Record of the Blood Battle (16 page)

The woman who’d escorted her left, and when she’d finished getting changed, a different middle-aged woman in garish makeup appeared, saying, “You have a customer. I’m surprised. He says he heard about the auction.”

“But I still don’t know anything.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. A woman’s born knowing right off the bat how to please a man. Now, get out there and make some money.”

“Yes, ma’am!” Leda replied with the aplomb of a seasoned professional, following the woman to a waiting room.

On seeing her customer, Leda froze in her tracks.

—

“Lord Begley, what are you doing here?” the baron cried out. He stopped, shocked. “Your expression—it’s one unique to those who’ve undergone brain surgery. What in the world happened to you?”

Perhaps overwhelmed by the sight of an acquaintance from five thousand years ago in such a pitiful state, the baron stepped closer without thinking and grabbed the other man by the shoulder. The man’s clothes were in tatters, he had a long beard, and there was a hard clanking down at his feet. His limbs were secured to the floor by long chains.

“Who could do such a thing to a Nobleman famed for his unrivaled courage? You’ll pay for this, you human scum!”

Once again, his words acted as a trigger. The world filled with dazzling light. Shrill laughter echoed from somewhere in the lofty ceiling. Android servants—or
servoids
, as they were known—were clustered about an old woman who stood by the door. Her long gown had countless gemstones stitched to it.

“You have terrible taste, you old crone. Release the two of us immediately, wretch. Lord Begley needs a doctor—no, I shall see to his care personally!”

“Welcome to my mansion,” the old woman said in a frightfully hoarse voice. “I’ve collected so many things. However, at long last I have a second Noble. I’ll be able to vent my animosity on you for another century.”

“A century?” the baron said, his eyes narrowing, and then they opened preposterously wide as he jumped up. “You’ve kept Lord Begley like this . . . for a century? A miserable human like you? What ill will . . . do you bear
him
?”

He was so angry, he had trouble even speaking, and steam rose from his bald head. But a cool voice chilled him off.

“He receives such treatment because he’s a Noble. Ah, leave it to the Nobility! You can do things to them that would kill a human being a thousand times over, yet they regenerate without a problem. How wonderful that is, and how horrible.”

The baron grew red as a boiled octopus. “Damn you, I’ll get you for that!” he cried, and he was just about to charge at the old woman when a thin arm wrapped around his neck from behind. “Lo-Lord Begley?” the baron stammered, and as his shocked face swiftly flushed, blood began to drip from his nostrils.

“That will do,” the old woman said, stopping Begley. “He’s going to take your place entertaining me for the next century. Step aside, now.”

The arm came away, and the baron, now free, put his hand to his throat and coughed. A pale blue light flashed around him. His nose was assailed by the smell of ions and air seared by a jolt of high voltage. The electrical discharge bays in the servoids’ chests were open. Lord Begley writhed in the flames and black smoke. Jolts of electricity continued to strike him.

“Please, don’t hold this against me,” the old woman said almost in a whisper. “I think it safe to say Lord Begley doesn’t hold it against me.”

“What did he do?” the baron shouted. “And next, it’s to be me? What did I ever do to you?”

“You do know what the Nobility did to human beings, don’t you?” the old woman asked in return.

She quickly got her answer.

“Because we treated you like slaves? What was wrong with that? That was our relationship, wasn’t it? Your kind didn’t complain about it. At least, not five thousand years ago.”

Beneath swollen eyelids, the old woman blinked almost imperceptible eyes. “Five thousand years?”

“That’s right. I’ve been asleep for the last five millennia. However, I can imagine what happened in the interim. But no matter what that was, isn’t five thousand years enough water under the bridge?”

The old woman laughed thinly. “Oh, five thousand years? For your answer, kindly watch this.”

Suddenly, the area around the baron was enveloped in flames. The gloom changed—to darkness! To the left and to the right, figures were fleeing. Humans. Some were alone, some were men holding their children by the hand, or women clutching babies close. The sound of heavy breathing rang in the baron’s ears, and the swirling night winds buffeted his cheeks. He wasn’t in the vast chamber. In the heavens, the nearly full moon shone, and when he focused his gaze, he could make out burning houses and the outline of a castle’s walls in the distance. The screams of the women and shouts of the men made the baron cringe.

A party of black riders and steeds cut in front of him.

What’s this?

As the baron stood frozen in place, just before him the tip of a lance reflected the moonlight. The shadowy figures landed amid the fleeing people. Skewering one after another like beef kebabs, they hoisted the impaled people into the air on their lances. The baron saw a crimson mist scattering in the darkness. Right in front of him a black steed halted, and a particularly large rider looked down at him. The rider took the shape he held with his left hand and brought it up to his mouth. Lifting his helm as if to allow the baron to see him and then focusing his gaze, he quickly wheeled his horse around.

“Wait . . .”

The baron had taken a step forward when a small figure was thrown down at his feet. The corpse of a boy who looked to be three or four years old. His neck had been bitten halfway through.

