. Without a sound.

“Wait. Please, just wait a sec!” Leila herself didn’t know why she called out to him so frantically.

The shadowy figure stopped.

Leila got up. She jerked the tube out of her right arm. The attached bottle of plasma rocked wildly. It was plain to see who’d gone to the trouble of setting up her transfusion.

“Go back to sleep,” he told her. “You’re liable to open your wounds and wake your brother.”

“Never mind him,” she replied. Yet, despite what she said, she peeked in on Groveck across the aisle. Confirming that his condition was stable, Leila felt relieved.

Suddenly the piercing pain returned to her body, and she let out a groan. “Don’t go,” she cried. “If you go, I’ll die.”

The young man headed for the door.

“Hold on. Don’t you even care what happens to me?” Leila didn’t know why she sounded so miserable as she said this. Could it be that she simply wanted him by her side? No, that thought didn’t occur to her.

She was going to follow him, but her foot caught on something and she tumbled to the floor. The scream that escaped her was no fabrication.

The youth walked over calmly and picked her up.

“My back—it’s killing me.” That was a lie. “Carry me as far as the bed.”

The young Hunter turned his back to her again.

“Wait! What was that thing? If you leave, it might come back. Please, stay with me.”

The youth turned around. “I’m the competition, you know.”

“You’re my savior. Mine and Grove’s. And if my brothers come back, I won’t let them lay a finger on you.”

“There’s something I should tell you first,” the young man continued without concern. “I cut down your brother Nolt.”

Leila’s eyes shot up to him. A wild rage spread through her body. It looked like she might leap at D, but instead she let her shoulders drop. “I see,” she muttered numbly. “So my brother got killed . . . I think I understand why. I mean, he went up against you, right? Wait, don’t go. I want you here by my side, even if it’s just for a little bit longer.”

Something besides her anguished cries must have stayed the stride of the icy youth. He returned to the bedroom. Leila lay down on the bed, and the young man put his back against the wall, looking down at her.

“Why did you save me, not once but twice now?” she asked.

“I had some time on my hands.”

“You’re not after the Noble then?”

“I’ve figured out where he’s headed.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t be kind enough to share that, would you? My brothers would be overjoyed.”

“Is that your sick brother in the bed over there?” the youth inquired softly. He made no attempt to look at Groveck.

“Yep. Fact is, he hasn’t even been able to walk or anything since the day he was born.”

“But it seems he can do something else instead.”

A look of astonishment raced across Leila face. Soon, her sober expression returned, and she said, “You’re a strange one, aren’t you? Saving the competition twice and all. Even though you had no qualms about killing one of my brothers. What, are you afraid taking down a woman would bring shame on your sword?”

“If you come at me, I’ll cut you down.”

At D’s impassive words, Leila grew pale. She knew he was serious. Here was a young man with the keenness of a mystic blade concealed behind his beauty. And yet, while their eyes were locked, she wouldn’t mind being slashed so long as it was D who did it. The thought that she’d even want him to kill her welled up in her breast like an enchanted fog, turning the contents of her heart and mind into slush. That must’ve been the power of a dhampir—the power of one descended from the Nobility.

“You’re a strange guy,” Leila said again. “You aren’t even gonna ask me where my brothers went? If I hadn’t woken up, you’d have left, wouldn’t you? Like a shadow. Like the wind. Are all dhampirs like that?”

“How long have you been a Hunter?”

Her own question unexpectedly brushed aside, Leila became a bit disoriented. “How long? For as long as I can remember. Besides, I can’t live any other way.”

“This isn’t a job for women. When it gets to the point you enjoy stalking your prey, that’s proof that you’re not a woman anymore.”

“How tactful of you to say so. Keep your opinions to yourself,” Leila said, turning away. Any other man would’ve had the palm of her hand or a knife headed their way. But because the youth spoke in that unconcerned tone of his—neither reproachful nor teasing—there was something in his words that shook Leila. “I can’t very well change my way of life at this stage of the game,” she continued. “I’ve got too much blood on my hands.”

“It comes off if you wash them.”

“Why would you say something like that? You trying to put me out of work?”

The young man made his way to the door. “The next time you see me,” he said, “you’d better forget the small talk and just start shooting. I won’t hold back either.”

