Mercenary Road (9 page)

Letting out a sigh, Zenon said, “Now, I’m not asking you to trust us just because of that, but you’ve got to know we’re talking straight with you.”

“Let the girl go.”

Shrugging his shoulders, Zenon pulled the knife away. Irene ran from him, circling around behind D.

“I went looking for some medicine for Stanza. And then . . .”

“Go back to the others.”

Glaring at D as if he were a cold-hearted beast, the girl began to back away.

After hearing her walk out the door, D asked, “So, what’s this talk of joining forces?”

Relief skimmed across Zenon’s face.

“You’re probably here to bring us in, but we know full well the death penalty’s waiting for us. Sorry, but we’re not going back. All we can do is run. Up ahead, though, the whole area is crawling with monsters. To be honest, we couldn’t cut our way through them on our own. And then along comes you. As soon as I saw your face, I thought to myself, God must really like me. What do you say to going to the ruins with us? The freaking mercenaries won’t go into their boss’s castle unless they’re summoned. Then all we have to do is wait until help arrives from the Capital. See, that’s where me and mine will just disappear in the confusion.”

“You’d only be in the way.”

“What?”

“Two of my companions are already injured. I have no intention of picking up any more baggage.”

“Well, we’re capable of taking care of ourselves.”

“Then just go. After you leave the bank’s money, that is.”

Zenon’s expression became that of a completely different person.

“The job I took was to rescue anyone who might’ve taken shelter in the ruins. Since the supernatural soldiers have returned, their master probably lives again, too. As far as you folks are concerned, I was asked to take you down if possible and get the money back. There’s no need for us to fight.”

Zenon closed his eyes.

The hoarse voice was heard to say, “Oh, what have we here?”

His eyes still shut, Zenon said, “Well, I beg to differ.”

“Zenon?”

D dashed forward, the wind swirling in his wake. Light limned an iridescent arc. From the very start, D hadn’t needed these outlaws. His blade zipped toward the top of Zenon’s head. Impossibly, the sword was parried! When did the outlaw draw? And when did he position his sword?

Biting into the blade Zenon held up over his head, D’s sword wouldn’t move. Zenon grinned. D’s eyes gleamed. Not only were the two blades locked in combat, but the minds of the men were as well.

D pushed. Zenon pushed back. As they vied for supremacy, their power reached its zenith. Just then, D’s sword broke. The parrying sword became a blade of death, making a diagonal slash at D.

D leapt back. The tip of Zenon’s blade missed him by a hair—or so it appeared, but was that a trick of the light? In defiance of the laws of physics, the steely flash stretched . . . toward D’s shoulder. The fresh blood that gushed out was no illusion.

On landing, D saw something: the caped Zenon leaping above his head. How would D parry that?

—

III

—

A harsh sound ripped through the twilight. Reversing his blade, Zenon shot a glance at what he’d just batted down, then immediately looked at his side. An iron arrow was stuck in the ground by his feet, next to Yuri—the one who’d fired it.

“You trying to screw with me?” Zenon asked, and his voice had a ring of intoxication to it.

“No!” Yuri exclaimed in fear-fraught denial. “That’s not what I wanted to do. I was just following your orders.”

“
My
orders?”

“Yeah, though it looks like you might not remember them.”

“Yes, you’re right.” Zenon’s body suddenly grew uneasy. “I don’t remember.”

His sword limned an arc larger than itself as he swung it up toward the loft. There was a low groan, and the sound of flesh and bone being rent. Bisected at the waist, a figure fell to the ground with a bloody spray.

“Be careful—he came from above!” Yuri said, the steel string of his crossbow snapping into action. All five of the figures who’d smashed through the windows in the loft and were charging forward were then sent flying. They looked like skewered dolls.

The roof shattered. More figures rained down, along with pieces of solar panels. A number of the soldiers were sliced in two in midair by gleaming arcs, while others split in half the instant they reached the ground.

D had already leapt from the barn. As he cut across the yard, he grabbed a mattock from the ground and snapped off its iron head. He was left with a pole a little over two feet long.

Figures in gray flew down from the roof of the main house. They held pipes in their mouths.

Without seeming to move at all, D dodged the darts that flew silently at him. He thrust the pole straight out. The instant he caved one figure’s face in, he then swung his weapon around to catch five more. The force of the blows was like the impact of a sledgehammer. The figures in gray were brutally ripped apart.

Untouched by the swirling vermilion fog, D entered the main house. From his left, his right, and up ahead blow darts flew at him. The silent weapons were batted down by a single swing of D’s pole. Not giving them time for a second volley, he leapt, swinging the pole as he landed. The three supernatural soldiers were helpless as he smashed in their skulls or pierced their throats. D knew no mercy.