Stillness returned.

He was back in the same room.

“Do you still believe five thousand years is long enough for our rancor to fade?” the old woman asked, her tone enough to make the baron stand bolt upright.

“I don’t know how the world is at present. But five millennia ago, that was normal. Who are you, anyway? You may be old, but I don’t think you’ve lived five thousand years.”

“I may not have lived five thousand years, but our hatred survives. I have inherited the task of making the Nobility taste that hatred.”

“You know, I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. Holding onto a petty curse and keeping it alive for five millennia—you humans are such dark creatures. Hell, we should’ve destroyed the lot of you!”

“Silence!” the old woman commanded, raising her right hand.

A number of points of light formed in the darkness. From them, streaks of light pierced the immobilized form of Lord Begley. Though they were fainter and weaker than the servoids’ electrical discharge, they hurt the lord a million times worse. His clothes burst into flames, and his flesh melted.

It was sunlight.

The baron threw himself on top of the writhing, melting Nobleman to shield him.

“Would you stop it already? When did you capture him? How many years must you torment him before you’re satisfied? Just think of it—he’s immortal. That means he’ll feel that pain for all eternity. Your kind were killed quickly, without having to suffer much at all. Give me a stake. Let me put him out of his misery once and for all.”

The old woman didn’t smile. The look she gave the baron was a strange one. “You’re right . . . Perhaps it has been too long.”

The baron’s eyes widened as he gazed at the old woman. A pale, three-foot-long stake had been dropped at his feet. As the baron was bending over to pick it up, the woman said, “Please, don’t.”

She stepped forward and picked it up instead. Raising it high, she said, “I shall dispose of him.”

She walked over to the lord with a gait so smooth it didn’t seem that of an elderly woman. Black smoke and little flames still covered his upper body, but she took aim directly at his heart.

“Let’s put an end to this now. Farewell, Lord!”

She drove the stake forward.

—

III

—

The finely honed tip was caught between iron-like fingers and jerked aside. In the blink of an eye, the old woman was held fast in a man’s arms.

“Lord Begley?” she cried out in astonishment. The baron hadn’t moved.

The stake was held horizontally and pressed against the side of the old woman’s throat like a door bolt sliding closed, and a wicked grin formed on a pair of lips, revealing fangs—those of Lord Begley. The lord laughed aloud. Bordering on insane—but most certainly
not
crazy—his howling laughter shook that world of gloom.

“Lord Begley, my good man, you were in your right mind all along?”

“Ah, my friend, I remember you well. Have the years been kind to you, Baron Macula?”

“I’ve managed to get by. It pleases me to no end to meet you here. Why, I feel like I have a legion of men to support me now.”

“Ha, ha! As always, you’re a timid man, depending on others. But wait. Before you and I can begin five thousand years of prosperity, I shall rid myself of five millennia of animosity.”

“What do you mean?”

“Once I’ve torn this woman limb from limb, we shall take this insipid little estate for our own and begin conquering the surrounding area.”

“Oh, Lord, I don’t think that would be very . . .”

Eyes ablaze with flaming vengeance shot right through the baron.

“Do you have some objection?”

The baron recoiled, saying, “No, not at all. Well, actually, a little bit.”

“What is it?”

“I wonder if the lowly humans might not have fairly good reasons for hating us.”

Lord Begley had nothing to say to that.

“Don’t get me wrong. What I’m trying to say is—couldn’t both sides let it go already?”

As the baron was wringing his hands, Lord Begley gazed at him with eyes filled with scorn. “It was five thousand, three hundred long years ago that their kind attacked me while I slept and took me captive. From that day till this, I’ve been their plaything. I, who controlled seventy percent of the northern manors, a toy for the likes of humans! Can you fathom the humiliation of that?”

“O-of course.”

“How could you understand? Are you
me
?”

“No need to twist my words.”

“Then keep your unwarranted comments to yourself. For more than five thousand years, I’ve had stakes driven into my limbs, sunlight burning my face, and acid dissolving my flesh and bones just for their amusement. My manors were all burned, reduced to ashes. My daughter, my son, and my retainers were all destroyed. If it were you, what would you do now? Would you make peace with the humans as if nothing at all had happened?”

“I don’t suppose I could.”

The old woman’s body twisted and squirmed. “That was because you slaughtered people,” she said. “For no reason at all, you carried off girls from the village to use in cruel experiments, and when their families tried to stop you, they were viciously murdered.”

“Such is the proper relationship between the Nobility and the human race.”

The tip of the stake sank into the old woman’s chest, making fresh blood drip from it. She cried out as if the sounds were being crushed from her.

“That’s not . . . I mean . . .” the baron said in haste. “When you think about it, both sides are to blame, aren’t they? In this case, we need to make some concessions—let’s reach a compromise.”

“We cannot,” the lord said in a tone so severe it froze the hall. “I’ll hear no more of your interruptions, weakling. First, for the woman—watch as I show her what it really means to tear someone limb from limb.”

