Noble V: Greylancer (10 page)

It was a strangely familiar scene, the reason for which Greylancer already realized.

“Was her name…Michia?” The village chief’s wife, whom Greylancer had cut down with
his lance. He had watched her die in a barn much like this one. “The night is still
young. There is no telling what will happen. But first, a proper feast.”

His cape swelled like the ocean. It was the wind.

Like an actor walking onto a stage before an audience, Greylancer strode out of the
open door and into the night.

†

As soon as Leticia returned to the main house, the family took their seats at the
dinner table.

Leticia began by regaling them with the tale of the troubadour who’d sung her a song.

“Why that’s wonderful,” said her mother. Her plump face broke into a broad smile.
“I don’t know about troubadours, but he sounds like a generous man. He makes his living
from singing.”

“Then again, I imagine most men would do anything for my Leticia,” said her father,
who was surprisingly skinny for a farm owner. A blind girl was an impractical presence
on a farm. Nevertheless the kindly farmer had said, “A pretty girl like Leticia? Why
her presence alone would brighten up our lives,” and brought her into the family.
From that day forward, the girl had never forgotten her gratitude.

True to his words, Leticia’s adoptive parents accepted her like their own. Only Arrow
remained gruff with her, but in time, she realized that his outward demeanor belied
his kind heart.

The maid Miranda and manservant Alts looked after her.

They spoke little, but both helpers attended to their duties and did not once treat
Leticia cruelly because she was adopted.

But it was Miranda, setting out the bowls of stew she’d ladled from a large pot before
the others, who remarked, “This bard seems a bit rude, if you ask me. Here he’s been
taken into a stranger’s home, albeit the barn, and he doesn’t even bother to say thanks.
It’s ungentlemanly, eh, Alts?”

The stoutly built manservant was in the dining room fixing the broken fireplace.

He did not answer right away, but once he’d finished the repairs, he asked in a flat
voice, “You sure he’s really a troubadour?” adding, “I saw one years ago in the Eastern
Frontier. I’d expected a troubadour to be stately in bearing and appearance…turned
out to be this dirty old vagabond with a banged-up lyre. Didn’t even look at the children
hanging on him to sing them a song. I heard he was taken in by the village chief and
ended up writing a good ten, twenty pieces in exchange for meals and lodging. Two
or three years later, one of the verses he’d composed on that night had gotten out,
and—it was as awful as if I’d written it. Even a newborn child could have sung it.
That’s what everyone thought at the time. But it’s not about the song,” Alts said,
casting a sideways glance at the girl. “My point is, Miss Leticia, troubadours are
stingy that way. That’s what it takes to survive.”

“Are you saying this troubadour is a fake?” Miranda narrowed her eyes.

“I don’t know. Just that no one would be so generous with the art that feeds him.”

“Arrow?” The father shot a glance at the boy silently working his spoon into the stew.

“I can’t say whether he’s a troubadour or not, but he’s definitely not a man.”

“What was that?”

“I meant that he’s…not a
bad
man.”

“I agree,” Leticia chimed in. “The song he composed was sad and very lovely. Sure,
he frightened me a little at first, but he’s very kind.”

Leticia’s parents looked at each other. They recognized that their daughter’s appraisal
was far more accurate than that of the sighted.

“If Leticia says so, he must be,” said her father, to which Miranda shrugged in half-hearted
protest, and there was no more talk about the bard in the barn.

“By the way, Arrow. You’re not still thinking about joining the Nobility’s army, are
you?” the mother asked, tearing a bite out of a roll so hard it made her lips curl.

The boy’s answer was enough to make a mother cry. “It’s not the army. It’s the guard
corps, in charge of guarding Noble graves during the day.”

“Why would a human do something so horrible?”

“Because only humans can do it.”

“But I thought they have machines for that.”

“The OSB’s technology is more advanced. Who’s to say the OSB won’t sabotage the mechanized
guards to turn against their masters? No, humans make the ideal guards. Not to mention
the status of standing by the Nobles’ side, not as a servant but as their protector.”