“That’s just fine by me,” she replied. There was a grieving hue in Leila’s eyes.

“Your brothers wouldn’t make much of a stink over losing one little sister,” the shadowy figure said as it faded into the sunlight. “Any girl who cries out for her mother as she lays dying isn’t cut out for Hunting.”

And then the youth was gone. Like a shadow melting in the sun.

After he left, his words continued to ring in Leila’s ears.

The girl’s eyes bored into the closed door, and something in them blurred softly. Just as she was going for the door, a thin hand caught hold of her sleeve.

“Grove?!”

“Leila . . . you’re not gonna listen . . . to what that guy said, are you?” The voice from under the blankets sounded furtive and twitching. “You wouldn’t listen to that guy . . .go off and leave me and the others . . . now would you, Leila? Don’t you forget about . . . you-know-what . . . ”

“Quit it!”

The scrawny hand Leila tried to shake off held her entirely too tenaciously.

“Don’t you ever forget that, Leila,” Groveck rasped. “You belong to all of us . . . ”

—

III

—

The shadowy figures of Kyle and Borgoff clung like geckos to the rocky face overlooking the village of the Barbarois. The mountain, which was insurmountable to the average traveler, hadn’t served as much of a deterrent against this pair.

Sprawled on a flat rock and inspecting the village through electronic binoculars, Kyle raised his head and said to Borgoff, “Damn it, the carriage and whatever’s in it went into the forest, but they ain’t come out. You think maybe they’ve already slipped back out the same way they got in?”

“Don’t know.” Borgoff shook his head. “And it’s not like we can just waltz up and ask them, now can we?”

Kyle fell into silence. Somehow they’d managed to climb partway up the mountain without being detected, but even this pair of crafty devils were hesitant to sneak into the village. In fact, their Hunter instincts told them it’d be dangerous to get any closer in broad daylight.

Even though Barbarois seemed like a run-of-the-mill hidden village, with no sign of watchtowers or lookouts, the fact was that in the nondescript shade of the rocks and groves there lurked those with sight as keen as swords.

Conversing only with their eyes, the brothers decided to sneak in by night, when the watch would slacken.

The Marcus brothers knew that the Noble who owned the carriage had called on this village hoping to retain some guards. If possible, the brothers wanted to finish him before he could do so, but, now that it’d gone this far, that was no longer an option. The two brothers weren’t at all confident they could slip into this mob of freaks—who were their equals or perhaps even their superiors in battle—and accomplish their aims.

Under the circumstances, there was no choice but to wait for the carriage to come out, but they had misgivings about that, too. They couldn’t imagine how the carriage had possibly been brought into the village, and the prospects of it slipping out unseen were extremely good. They wouldn’t know it had left until it was gone.

If only they knew the Noble’s destination they could at least head him off, but they didn’t even know their prey’s name. At the rate things are going, we’ll never land that bounty—the Marcus brothers grew impatient at that thought. And as they fumed, more of their precious time slipped by.

When they’d first got up to their lookout, the carriage was being moved from the square into a stand of trees. Even after they watched the people disperse from the area, it seemed there’d been some sort of a discussion. Common sense dictated that the Nobility slept by day, but then common sense didn’t seem to have much say about matters in this village.

So what had they discussed? Well, the Marcus brothers actually had a pretty good idea what’d been covered. They could guess how many guards the Noble had employed and what kind they would be, and maybe where they were headed, too.

The sun was nearing noon. The rocky surface went from warm to searing, and yet the brothers still lacked a good plan. A hue of impatience was just beginning to show on Borgoff’s face when he heard a sudden cry.

“Bro, is that who I think it is?!”

Checking Kyle’s surprised outburst with his firm, silent gaze, Borgoff felt the same shock as his brother. Off to their left, a figure had just leisurely slipped into the black cavern leading to the village—and it looked like it was D!

“That bastard should’ve drowned! What, ain’t he a dhampir?”

Borgoff didn’t answer Kyle’s question. He was having enough trouble believing it himself. “Then, I reckon that means . . . Nolt’s had it.”

Turning to his older brother for only a second, Kyle’s face was instantly colored by hatred. “That bastard . . . Killing off Nolt . . . He’s not getting out of this alive,” he growled. “Ain’t that right, bro?”

