Noble V: Greylancer (12 page)

“Quite an impassioned speech.” It was Greylancer who answered. “But surely, you cannot
believe the Privy Council will agree to a forced retirement?”

“That would take a miracle.” Zeus smiled. “As soon as I bring charges against them,
the Privy Council will use the full extent of their authority and might to oust us.
But not to worry; I have already taken necessary measures. There are those in the
Capital who are willing to fall in line behind me. They number about a hundred.”

“Only a hundred?” cried Mayerling in disbelief. “Sheer madness, I tell you! I shall
cast my lot with the Privy Council.”

“Only a fool general who has never commanded an army would think a hundred too few,
Mayerling. How many men do you think it would take to sabotage the Capital’s antiproton
reactor? It only takes one. We have a hundred. How many would dare stand against us?
A hundred? No, I count fewer than ten. Once the Capital lies in ashes, disposing of
them will be an easy task.”

“We haven’t yet destroyed the OSB,” Mayerling spat viciously. “They’re lurking somewhere
in space, watching and waiting for just the right moment to conquer this planet. And
you are dreaming of a revolution?”

“The OSB will require some time to regroup. The damage that Greylancer wrought upon
their operations was considerable. The Privy Council will be caught sleeping. Now
is our time to rise up and unseat them. Join me, Greylancer, Mayerling. Take my hand.”
Looking upon the two men with unflinching resolve, Zeus held out his muscular hands.

“I will not,” Mayerling said flatly. “I will proceed as planned. This genocide must
not be allowed to happen.”

“I expected as much from the benevolent overlord. You and I will discuss it further.
And now, what say you, Greylancer?”

“If we can eradicate the OSB’s advance guard, we will have to bear some sacrifice.
They’re humans—they hardly count as a sacrifice.”

Zeus twisted his lips into a grin, while Mayerling closed his eyes. “Excellent.”

Ignoring the overseer stepping forward with a proffered hand, Greylancer said, “But
I will be party to neither side. Mayerling, you head for the Capital at once. Zeus,
I suppose you will have to discuss matters with Mircalla. I shall return north.”

“Very well.” Clenching his outstretched hand into a fist, Zeus Macula moved toward
the table, snatched the carafe, and gulped down the drink in a matter of seconds.
“The fact that you have concocted this blood substitute is evidence enough of your
impotence. I refuse to spend a second more in such odious company. I’ll show myself
out. Farewell, Greylancer.” Zeus turned and stalked out, leaving only the high echo
of footsteps behind him.

“What now?” Greylancer asked the young overseer.

“There isn’t a moment to lose. I must depart for the Capital immediately. I will have
my retainers see you back to your sector.”

“That won’t be necessary. But I could do with a change of wagon.” Greylancer seemed
to be frowning. Whether he was thinking about the plasma storm that would devastate
the land or struggling to devise a strategy against the OSB, his expression resembled
that of anguish.

†

Mayerling’s mansion appeared much like the old-world castles of other Nobles, but
the buildings scattered beneath the moonlight were as elegant as one might expect
of the young Noble.

Upon being escorted by a silver-haired servant to the courtyard along with the other
vampires, Greylancer noted the two coaches at the ready and asked, “Does not your
lord depart by aircraft?”

Zeus and himself aside, he found it odd that Mayerling would choose to go by land.
The Capital was less than three hours away by air.

“There seems to be some problem with the propulsion system,” the servant answered.
“As well, his lordship prefers to travel by coach.”

“All of your aircraft?”

“His lordship is in possession of only one vessel.”

Greylancer realized now that Mayerling was more old-fashioned than he was.

“Until we meet again,” Zeus called and walked out to the landing pad in the courtyard.

“Let us ride together awhile.”

When Greylancer turned around, Mayerling was smiling beneath the moonlight.

†

The two coaches rattled down the road side by side for about an hour until they reached
a crossroads. Mayerling’s coach was a six-horse carriage, compared to Greylancer’s
two-horse carriage, forcing it to go considerably slower to keep pace.

