Record of the Blood Battle (18 page)

“A threat? They’d blow up a whole hotel just for that?”

“Their hatred runs deep, and the whole town’s in on it,” the hoarse voice replied in amazement.

“Our lodgings are gone. Want to go back to the sheriff’s office?”

No sooner had D spoken than a voice from behind him called out, “Hey, bro!”

A familiar face was hustling down the sidewalk. Apparently he’d been in the casino. It was the hairless fatty Tong, and between him and the powerfully built Galil was Delilah, with her blazing red hair.

“Out of the blue, it was like
ka-boom
! You okay?” Tong inquired, the words bubbling out of him.

“I’ll survive,” D replied, his tone as curt as ever, but there was a little sense of warmth in there somewhere.

“You might be fine, but what about the little bald Nobleman? Oh, there’s a good boy.”

Galil was reaching to pat him on the head, but the baron batted the man’s hand away, saying, “I don’t believe I need to allow filthy Hunters like the lot of you to touch my person. Back, lowly humans. Back, I say!”

“Still short on everything but hot air, I see, Mr. Greater Noble,” Delilah said, blowing him a kiss.

“Were you headed to that hotel?” Galil asked, giving a toss of his chin to the black smoke and flames of the building.

“That’s right,” said the hoarse voice.

Though the trio looked shocked at first, they accepted it soon enough.

“We got here yesterday and have been hearing a lot of things. Seems you’ve jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire, eh?”

“A tiny nation that sank into the sea apparently had a saying about that:
Like moths to a flame
.”

“At any rate, I think that was meant to piss you off. Got someplace to stay?” Tong asked with a grin.

“Back that way.”

On seeing the direction D’s face was turned, a different voice said, “With the sheriff? The jail’s not all that hospitable. Come along with us.” Mikado seemed to bulldoze his way through his three compatriots, continuing, “That bar over there’s got a hotel on the second floor. Pretty nice rooms.”

“Think I’ll pass.”

“Why? We’re guests there. The hotel folks won’t give us any trouble.”

“I’d better not,” D said, stepping down from the sidewalk and getting back on his cyborg horse.

The baron stood with arms akimbo, whining like a spoiled child, “No! I want to stay in the hotel!”

The Hunter gave him a look. The glint in his eye deflated the baron like a balloon, and the Noble walked dejectedly back to his own cyborg horse and mounted up.

“Hey, the trial’s tomorrow, right? What do you say to joining us for a drink once the bald shrimp’s been thrown in the slammer?” Tong suggested.

“Yeah, come on. Let’s have a drink together,” Delilah added.

D was already riding away. After his steed had taken two or three steps, the Hunter’s left hand went up. That was his answer.

As the warriors, male and female, looked on, D and the baron rode away.

“So, the whole town’s against them?” Mikado murmured. “He’s all on his own, just like usual.”

“But it suits him. That kind of blood-chilling solitude fits the man.”

The men nodded in unison at Delilah’s words.

In a strangely pensive tone, Galil added, “You said it. But I’d never wanna be like that. I’d rather die first.”

There was no reply. Not even nods. There was no need.

“Head back now?” Mikado suggested, turning. And then he stopped.

A few yards away, there stood three figures.

“Looks like it’s the competition,” Mikado said, grinning.

“What’s your business?” someone asked.

—

Perhaps due to the sheriff being there with them, no one lobbed any bombs into the office, and D and the baron lived to see the next day. The circuit court was set up in a hall on the edge of town.

“I suppose they’ll give me a lawyer,” the baron mused, unable to think of anything else after returning to the office the night before.

“Don’t worry. There are lawyers attached to the court. Seems they can vary wildly in ability, though. If it’s representation you need, we’ve got a lawyer here in town, but he’s kind of pricey at a thousand dalas a day. Also, I don’t think he’d take a Noble for a client. You in particular would be on the shit list.”

“Sheesh . . . Then what am I . . .”

The sheriff brought the edge of his hand down on the back of his neck with a chopping motion, then balled the same hand over his heart.

