Scenes from an Unholy War Page 3

  With a thin cry of pain, Lyra returned to her normal form. Staggering, she used her sword as a crutch to get to her feet, and then surveyed her surroundings. Looking at D, she said, “Seems I’ve been rescued by an invalid.”

  But the warrior woman’s eyes glowed with contempt when they focused on the mayor and his daughter, standing stock still where the stable had once been. Although they lived in a rough Frontier village, the pair had just seen a deadly battle played out that undoubtedly seemed like a waking nightmare.

  “Now, I don’t want to seem like I’m complaining or anything,” Lyra said, looking down at the corpses of the first man and the youngest one, “but wouldn’t we have been better off leaving one of them alive?”

  “Well, you had him right in front of you,” D said, turning his gaze to the crimson-stained young man. “But you didn’t cut him down. And it almost got you killed.”

  Lyra had no response to that.

  “Age has no bearing on what someone’s capable of. A fire dragon’s young will blow flames at its parents from the first second it breaks out of its egg. Out on the Frontier, even a child of three can stab somebody through the heart.”

  Choking down the emotion that was building in her chest, Lyra nodded. “You’re right. I screwed up.” Turning to the mayor, she asked, “Recognize them?”

  “No, they’re not from around here.”

  “Drifters. I’ll go check with the hotel.”

  From down the street, there was the sound of an engine drawing nearer. It was a skeleton vehicle, little more than a driver’s seat set on a bare frame with wheels that looked like three barrels lashed together. Not only was it capable of navigating even the roughest terrain, but it could also hit speeds of up to sixty miles per hour. It’d probably been purchased from a traveling merchant, and the rear seats had been ripped out and replaced with square missile launchers. The rockets’ yellow warheads poked from the circular launch tubes. Stretching back from the bulletproof tank beneath the driver’s seat like a fat silver serpent, the exhaust pipe was twice the normal size. It was fueled not by gasoline, but rather by a variety of fungus cultivated on a massive scale all across the Frontier.

  Halting the vehicle in front of the annihilated stables, the sheriff hopped down. On seeing the rooted group and the remains of the stables, he asked, “What have we here?” As the mayor was one of them, the lawman’s tone was rather polite.

  Lyra gave him a brief rundown of the incident. The hotel’s manager and bellhops rushed to the scene, informing them that the men hadn’t been patrons of theirs, but rather had been staying in tents at the campsite to the west of town.

  “Probably killers who move around from town to town. But who hired them, and who were they after?”

  After ordering the manager and his bellhops to bring the bodies back to the hotel’s barn, the sheriff cocked his head to one side. “At any rate, I’ll thank you all to head back to my office.”

  No sooner did he say this than out of the corner of his eye he saw the figure in black slowly and beautifully sink to the ground.

  —

  When D regained consciousness, it was just after noon of the next day—and he was in the sheriff’s office.

  “I heard about the bat incident at the hotel, too,” the sheriff said, gazing at the now-awake D with a strained look. But his eyes were only half open. It wouldn’t do for him to focus on the Hunter. “It’s possible that scene at the stables was another attempt against you. Until we can make a complete inquiry, I need you to stay here. Fortunately, we already have accommodations.”

  “If you need to know the circumstances, I can tell you them now.”

  “No, we couldn’t have that. According to the doctor, you need ten days’ rest, with no talking.”

  “That doctor’s a quack.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. He’s quite reputable, and better than a hick village like this deserves. We have complete faith in him. Just relax and get better, now.”

  “Hey . . .”

  “Sorry, but we’ll hold on to your weapon. You’re a key player in this.”

  “A key player isn’t the same as a prime suspect. There’s no need to disarm me,” D protested, not without reason.

  “This town has a special ordinance about that. Enacted quite recently, actually.”

  “Just when are we talking about?”

  “This afternoon. It was approved by a village assembly.”

  “Who proposed it, you?”

  “Yes, me—and the mayor.”

  “Give me back my weapon. I’ll be leaving right away.”