Greylancer had repeatedly urged Mayerling’s driver ahead through the communicator,
but the younger Noble insisted on escorting Greylancer until at last they came to
the crossroads.

Lowering the window of his coach, Mayerling peered out and smiled. “I wish you a safe
journey.”

“Will you ride hard to the Capital from here?” Greylancer asked.

Even if he pushed the horses day and night, it would still take three days. It was
hardly the way for a man in a hurry. “There is an airport about ten kilometers south
of here. There should be several aircraft there.”

“Safe travels.” Greylancer glanced up at the sky. The moon colored the clouds silver.

Mayerling nodded once.

“Now go,” urged Greylancer. “Fare thee well.” With this, Greylancer whipped the horses
into a gallop.

After watching Greylancer’s coach shrink into the distance, the young Noble set out
toward his destination like a whirlwind.

When Mayerling had traveled five kilometers south, the wind began to howl.

“My lord.” The driver’s voice came from the monitor inside the coach. “Our projections
were off. It appears Ithaqua comes two weeks earlier this year than last.”

“Is it the main front?”

“No. But it will be a considerable trial to go much farther.”

“Do not hesitate against what is merely considerable. Go!”

Mayerling listened to the unrelenting rattle of the coach like a cradlesong.

Several minutes later, an invisible force lashed against the side of the coach.

“It’s coming!” the driver shouted nervously.

“Ithaqua, come and get me.” Mayerling twisted his lips into an invincible smile.

After the nuclear war that wiped out humanity, the Nobility created a new world in
the image of the past that pulsed through their veins.

The ruins of humanity’s metropolises gave way to a vast wilderness stretching as far
as the eye could see, dotted with forests and mountains.

The Nobility populated this area with bioengineered beasts and monsters.

Mountains grew arms and legs for moving, rivers surged in different directions, and
oceans acquired eyes the size of continents.

Fire-breathing dragons were prey to three-headed birds, while subterranean monsters
and goblins fought over the dragon carcasses and blood. All told, the Nobility had
dispersed 1,243,0778 monster species throughout the world.

This act begat an unexpected byproduct.

Aside from the Nobility’s bioengineered creatures, the evil that once lurked on this
planet had stirred back to life.

Most conspicuous were the gods of the four elements, one of which was Ithaqua, the
god of wind.

An encounter with this god, whom they knew not how to defeat, posed a greater threat
to the Nobility than stakes or knives. Ithaqua did not attempt to destroy the Nobles
it encountered. They were simply taken, never to return, and it was this vanishing
act the Nobility feared more than death.

Thud!
The wagon shook again.

“My lord, shadows up ahead. About twenty of them.”

His eyes trained on the monitor, Mayerling asked, “How do they look? Check their posture
and eyes.”

“Rounded shoulders. Their eyes burn red.”

“Very well. Don’t stop. Push past them.”

The driver’s whip danced, and the coach picked up speed, hurtling against the violent
wind.

Their dress identified the shadows as farmers. When the lead horses came within five
meters, they scattered right and left with an agility belying their profession.

A single wire was left in their wake, held up about a meter high at both ends.

The cybernetic horses were unable to time their jump. As their legs were swept from
under them, the two lead horses flew forward in a brilliant arc, while the rest followed.
The coach was no exception; it flipped end over end and crashed down atop the horses.

A split second before impact, the coach’s computer activated its defensive program.

Four shock struts sprang out of the corners of the coach and absorbed the impact,
then the stabilizer cut loose the horses and righted the coach, landing it gently
upright.

The shadows descended upon the coach while it was still airborne.

Closing the six-meter gap in one leap, they pressed up against the coach and banged
the sides with their fists.

They were not Nobles, but servants who’d been bitten—“half-humans.” While they possessed
some of the same physical abilities as Nobles, they lacked the strength to destroy
the overseer’s transport.

The driver engaged the enemy.

Unstrapping his belt, he grabbed his stake rifle and shot the first three attackers
in their hearts.

