Noble V: Greylancer (3 page)

“I will take lodging at your abode tonight. We have matters to discuss.”

The color drained from the chief’s face. “Uh…shall I arrange for anyone to join us?”

“
After
we’ve talked.”

The giant dismounted from his horse, and his dark blue cape fluttered majestically.

†

Michia came out of the house upon Lanzi and Greylancer’s arrival.

The couple’s son was not at home, and Lanzi’s daughter had been adopted when Michia
came to live with the chief. Now the girl lived with a farming family in the Northern
Frontier.

After sending Michia away, Chief Lanzi was confronted by the sheer fact that a Noble
stood in his parlor. The sight of the vampire lowering his frame onto the sofa was
enough to stifle his breathing. The last glimmer of daylight streamed in through the
window, spreading the Noble’s shadow over the room as if to shroud it in darkness.

Then, Greylancer revealed a scenario that made the chief’s blood curdle.

“I’d assumed there were only two, but when I checked the OSB’s weapon, it had discharged
one blast fewer than the number of woodcutters’ family members. One of them must have
survived.”

“But…none of the other woodcutters have been to the village today.”

“You said that the villagers went out to tend their crops.”

Just as Chief Lanzi began to nod, his face went blank—the meaning of Greylancer’s
remark registered in his mind. “Are you suggesting one of the OSB first took the identity
of a woodcutter and then switched to the form of one of the villagers?”

“I don’t know. It is possible. If there is the slightest possibility, it bears investigating.”

“How do you propose to do that?”

“You will alert the village that I will be patrolling the premises. That’s all. The
villagers will wait for dawn sheltered in their homes—all except one.”

“You mean to expose yourself to draw out the enemy?”

“A tired ploy, I realize. But that it has not fallen out of favor is proof of its
efficacy.”

“As you wish.” Wiping the sweat from his face, the chief contemplated the human-shaped
specter before him. Just whose defeat was best for the village, he knew not.

The third OSB
had stolen the form of one of the woodcutter’s family members, headed straight for
Ardoz, and, after transforming into one of the villagers toiling in the fields, returned
to the village. Since it retained the knowledge and outward appearance of its victim,
not even family members could see through its trickery.

Perhaps Ardoz was not the OSB’s destination or hiding place at all. The Glacierites
lived in a town not fifty kilometers away, where it was possible to board a ship and
sail down the River Benev.

Greylancer had decided to return because Michia had told Beijrot of Greylancer’s visit
before the woodcutter’s body had been stolen by the OSB.

If the OSB could steal the identity of the Greater Noble, whose name was known across
the Frontier, they would be able to march into the Capital uncontested. No doubt the
enemy would risk life and limb to that end.

As darkness descended, Greylancer left the chief’s house.

The eyes of those peering from the windows converged on the Noble patrolling the streets.

He emerged into the village square.

Though the streetlamps were dark, a near-full moon lit the well and stone relief with
a bluish glow. Several wagons were parked on the western edge.

Greylancer looked up in the direction of the grating screech overhead.

Silhouetted birds fluttered across the moon. Night migrants. The black nocturnal birds
of passage alighted around Greylancer and began pecking at the shadows of the trees,
houses, and wagons.

The birds used their pointed beaks to eat the ground insects gathered in the shadows
at night, and because they appeared to be pecking at the shadows, they were also called
“shadow eaters.”

After gazing down for a moment at the birds picking the strandlike insects off the
ground, Greylancer muttered, “Seems I lack what the shadow eaters are looking for.”
Nobles cast no shadows at their feet. “The night is still young. I pray the OSB are
an impulsive race. The loss of Grosbec will be felt dearly,” he grumbled to himself.
Spoken by this man, however, the words had the ring of scathing damnation against
the OSB. “A fine moon.” After looking up for a moment, the Noble resumed his patrol.

He made no sound when he walked. Even the shadow eaters did not notice his footfall.

Of the paths leading out of the square, Greylancer headed for the west exit.

As he passed by the wagons parked at the edge, the nearmost wagon instantly began
to lose its shape.

An amorphous mass the color of the wagon leapt at Greylancer.

The flash of movement gave away its presence. Greylancer twisted his enormous body
to the right at an unthinkable speed.

Gripped in his right hand was the long lance he’d used to fell the ghost archer earlier
in the day. The curved conical tip struck the mass and flung it against the stone
wall along the path. The enemy was protean, shifting form moment by moment.

The instant the lance poised for another attack, the mass twisted into a vortex and
flowed through a hole in the stone wall.

“Tch!” The Noble thrust the lance against the wall.

The wall exploded and smashed to pieces. When he cleared the rubble in his path, he
spotted the fleeing mass fifty meters ahead.