  As D tried to get out of the creaking bed, darkness enveloped him. It was the combined aftereffects of the sunlight syndrome and the venom from the mutated bats.

  As D managed to lie down again, Rust gave him a troubled look, saying, “Now, don’t be that way. At any rate, get some rest. The questioning will wait till later.”

  And with that, the sheriff locked the door and left.

  Though he was in a tidy little room, apparently it was also used as a cell, and it had iron bars across the windows.

  “This is a fine mess, eh?” said the hoarse voice. Despite the topic of conversation, it sounded quite buoyant. “Seems like they’re hell bent on having you as a deputy. If they wanted to, they could even use drugs. That sheriff’s a real piece of work.”

  “How soon can I move?”

  “My gut feeling is the doctor’s prognosis was on the money. Not for ten days.”

  “Do it in three.”

  “Hmph! You always want miracles. Make it five. Any less, and the aftereffects will be with you for a long time.”

  Nothing from D.

  “You’ll just have to be patient. Wouldn’t you be better off playing along with them instead of being sick for ages?”

  “Probably.”

  “Okay, then the rest is just a matter of negotiations. Leave that to me. I’ll make us enough to cover travel expenses for a year. You keep out of it.”

  “I’ll leave it to you.”

  “Good. Hey, Sheriff! I wanna talk to you. Get in here!” the hoarse voice cried, its tone on par with the blast of an explosion.

  Beyond the window, a woman’s scream rang out. It appeared that his room faced the road. A short time later, the door was jerked open.

  “What’s this?” said the hoarse voice.

  The crimson cape seemed to dye the entire figure red.

  “The sheriff’s gone out on patrol. What do you want?”

  “Well, he certainly gets around,” D murmured softly.

  “I’ve decided to take you folks up on your offer,” the hoarse voice said in a magnanimous tone. “First, let me tell you my conditions.”

  “Where’s that voice coming from?” Lyra inquired coolly.

  “What do you mean? From my throat, of course,” the left hand said, pointing toward D’s mouth.

  Lyra’s look was one of utter suspicion. “There’s something odd about all this.”

  “Wh—what’s that supposed to mean?” the hoarse voice sputtered.

  “What’s it pay?” D asked.

  Lyra stood bolt upright. Blinking, she replied, “Oh, that’d be the same as my pay. Eighty dalas a month.”

  Snorting with laughter, the hoarse voice said, “You must be freaking kidding me! You’re looking at a guy who can pull down a million or two in bounty in one day. Who’d work for that pittance?”

  “A sheriff only makes fifty dalas. This is an extremely generous offer.”

  “Okay, good enough,” said the hoarse voice.

  D furrowed his brow ever so slightly.

  Lyra continued, “But eighty dalas is just the base pay. Every time you put down some trouble in town you get an extra ten dalas, and if you arrest a wanted party, it’s twenty more.”

  “How much trouble was there last year?” asked D.

  “According to the logs, only three incidents. A drunken scuffle, a domestic dispute caused by a cheating spouse, and getting rid of
a stray dog.”

  “And since you signed on?”

  “I took a baker into protective custody after he was stabbed in the ass with a knife.”

  “What was that all about?”

  “He came home drunk in the wee hours and went into the wrong house. As luck would have it, the man of the house had also been out at the saloon drinking. The baker went into the bedroom without even bothering to turn on the lights.”

  There was some stifled but hoarse laughter as the Hunter’s left hand pictured what ensued.

  “To make matters worse, it was only about twenty minutes later that the woman’s husband got home.”

  “And what does he do for a living?”

  “He sharpens cutlery.”

  “Now that’s what you call destiny!” the hoarse voice replied.

  “Would you knock it off with the ventriloquism,” Lyra snapped.

  “Oh, you could tell?”

  “Of course so. The least you could do is make it a more pleasant-sounding voice.”

  “I wish I could,” D confessed.

  “So, you’re fine with eighty dalas?”