Though he nodded, Borgoff kept his silence. Difficult as it might be to accept, Borgoff knew that Nolt had to be dead and that D must have killed him. But killing a Noble with an escort of Barbarois would entail risking their lives. This young dhampir possessed an unearthly intensity even they couldn’t match, and making an enemy of him as well would be utter madness.

“I bet that bastard’s here to scope out the village, same as us. This is our chance. I’ll take him down from here with my crescent blades.”

As the younger brother was about to stand, Borgoff’s hand took a firm grip on his elbow. “Hold your horses, okay? Look, he’s headed straight for the gate. He ain’t staking it out. He plans on parleying with them directly.”

“You’re kidding me! Dammit, ain’t that even worse? If this keeps up, he’s gonna beat us to the punch!”

The words of the wild youngest brother held some truth.

As Borgoff glared fixedly into space, his face grew more and more sad, and sweat started to blur his brow. When his eyes opened, there was a ghastly hue to them. “We got no choice then. I didn’t wanna do this, but we’ll have to call on Grove,” he said.

“Wait just a minute there . . . ” Kyle said, his voice rigid. This was the same brother who’d earned a glare from Borgoff for suggesting they send Groveck to scout around the village of the dead they had entered two days earlier.

What kind of power lay in that shriveled mummy of a youth that could offer a solution to their problems?

“I’ll keep watch here, Kyle. Once you’ve given Grove a seizure, you come right back,” the older Marcus said.

“Good enough.”

Why was it that a lewd smile arose on Kyle’s face as he answered? Whatever the reason, it only lasted an instant. Flipping himself over atop the rock, his leather garments sparkled blackly in the gleaming sunlight and he came down the mountain with the light gait of a super-natural beast. Down he went, over extremely dangerous rocks—not one of which could be tread upon without setting off an avalanche. —

Coming within fifteen feet of the eerie gates, which looked to be wood and stone wired together and strung with hides, D halted his steed. As he looked up at the towering palisade ahead, his expression was redolent of a dashing young poet or philosopher.

The air swished to life.

Where on earth they’d been hiding was a mystery. No one could be seen or even sensed a moment earlier, but all of a sudden a number of people appeared among the rocks and trees. They surrounded D. The face of each was darkly intrepid, but some among them were pale to the point of transparency, or armored in ghastly scales. They were a band that would no doubt cow any traveler encountering them for the first time, yet, for some reason, with D they kept their distance. Once they had him surrounded, they made no move to approach him. On realizing that it was fear and wonder that arose on their inhuman faces, the Prince of Hell himself might’ve doubted his own eyes.

With a sharp glance from D, they staggered backward.

“I’m the Vampire Hunter D. I have business here. Kindly open the gates.”

At his bidding, the mysterious gates swung silently inward. Without another glance at the guards to his fore and rear, his left and his right, D rode leisurely in on his horse.

As soon as they were inside, a terrible aura enveloped D and his steed. Triggered by the eerie emanations D himself radiated, all the eldritch energies in the air seemed to shoot toward them as one. D’s expression didn’t change in the least, and his horse never altered its stride.

When they had gone a few steps, the strange roiling energies disappeared. The men, who remained positioned around D, exchanged startled looks. The Hunter’s unearthly aura had just beaten down their own disturbing emanations.

The village and its inhabitants flowed past D as he rode. The village had been established in a vast wooded region that’d sprung up in the middle of the mountains, and the homes were fashioned from timbers and stone. Most of the residents were self-sufficient as far as food and weapons went, and a building that looked to be a factory could be spied tucked silently among the trees.

While they were rather antiquated, there were high-caliber laser-cannons and ultrasonic wave-cannons visible within the palisade, indicating that the Barbarois were perfectly prepared to deal with their enemies in the outside world.

But what was truly astonishing was the appearance of the inhabitants of the village. Their clothing was the ordinary farm wear or work clothes found in any hamlet, but very few of the arms and legs and heads that protruded from said raiment had the form of anything human. A glimpse of red tongue could be seen flickering from what must’ve been lips on a face scaled like a serpent’s, while another visage was mantled in thick fur like a veritable wolf. Way in the back, an innocent young boy splashed water up from his pool. From the neck down he had the body of a crocodile, and the limbs to match.