The fourth and fifth attackers were aiming their crossbows. After taking one arrow
in the throat, the driver spat up blood and shot down the fourth attacker before a
second arrow caught him dead in the heart.

However, the fifth attacker gaped in disbelief. The arrow had deflected from the driver’s
chest. The instant the attacker realized the arrow had hit the driver’s underarmor,
the stake rifle howled, discharging high-pressure gas along with the shot that tore
through the half-human. His body turned to dust before it hit the ground.

Meanwhile, a sixth attacker perched atop the coach crept up to the driver from behind.
His weapon was a meter-long machete.

Whirling around, the driver leapt onto the coach and sank his teeth into the half-human’s
carotid artery.

The half-human swung his machete and lopped off the driver’s head. The driver, not
yet realizing his death, continued to tear into the enemy’s neck until first his body,
then his head rolled on top of the coach.

When the driver went down at last, the remaining shadows dragged him to the ground,
hacked his severed head to pieces with machetes, and skewered his body with countless
blades.

The shadows had already accomplished their initial goal.

Without a sound, they leapt away from the coach, lay low, and waited for the fruits
of their labor.

A fragmentation bomb placed beneath the coach exploded and engulfed the transport
in scarlet flames.

When the flames and blast threatened to consume them, the shadows scrambled to safer
ground.

A dark silhouette wavered in the colorful flames.

When the fire-drowned mass lurched away from the coach, the shadows let out voiceless
screams. The ten-thousand-degree heat should have incinerated even a Noble’s bones.

Suddenly, the dark figure collapsed and was swallowed by the flames once again. When
the half-humans saw this, triumphant smiles appeared on their rough faces. Only six
of them remained.

It quickly became four. Something had stretched out from the fire, sliced off the
heads of the two lead attackers in one sideways swing and cut across their chests
on the return.

The survivors did not understand what had happened. What they saw was a human hand
sticking out from the flames. With the fingers in a line like a blade, the hand slashed
right.

Two more heads rolled on the right.

“Mayerling’s claw…” groaned one of the remaining two. They had received orders to
kill Mayerling before he wielded it.

The hand rose again. Out of the flames rose Mayerling, his purple cape swirling in
the superheated wind currents.

The flames of death, falling away from his cape with one shake, had not burned any
part of his skin or mane.

Against the flames consuming the coach in the background the figure appeared strangely
still, as though it existed in a different world.

Here stood Vlijmen Mayerling, overseer of the Western Frontier sector.

“If I have incurred the enmity of my people, then I am to blame. But this does not
appear to be the case. Whom do you serve?” Was this the voice of the same man that
had been consumed in flames just now? How gentle he sounded. Like the sound of snow
falling on the Holy Night.

Mayerling stepped toward the shadows.

His steps were fainter than the sound of falling snow.

Shaaah!
The shadows bared their fangs.

But they were unable to move. Paralyzed by the handsome, young vampire’s aura, their
bodies were numb to their bones.

“Can you not speak?” Mayerling extended a hand and beckoned the shadows closer. His
fingers were slender and beautiful like those of a woman. “Then come closer.”

The shadows began to walk without hesitation. They ambled closer to the Noble as if
they’d lost the will to resist.

“Perhaps now I can hear you. Now speak. Which master do you serve?”

Their lips began to move. The shadows attempted to utter a name.

The moon caught a glint of metal in the darkness.

Before the crack of the gunshot reached anyone’s ears, one shadow’s head shattered
to pieces, and another shadow fell over in a spray of blood.

Mayerling.

He had expected an unceasing barrage of bullets.

The Noble held up a hand in front of his handsome face.

When a tiny hole appeared in the palm, he swung the hand downward and—

A lead bullet hot enough to vaporize his blood burrowed into the black earth.

Turning his head just a hint, Mayerling stared into the distant darkness. It was unmistakably
the direction from which the bullet had come.

But only for an instant, as he turned in the direction of the burning coach.

A tall shadow stood there. Behind him loomed an enormous tree, in the shadow of which
he’d likely been lurking.