  “It’s not like I have a choice.”

  “Well, in return, we’ll pay you for the whole month even though you don’t start working for another ten days.”

  “That’ll be fine.”

  His expression hardly suited the young man. It was like being thanked by a gorgeous Grim Reaper. And there were undoubtedly more than a few people who wouldn’t mind meeting the Grim Reaper, if he were this exquisite.

  “Then it’s settled.”

  Suddenly, the door opened and Rust came in.

  The hoarse voice gasped in surprise.

  —

  II

  —

  “You’ll be a really great help to us. I’ll go easy on you when it comes time for questioning,” the sheriff said brazenly.

  “You mean to tell me you weren’t out on patrol at all?” the hoarse voice spat back angrily.

  “I had to play it this way. Lyra’s a lot better at these negotiations than I am. And I bet you enjoyed talking with her a lot more than if it’d been me, am I right?”

  The stone-faced D said to him, “Undo that bandanna.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Untie it.”

  “Sure thing.” Slapping his sun-bronzed neck, the sheriff said, “You don’t see any Noble’s fang marks there, do you?”

  D continued, “Just so we’re clear, I apparently won’t be able to work for another ten days. In the meantime, I won’t be any use to you.”

  “That’s okay. According to our latest information, the Black Death won’t be coming for at least a month. That’s when we’ll get some work out of you. With the man called D on our side, we could defend a village three times the size of this one.”

  “Don’t underestimate them.”

  Lyra nodded at that, saying, “He’s right, Rust—I mean, Sheriff. You’ve seen the villages they’ve hit.”

  Silence fell, as if the whole world had frozen over. Rust’s hand slowly rose, reaching for the persimmon-orange fabric that covered the nape of his neck.

  “Rust,” Lyra said to him. Her voice had a stern, commanding ring, not a tone used between equals.

  “I sure have.” Moving the hand from the base of his throat to his hair, Rust scratched his head. “Corpses lying all around, inside and out. Men and women, young and old, all with their throats ripped open. Some of the bodies got their wounds from blades, and others from teeth. And all of it done by human beings—no, by those bastard victims of the Nobility—pseudo vampires!”

  His voice was choked with emotion, and a terrible gleam filled his eyes. Both testified to his madness. There was no trace of the courteous sheriff.

  “Keep a handle on it, Rust,” Lyra told him.

  Nodding, Rust wiped the sweat from his brow. It was a pointless act. Perspiration poured from him with a vengeance. Repeatedly he wiped it away. And as he did so, the shadow of madness gradually began to leave him.

  “Sorry you had to see that,” he said.

  “You must be tired,” the hoarse voice said sarcastically. It didn’t seem to bother Rust.

  Taking several ragged breaths, the sheriff continued, “I’ve been able to ID the ones who wiped out the stables.”

  “Oh? That’s pretty quick work for a hick sheriff!” said the hoarse voice.

  When outsiders committed a crime, inquiries about them had to be made in surrounding towns and villages, and in some cases even the Capital, which usually took a week at the very least.

  Giving the names of all four, the sheriff said they were drifters and hit men. They had no connection to the pseudo vampire’s gang. It was probably the mayor, rather than D, that they’d been gunning for.

  “He’s a real wheeler-dealer. In fact, the reason he hired me was because he heard I’d slapped down about a dozen drifters who were raising hell in the saloon. On the way here, did you notice the strange way the highway twists?”

  D nodded.

  “Originally, it ran straight. Until . . . Until he became mayor, that is. Being off the highway, this village was a desolate place. Not only did he get the road to curve so it ran right up to the village, but he took it upon himself to dub it the Geneve Highway and got it to intersect with the Alasmian Highway. In other words, he forced this village into a place of importance. Thanks to him, the village prospered, but violence began to increase, too. The mayor has a lot of friends, and more than a few enemies. Normally that’d bother some people, but he doesn’t care. Apparently he’s a shoo-in for another term. The deputy mayor’s looking to succeed him, so he’s none too pleased about that. He’s tried all kinds of tricks up until now, but he’s just not made of the same stuff. Everyone thought he’d finally thrown in the towel. Now, it seems that’s not the case.”