There existed things in this world that weren’t entirely natural, the offspring of couplings between fiendish beasts and human beings. All who dwelled in the village of the Barbarois were the fruit of those abominable relations.

Most humans from the world below would’ve fainted dead away at the sight of these demons, but D rode past them silently, arriving at what seemed to be a central square. At the center stood the black carriage, along with a hoary-maned old man.

Halting his horse at the entrance to the square, D stepped to the ground.

“Oh,” the old man exclaimed, stroking that ground-sweeping white beard of his. “You dismount? I see you know enough to show respect for your elders. But you have me sorely puzzled. How did you ever manage to climb our mountain on horseback?”

Whether the words that seemed to slither along the ground reached him or not, D took hold of the reins and started walking towards the old man. He stopped six feet shy of him and gestured to the black carriage with his right hand. “I’d like you to hand over the two passengers in that carriage,” he said.

The old man smiled broadly—or rather, all the wrinkles on his face twisted up into a smile—but in the laughter that followed there was a hint of scorn. “Young man, you’ve come into our village in a way no one else has ever managed. I wish I could tell you the passengers in that carriage were yours, but it’s too late, too late. We’ve already sided with the carriage, you see. The contract is drawn, and we’ve been paid in gold. Paid with the fabled ten thousand-dala coins—ten of them. Could you afford that much?”

“If I could, would you sell out your clients?”

At D’s reply, soft as ever, the smile instantly vanished from the old man’s face. His wrathful mien was a sight to behold, and it looked like he might even take a swing at the Hunter with his cane. But he unexpectedly threw his head back in a way that almost seemed to straighten his spine, and he gave a hearty laugh. “Ho ho ho. Knowing as you do that this is the village of the Barbarois, that took nerve to say. Oh, what a treat, what a great treat! Why, the last time anyone spoke to me like that was precisely three hundred and twenty years ago . . . ”

A strange expression skimmed across the old man’s face. As if groping in the misty depths of forgotten memory with fingers that’d lost their sense of touch, he narrowed his eyes impatiently. When he threw them open again, a hue of astonishment spilled from his pupils.

“That face,” he murmured. “Could it be that you’re . . . ”

“I’m a Vampire Hunter,” D said quietly. “At the request of the father of an abducted girl, I’m in pursuit of the culprit. I’ve come here as a result of that, and nothing more. But I understand your position. All I ask it that you put him back outside and let me pursue him in peace.”

“Oh. Better yet, a man of principle.” The old man seemed beside himself with joy, striking his cane against the earth. “Out of respect for that, I’ll share a little something with you. What his requests were. One was that we provide him with an escort to protect him from you and other Hunters. The other was to dispose of a young man named D who was certain to come here.”

The square was buried in an avalanche of killing lust. While the two were conversing, countless villagers had encircled them. Not a single one of them had a weapon in hand. Nonetheless, each and every one of them had a fearsome air that made it clear they’d have no problem slaying a few humans at a time.

“What will you do now, D? It was remarkable how you made it all the way in here, but getting back out looks to be somewhat more difficult, doesn’t it? Every man and woman assembled here’s been trained in the most astounding of abilities. No matter how great of a Hunter you may be, you can’t possibly kill them all.”

And what was D doing as the old man spoke the indisputable truth? He was looking up at the sky. Gazing at the perfectly clear blue and the clouds cavorting there.

His expression was so intent the villagers stopped closing on him and exchanged looks with each other.

“So, is that where he wants to go then?”

Perhaps mistaking the Hunter’s muttering as a plea for his life, one of the Barbarois leapt into the air with a cry like a savage roc. When he straightened up, his body was round overall, yet his stomach was flat as a board, a shape that was reminiscent of a tortoise. The beast stretched his arms toward D’s face. The fingertips fused with the nails and became like the horns of a bull. If they but touched him, they’d gouge away a chunk of flesh and bone.

The two figures passed each other—one in the air and one on the ground—and the rotund man landed lightly as he came back to earth.

Maybe it was the stirring of the villagers that called forth the bloody mist. A number of them had caught the silvery flash that shot out faster than the eye could follow in the instant the man had passed D. But, no—they’d certainly seen the man’s head pull into his clothing just as D’s blade was about to strike. Like a tortoise, the man’s body was covered by a carapace that was impervious to even bullets, and his hands and feet could stretch like springs.