The Hunter bounded into the living room.

“D?” Strider said, turning where he stood in front of the sofa with a naked blade in one hand. Not only was his chest covered with blood, but his face as well. Seeing the Hunter, he planted the end of his longsword in the floor and leaned on it. A sigh of relief escaped him.

“What about the other two?” D asked.

“Stanza’s back behind the sofa. I haven’t the faintest clue about the girl. I heard voices out back, but that was all.”

“You screwed up,” the hoarse voice said. D shouldn’t have let her leave the barn.

“Time to clear out.”

Pushing the sofa over, D pressed the palm of his left hand against the nape of Stanza’s neck. A violent shudder went through her for a second, and then Stanza opened her eyes.

“D?”

“We’re surrounded. We’ll make a break for it.”

“Okay.”

Clinging to the sofa, Stanza pulled herself up. D didn’t offer to help her, and Stanza made no request for his aid. He didn’t even ask her if she could stand.

Footsteps could be heard approaching from the back door. Strider braced himself for action.

Zenon appeared, saying, “I took care of the barn and the backyard.”

He was back to his normal self.

“Whatever was possessing him has passed,” the hoarse voice said sarcastically.

“This is Strider and Stanza. They’re with me. They’re warriors,” D said by way of introduction. “As for these two—well, you know who they are, don’t you?”

“He’s Yuri Tataika, isn’t he?” Stanza said frostily.

“And the other one—yeah, I remember seeing a wanted poster for him. Zenon something or other, right?” Strider said, his voice tinged with tension and delight. His probing look became one of suspicion.

“Zack Morrowbak was killed by his friends,” said D. Ignoring the ever more suspicious looks from Strider, D told Zenon, “I have no intention of joining up with you. If you choose to follow us, that’s your business.”

The two outlaws nodded. The situation D described would leave them free to stick a knife in his back, but they knew he wasn’t the sort of young man to worry about something like that.

“Go upstairs and see what’s going on outside,” Zenon ordered Yuri.

Without a word of complaint, the crossbowman headed for the stairs.

“Now that they know we’re not pushovers, they’ll probably get to work on a plan, so we don’t have time to just hang around doing nothing. Let’s hit the road real quick. Right now, they’ll still be scattered.”

“Without any horses?” Stanza protested.

“Hell, we’ll take the family’s ride,” said Strider. “You know, the longer we flap our gums about this, the more time they’ll have to tighten their defenses!”

“Their wagon has an engine,” Zenon said. “We can put boards all around the sides to keep out the blow darts. It’ll be crude, but it might be worth a try.”

“Forget it.”

They all turned in the direction from which the voice had come. Yuri was coming down from the second floor. His body was shrouded in a white fog . . . smoke. White smoke was pouring from Yuri’s body.

“They took to the freaking air. I opened the window, and out of the blue . . .”

They could all see the blow dart stuck in Yuri.

“Damn, I’m hot! It’s gonna burn me right down to the bone. They’ve got you surrounded. You guys . . . better . . . watch it . . .”

A second later, flames enveloped Yuri from head to toe and he fell to the floor. On striking it, he crumbled into fine ash.

“Poison darts?” Strider groaned.

“You mean to tell me that from the very beginning . . . ?” Stanza said, her voice tainted with fright.

They’d been lucky.

There were faint raps against the wall. It was as if hail or something like it had begun to fall. Except the roof was silent—it wasn’t falling from the sky.

“Blow darts,” Zenon said, looking all around. White smoke was beginning to billow from the wall.

“Seems like they work on more than just living things. I don’t know if even a boarded-up wagon would do much good.”

“What’ll we do, D?”

Their eyes all focused on the young man in black. He had kept his own eyes shut. And then he looked up.

“You got a plan?” Strider asked, leaning closer.

“I’ll tell you something,” D said. His response startled them, because the words had been delivered by a hoarse voice. “God will deliver us.”

“What?”

“Our salvation is in heaven above, friends.”

They all looked up. Less than ten seconds later their eyes were back down and glaring at D, but another three seconds after that, the roof ripped open and something dropped from the raised ceiling. It was a brass communication capsule.

At this point, everyone but D first noticed the sound of an engine in the sky above.

Moving swiftly, D pulled the communication capsule from where it’d lodged in the wall by the stairs. At one end it tapered for eight inches like the tip of a harpoon. Twisting the other end opened it. Inside was a single piece of paper. As D opened it, three other pairs of eyes were trained on its surface. All of them had run over to him.