Lord Begley raised the stake. The baron witnessed the death throes of the writhing old woman as she was run through the heart.

“Arrrrrgh!” echoed a beastly cry of anguish. Lord Begley was trying to adjust his grip on the stake but the Noble never finished the task, with the weapon falling from his trembling fingers. A needle of rough wood stuck through the back of his hand and out through his palm. Eyes gleaming red with malice, Lord Begley turned. He still showed no signs of releasing the old woman.

Three figures stood there in the gloom. Two were short—a boy and a girl—but the tall one was exquisite. Even in silhouette.

“Who in blazes are you?” Lord Begley inquired, baring his teeth.

“D,” the figure said, stepping forward. His right hand reached for the hilt of the longsword that adorned his back.

Though Lord Begley focused bloodshot eyes on his new foe, his expression warped unexpectedly. “What a strange presence I sense. I know of only one other like it. But that is . . .
the great one’s
. . .”

He backed away. Shock colored his unsightly face. His hands fell, drained of strength, and the old woman was dropped then and there.

“I have heard things. It was . . . from you, Macula . . . And I only laughed. However . . . it was the truth . . . was it?”

Without making a sound, the vision of beauty came right up to the lord.

Stooping down, the lord picked up the long stake.

“Could it be? Could you be
his
, my lord?”

He held the stake up over his head with both hands, but it was chopped in half by the Hunter’s sword. The face of the Noble who’d been tortured by humans for five millennia was split down to the chin, and a heartbeat later a horizontal swipe of the blade danced through the air.

Not even glancing at the body that sprayed a fountain of blood as it thudded to the floor, D went over to the old woman and knelt by her side. The smaller figures—Leda and Piron—rushed over, too. The two had been reunited thanks to D. He had been Leda’s customer back at the bordello—and Piron was with him.

“Are you okay, lady?”

At Leda’s query, the old woman opened her eyes and slowly shook her head. “It’s my heart . . . I’m not long for this world, now. What of the Noble?”

Spying the ash-gray mound of dust spread across the floor, Piron said, “He’s gone.”

“Really? That’s for the best . . . I really didn’t care for . . . what I did . . . to him.”

“Is that so?” the baron cried out in surprise.

“Even if he was a Noble . . . it’s not like he did anything terrible . . . to me. It’s merely that since long before I was born . . . he was in our house . . . And torturing him . . . was my job.”

“Wow . . .” Leda and Piron mumbled, their expressions dazed.

“Then why’d this go on for
five thousand years
?”

“From animosity . . . Just as he said . . . I was controlled . . . by pure animosity . . . Strangely enough, I didn’t hate him . . . But somehow . . . I did those things . . .”

The baron heaved a long sigh.

“Please believe me . . . I . . . wanted to stop . . . But I couldn’t . . . Thinking back on it . . . it was anger over the people he’d killed . . . But that’s over now . . . Now I can rest at last . . . and he can . . . too . . . A grave . . . has been prepared . . . in the garden out back . . . Bury me there . . . and him . . . together.”

That was all the old woman said before closing her mouth. After a short while, a rasping breath escaped her, a great shudder passed through her body, and the old woman was freed from the cares of the world.

No one moved. Not a word was said.

D turned his back to them, saying, “Let’s go.” Whether that was directed at the baron or Leda was unclear.

The trio was rooted there, unable to do anything, but when they finally did follow after him, the form of the gorgeous Hunter melted away in the darkness.

—

A pair of cyborg horses and an elegant carriage were waiting by the mansion’s foyer. While D was switching off the servoids, Piron and Leda had brought them from the stables.

Climbing onto one of the steeds and riding out into the light, the baron looked up at the sun and groaned, “Damn, it’s bright. Perhaps brightness is all there is to this world.”

“The same thing goes for the dark,” Leda spat. Then, in a soft, earnest tone she continued, “Maybe they’re the same. Maybe humans and Nobles are, too.”

The baron fell silent. As did Piron, and D.

When they reached the gate, Leda halted the carriage. “We’re going back to Toro. We’ll try to make a living there.”

“Good journey to you,” the baron said.

D merely gave them a small nod.

Pulling a face, Leda stuck her tongue out at the Nobleman. “I hope we meet again some day,” the girl said, looking down at the ground. Her words were directed at D.

D’s lips moved. Perhaps he’d even smiled.

“I almost forgot. Here!” Piron cried, reaching under the carriage seat and pulling out something that he threw to the baron. It was his leather satchel, which had been reclaimed from the desert Hunters on the way there.

“Off we go!” Leda nodded, cracking the reins. Drawn by a pair of horses, the carriage sped off toward town.

By Leda’s side, Piron—who’d remained silent since they left—stood up and waved one arm with great, sweeping gestures. “See you later, little bald baron and cool dhampir!”

“Little shit,” the baron cursed, but for some reason his voice was rather weak. It was time to say goodbye.