Noble V: Greylancer (19 page)

“Awry indeed. What did you know, Mayerling?” Greylancer jumped to his feet like a
spring-action toy and approached Gallagher, who was also beginning to stir. He commanded,
“After me,” and strode toward the way out of the catacombs.

Watching the gunner writhing as he struggled against the effects of the evil incense,
Shizam let out a sigh and with heavy steps went to Gallagher’s aid.

†

Leaving the troop withdrawal to Yunus and the others, Greylancer rushed back to the
Capital with the gunner Gallagher in tow.

The western sky rippled with the last traces of daylight. The Noble night was just
beginning.

Greylancer hurried directly home.

Though the blinds and shutters were shut, a faint light pervaded the mansion. The
property was not shrouded in complete darkness. This was another peculiar Noble custom.
Aside from their coffins, the Nobility did not demand absolute darkness from the rest
of the world.

Many, like Mayerling, elected to recreate night by simulating the moon and stars.

“Laria!” Greylancer shouted upon entering the parlor.

Three shadows appeared. They were guardroids tasked with protecting their masters
while the vampires slept in the light of day.

“Is something the matter?” asked the humanoid steward, to which Greylancer replied
with a swing of his lance.

The steward and the guardroids were sent hurtling across the room where they crashed
in a pile, sparks flying until they fell motionless.

“Clear the way, worthless machines.”

Greylancer headed for the grand staircase, whereupon a voice called down, “Didn’t
anyone teach you that a warrior must always keep his wits about him?” Atop the gently
curving staircase stood Laria, wearing a turquoise gown.

“You wear it too, Laria?” he asked, referring to the time-deceiving incense. Laria
had invented it.

“Courtesy is golden even with whom we are most familiar. Silence is golden even at
home. Isn’t that so, Brother?”

“I have something I must ask.” Greylancer kicked the ground. The sight of the giant
easily weighing a hundred kilograms lofting upward might have even been called beautiful.

When he landed at the top of the staircase, however, Laria was on her way down. Taking
the stairs one step at a time, she appeared to glide down in one fluid motion. “You
dare mock your brother?” Greylancer jumped over the railing after her and landed at
the foot of the staircase.

Brother and sister faced off in the center of the parlor like mortal enemies.

“I was very nearly turned to ash at Mayerling’s castle. I smelled something—a familiar
fragrance similar to the time-deceiving incense.”

Laria’s face turned ashen. “How can…Brother, are you certain?”

“No questions, Laria. The answer I seek is simple. Who else is in possession of the
time-deceiving incense?”

As might be expected of the sister of the Noble Greylancer, Laria quickly regained
her wits. “Varossa…he’d asked to make some enhancements to it.”

Even after noticing Greylancer
enter the marble dome, Varossa did not falter from the task at hand. Whenever he
was engrossed in his work, the eccentric weaponsmith was prone to forget not only
his master’s visage and name, but also his severe disposition.

Varossa dipped an iron ladle into a massive cauldron and examined the molten steel
contained within it. “Damn it!” He dipped into the cauldron again and scooped up another
spoonful. This time he nodded, muttered, “Good,” poured the orange liquid into a trough,
and watched it ooze ten meters into a small tank below. “Well now.” Satisfied, the
old man removed the heat-resistant goggles from his face and began to descend the
stairs toward Greylancer.

Swirls of smoke rose up from his asbestos vest and gloves.

Removing his gloves, Varossa came down the flight of stairs and started at the sight
of his master standing but an arm’s length away. “My lord, when did you return?”

“Just now, on urgent business.”

“Is that so,” muttered Varossa indifferently. “Might your business be with me?”

“That is why I’ve come. You know about the time-deceiving incense?”

“Why of course. Miss Laria’s idea was a stroke of pure genius—albeit the idea alone
was hers.”

“You were in possession of its formula during a period of five days about six months
ago. Did you give anyone the incense or its formula during those five days?”

Varossa blinked twice before the question registered in his mind. “Did
I
, you ask?”

“Yes.”

“To anyone?”

“Yes.”

“Miss Laria’s invention?”

“That’s right.”

“On my life. No one.”

“Will you swear by the Sacred Ancestor?”

“Yes, by the Sacred Ancestor.” Then Varossa tilted his head upward in an affected
manner and said, “Now, wait a minute…”

Seeing this, Greylancer continued, “Very well. Can you think of anyone who might have
had access to the incense during the five days it was in your possession?” The air
around them seemed to turn crimson under the glow of Greylancer’s eyes. “Varossa?”
urged Greylancer.

“I cannot say.”

“Hmm. You are aware of the penalty for your answer?”

“My lord, I should like to take leave of my duties. I pray there will be no error
in the payment of my wages. There were two such errors in my five thousand years of
service, though I overlooked the slights in the past.”

“Fine. Go where you will. But after my business is done.” Greylancer took a step forward.

Varossa reached into his coat pocket and scattered something on the floor. What it
was exactly was indiscernible.