But his carapace cracked down the middle just as he landed. The face of the man that appeared from the bottom, the serpentine neck, the tangle of intestines—all of them had been split in two right down to the crotch, and the man sent up a spray of blood as he toppled.

For the first time, the others saw the blade shining in D’s right hand. There was no one foolish enough among them to press the Hunter a second time, despite the gut-deep rage they felt at the death of their comrade and friend. The realization that this youth possessed an unholy prowess with the sword seeped into the marrow of their bones.

In an attitude and pose no different from the one that’d greeted his attacker, D turned to the old man and said softly, “You can kill me if you like, but many of your villagers will die, too. Why don’t you stand back and let me stay here until night? When the carriage leaves, I’ll go right out after it. That’s it. As the lot of you have entered a contract to help the z, I’ll ask nothing else.”

If the decree of certain death the old man had pronounced on D was valid, what D said was equally true.

“So, it’s just as I thought then . . . ” The old man nodded, his face showing understanding. “Such abilities, such dignity,” he muttered. “Yes, I was right all along . . . ” Then, waving his right hand so the villagers backed off, he said something unexpected in a weary tone. “If you should ask that all in the village drown in a lake of blood, I could not deny you. I implore you, take the shriveled head of this old fool for our rudeness and grant us your forgiveness.”

“What are you talking about?!” someone shouted. This one angry outburst parted the wall of villagers.

A woman in a dress an unsettlingly deep shade of indigo stepped from the mob to stand between the old man and D. The spot of pink on her exposed right shoulder was strangely conspicuous against her white skin. Her voice was a venom-dripping howl as she said, “Why the fainthearted drivel? Elder, have you forgotten the law of our village? Once we have a contract with one who’s come seeking our aid—regardless of who they may be—we must uphold the wishes of our employer or die trying. And I, Caroline, intend to do so, with the aid of Mashira and Bengé.”

“Absolutely,” an impudent voice added in agreement. Pushing his way through the ring of people, a middle-aged man of average height and medium build tossed the hem of his gray coat and took his place alongside the woman. “By failing to honor a contract we’ve already agreed to, you’d be doing more than just breaking the law of the village. It would mean the ruin of the village itself. Elder, leave this young pup to the three of us.”

“My sentiments exactly.”

The third speaker drew a dramatic reaction. The voice came from behind the middle-aged man, and it must’ve caught him off guard, because he flinched momentarily and took a step back.

Framed by the other two but standing behind them was a strangely elongated man, as thin as a preying mantis. His hands and face were as black as if they’d been dipped in ink, and his coat was the color of midnight. Though this was the same color as the leather Kyle garbed himself in, there was something peculiar about it that gave it an entirely different feel.

“I believe we met earlier,” the tenebrous man said, winking at D. The man was so thin it seemed plausible no one would be able to see him hiding behind a fair-sized pole. But there hadn’t even been a single tree nearby to conceal him. “Allow me to do the introductions. The lovely lady you see here is Caroline, while this is Mashira. And I am Bengé,” he said, turning with a smile to the elder. “Since he’s already here there’s not much we can do. Elder, you may relent, but we’re going through with this. You can strip us of our right to reside here if you so desire.”

“Friends of his marred my skin,” Caroline said in a quivering voice as she pressed her left hand to the pink spot. “I won’t forget that. I’ll never forget the pain. Even pounding an iron wedge through this rascal’s chest won’t make it go away!”

“There must be others besides us who feel the same way. Step forward!”

But when the middle-aged man—Mashira—had made this call, the old man shouted “Idiots!” so loudly that the rebellious trio and a number of villagers coming forward to join them flinched. That wizened feline form of the old man had caused the group of malcontents three times his size to tremble.

“Do you fools know I’ve looked like this since the village was founded? Have you any idea how your ancestors suffered and sweated to build this mountain village after they were chased from their homes for carnal relations with demons? I’ll have you know, all their hard work was poised for destruction at one time.”

Even the young ones—those for whom the past did not yet exist—were riveted in place by the purposefulness of the old man’s voice. It was the sort of voice that would steal into their ears even if they had their hands clamped over them. Perhaps the only one who could ignore it was D, standing solitary and forlorn.

