Noble V: Greylancer (15 page)

“Behold his face,” said Greylancer, jerking his chin at the handsome face. “His lineage,
rank, and record are beyond question. You can recognize a warrior by his look alone.
Do not be fooled by his handsomeness. His is a face to fear, Commander.”

“Agreed,” Mircalla answered flatly. “His fierce will for a fight, incisiveness, and
ample confidence.” She addressed the hologram. “How did you come by these qualities,
Mayerling? This is the face of the enemy that we must fight. No doubt, you will stand
your ground to the very end. What clever gambit will you try?”

“His only option is to wait out the siege. We need only come up with an anti-barrier
to neutralize his defenses. Far better than suffering casualties through needless
skirmishes. Mayerling may have played right into our hand.” This was General Sade
Jermyn, General Lei Huo Chao’s colleague and the number two man in the War Ministry.
A standout in a ministry derided for their armchair strategists, he was recognized
as one who piloted his own aircraft.

“Who do you think you’re dealing with?” Greylancer scoffed. To the battle-weary warrior,
Jermyn was nothing more than an untested general, an impostor trying to pass as a
hero. Despite the general’s sneer, Greylancer continued, “Look at his eyes. The jaw.
This is the face of a man who will lead his men into enemy territory himself. Such
a man will not be content to hole up in his castle and play a waiting game. Open your
eyes. The moment we let down our guard, he will strike us with his army—a cunning
attack that we cannot even imagine.”

“You’re an impudent one,” seethed Jermyn, baring his teeth. His fangs gleamed in the
moonlight streaming into the war room. “You are speculating without substance. What
knowledge have you about Mayerling? Grow up together, did you?”

“Today may well be our first encounter.”

“Do you mean to mock me, Greylancer?”

A murderous air that made the warriors want to turn away swept across the room. Jermyn
shot to his feet.

“That’s enough, both of you!” The voice of the supreme commander immobilized Jermyn.
“As long as I am commander, I will not have any infighting. If you desire bloodshed,
let it be Mayerling’s.”

On the battlefield, a superior’s command was ironclad.

Jermyn sat down in indignation as Greylancer stifled a smile.

“The Privy Council’s orders are to end this conflict within five days. Time enough
left to our own devices,” said Mircalla, smiling. Had she been entrusted as overseer
on pedigree alone, the duchess would lack the wherewithal to manage the Frontier.
“At any rate, let us put forth our best efforts. Lord Greylancer, can you verify your
assessment?”

“No, it is solely my assessment of Mayerling. But make no mistake, anyone with a passing
glance of Mayerling, even from a distance, would concur.”

“As much as I’d like to agree with you, that alone will not do. General Jermyn, I
believe yours is the most sensible course of action. But we haven’t time for a drawn-out
war. Have you a strategy to cross swords with Mayerling within five days?”

Jermyn distorted what was already reputed a menacing face and closed his eyes in deep
contemplation. The battle-tested warrior and master strategist thrived in times like
these. Smiling, he opened his eyes almost immediately and nodded, “Yes, I do.”

A most distressing incident
befell the counterinsurgency forces early next morning.

At daybreak, Mayerling lowered the gravitational barrier shielding his dominion and
fired a torrent of javelins over the camp.

Because the barrier encircling Mayerling’s dominion did not quite stretch over the
entire sector, the troops were encamped just inside the border’s perimeter. Thus not
one javelin had landed outside in neighboring territory. The javelins, which the counterinsurgents
effortlessly fended off, measured three meters long, five centimeters around, and
weighed five hundred kilograms. Falling at twelve hundred meters per second, they
hit with a thousand tons of force on impact.

And yet the damage inflicted was minimal. The innumerable javelins had merely fallen
like an endless volley of arrows around the encampments protected by gravitational
barriers, around the super-alloy coffins of the Nobles.

The Nobility also employed once-bitten half-humans and androids to guard against day
raids by human resisters. Whereas the javelins felled these servants outside the barrier,
the Nobility’s weapons and materiel went undamaged.

After the first wave of attacks subsided, three minutes passed before the second wave
split the clouds and poured down from the sky. Greylancer appeared under the sun.

The ground was riddled with gleaming black javelins as still more deadly blades were
repelled by barriers and fell feebly about Greylancer’s feet.

The javelins coming within meters of Greylancer ricocheted away from the Noble. It
was the work of his long lance. Greylancer twirled the lance in his right hand almost
casually, flicking away every javelin that fell in his path.

As soon as Mayerling’s domain lowered its barrier, counterinsurgent sensors returned
fire. Countless arrows shot into the horizon from the camp toward Mayerling’s castle.

Oddly enough, Mayerling chose not to launch nuclear missiles. A heat-based attack
was ineffectual against the Nobility, and human fatalities were of little consequence
to the Nobles who regarded the mortals as no better than insects.

The rain continued. The waves of javelins blacked out the sky from the distant horizon
to Mayerling’s castle overlooking the hills a thousand kilometers away.