The contents were simple. Scrawled on it were the words,
Leave it to me!
The note wasn’t even signed.

Stanza coughed. Strider followed suit. The poison that was melting away the walls also had a gas component.

The ground shook. Part of the wall and ceiling caved in. It was immediately apparent what was happening. At least three of them had recently had a similar experience.

“Bombs!”

D could feel the incredible turbulence being generated outside. Those he’d sensed surrounding the house now scattered in shock.

“Here we go!” the Hunter called out, heading for the fallen wall. This was their nearest means of egress. He didn’t so much as spare a glance at the pair of warriors writhing in pain. The young man didn’t feel even a trace of fellowship with them. But then, that was understandable. They weren’t as gorgeous as D.

D never stopped until he was out of the house. Mortar-shaped craters had been left across the site and on the highway. Darkness held sway. There wasn’t a supernatural soldier to be seen anywhere.

Sparks shot up on the far side of the road. After they lent a reddish tinge to D’s face, there was a roar. Footsteps halted behind him, followed by a succession of coughs. Apparently everyone had managed to escape.

“Seems they’re on our side,” Zenon said to the Hunter.

D nodded. “There’s only the sound of one engine. Can’t be the military or a private defense unit.”

“Well, we’ll see soon enough.”

Just as Zenon spoke, there was the hum of an engine, and an object that called to mind a thick slice of ham came flying from the direction of the explosions. It was about six and a half feet in diameter and ringed by a metal handrail. It landed on the road five yards from D and the others. Judging from the way it kicked up dust and pebbles, it apparently had an engine and fan at its base.

The craft was now facing them. The figure atop it dropped the yoke-style controls and extended a set of stairs off the right side before stepping down to the ground. With what appeared to be a heavy machine gun under one arm, he came toward them. Something like a long ribbon hung from the bottom of the gun and trailed across the ground. It was an ammo belt for the machine gun.

“How’s tricks, everyone?” the man who halted before the group asked in an unguarded manner, but D alone recognized him. It was Beatrice, known for his husky voice, wild beard, and gigantic stature.

—

I

—

About a thousand yards ahead, the highway ran into the forest. After loading Stanza and Strider onto Beatrice’s “flying platform” and telling them to go on ahead, D entered the forest on foot with the outlaw. The horses Zenon and his men had stashed near the service area had been taken by the besieging forces.

They soon found a place to make camp. It was a bungalow meant to keep travelers safe through the night. Constructed of reinforced plastic, the domed building could accommodate more than twenty people, and it was equipped with baths, restrooms, medicine, food, and weapons.

Arriving at the bungalow a short time after the flying platform, D went straight into the storeroom, grabbed a longsword, and came out again. As this bungalow had been set up with Nobles and other nocturnal monstrosities in mind, there were no cheap knockoffs inside. Though the sword D chose had been mass produced, it was good enough to allow a novice to penetrate a fire dragon’s armor. And while it was a simple weapon, in D’s hands it would become the match of any of the famous swords of old.

“Get some rest,” D told Strider and Stanza, and then, putting the longsword over his shoulder, he headed for the doorway.

Just then, Beatrice stepped through the door. He’d probably been making adjustments to his flying platform. He was the one who’d spotted the bungalow from the air.

“Hey, mister,” Stanza called out to him.

“Yeah?” Beatrice responded, turning around. His hirsute face wore a lewd grin. His eyes were riveted to the lovely woman’s impressive chest.

Ignoring this, Stanza continued, “A long time ago, I saw someone who looked like you. Back in my hometown in the western Frontier—there was this Hunter who took down five Nobles in Sierra de Cobre Castle all by himself. Ever since the day he came back to the village covered in blood, they’ve lived in peace. He was incredible. Was that . . .”

“Yeah, that was me. All me,” Beatrice said, pointing a thumb at himself, his eyes gleaming.

Seeing that he could barely keep from drooling, Stanza heaved a sigh. “Guess I was mistaken.”

“Don’t be silly. I remember you, too. You know, you haven’t changed a bit. Yeah, that really takes me back.”

“That was twenty years ago. I was four.”

“Huh?” the man exclaimed, for D had grabbed his shoulder.

“I need you to stick with me for a while longer.”

At D’s words, Beatrice looked puzzled, but he quickly recovered, asking, “You want me to follow you and do a bombing run? That thing’s a clunker I pulled out of Bossage’s armory. The engine could crap out at any minute. I’ve only got a little more than twenty bombs left, and less than ten thousand rounds for the heavy machine gun. We shouldn’t use it unless we really need to.”

“Take me to the soldiers’ nearest encampment. I’ll get off nearby.”