The bloody screams of the old man continued. “On that day—the first day of our ten-thousand-year history—a horrible toxic gas gushed from the earth and onto our land. Half the villagers died, and the other half could do naught but wait for death as their flesh festered. If a certain personage hadn’t appeared, the village would’ve become the domain of the Grim Reaper, and none of you would’ve ever been born. Listen well, for that person traveled with a certain grand purpose in mind. He’d heard rumors of us, and was the first to rush here. And this is what he said. ‘Let five of your strongest, bravest men accompany me on my journey. If you do, I will take away this calamity that has befallen your village, and fortune shall instantly smile upon you.’”

This was the first time more than half of the villagers had heard these facts. Engrossed by this sudden tale of days gone by, the villagers failed to notice two things that were happening. The first was that, perhaps due to something in the old man’s story, D’s eyes had begun to give off a piercing light. And the other was that a young man was walking down the road from the supposedly locked main gate, making his way through the deserted village as he headed towards the square.

“This entire square,” the Elder continued, “and the whole village, for that matter, was filled with rotting, dying souls. But the instant that person’s proposition reached their ears, they forgot all about the excruciating pain. And then, one villager came from behind a pile of rubble over there, and another came from back beyond the withered trees. The people went to him as if they’d been summoned by name—exactly five of them. What’s more, they were the toughest we had, and everyone knew it.”

The young man approached the entrance to the square. Taking a quick peek around, a charming smile nudged his ruddy cheeks as he headed in.

“And then, the village of the Barbarois came back to life.” The old man’s voice was boundlessly deep. “As soon as that personage had left with the five, why, the ground the village sits on rose toward the sky and came to be where you see it now. In the space of three breaths, new growth budded on the trees, and the flowers bore fruit. It wasn’t until later we discovered the toxic subterranean gases had been diluted to harmless levels, too. All we could do at the time was chant out his name and press our faces to the ground. Heed my words!” the old man said, his voice that of the Elder that commanded all. “I’ll tell you a law that you youngsters don’t know about. When that person or any of his bloodline should appear, then and only then must all in the village bend any subsequent laws and comply with his wishes.”

His awe-inspiring tone was an order. Even the rebellious trio was speechless.

The old man bowed deeply to the beautiful Hunter, whose black hair was swaying in the breeze. “Long have we awaited you. All that your highness desires shall be granted. If you wish that carriage ripped apart, or burnt to the ground where it stands, we are yours to command.”

As they watched him with eyes full of an awe that surpassed fear, D’s reply came to the villagers’ ears.

“I appreciate the offer, but you have the wrong person. Let those three go and guard the carriage, as they wish. I’ll be right behind them.”

“What are you trying to say?” the old man asked in astonishment.

“What an honest fellow,” black Bengé laughed shrilly. “Well, since he says so himself, this law you’ve brought up doesn’t apply, Elder. But in light of his frankness, we won’t let anyone else touch him. The three of us alone will take him on.”

“I have one juicy tidbit for you to take to your grave,” Caroline laughed, her crimson lips curling back. “This carriage is bound for the Claybourne States.”

“Let’s go, whippersnapper!” Mashira cried out as he crouched down. A heavy ax glittered in his right hand.

It looked like even the old man lacked the means to forestall the vicious attack by the trio. Just then, a harsh query of “Who the hell are you?!” could be heard from the rear of the crowd, but the question soon became a drawn-out scream.

The rows of people kicked up sand as they parted, and, at the far end of the straight path they opened, a rosy-cheeked young man smiled brightly. It was an angelic smile, the kind anyone would return without thinking twice. However, the fetid stench billowing up before him was part of the smoke rising from the chest of a fallen villager. Though it was unclear just what sort of energy had struck the villager, flames were still licking the carbonized and perfectly circular wounds on his chest and back.

D became a black shooting star flying through the air. The ray beam that shot through the space he’d occupied an instant earlier continued past him. With nothing to strike, it scored a direct hit to the carriage parked to one side of the square.

“That’s not good!” someone cried out. Startled by the flying sparks and energy discharge, the team of horses whinnied especially loudly and bolted for the exit on the far side of the square.

“Close the back gate!”

