Disclaimer: Neither Vampire Hunter D nor The Little Vampire belong to me. I am making no money from this fanfiction, and all recognizable characters, events, and locations belong to their respective copyright holders. All original characters, etc. belong to ISJ, and are not to be used without my permission.

Yes, so the first chapter was boring. It gets better, promise. Thanks for reading!

Slainte!

ISJ

Chapter 2

"If you don't get a job soon, idiot, you'll be out of supplies, and then where will I be? Knowing you, it's unlikely--you should have taken a left back there--that you'll do the noble and self-sacrificing thing, and cut me off before you starve or dehydrate,--do you know where you're going?--thus leaving me with a snowball's chance of living to see the next century. And you know I was looking forward to it. Are you listening to me? I said, you need to find work. Just...look for a village that's infested, or something. Somebody'll be willing to cough up some cash if you'll just...where in the name of Dracula are we?"

There was still no answer from up top, so Left Hand sniffed the air, less than delicately, and squinted his empty black eyes to try and get a better look at the surroundings. Not an easy task, with a thick leather rein-strap pressed against your face.

"Let me up, I want to get a look around," he commanded croakily. For a moment, he thought his host was not going to comply, and then the man shifted and the muscles in his arm tensed as he let go the rein and upturned his palm.

"Thank you." A somewhat squashed-looking face became more defined, eyes staring from the skin usually reserved for the creases of the palm. The wrinkled mouth, close to the heel of the long, pale hand, twisted in confusion as the nose-slits flared, taking in an unfamiliar scent.

Dry desert stretched away into the distance, pockmarked surface shimmering in midday heat. Scraggly bushes and tough, dying grass barely relieved the rocky, scorched ground. Far away, Left Hand could just make out the unevenness in the horizon that meant a city, and farther on down the road a crumbling overpass shadowed the pale, packed earth of the old highway.

Left Hand did not recognize the area, and the strange, alien tang of...something in the air gave him pause. But nothing about the landscape was unique or remarkable. Most of the world looked like this now. Left Hand could remember well the days when land such as this would be crowded with resting-houses and uneven with hundreds of little mounds that signified resting dhampires. Nightscapes would literally swarm with vampires crawling and lurking across the deserts, ravaging towns as they went, overlords spawning dozens of new brood in a single night.

Now, all the moon ever revealed were deserts as silent and still and empty as this one. So few of the children of the night remained, they could not afford to run about in the open anymore. They all hid themselves, cloistered in the last remaining strongholds of their kind, difficult to find and, unfortunately for vampire-hunters, rarely venturing out to cause havoc. And, if there was no havoc, there were no job offers, and thus no money for food.

While the lack of funds seemed not to bother the hunter who hosted the talking parasite, Left Hand was quite unhappy about the situation. There'd been no offer of work for nearly five years, now. It wasn't that there weren't any vampires to be destroyed; it was that the few who remained were behaving themselves. Bad news for those who depended upon vampire-mischief to make a living.

The fifteen million dollar bounty upon which Left Hand's host had been living was very nearly depleted. That city in the distance could be their last ever stop for supplies, unless someone there needed a vampire hunter.

"It's, what, close to one o'clock?" Left Hand asked the hunter as his prune- like face was one again forced to endure the chafing leather rein. The black cyborg horse's tack creaked and jangled faintly as the hunter clicked his tongue to move on. "You should stop beneath that overpass until the sun starts to go down."

As expected, there was no reply.

"Why do you think the vamps are so quiet, nowadays?" Left Hand wondered, only half to the hunter. It was a question that had been bothering him for the better part of three years, one he'd once or twice asked his host, who had known little enough himself. When no sort of answer, not even a grunt, was forthcoming, Left Hand squirmed a bit. The hunter generally answered direct questions that weren't complaints. "D?"

At the sound of his name, the hunter moved slightly in the saddle, trying to settle more comfortably, but still said nothing. Left Hand grew impatient. "D, I asked you a question. At least snort at me or "hmm" or something."