“Shit, they’ll take my head off and put a stake through my heart? Damn it all . . . That’s about as certain a death as you can get.”

“Well, good luck. A carriage will escort you to the court. I’ll be along, too, so relax. Although if pretty boy there is around, I’m not likely to be needed,” the sheriff said, seeming to have quite a good grasp of the situation.

The circuit court consisted of a judge, prosecutors, public defenders, a clerk, and one additional person who handled assorted duties. Ordinarily the clerk would receive lawsuits from the area they were visiting and relay them to the judge, then divide the plaintiffs and defendants among the prosecutors and public defenders. When pleading a case to the clerk, all pertinent physical evidence had to be provided, because the time allotted to a case, from the start of the trial to the end of sentencing, was limited to less than an hour. It was safe to say that the trial hinged on this evidence.

This time, the only case on the docket concerned the baron. The plaintiffs were the families of the children abducted five thousand years earlier by the baron or those acting on his behalf, and also the descendants of those families. The evidence consisted of R-disks from more than five thousand years earlier that contained footage and taped testimony by people who had been there.

When the brutal deeds of Lord Begley and other Nobles acting on the baron’s behalf were projected in the air, the spectators filling the hall fell silent, and then the sobbing began. Assemblymen, town workers, bankers, saloon owners, casino and hotel operators, the butcher, the baker, students, the sword fighting instructor, the owners of the general store and thrift shop, teachers, housewives—the eyes of all of them were mad with loathing.

As D was leaning back against one wall in the same gallery, his left hand said in a low voice, “Now this is what I call being surrounded by enemies. No matter how much of a fight he puts up, he’ll get the death penalty for sure. What are you gonna do?”

“Nothing,” D replied.

The baron had promised him that no matter what the outcome of the trial, when he was returned to his cell, he would tell the Hunter the whereabouts of the Sacred Ancestor.

“So, is the defense up next?”

Well out of range of the hoarse voice, the public defender got to his feet and in a much raspier tone stated that more than five thousand years ago the Nobility were far from being emotionally mature, not knowing how to contain their own cruelty, and that in light of the relationship between the Nobility and human beings at the time, there were even some humans that admitted such actions were unavoidable. He explained that, with that in mind, he hoped they would make allowances for those circumstances and show human mercy when sentencing him. Though unenthusiastic, the graying, middle-aged public defender actually turned out to be quite an eloquent lawyer.

Once both sides had finished presenting their cases, the judge turned to the baron and asked if he had anything he’d like to say in conclusion.

“I most certainly do!” the baron responded, rising from the counsel table and beginning a fervent speech.

“Just who do you bastards think I am, anyway? I am the one and only Baron Alpulup Macula, a member of the Greater Nobility known far and wide five thousand years ago. Indeed, at that time I had your ancestors abducted, snatched from their homes. I will admit that. However, my purpose wasn’t the simple drinking of blood or shameless fulfillment of sexual desires you’ve just conjectured. I sought to investigate the immense possibility that lay between mankind and the Nobility. Those who were taken from you never came back. I recognize that. But I never once disregarded their wishes. I told all of them about my grand purpose, then let them decide for themselves whether or not they would sacrifice themselves toward that end. If they said no, I intended to promptly return them to their families. All of them were good enough to agree. The proof of that is the fact that not one of them ever returned. You see, their young brains, their spirits, their very souls understood the thrust of my experiments, so they cooperated. To put it another way, the very act of holding a trial of this sort denigrates not only myself, but them as well. Don’t you see that, you bloody imbeciles?”

Before he’d finished that final tirade, a gunshot rang out, and the baron reeled back, clutching his chest.

—

III

—

“This is payback!” one of the people in the gallery shouted, a pistol in hand.

The guards rushed toward him, but another report echoed from elsewhere in the hall, carrying away a quarter of the baron’s head. That man, too, shouted about payback.

An arrow whistled through the air, jabbing into the baron’s abdomen, and a man with a hatchet leapt forward, only to be headed off by a guard.