A few villagers ran off in response to the old man’s shouts, but an instant later a beam intercepted them, and they fell forward with their heads blown off. Nobody could tell where the beams were coming from. The square had become a place where bolts of light flitted madly, and, as fleeing villagers vanished in the flashes, the origin of the murderous beams still seemed impossible to determine.

However, the one clear image that greeted anyone who looked back was the enraptured expression of the angelic young man as he stood by the entrance to the square watching the mad dance of the lights. It was inspiring how his face brimmed with joie de vivre as he gleefully toyed with the deadly rays.

All at once, the square reclaimed its original hue. Perhaps it was an aftereffect of the powerful white flashes, but the green trees and brown houses burned themselves into the scene in almost painfully deep tones before gradually returning to their natural colors.

Villagers creeping to the edge of the square—or in some cases crouched on the ground watching where this supernatural phenomenon was headed—saw a pair of figures square off with some thirty feet between them. One was a young man wearing an angelic smile, the other was a Hunter as beautiful as the moon’s corona.

Which would prove faster, the racing figure in black or the coursing stream of white light?

Everyone gasped as D fended off one white-hot attack but had two more streaks pierce his body as he dashed forward. But what did the villagers really see and gasp about?

D had held his left hand out in front on his chest. The two bolts of light changed direction right before him, became a single flash, and were sucked into the palm of his hand.

The young man didn’t move. His smile still brimmed with pleasure.

D’s flashing blade flowed from the tip of his foe’s head down to his lower jaw. There was no resistance. Still holding the pose from his downward stroke, D stood a little closer to the edge of the square.

The young man had suddenly disappeared. Dim shadows that played across D’s face testified this wasn’t the result of anything he’d done.

The old man ran over to him. “D—Are you injured, milord?”

Without answering, D looked back across the square. There was no sign of the carriage. “Can I get down the back side of the mountain?” he asked.

The old man nodded. “There’s a passage known only to the villagers. Damn!” the old man shouted, looking around desperately.

D knew why the Elder cursed. The three toughs Mayerling had retained were nowhere to be seen.

—

Kyle pulled his hot lips away from the woman’s body now that resistance had given way to moaning, as it always did. From a bunk that until now had been deathly silent, there trickled the sound of shallow but urgent breathing.

“Dammit—he’s back pretty damn fast this time,” Kyle spat irritably and stood up. “Hey, hurry up and get that IV ready,” he ordered Leila, who was still stark naked.

Glaring sharply at her older brother, the tracks of tears still fresh on her face, Leila gathered her discarded clothing.

Glancing at the bruises on her skin and the purple teeth-marks from where he’d just bitten her, Kyle clucked his tongue remonstratively. “You should’ve just behaved like usual and done what I told you. I don’t know what got into you today, but that’s what you get for being dumb and putting up a fight.” Chuckling, he added, “Of course, I suppose it just made it that much easier to get ol’ Grove worked up.”

“Quit it!” Leila slapped away the hand reaching for her ample bosom. “Lately, the gap between his normal attacks has gotten pretty slim, you know. If you keep forcing Grove to have more on top of those, even though you know it’s shortening his life, what do you think is gonna happen? If his energy goes wild, no one has any idea how bad the destruction would be.”

“Shit, you think we can read that far ahead? We’ve got problems right now. We’ll know how things went just as soon as Borgoff gets back. Nah, on second thought I think I’ll try asking Grove first. Outta my way.”

Cruelly pushing Leila aside, Kyle went to the pillow of the third Marcus brother.

“Hey, bro, it’s me—Kyle. Tell me what you saw while you were . . . in there. Remember what I asked you to look into before you went?”

For quite a while the rasping sounds that escape from a patient at death’s door continued, then ceased.

A sudden gasp. It hadn’t come from the man beneath the blankets. A pale thin hand was wrapped around Kyle’s windpipe.

“Want to know, Kyle? You want to know?” Groveck wheezed. “You’re here having all the fun with Leila . . . while you put me through the tortures of hell . . . And you want to know?”

“Er . . . yeah. Sure, I wanna know.” It was all the younger Marcus brother could do to answer, with the hand at his throat.

The hand quickly fell away. Groveck’s delicate voice practically sobbed, “Our prey is heading for . . . the Claybourne States . . . ”