“What for?”

“They captured a girl.”

A look of surprise was on Beatrice’s face as he stared at the handsome visage, but his cheeks quickly flushed and he diverted his gaze.

“You really don’t seem like the type to give a damn about that. So, how much is this ride worth to you?” the giant said, adding, “Come on, don’t look at me that way! When you ask for something, you’ve gotta expect to pay a price. That’s the way the world works.”

“I won’t have any complaint about you coming with us.”

“Hey, now!” Beatrice snapped, but then he got himself under control. No matter how you looked at it, there was no one you’d rather have owing you a favor than D.

“Deal. I’ll go fire up the engine.”

As the massive form returned to the darkness, D looked over his shoulder and asked, “Zenon, you coming?”

The figure leaning against the wall at one end of the room straightened up and said, “Yeah, I believe I will.”

Even before he spoke, Stanza called out, “So what are we, baggage?”

Of course, it was Strider that replied, “Drop it, Stanza. Our pretty little dhampir didn’t ask for us lowly humans. Besides, busting our humps for that spoiled little bitch isn’t worth the reward.”

Still gazing at D, Stanza lay down on the sofa and said, “You’ve got a point there. Well, I guess we’ll just take it easy, then.”

—

Twenty minutes later, the flying platform went straight up, maintaining an altitude of a hundred and fifty feet as it flew north.

“She sure laid into you,” Zenon said to Beatrice as the wry-looking giant rubbed his right cheek.

“Put a cork in it.”

“It’s all well and good to try and pick up a lady, but you should consider choosing your target a little more carefully.”

“Shut the hell up. One more peep out of you and I’m throwing you over the side!”

Beatrice’s cheek bore the discolored remnants of a slap. It was unclear quite what he was thinking when he’d followed Stanza to the bathroom and tried to make a pass at her, earning himself one of her best shots. Stanza had indignantly recounted the incident, earning Beatrice laughter and scornful looks from the rest of the group.

“It doesn’t make a sound,” D remarked.

“No. The muffler seems to be the only thing in perfect shape. Runs pretty well for a thirty-year-old piece of secondhand equipment. It was probably built for espionage.”

“Does it have a bombing system?”

“Unfortunately, that’s done manually. Just sight your target and chuck a bomb,” Beatrice said, tossing his chin at the iron box secured to the floor on his right. To his left, the heavy machine gun sat on its mount. Below it was a tin box full of ammo.

Eyeing both armaments, Zenon said, “I see you’ve got hand grenades, too.”

“That’s what they look like, but they’re bombs. The gunpowder charge isn’t the same. Stay within the kind of range you use with grenades, and you’ll blow yourself to hell too. Which reminds me, D,” he said to the Hunter, “you got some particular reason for asking only this guy along?”

Beatrice wasn’t a pilot, after all, but rather a warrior.

Still facing straight ahead, D replied, “Because he’s not alone.”

“Come again?”

“Allow me to explain,” Zenon said, positioning himself in the pair’s field of view. “Inside me, there’s more than one of me. The doctors say I have multiple personality disorder. Most of the time,
I’m
out in the world, but sometimes the
other
me takes my place. And that other me is a swordsman who’s every bit as good as the great D.”

“Come on, now!” Beatrice protested.

Looking at D, Zenon tilted his head to one side.

“He’s right,” the Hunter said.

Suddenly, their craft pitched to the right. It came as no surprise that none of them cried out, but the way they clung to the handrail was almost comical.

The flying platform quickly returned to normal, and Beatrice cursed, “Son of a bitch! Don’t startle me like that! You made me put a little too much power into my hand. What are we supposed to do if we crash?”

This remark left the other two dumbstruck.

After gripping the controls in silence for a while, Beatrice turned to Zenon and said, “You know, for someone with something inside him that can top D, you seem pretty normal.”

“I am, when
I’m
in control,” Zenon replied. “But he’s stronger than I am. He can push right by me if he wants. And when he does, there’s not a damned thing I can do about it.”

“So, do you remember what happens while he’s in charge?”

“If I did, I might not feel so bad.”

“You don’t say,” Beatrice remarked, a gleam of curiosity filling his eyes. He loved gossip.

“That fucker’s a homicidal maniac. He’s the cruelest, most evil creature I know of. They say people are born a blank canvas, and they can take whatever colors they like, but that’s bullshit. He’s rotten to the core, a kind of pure evil that shouldn’t exist in this world.”

