Noble V: Greylancer (14 page)

“That’s absurd. Our absolute managerial rights were awarded directly by the Sacred
Ancestor himself. Not even the government dares tamper with those rights.”

“It has been six thousand one hundred years since the Sacred Ancestor disappeared
from sight. His influence was bound to fade.”

“Is that what you think?”

“Not I, no.”

“The chancellor must be in league with someone more powerful than the Sacred Ancestor.
Neither he nor this unknown faction would attempt to rise up in defiance otherwise.”

“That’s for certain,” she said with a grim smile.

“Any idea whom it might be?”

“I haven’t a clue.” Her smile vanished.

It was an ironclad rule of Noble society—no one dared face down Greylancer’s grave
expression with anything but trepidation.

“No matter, all will be made plain in due time. Now then, I am in need of weapons.”

Her look darkening, Laria said, “Oh, yes…that’s right,” as if to remind herself. “Varossa
has built many interesting…devices. You should try them out.”

“If they are Varossa’s, by all means. Can we go at once?”

“Of course.”

†

Several minutes later, Greylancer and Laria had made their way inside a marble dome
towering over the courtyard.

A single moonbeam cascaded in like a waterfall from on high, a great distance away.
There appeared to be a window somewhere.

Bathed in light, countless devices and vehicles of compelling shape and obscure function
cast shadows dancing in the vast workspace below.

Elegantly designed stairs and slopes ran vertically and sideways with great mathematical
accuracy, connecting various workspaces and gravity stabilizers suspended throughout
the cavernous space.

“Varossa,” Laria called out. Before the echoes of the master weaponsmith’s name faded
into silence, a figure wearing a turquoise cape and a ring-shaped antigrav belt around
his waist swooped down from above.

“If it isn’t Lord Greylancer,” said the dour-faced man. Varossa was a few years younger
than Greylancer, but older than Brueghel. But from his crest of silver hair alone,
he might be mistaken for a man hundreds of years old. “Chatting with your long-neglected
sister, were you? You are a warrior of the most regrettable kind. I dream of the days
of our Sacred Ancestor, when a battle-weary warrior would have attended to repairing
or exchanging their damaged shields, broken lances, and chipped swords before seeking
rest or commiseration.”

Laria’s face turned pale, while a bitter smile came across Greylancer’s lips. “You’re
exactly right, Varossa. But have you anything new to satisfy me?”

“Well, this is an odd question. If any of my creations have ever failed your standards,
I shall cut off my head on this very spot. Of course, your eye for such things has
always been a bit cloudy, unlike your father.” As he delivered his spittle-laden remark,
Varossa’s eyes were fixed in a hard stare. Seeing the contented expression on Greylancer’s
face, however, he came back into himself. “Forgive me, my lord. How can I help you?”

“I’m looking for a chariot.”

“As you wish. But first—” He pointed to the antigrav belts on hand.

Greylancer and Laria opened the rings and closed the belts around their waists. Then
they needed only point the road reader toward their destination.

The three began to rise and soon hovered about a meter over the platform and, after
flying on about two hundred meters, landed about five to six meters below.

They had descended to the Greylancer family’s weapons block. The entire arsenal had
been designed and manufactured by Varossa himself.

Greylancer took in and marveled at the spectacle surrounding him.

Row upon row of chariots of every size; lances, long swords, and short swords hanging
from racks; stockpiles of shields, cutting-edge power suits, and old-fashioned plate
armor. This horrible scene stretched as far as the eye could see, past the horizon.
This arsenal alone could arm a division of a thousand men for battle.

“You’ve added to your stock,” said Greylancer.

Varossa nodded quietly. “They’ve all been enhanced as well. Now, what manner of contraption
are you in need of? If you can try to imagine it with that feeble head of yours.”
The weaponsmith pressed an index finger to Greylancer’s temple.

Weapons and arms of every variety flashed across Greylancer’s vision. A data injection.
Greylancer’s brain streamed the data for tens of thousands of items.

In a fraction of a second, an image of a particular chariot flashed to mind.

“Ah, yes, that’ll do.” With a nod of Varossa’s head, a thread of light fell from the
ceiling.