Suddenly, the mass changed shape again, stealing the form of a nearby creature. A
black cat scampered fifty meters in the moonlight toward a lit building with unbelievable
agility. The OSB was capable of doubling the abilities of the creatures it became.

Greylancer’s lance discharged a particle beam. A purple streak tore through the darkness.
The beam grazed the cat’s tail and bore a five-meter-long trench in the ground. The
explosion made no sound, as if in deference to the tranquility the moon demanded.

Watching the cat disappear inside the building, Greylancer broke into a run.

When he reached the door, lively music filled his ears. He didn’t need to look at
the sign to know he had stumbled into the all-night tavern found in every Frontier
town.

The tavern was crowded with patrons.

The moment they glimpsed the stranger’s entrance, the faces of the patrons and bartender-cum-proprietor
froze. The room reeked of smoke and liquor.

“Not one move,” commanded Greylancer before anyone could speak. “Anyone else here?”
he asked, glancing at one door in the back and another to the left. The back door
was the entrance into the staff room, and the door on the left led into the washroom.

Game maps for a vampire hunting game that was all the rage in the Frontier and coins
and various chips and cards for wagering cluttered the tabletops. No one attempted
to hide the game, perhaps petrified by the Greater Noble’s ghostly aura.

“Two,” the bartender-cum-proprietor answered, his voice stiff, perhaps surpassing
the usual tremulous reaction. “My wife is in the back changing. And there is another
in the toilet.”

“Look right,” boomed Greylancer to the patrons of the tavern. “If the person next
to you has never left your sight, stand over there against the right window. Otherwise,
raise your right hand.”

Within seconds, everyone save the proprietor stood by the window. Despite the knives
and guns undoubtedly concealed among them, not one thought to reach for their weapons,
as they all stared at the same two doors Greylancer did.

The enemy could not have escaped. It must have taken some damage by the earlier hit.
Neither was the enemy so feeble as to flee in the face of a flesh-and-blood Noble.

Since the enemy might be among the patrons, Greylancer had no choice but to detain
them.

The back door opened first.

A slender middle-aged woman, wearing a colorful corset and flared skirt, emerged from
the staff room and became immediately petrified by the tension in the room.

“A N-Noble…!” she stammered, and at the same, a youth in his mid-teens came out of
the left door and was stopped cold.

“Lord Greylancer,” the proprietor began to jabber. “This is my wife. And the boy there
is my son. Whoever you’re looking for, I can assure you these two aren’t involved.”

Whether the Greater Noble heard him or not, his steely voice rang across the tavern.
“Strip off your clothes—both of you.”

It was an order no one dared defy. Even the husband and father of the two in question
could not form the words to protest.

Surely the two were desperate to know what they had done to attract such direct attention
from a Noble. Surely they knew nothing. Nevertheless, the woman unlaced her corset,
and the teen unbuttoned his shirt as ordered.

As the woman bared her ample breasts and taut body from the waist up beneath the gas
lamp, the eyes of the patrons pleaded innocent to having any lascivious thoughts.

“Move your hands,” ordered Greylancer. The woman lowered the hands covering her breasts.
“Turn around.”

Both mother and son turned once around.

Finally, anger began to seep into the eyes and faces of the patrons. They were not
castrated livestock after all.

When Greylancer commanded, “Take off your bottoms,” one of the men jumped up and shouted,
“That’s enough!” He pointed a gun at Greylancer.

The lance slashed the man’s elbow like a bolt of lightning, sending the severed arm
sailing toward the wall. So quick was Greylancer’s attack that the man was unaware
of his pain until his blood rained down on the others like rose petals. He glanced
around the blood-splattered room, then fell.

Strange occurrences happened all the time in the Frontier. But not even Greylancer
could have predicted what happened next.

A gunshot rang out.

The gun, still gripped in the man’s severed hand, had crashed against the wall and
exploded on impact.

The bullet pierced the woman’s right breast and shot clean through her back.

A dreadful silence came over the room, and in the next instant, the woman crumpled
to the floor.

“Mama!” the boy shouted and ran to his mother.

Everyone stared in terror.

The woman’s head twisted a full 360 degrees, tearing off at the neck, and sprang like
a savage animal at Greylancer.

Deep inside the fanged mouth of the kindly countrywoman was the green glow of a cyclopean.

Greylancer thrust the lance inside her mouth, skewering the woman’s head as it flew
at him, then crushing it to pieces.

The room filled with screams.

Pulverized bits of flesh and bone and eyes turned into grayish ooze in midair and
splattered on the poor onlookers’ heads, faces, and hands.