Exasperated, Zenon struck his fist against his chest, continuing, “Right here. That’s where he is. I know how he works. He’s cut the head off a little kid who was walking by, for no reason at all. He’s busted in on some family he didn’t even know and murdered them all. When he’s out of money he knocks over a bank, and if he’s feeling horny he takes a woman. And on top of it all, he must be . . .”

Zenon’s voice rapidly dwindled. His free hand gripped the handrail, and his head hung low.

“Sorry, it’s just that sometimes . . .”

“Don’t sweat it,” Beatrice reassured him, without conviction. “Everybody’s got a thing or two bugging ’em. I suppose your troubles are just a little too big. Now, this might be a dumb question, but if it bothers you so much, why haven’t you just ended it all?” A second later, the bearded warrior gasped and said, “We’re there.”

Beneath them, countless lights flickered. Judging from the size of the area they covered, this was clearly an army encampment.

“I’ll set you down as close as I can,” Beatrice said, pushing the yoke forward.

The wind generated by the craft’s descent battered D’s face. But his ears caught a sound.

“You asked why I hadn’t chosen to die?”

The voice was Zenon’s. However, it wasn’t the Zenon he knew.

“I’ll tell you why. Because no place could possibly be more fun than this world!”

At the outlaw’s hip, a blade raced from its sheath with a gleam that was blinding in the darkness of the night. D drew, as well. Both swords caught the moonlight.

“Hey, remember where we are!” Beatrice reprimanded them. “Save it till you get off. You wanna die in a crash or something?”

“You stood up to one of my blows—and you don’t even have a scar from it. I’ve been waiting for a man like you.”

The corners of Zenon’s lips rose in a smile. Not a word of what Beatrice said had gotten through to him.

“I’m overjoyed, D! Now we’ll finish this.”

Naturally, D wasn’t someone to back down, either. Shifting his freshly drawn sword in front of his chest, he held it perfectly horizontal.

Zenon grinned, saying, “I broke your sword. So now you’ll try to break mine?”

The outlaw held his sword pointed directly at the Hunter, and then gradually brought it over to the right and raised it high—he wasn’t about to decline D’s invitation.

The flying platform continued to sink, with the howling wind reigning over the craft. Amidst that whistling, a low, strong voice said, “You’re not alive, are you?”

A second later, the sword was swung down from its high position without a single word. Locking together with the horizontal blade rising from below, it sent harsh sparks shooting into the darkness.

A powerful impact sent the three men and their vehicle flying to the right. Only Beatrice, clinging to the controls, remained on board. Not making a sound, the other two figures sailed through the darkness and out of sight. The outcome of their deadly encounter was unknown.

—

II

—

Irene awoke in darkness. It was on account of this that she had to wonder at first if she was dreaming. Up until now she’d never experienced complete and utter darkness, devoid of even a speck of light. So long as one was in the human world, there was always some light, even under the harshest natural conditions. Or something like light, to be more accurate. Maybe it was the spirit of humans and beasts that lived in the dark, or perhaps it was hope.

But now Irene couldn’t see anything. Nor was there a breeze. In other words, she was in a completely enclosed space. All she could tell was that the floor was made of stone.

Anxiety had an iron grip on Irene’s chest. As a girl who lived on the Frontier, she had a good deal of nerve, but she was powerless against memories carved into her DNA—the fear of being in the pitch blackness, with none of your own kind, abducted by something that wasn’t human. Knowing that it was your turn next.

The hairs on my arms are standing on end
, Irene thought.
I’m scared. But now that I recognize that, isn’t there some way I can master my fear?

She quickly recalled what’d happened at the farmhouse. She’d left the barn and was running back to the main house when she felt a sharp pain in the nape of her neck. Unfortunately, everything after that had faded into black.

It finally occurred to her to wonder whether anything had been done to her, but after some checking she discovered nothing out of the ordinary. Not only was her body unharmed, but even her clothes were just as they’d been. And both her hands and her feet were unfettered.

As her hands felt along her body, they touched something hard by her right hip. It felt like wood and iron—a pistol. The enemy hadn’t taken away the weapon she’d been given back at the subterranean bunker.

A boundless relief spread through every inch of the girl. Wrapping her hand around the wooden grip, she pulled the gun out of her belt and felt the serious weight of the iron.

“Well, this should be good for something,” Irene murmured.

“I wonder about that,” said an antiquated, masculine voice right in front of her. It couldn’t have been more than a foot away.

Pure terror froze the girl as she realized there was someone standing in front of her. She had no idea how long the man had been there. Though she couldn’t hear him breathing or sense
his presence, he was right there, and he probably wasn’t friendly. She knew this the second she heard the voice. It’d sounded
cruel, scornful, overbearing, and more than anything else, famished.