“Well played, Mayerling. You’ve effectively avoided any cause for complaint by any
of the territories, no matter who may be in league with whom. As well, this rain of
javelins is a demonstration of your strength.”

A security vehicle approached, weaving and steamrolling past the thicket of javelins
on the ground, and stopped next to Greylancer.

Four half-humans, wearing black-visored helmets, stepped out of the vehicle.

While able to roam about in the light of day, these once-bitten humans were vulnerable
to sunlight, requiring them to be covered in blackout gear from head to toe.

“My lord, you must seek cover!”

“It’s too dangerous!”

They were the only words they managed to get out before the next volley of javelins
impaled them from back to front.

So sudden was their end that they each continued several steps toward Greylancer before
falling dead at his feet.

“Fools—serves you right,” he spat out, and then he summoned a trio of AG—Android Giants
.

Three androids standing three meters tall emerged from the encampment.
They approached, brandishing their long swords and striking down the javelins raining
down from above, filling the air with the sound of metal clanging against metal. The
AGs stopped before Greylancer.

“See that the bodies are buried.” It was an order that would have stunned anyone who
knew the Noble.

Regardless of the devotion with which half-humans served their master, in death, they
were cast aside like so much monster fodder. Such was the fate of half-humans. Yet
the Nobility’s greatest warrior had just now ordered a proper burial for the dead.

The AG carried the bodies away, and the javelin attack ended soon after.

An invisible shield went up over Mayerling’s territory again.

“My chariot!” The half-humans were the only ones to hear Greylancer’s call resounding
through the camp.

Seconds later, only the wind witnessed the chariot tear through the seemingly unbreakable
barrier and blaze a path above the wintry plains.

†

There were no responses to his incursion, and in less than a minute, Greylancer landed
on the eastern edge of a village a mere stone’s throw from Mayerling’s castle.

“A necessary flight, I’m afraid. Circumstances what they are, it couldn’t be helped.
There isn’t time to lose. But first—” Greylancer alighted from the chariot and strode
toward the village.

Not a soul could be found on the sun-drenched road. He had no choice but to force
his way in. Greylancer had not satiated his thirst the night before and was parched.

A house came into view from between the trees.

The Noble bristled at the sound of the turning waterwheel. That the Nobility disliked
running water was a fact known throughout the land.

“I have no choice.”

The other houses were quite a distance away and likely located riverside. Even in
his state of dormancy, Mayerling would certainly be alerted to any trouble in town.
What Greylancer desired was a surreptitious encounter. Mayerling was not yet aware
of Greylancer’s encroachment into Western territory, thanks to the chariot’s stealth
program, which allowed him to pass undetected by both radar and clairvoyance. This
was another invention that Laria had conceptualized and Varossa created.

When Greylancer was a mere ten paces away from the house, the door opened and through
it emerged a girl of about sixteen or seventeen and her mother.

They sighted the giant in front of them before anything else.

Their shock gave way to suspicion, and as their expressions arrived at terror, Greylancer
strode forward.

A Noble’s presence alone was enough to paralyze humans where they stood. At least
in Greylancer’s experience.

But this mother and daughter were exceptions. The emotion that broke through the fear
and burst out of their mouths was pure anger.

“A Noble!”

“An enemy of Lord Mayerling,” said the mother. Then she called out, “Dear!”

Seconds passed. The door flew open again, and out rushed two men—a boy in his early
twenties and his father this time. The scythe and long barrel in their hands as well
as the wailing siren explained their delay.

“You must be with the invading army! You’re not getting a step past us.”

“If you’re aiming for the castle, you’re going to have to kill us all! Take this,”
the father said and handed the women a hatchet and a wooden stake.

Arching a brow, Greylancer said, “Seeing how you’ve armed your wife and daughter,
it appears you value Mayerling more than your family. Is that true of all humans in
the West?”

“No ruler cares more about his people than Lord Mayerling. He’s saved the lives of
every one of us here. No, that goes for the entire village. We might as well be dead.
We’ll gladly give our lives for him.” The father was trembling, and his face was dripping
with sweat as if to affirm the genuineness of his brave intentions.

Greylancer turned his gaze on the girl. “You too?”

“Yes, that’s right,” said the girl, with a hint of innocence still about her even
as she nodded sharply. Suddenly, Greylancer realized why he’d felt something was amiss.
Teeth chattering in fear, the girl continued, “When Mother and Father were afflicted
with a mysterious bacteria that began to rot away their flesh, Lord Mayerling came
from the castle himself to deliver the medicine. Both my parents—and my brother and
I—when we became infected, he saved us. Even though most of the village fell ill,
no one had to die. Afterward, we were also able to receive periodic exams. Lord Mayerling
saved our lives.”