A brick wall about five meters square burst forth from the ground and shot up between
the men.

“Any fool can conjure a steel compression wall. But a brick wall took a bit of work.”
Varossa watched the wall disintegrate before his very eyes. “Alas, brick is not terribly
effective.”

“Do not fool with me, Varossa.” Greylancer drew back his lance.

The weaponsmith threw down another object at his master’s feet.

This time, a stone wall shot up from the ground. The center slid open, revealing a
stone corridor.

“Come inside,” Varossa’s voice echoed from within.

One swing of Greylancer’s lance was capable of destroying such a contrivance.

Yet the warrior remained motionless, his lance lowered at his side.

Varossa was using him as a guinea pig for his latest invention—that much was clear.
But Greylancer kept his temper in check, knowing that this longtime weaponsmith was
burning with desperation, risking life and death at this very moment.

“Enter, my lord,” the voice said, more a command than request.

Greylancer’s eyes glowed blood red. The Noble entered the corridor, leaving behind
the burning afterglow of his eyes.

Varossa waited for him ten meters ahead, a mere ten paces away by Greylancer’s gait.

When he was but a step away from where Varossa stood, a stone wall shot up before
him. No, it was Greylancer that had turned a corner. Yet he had experienced the sensation
of walking in a straight line toward his prey. Varossa stood and waited ten meters
ahead, as before.

“A maze,” muttered Greylancer, seeing through the trick. If the contrivance were set
at an entrance, any intruder would wander for an eternity inside an endless labyrinth.

But this was no time to admire the weaponsmith’s handiwork.

The Noble warrior unleashed the might of his lance upon the rock faces on either side
of him.

The walls came crumbling down with one blow. Greylancer stepped over the smoky rubble
and stopped before Varossa. “A decent contraption, but it suffers from your personal
taste. You need only make the walls sturdier.”

“I’m delighted by your most tedious remarks,” Varossa said, bowing slightly. When
he raised his downcast eyes, the silver tip of the lance was pointed at his nose.
The weaponsmith shuddered. “I cannot reveal the name, my lord. You will have to strike
me dead.”

Greylancer muttered, “Very well,” and drove the blade through the weaponsmith’s throat.

†

Upon his return, Greylancer found Laria waiting for him at the mansion.

“What are you doing?” he asked his younger sister. “Go get some rest.”

“I can’t help but feel something terrible is about to happen. Was it cloudy outside?”

“When I first arrived, yes.”

He knew not what the weather had to do with Laria’s premonition.

The comm on his collar vibrated, and a hologram of the gunner Gallagher floated up
before him. Greylancer had tasked him with watching over the central government.

“My lord, about two thousand androsoldiers have departed the Capital and are headed
in your direction.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes.”

“Stand by.” With a wave of his hand, Greylancer brought up an exterior image of the
mansion.

Black dots appeared in the sky lit with the first rays of dawn, grew larger, and resolved
into black aircraft. The small fleet descended and landed around House Greylancer.
Equipped with magnetic propulsion systems, none of the missile-shaped aircraft needed
stabilizing wings.

“They came prepared. Armed to the teeth with nuclear missiles. It speaks highly of
your reputation, Brother,” Laria said, her voice free of anything but sincere admiration.

Upon a Noble’s capture, his land and property were confiscated. In much the same way,
his treasure, jewels, and art, as well as all arms and inventions, became the property
of the central government.

Where Greylancer was concerned, however, the government’s plan was to vaporize House
Greylancer whole. The central government knew full well that they were dealing with
someone who knew not the word for surrender.

When the androsoldiers had taken their positions outside the mansion, a robotic voice
blared forth. “Lord Greylancer, we are with the Investigation Bureau’s 25th AS Combat
Police Unit. You are a suspect in the murder of the chancellor of the Privy Council.
You will return with us to the Capital.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Forgive us, we have been empowered to take exceptional measures. We will have no
choice but to proceed to the nuclear option.”

“Do what you must, but I shall be forced to retaliate.”

“We will count to ten. If you do not surrender, we will respond with necessary force.”

“Suit yourself,” scoffed Greylancer.

The voice of the androsoldier rang across the mansion. “Ten. Nine. Eight…”

“Now what, Laria?”

“What ever shall we do now, Brother?” Greylancer exchanged a rare, invincible smile
with his sister.

Exactly ten seconds later, the Greylancer property was engulfed in white-hot flames.

A tight gravitational shield was spread over the property, so the conflagration was
contained within the grounds, thereby affecting none of the outlying areas.

†

Satisfied by the news of Greylancer’s destruction, members of the central government
and Privy Council lay awake inside their coffins and contemplated how they might appease
the many supporters of the brave warrior in the Capital.