  Rust smiled wryly, making the meaning of his last remark clear.

  “We’ve learned who they were, but not who hired them. I wish one of ’em had been left alive, but there was no way around that. They bit off more than they could chew.” The sheriff scratched the back of his head. “If I might share my own personal opinion—since you’ve already signed on with us—the person who went after you with the bats presents more of a problem than the antimayor faction. We’re talking bats here—a symbol of the Nobility.”

  “Do you have any idea who it was, D?” Lyra inquired, her expression rather grave.

  “The strongest possibility is that it was someone who doesn’t want me sticking around.”

  “An agent of the pseudo vampire?”

  “Could be.”

  “Have they already found their way in?” Rust said, pounding his fist into the palm of his left hand. “Well, I figured it might be any time now. We’re gonna have to do a thorough check again on everyone from outside.”

  “You’ve already checked on them?” the Hunter inquired.

  “Three days ago,” Lyra replied.

  “Hmm.”

  “If we don’t check them out, we’ll never get to the bottom of this. Let’s go over ’em again,” the sheriff said, eyes brimming with determination.

  “What’ll you do about the drifters?” D asked him.

  “That’s the problem. It’s impossible to verify their identities.”

  “At any rate, we just have to smoke one of them out,” D said.

  “I suppose so, but . . .”

  “You have a gun?”

  “Yeah,” Rust replied, placing his hand against his right hip. Ranged weapons were extremely valuable out on the Frontier. Even among sheriffs, there were few who owned them.

  “Shoot out the windowpane.”

  “What for? That’s town property.”

  “Take it out of my pay.”

  “I get you,” Lyra said, walking over to the window. Drawing a dagger, she used the pommel to smash the glass.

  “You still don’t get it?” asked the Hunter.

  “Nope,” the sheriff replied, shaking his he
ad. “You trying to get them to come after you again?”

  “Don’t give me any special treatment. Bring me meals like usual, and question me like you ordinarily would. I won’t leave the place. Let word trickle out that I’ll be helping you.”

  “Understood. You’ll be a great assistance. Thanks.”

  D gazed quietly at the lawman’s smiling and carefree visage.

  “Okay, let’s get right to it. We’re off, Lyra.”

  “Just a second,” the warrior woman said, turning to D. “You said we just had to smoke one of them out. What do you mean by that?”

  “Surely you know.”

  “That there are several others lurking in town?”

  “That’s the way they always work. If need be, they’ll enter a village a year in advance and earn the locals’ trust just so they can help the rest of the gang get in.”

  “That’s been the downfall of many a village,” said Lyra.

  She and the sheriff looked at each other and then left.

  “They’re quite a pair,” the hoarse voice said to the Hunter. “What do you make of this?”

  “I think he has a handle on it,” D said, looking in the direction of the window. “But soon there’ll be the scent of fresh blood in the air. That’ll be the test.”

  “And that’s part of why he hired you? He’s got a strong sense of responsibility.”

  “Yeah. And he got a great bargain.”

  Chortling, the hoarse voice replied, “Oh, don’t say such things. You’re a sucker for folks like that.”

  “Don’t think of him and the girl as a nice little couple, okay?”

  “What?” the hoarse voice exclaimed, but it got no reply.

  D’s eyes reflected the blue skies of summer. Perhaps to him they looked blood red.

  —

  “How are you doing?” Lyra called over to the sheriff from the back of her cyborg horse, which she rode alongside his vehicle as it progressed with the leisurely speed of a motorized tractor. They were on a path between the fields. Less than five minutes had passed since they left the sheriff’s office. Golden waves of barley rippled to either side of them. White clouds scudded across the heavens, and the forests were breathtakingly green. As it was summer, the clumps of trees were lush with foliage.

  “You needn’t worry about it,” Rust replied.