“That may be, but why you…”

After the mother’s words trailed away, the father asked bluntly, “Think of the danger
you’d be putting us in. What if the Anti-Nobility Alliance comes after us?”

“No problem. I’ll just tell them that you have to jump into the bosom of the enemy
to strike them down. The Alliance is so blind with rage that they’ll send me off into
the lion’s lair with tears of joy in their eyes.”

“Even so—”

“To be honest, I’m not all that interested in the Nobility or humans, for that matter.
All I want to know is whether the Nobility will recognize the wicked bow skills that
Master Slade passed on to me.”

“What the Nobility need now are not archers but telepaths, I’ve heard.”

“If it doesn’t work out, fine. But I’m not going to be able to live with myself without
at least trying.”

Mother and father looked at each other, sighed and returned to their meal. Only Leticia
silently applauded his determination. She adored her taciturn and courageous brother,
who liked to make silly jokes when they were alone.

†

After dinner, as Leticia got up to deliver a bowl of stew to Greylancer, there was
a visit from Savagonin and his wife from next door.

After apologizing for their abrupt visit, Savagonin began, “We saw this giant of a
man on our way to see the village chief. I think it was a Noble.” His voice trembled.
His wife wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck.

“It can’t be,” the father said forthrightly. “The overseer forbids unannounced visits.
No one would dare disobey him.”

Cinching up his scarf, Savagonin added, “You know, he looked exactly like the overseer
of the Northern Frontier. No, I’m certain it’s him.”

“The overseer of the North is Lord Greylancer. I don’t believe it. What would he be
doing here?”

“I haven’t a clue,” Savagonin’s wife said, her voice strained. “But that ominous,
imposing figure. That cape. He had to be a Noble…and one of some importance, I know
it.” Her bloodshot eyes turned to Arrow. “You’re handy with a bow. Would you track
him down and find out what he’s doing here? We can take you to the place where we
saw him. That’s what we came here to ask.”

Leticia could feel her heart about to burst. An imposing figure wearing a cape. Could
it be…?

“All right, I’ll get my bow.” Arrow rose from his chair.

“Now wait a minute, Arrow,” said his mother. “Why must you—”

“Don’t worry. I’ll recruit some help on the way,” Arrow said coolly and exited.

His father said nothing, resigned to the daily reality of living in the Frontier ruled
by the Nobility.

Arrow went to his room where he slung his quiver over his shoulder and grabbed his
bow before going to the barn to confirm the bard’s absence. The answer was evident
soon enough.

Letica appeared behind him. “Mr. No-Name. He isn’t here, is he?”

“No.”

“He can’t be a Noble, can he? It was light out when we met him.”

“Right.”

“Then the Noble that Mr. and Mrs. Savagonin saw couldn’t have been Mr. No-Name.”

“No, it had to be.”

Leticia stared at her betrothed in astonishment. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve heard the stories—about the Noble who walks under the sun.” Arrow began to
pace and brushed past Leticia.

“Of course I have. But those are just stories.”

“Not necessarily. I heard from the Anti-Nobility Alliance that the Sacred Ancestor
has the Science Center in the Capital working on a number of projects. One of them
is called the Vampires Living in the Day Project.”

“What a long name.”

“Long is right.” Arrow’s voice came from behind Leticia.

“But that’s not possible. A Noble walking about during the day. I don’t believe it.”

“Believe it.” Arrow wrapped his arms around her neck.

“No.” Try as she might, she could not wriggle free. Feeling his hot breath on the
nape of her neck, Leticia let out an imperceptible moan. “We mustn’t—not here.”

“We’ll be married soon enough.” He brought his lips to her pale flesh, making Leticia
gasp. Pulling away immediately, he said, “So the bard is a Noble…but if you ask me,
there are others who are more suspicious.”

“Who?”

“What happened to the Savagonins?”

“They left while you were in your room. You don’t think…”

“Did you notice how they both kept fixing their scarves? Maybe they did more than
see the Noble.”

“Do you mean they were bitten?”

“I’m afraid not,” said a calm voice.

Arrow and Leticia twirled around in the direction of the voice. “Mr. and Mrs. Savagonin?”