“A bit of a pity, really.” Zeus Macula gazed at the scorched rubble and the bowl-shaped
crater in the earth on the aerial screen and emptied his glass in one gulp. The glass
had contained the blood of a farmer girl who’d wandered in earlier that day. Zeus
was in Mircalla’s private residence in the Southern Frontier sector’s regional capital
of Salazar. “I would rather have revealed the truth before sending Greylancer to his
death. Alas, it was not meant to be. He will never return to this world, irradiated
and banished to another dimension as he is. No, Greylancer shall not reconstitute
physical form again.”

From the depths of the moonlit space, a lyrical voice rang out, though its cadence
was elegaic. “In addition to being a warrior, there was too much of the investigator
in him, I’m afraid.”

At the other end of the enormous table stood the ghostly figure of Duchess Mircalla.
A gentle wind swayed her hair and the grass at her feet. The two overseers were in
the midst of a private banquet in an illusory meadow.

“He threatened to uncover the truth far faster than either of us imagined. Time was
ripe for Greylancer’s curtain to fall.”

“Right you are.” Zeus Macula stretched and let out a long yawn. He and Mircalla had
awakened from their coffins only minutes prior. Ten hours had passed since Greylancer’s
annihilation.

“Chancellor Cornelius’s death was unfortunate, but the Privy Council has sent word
of the next meeting with the OSB. We shall have to prepare terms so the OSB will grant
us control over the Frontier.”

“
Grant?
You must abandon such sodden thinking.” Mircalla’s eyes gleamed as she fixed a long
look on her companion. “The OSB’s reign over this planet will last for but a moment.
After one or two millennia, when their power has fallen into decay, we will vanquish
the enemy and regain our supremacy. To this end, waging a meaningless war that would
only lead to our ruin is the height of folly. How fortunate that the Privy Council
is in agreement.”

“Those graybeards look upon you as their beloved. What man can resist seeing your
pale flesh, hearing you whisper your desires into their ears, especially when those
desires favor him?”

“The dissenters among them have been banished to some distant dimension. But they,
too, might eventually come around and fall in line with the aliens.” Mircalla floated
next to Zeus and cupped his rugged face in her slender hands.

Meeting her advance with a look of enchantment, Zeus fought back the desire to suckle
her scarlet lips with every fiber of his body, feeling her hot breath on his face
only inches away. “A millennium or two—even ten millennia is but the blink of an eye.”

Just as his lips brushed against hers, the duchess pulled away, like a fish carried
backward by a current.

Zeus stood and moved to follow, but the eerily luminescent figure danced across the
dimly lit meadow and evaded his grasp for several minutes, until finally his outstretched
fingers touched her skin.

They tangled in the thick grass, letting out fevered breaths.

Beneath the pale moonlight, the duchess whispered, “Oh, Zeus. Your fangs upon my throat.”

“Oh, the taste of your blood! Why? Human blood is warm, but why is Noble blood as
cold as our skin?” His breath turned to moans as Mircalla sank her fangs into his
neck.

“Your blood soothes me like ice water. See how it runs from my mouth down to my bosom.”

Zeus pressed his lips against the swell of her chest as if the world existed only
for them and began to unlace her bodice.

There was a sudden snarl of steel and a flesh-rending sound.

Zeus and Mircalla screamed.

The two writhed and tried to tear away from one another. But it was no use. Their
bodies were pinned down against the illusory ground, skewered by a great lance.

When the shadow came around and hulked over them, Zeus Macula shouted, “N—Noble Greylancer!”

Zeus and Mircalla gaped with bloodshot eyes at the giant overshadowing them.

The intensity and unearthly aura were unmistakably those of a great warrior. But how
was this possible? They had just witnessed his end via holographic projection.

“Pity that time for recreation is so fleeting.”

That voice—Greylancer was alive!

His resurrection roused many questions.

To begin with, how had he managed it?

Greylancer raised his left hand.

The image of the burned ruins of the Greylancer mansion floated in the air.

Greylancer rested a hand on the top edge of the image and then shifted it down, revealing
another image underneath. There stood the mansion in its unblemished splendor.

“A live image,” said Greylancer. “To anyone else including the surveillance satellites,
the mansion would appear to be in ruins.”

“The police unit…” Zeus groaned, a hint of curiosity in his anguish. “Did they not
fire their missiles?”

“That they did—into uninhabited territory. The unit erred in their target and was
none the wiser for it.”

Zeus and Mircalla, their mouths agape, could not speak.

“My residence remains where it has always stood, though it will appear to lie in ruins
to anyone laying eyes on it.”

“How?” asked Mircalla. “How were you able to set foot into my residence, Lord Greylancer?”
Her slender frame convulsed beneath the weight of Zeus’s body.

“I suspected your involvement when I was stricken immobile inside the catacombs at
Mayerling Castle. Aside from Mayerling’s aides, the only one I’d notified of my whereabouts
was you. And another: the scent that bound me was similar to your own—the smell you
usually conceal with perfume. A certain woman revealed that the incense of great value
to me is also made from the same substance—the DNA of the venerable von Hauptmann
family. Is that not so, Mircalla
von Hauptmann
?”