As sometimes confused others when they first heard of the famous vampire hunter D, the letter was not an initial. It was the only name he'd ever known. According to Left Hand, D's father had not been the one responsible for it, as he'd been satisfied enough to simply call his offspring "boy," probably as a means of keeping the child distant from himself. Left Hand had once told D that it was his mother's doing. She'd wanted to give him a name but the father wouldn't have it, so she'd compromised. The "D" could stand for any number of things, among them D's father's name or the first letter of the word dhampire, though either of these seemed unlikely to be chosen by a young human woman for her son. In this, D had long suspected his infamous father had had a hand in the choosing. Few creatures were more vain than vampires, especially vampire overlords; given the chance at passing on a namesake, D guessed his father had indulged this vanity and tacked the first letter of his name onto his half-breed son.

D was quite tempted to snort at Left Hand and leave it at that. He could almost swear that parasite was growing more annoying every year. But, finally, he adjusted his hat to shadow his pale, thin face and replied, "You know as much as I do."

"Hmph...well, you know what I think. If I know vamps, and I do, they're up to no good."

"I think we can safely assume that, parasite."

"Don't get smart with me, boy. I mean, they're organizing something. Maybe mobilizing for an all-out attack on the humans; I wouldn't put it past them."

"Do they have the resources?"

Left Hand got the distinct impression D was quizzing him, but answered presently, "Not really. But, if they were using the Barbarois..."

"Would the Barbarois stick their necks out that far?"

"Okay, now I know you're just fishing. How should I know?"

"You know as much as I. If you're going to ask me something about which I know no more than you do, expect me to check my opinion against yours."

"Well, if I were betting, I'd say that, yeah, the Barbarois would do it, but they'd have to be bought. Big time. Maybe the vamps promised them their own continent or all the free humans they could eat, or something."

"I agree."

"With what, the stuff about the Barbarois, or everything else, too?"

"Most of what you've said. The lords and ladies will try to overthrow human control, no question. But it is too soon for such a power bid at present. Conditions aren't right."

"So what are you saying?"

"I'm saying that the past five years have not been spent preparing, but recovering. They're quiet and placid in order to replenish their numbers, take stock of their assets and liabilities. The next five or ten or fifteen will see the gathering of their forces, the readying for war."

"Wonderful. What...what will we do when they strike?" This was spoken more softly, more solemnly. It was a question that would be difficult, Left Hand knew, for D to answer.

The hunter was silent, and Left Hand did not press him. D would not decide on that point lightly, when the time came. But since the time was not now, Left Hand accepted that D did not wish to say anything more on the subject.

It would be a hard enough decision, when that day arrived...

The sun broke from behind a cloud, and D squinted as the light stabbed his eyes painfully, even with the shade provided by the wide brim of his black hat. The day was growing very hot, and D could feel his airway beginning to constrict. He coughed to open it, and swallowed hard, feeling Left Hand writhing. D heard the parasite muttering vehemently about heat syndrome and decided that he had better take the advice given him and stop for the day under the overpass ahead.

The cyborg horse almost seemed relieved when D dismounted, though, since it wasn't a living animal, it was unlikely it actually felt weary. D removed the worn saddle and tack and pulled a canteen from the saddlebags, letting the horse wander off to its own spot to run a systems check. The hoof joints squeaked faintly as it moved away, and D made a mental note to get some more oil when he stopped for supplies.

That is, if he had the money to spare for it.

He took a long draught of water from the canteen, then climbed the small rise of gravel and dirt to where the concrete of the overpass met the ground. Tossing down the saddle, he sat down, his back against it, and stretched his long legs out before him. Tipping the front of his hat to cover his eyes, he moved his long, wicked-looking sword from his back and tucked it in the crook of his arm, easily accessible if he had need of it.

The gravel beneath him was uncomfortable but cool, and D felt the muscles of his throat and trachea relax as he dug his heels and hands a little deeper into the ground. He thought he heard Left Hand sigh.

D's eyelids presently grew heavy, and he closed them, reminding his body to wake at sunset. He still had a lot of ground to cover before he reached that city, and, as much as he wished the parasite were just blowing hot air, he really did need to find a way to make some money, and soon. The city would be the best place to look next, and he had no desire to waste another day in getting there. Left Hand would not be happy to hear they were to travel all night.