Unlike earlier, the couple stood in the barn, smiling. “We haven’t been bitten. Look!”
Mrs. Savagonin pulled down her scarf. Her neck was tinted yellow with black speckles.

“It’s true we encountered the Noble,” said Savagonin. “We were about to feast on him
in the prairie, but you got in the way. We came here to express our gratitude—but
after feeding on this couple first.” He unfurled his scarf, revealing his brightly
colored neck.

Long nails grew out of the man’s fingers, each of the digits sprouting into gangling
legs and feelers before Arrow’s and Leticia’s very eyes.

“The ghost spiders.” No sooner had Arrow said it than the impostors’ clothes were
torn away. “There were three of you. Where is the third?”

“Paying a visit to your parents.” The woman’s voice descended from three meters above.
Attached to its neck was a squat, ovular body, held up by eight legs measuring ten
meters.

“Tsk, two siblings carrying out a secret affair. Where is your bow now? Whoa—too late!”
The male spider’s legs lashed out, sending the bow flying across the barn and crashing
against the far wall. “We’ll make short work of the Noble when he returns. He’s probably
out drinking his fill of human blood. It must be quite a feast.”

“Exactly right.”

The spiders recoiled in shock. When they shot a look at the entrance, the wind let
out a sharp whistle.

The spider with the face of the female Savagonin was lifted up and suspended five
meters in the air.

Greylancer stood entranced by the silver lance impaling the spider, its face already
frozen in the throes of death, as blood gushed like a waterfall down the handle. “I
discerned your true identity just as you did mine. A sense of foreboding brought me
back here soon after sating my thirst, and lo and behold, here you are. Pity—if you’d
not harbored thoughts of revenge, perhaps you might have lived a day longer. Look
at how you writhe and suffer. Vermin that you are, nothing is more precious than the
pleasure of watching a woman meet her end.”

The nameless troubadour pulled back the lance and struck again.

The female spider’s body flew off the lance, crashed against the ceiling, and exploded
into pieces.

Greylancer spun around and looked overhead.

The male spider—Savagonin had jumped and now clung to the ceiling.

Moonlight poured in from the one-meter square skylight above. Savagonin broke through
the window headfirst and slipped out, stretching his eight legs behind him like an
octopus.

As shards of glass rained down around him like jewels, Greylancer kicked the ground.
Grabbing the window frame with one hand, he hoisted himself up onto the roof in one
motion. Barely looking around, he spotted Savagonin scurrying away and leaping onto
the next roof.

It was the very silhouette of a giant spider leaping beneath the moonlight.

“Arrow,” Greylancer called down below. “Can you shoot him down? Do not disgrace your
master’s name.”

The answer was a sharp, whizzing noise from the window. Only Greylancer’s eyes were
able to recognize the arrow.

The fiendish instincts of the spider, already but a speck in the distance, sensed
its coming.

The spider jumped from the roof. The house was located at the end of the road, across
from which was a square, where there stood the gutted remains of a religious building
and a stone hut made of three enormous slabs.

Fifty years ago, a research team sent from the Capital had discovered a sarcophagus
enshrined underground. Contained within the sarcophagus was a mummified humanoid creature
dating back three thousand years; its origin was never identified. Though the research
team had taken with them its garments, necklaces, and various other articles, the
results of the analysis were never made known to the village.

The ghost spider slipped inside the hut. It was completely enclosed in stone, so not
even a razor blade could enter the chamber. The spider’s was the only route in and
out of the hut. There was no way an arrow shot from the rear could enter.

The spider allowed himself a moment’s peace. It was still smarting from the pain and
terror of when its parent body was shot down in the prairie. One of its three lungs
let out a breath.

Then the ghost spider expelled what breath was left in its remaining lungs.

Before the spider realized the arrow had entered through the front and pierced a hole
in the middle of its forehead clear through the back, the spider was already dead.

†

“Got him?” Greylancer asked, after jumping from the roof and landing next to Arrow
in the barn.

Arrow nodded and grunted his satisfaction at having proved his skill, following his
three kills from earlier in the day.

“There is another. Go.”

“All right.” Notching another arrow in the bow, Arrow ran for the main house.