“Order in the court! Order!”

The judge pounded his wooden gavel, and the guards stopped what they were doing, but the people were now a mob that left their seats and pressed toward the baron.

Thunder boomed.

The people froze, no longer an unruly mob but spectators in the gallery once more.

“Order in the court!”

Having just discharged both enormous barrels of his shotgun into the ceiling, the judge ordered everyone to sit down again.

“Nice going,” the hoarse voice whispered.

As if he’d heard the voice, the judge turned to D and said, “According to the documents the sheriff provided, it seems you’re the one who brought the defendant all this way. You even hired on as his guard. Why, then, didn’t you do anything just now?”

“Guns don’t work on him. He can dodge arrows.”

A rumble of voices stirred the murderous air, but even that was absorbed by the voice of darkness.

“Also, because we have you here, Judge.”

“Hmm. You’re an excellent judge of character, I see,” the judge said, nodding. “From the more-than-human look of your face, I take it you’re a dhampir. If you weren’t, you couldn’t escort a Noble here all by yourself. So I have a question for you: What do
you
make of this case?”

D stood up.

People who’d frozen at the first mention of the word “dhampir” now quivered with rapture. They had seen D’s face for the first time.

“I have no intention of defending his actions,” D said.

“
What?
” the baron exclaimed just as he was pulling the arrow out of his own abdomen, his eyes bulging in their sockets. Ninety percent of what’d been blown away from his head had already regenerated.

D looked over the spectators.

“The person who shouted about getting payback from the defendant—payback for whom, tell me.”

Eyes like a winter’s night bored through the first man to attack. The man remained silent.

“And the next?”

Even as the second one stood enraptured, he showed signs of poring over his memories. He quickly shrugged his shoulders.

“Next?”

“Next?”

“Next?”

Not one of them could give him a single name.

“There are those who have a right to hate, and those who don’t,” D told them stoically. “All you have is anger and spite.”

There in the gallery, even the sound of breathing had been stilled.

Presently, the judge announced, “We find the defendant guilty. He’s sentenced to one hundred thousand years in the Capital’s antimatter prison—however, I grant a stay of five years’ time before he begins serving his sentence.”

There was surprisingly little booing from the spectator gallery.

“We’ve got trouble here,” the hoarse voice murmured. “If they’d thrown the book at him, that would’ve been one thing, but letting him off with a light sentence is practically inviting this mob to lynch him instead. Watch for it any minute now.”

—

It was an hour after the trial’s ending that the paperwork was finished and they exited the courthouse.

When the baron got into the carriage, the sheriff slapped him on the shoulder and said to him, “I don’t know whether you’ve got the best luck in the world or the worst.”

The carriage started off. In addition to D and the baron, it carried the sheriff and two guards. Two more guards were up on the coachman’s perch.

Before five seconds had passed, D said, “Town’s in the opposite direction.”

“What?” the sheriff exclaimed as he got to his feet, and through the window beside him the upside-down face of one of the guards peeked in. “What’s going on?” he asked the man.

“It’s weird. The horses are doing their own thing—they won’t mind us at all.”

The sheriff was about to say something when D laid his hand on the lawman’s shoulder, stopping him.

“What’s up ahead?” the Hunter asked the guard.

“Not a thing,” the man replied flatly.

The guard pulled himself back up.

Gazing out the window, the sheriff said, “The horses are under a spell. Should we bail out? The Noble would probably be fine.”

“Let’s just keep going.”

Listening to this exchange, the baron went pale. “What are you
talking
about? I’m gonna make a jump for it!”

“Get out and they’ll still come after you,” D said. “We’ve got to finish this.”

“No way!”

The baron was still ready to leap out, but D pulled him back, forced him to sit, and took a seat right next to him.

After about ten minutes, the carriage came to a halt. They were out in the middle of the wasteland. Yellow earth spread without end in all directions.

Sticking his head out the window, the sheriff asked, “See anything?”

There was no reply.

Going over to the door, D told them, “Stay in here,” then left like a black wind.