“I came to this land fifty years ago.” It was the mother’s turn to speak. “In other
parts of the Frontier, children and babies that could have been saved with a little
food and medicine died by the dozens at the slightest outbreak of disease. The rulers
did nothing but take our blood. Some kind of rulers they are! They can’t even protect
their own people! When I came here, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. Fifty years—fifty
years living here is plenty. I won’t let you lay a finger on Lord Mayerling.”

“Did you ever live in the North?” Greylancer asked.

“No, just South and East.”

“Hmm.” Greylancer looked upon the girl. “When I look upon your faces, they are different
from those of humans living in the other sectors, including my own. Your faces are
peaceful. Do you also credit Mayerling for this?”

‘That’s right,” answered the girl’s father, nodding. “The people of this sector live
with smiles on their faces. Sure life is hard, but we will never starve or freeze
from cold. We aren’t forbidden from having festivals, either That’s why the people
here have peace of mind. Try visiting any other sector of the Frontier. You can’t
get even a newborn to laugh. Life’s so hard and bitter that there isn’t a soul able
to smile. A land where its children are just as scared as the adults isn’t any place
to live. Well? What about your land? Do the children laugh there?”

“Hm…”
Mayerling, that favormonger,
thought Greylancer.
Listen to how brazenly your people talk. They are a disgrace to your good name.
Then the Noble asked one final question: “Why do you all not have stakes?”

After father and son stared at one another, the son answered, “The stakes are for
killing evil Nobles like you. We have no need for them against Lord Mayerling. So
we only keep one on hand.” As the boy started forward, the heavy thunder of footsteps
drew nearer from down the road.

It was the villagers answering the siren. In the blink of an eye, twenty or so men
and women surrounded Greylancer. There would be more coming. All of them had come
armed, the hatchets and lances gleaming in their hands.

A leather-vested man, who appeared to be the leader, shouted, “Prepare to die! Lord
knows why you can walk about during the day, but from the looks of you, you’re a Noble
to be sure. Which parts are you from?”

“The North.”

“North? Then you’re from Greylancer’s sector?” His voice fell. Even in a land safeguarded
by an iron ruler, the name of the Northern Frontier’s overseer was capable of rousing
fear in humans.

Would they fall silent or stir in excitement upon hearing the name again? Beneath
the light of day, the Noble proclaimed, “I am Greylancer.”

The humans chose silence, as if they feared the light.

Then they heard the sound of footsteps, like a moving mountain.

The hulking shadow came toward them, each footfall shaking the ground like aftershocks.

The humans gazed up toward the heavens.

Stopping in front of the family cowering in front of their home, Greylancer wrapped
an arm around the girl’s waist.

Snatched up into his embrace as she was, the girl let out not a sound. Hearing his
name had stunned her into a state of shock.

One of the villagers let out a doleful moan.

“Close your eyes,” the Noble whispered in a strangely gentle voice.

A massive hand brushed over the girl’s eyes, which had been held open by sheer terror.

Oh, light, what evil is this, so threatening in your presence? The humans succumbed
to the darkness.

When they opened their eyes and uncovered their ears, they watched the girl leaning
her cheek inside the Greater Noble’s cape.

She seemed asleep. A look of peace, a trusting smile. Sweet dreams.

Greylancer set her down gently, like a father would a beloved child. The girl’s feet
alighted softly on the ground.

The girl stood on her own feet.

And still she slept.

Her pale complexion, the glossy lips. Red veins that an ambitious artist would beg
to immortalize on canvas.

Wait.

Does she breathe?

By the time the question entered the villager’s minds, the girl had crumpled to the
ground.

The villagers looked down, riveted by the two bite marks on the girl’s neck.

“You have my gratitude,” said Greylancer to the girl’s family. “Now I shall go and
destroy Mayerling.”

The name of their lord incited a reaction.

Violent emotion filled their dumbstruck faces. The girl’s mother cried out first.

Then the girl’s father and brother let out a scream and lunged at the Noble.

Lightning flashed across their necks.

The two heads, sailing through the air, appeared as if they were propelled by great
gushes of blood.

When the heads rolled to the ground, the mob converged at once and descended upon
the enemy.

Greylancer also began his advance, whirling his silver lance as he pushed forward
into the crowd.

He took one steady step after the next.

One by one, the villagers fell before him and to the right and left and behind him,
as their necks spouted blood like a champagne shower.

This was a Noble.

This was Greylancer.

Spattered from head to toe in blood, the giant licked the gore from his arms.

But Greylancer was growing restless.

No matter how many he felled, more humans attacked.

The fright on their faces was palpable. They were the looks of the vanquished intuiting
their own defeat. Closing their eyes and gritting their teeth, nevertheless, they
continued their attack, brandishing their stakes and shooting their rifles.

Why? Why do they not fear death when they will surely die?
Greylancer furrowed his brows.

More footsteps. The sound of reinforcements.

But should his advance against the humans’ defensive stand continue, the entire village
was liable to perish.

The smell of blood filled the winter morning.