Suddenly, a chariot materialized where the light landed on the floor.

The chariot was the same size and shape as the one Greylancer had lost in the moon
battle.

“The force field is twice as powerful as the previous model’s. You should be able
to penetrate any of the OSB’s defense fields and charge into enemy territory.”

“
Should
is unacceptable.”

“Then by all means, see for yourself.” Varossa gestured toward the chariot with an
unshakeable smile.

“Very well.” Greylancer climbed onto Varossa’s beloved invention.

Stepping onto the platform, he felt the force field envelop the vehicle.

“See how you fare against the weakest foe.” Varossa tapped his thigh with his index
finger.

Another thread of light dropped from the sky—

Which was no doubt connected to a multitude of God-given items.

An OSB ground vehicle the Nobles had begun calling a thunder tank materialized before
Greylancer, several meters away.

The tank, easily three times larger than Greylancer’s chariot, hulked over the Noble,
looking as if it might crush him at any moment.

Looking around the stockpile of weapons and machinery surrounding them, Varossa grunted,
“Out of the way,” and putting a foot on one of the chariots nearby, pushed it sideways.

The chariot and the rest of the weapons and arms in view slid back till they vanished
completely out of sight.

Inside the cavernous hall, only Laria, Varossa, the thunder tank, Greylancer, and
the chariot remained. And murderous intent.

The massive stockpile cramming the floor had all been a 3D hologram.

Greylancer nodded at Varossa, unflinching.

“The thunder tank will act and react exactly as if the OSB were operating it. It will
shoot to kill. If you lose, you will also perish, Lord Greylancer. Is that understood?”

“I expect nothing less.”

“Good.” No sooner had he said it than the OSB tank rumbled toward Greylancer.

The Noble felt the platform shake underfoot as the chariot hummed to life.

Just as the enormous tank rolled within a meter of Greylancer’s chariot, it crashed
into the force field, flipping head over end in the air.

Landing on its side, the tank spun around in a circle like a helpless insect until
it righted itself and retreated without a sound.

One silver ball, a second, and then a third shot out from the three barrels extending
from the tank’s gun turret.

Greylancer swung the chariot right and evaded the first two shots, but the third hit
the force field.

The silver projectile was an artillery shell measuring thirty centimeters.

The outer shell splintered away, while its contents grazed Greylancer’s head and disappeared
behind him.

Within the shells were steel spikes about five centimeters thick.

“Now let’s double the force field.” Greylancer closed in on the tank, evading the
incoming cannon fire.

The enemy circled right and fired more shells.

When one shell smashed through the floor near her feet, Laria let out a shriek.

Suddenly, Greylancer’s chariot took to the air and cut a diagonal path toward the
tank. The Noble had switched to gravitational propulsion.

The OSB computer faltered for a split second. Unable to calculate an evasive maneuver,
the computer rotated the tank’s turret and fired a random shot.

Though the shell hit the chariot head-on, both the casing and spikes were deflected
from the armor.

Switching off the force-field generator, Greylancer whirled atop the enemy’s gun turret.

His right arm rose skyward.

The silver lance in his hand came down like a lightning bolt.

As soon as the blade slashed through the thunder from top to bottom, Greylancer jumped
back onto his chariot.

A red streak tore across the contours of the tank, growing thicker and thicker until
the armor ruptured and exploded. A massive fireball swallowed Greylancer and swept
across the ground and sky.

The scene was strangely quiet.

Nearly ten seconds passed before the fire consumed the tank and went out.

Greylancer and the chariot appeared above the black ruins like a dream.

Laria ran to her brother. “Why must you be so reckless?”

“Well, is the chariot to your liking?” Varossa asked politely.

“It is a fine chariot.”

“Naturally,” said the weaponsmith, cocking his head with a self-satisfied smile.

“Why didn’t you equip every chariot with the superior force field to begin with?”
Laria asked, an edge in her voice.

“There was no predicting what the enemy was capable of.”

“But we have engaged this type of OSB tank in battle more than once.”