Like the rest of the mother’s body, the gray matter stuck on the people’s skin twitched
and quivered and stopped, until it vaporized in an instant.

“I shall take my leave of you.” Greylancer spun on his heel, any interest in the tavern,
its patrons, the OSB, the possessed woman, much less the village already leaving him.

Another gunshot.

A tiny hole opened in the cape shrouding his massive back and disappeared as quickly
as it appeared. The Noble’s garments were made of a memory fabric that restored its
original shape when damaged.

Turning, Greylancer confronted the youth clutching the gun in both hands. Purple smoke
plumed from the trembling barrel.

“You…killed my mother…” The boy sobbed. Tears rolled down his cheeks with every gasp.

The Noble’s reply was frigid. “The creature that I struck down was not your mother.
Don’t you see that?”

“Listen to him, Lingor,” shouted his father from behind the bar counter. “He’s right!”
He alone understood that the fate of his family turned on what would happen in the
next few seconds. “Lord Greylancer is not responsible for what has happened here.
Get ahold of yourself!”

“Nobles, Nobles, Nobles! They’re to blame for all of this. Mama would still be alive
if you damn Nobles—” The boy’s anger tensed his finger before he’d intended to squeeze
the trigger.

The moment the gun roared, Greylancer plunged the silver spearhead through the boy’s
throat, twisting the hilt for good measure. The boy’s head tore off at the initial
gouge and landed in the middle of where the patrons stood.

Screams again erupted from the crowd.

Lance in hand, Greylancer resumed his walk toward the door.

He sensed the hatred rise up and countless weapons being drawn behind him.

“Have you any idea the position you are in?” The force of his voice was enough to
freeze the animosity surging toward him. “If the OSB are not destroyed within twenty-four
hours of a confirmed infiltration, the area within a thousand kilometers of the invasion
point will become the target of our corona cannon. I have yet to report to the Capital
that the threat has been put down, and the woodcutter Beijrot made first contact with
the OSB yesterday at dawn. Try as you might, there will be no escape.”

Even after the echo of his voice and its master dissolved into the darkness, the villagers
could not move for a good long while.

Several minutes passed, until freed from the curse at last, they began to tremble
with newfound enmity and grief, while others counted the village’s fortune at having
been spared, thanks to the sacrifice of the tavernkeeper’s family.

Greylancer left the tavern and headed directly for Chief Lanzi’s house. His intention
was to depart immediately.

He could give a damn about the collective hatred of the villagers. He had little interest
in humanity to begin with. He was merely dispatching his duties as Frontier overlord.
The truth was he could barely tolerate speaking to humans.

The overlordship was not determined by succession.

Before being appointed to this position by the Privy Council—the highest decision-making
body of the Nobility—Greylancer had been a member of the Sub-Council and all but assured
a seat in the next Privy Council.

The ladder up the ranks was a precarious one for which pedigree, skill, and proven
record were requisite criteria. It was a great achievement for a Noble to earn a seat
on the Sub-Council, much less the Privy Council. Yet Greylancer had easily ascended
the elite ranks virtually uncontested.

The Noble Greylancer.

Though the Nobility had dispensed with such honorifics, his brethren naturally took
to calling him by this appellation out of deference for his record for wiping out
those among the Nobility opposed to the Sacred Ancestor.

In the Noble year 2004, the True Nobility World faction, which advocated the extermination
of the human race, plotted to disperse a radioactive substance that selectively acted
upon human DNA. It was the young warrior Greylancer that had killed every last one
of the conspirators and foiled their plot on the eve of the operation.

And in the Noble year 3052, the Anti-Human Alliance, a larger, more powerful offshoot
of the True Nobility World faction, set in motion a thousand-year conspiracy to assassinate
the Sacred Ancestor. Two hundred years later, it was also Greylancer who exposed the
plot within weeks and, risking his own ruin, drove a stake into the heart of the ringleader,
a high-ranking member of the Privy Council.

And then again in the Noble year 3071, when humanity mounted an insurrection for the
ages against the Nobility, leading the charge to put down the threat and punishing
the regional Nobles that incited the uprising was none other than Greylancer.

Why this Greater Noble, embodying the full glory of the Noble race, was demoted to
oversee a sector of the Frontier was a mystery even to the Privy Council handing down
the order.

Nevertheless, Greylancer accepted the appointment without complaint and departed the
Capital with his most trusted retainers in tow. Nearly ten thousand Nobles were said
to have lined the street to soberly see off their exalted warrior.

Though he ruled over his subjects with both a gentle and severe hand, his disinterest
in humans was not caused so much by this tavern incident alone as it was by Greylancer’s
nature.