An indescribable look of horror came over Varossa’s face. “Are you perhaps suggesting
that I might be lying?”

“I’m sold,” said Greylancer, electing not to answer. “I shall ride this chariot tomorrow
morning. See that you get it ready.” After handing down this order like only a Noble
could, Greylancer switched on the antigrav belt and floated away, his sister following
in his wake.

†

Watching Greylancer and Laria leave, Varossa grumbled quietly to himself at the door,
“He distrusts even this weaponsmith, who has served House Greylancer for five thousand
years. Such banality. A worthless master.” And then a broad smile came across Varossa’s
face as he continued. “I would have expected nothing less from my master—Lord Greylancer.
A mere grub of a son that you are compared to your father, you shall have my grudging
support and these skills honed over five millennia. Long life and well-being, my lord.”

The next day, the counterinsurgency forces departed for the deadly battleground.

Since the troops couldn’t very well proceed down the road in a convoy, the army boarded
a cargo vessel and within three hours arrived in the Western Frontier sector—Mayerling’s
dominion.

In a siege such as this one, a gravitational barrier typically shielded the castle,
Nobles’ residences, and the strategic headquarters. The initial attack necessarily
involved attempting to destroy the barrier.

But Duchess Mircalla, the supreme commander of the counterinsurgency forces, could
only blink in disbelief upon hearing the analysis reports from the aerial reconnaissance
sensors.

“As unconventional as the Western Frontier overseer may be, it’s impossible that he
is shielding his entire dominion with a gravitational barrier! It can’t be done without
the Capital’s galactic energy changer.” This was Thorzak Yanzarlai, a duke of the
Eastern Frontier sector.

“Then Mayerling must have procured a copy of the very same device,” said Mircalla,
having already regained her composure. Glancing at Greylancer with her blue pools,
she said, “You’re awfully calm. Why is that?”

“No reason. Only that I have always believed anything is possible—things that both
the Nobility and humanity might struggle to fathom.”

“How very mindful of you.” Mircalla turned to the data projected in the air. “According
to the data, the barrier’s strength is a hundred quadrillion joules—nearly enough
power to keep the barrier up and running for eternity. We are nowhere unless we dispense
with this barrier first.”

“So a full-force assault would require some time…then how about the age-old tactic
of starving out the enemy?” remarked Lieutenant General Dreyse Ghishirshin of the
Capital Defense Division, in jest. Though the strategist’s record against the OSB
was unblemished, he had an unfortunate knack for souring the mood with his arrogance.
When no one laughed, he winced.

Needless to say, human blood was the Nobility’s—vampires’—source of sustenance. This
supply, collected both willingly and unwillingly from the local population, not only
sated the Nobility’s appetites, but also filled frozen or otherwise dried and pressure-packed
storage units scattered across the land.

A year’s worth of blood was typically kept on hand in any Noble castle.

In addition, Mayerling had perfected a cocktail of mineral-infused synthetic blood
that tasted much like the real thing. He manufactured it in large quantities in a
factory near the castle. A prolonged siege of a year or two years was exactly what
Mayerling desired.

Of course, Lt. General Ghishirshin had quipped about starving the enemy, knowing so.
Yet the members of the war council remained still as stone.

“Every castle floorplan includes secret evacuation tunnels, but the possibility of
escape is rendered nil since the entire territory has been shielded by the barrier.
No escape, no entry. It will be a long, drawn-out war.” Scanning the data, General
Lei Huo Chao took a drag from his pipe. He was an elite strategist from the War Ministry.
Given his background, perhaps he was well suited for a long-term conflict.

“That will not be the case.”

The generals, who’d resigned themselves to a protracted campaign, made no attempt
to hide their anger or disbelief toward the voice of dissent. “Just what is it you
mean, Lord Greylancer?”

“You possess some stratagem against Lord Mayerling?”

“What I possess is an understanding of Mayerling’s character.” Greylancer extended
his left arm.

The image of a Noble appeared.

“Mayerling?” Despite recognizing it was nothing more than a hologram, the generals
looked aghast, partially thanks to how lifelike the young Noble appeared, and partially
due to the fear he inspired.