Noble V: Greylancer (4 page)

Simply put, humanity’s existence was beyond his comprehension. To most Nobles, humans
were not much more than semiprecious vermin allowed to live only for the warm blood
coursing through their veins.

When Nobles deigned to betray deep interest in humans, it was a matter of scholarship,
and when the majority of Nobles gave any thought to humanity at all it was for the
blood that could be got from their veins.

His business with this shit-smeared piddling town stinking of humans was done.

Upon reaching Chief Lanzi’s house, Greylancer headed straight for the stable.

There he felt his knees go weak.

The reason was obvious. The effects of the ghost archer’s arrow had drained his body.
True to legend, though a wound from an iron arrow was not fatal, it was capable of
burning and rotting the immortal flesh, causing infernal pain.

Such was the awesome will of the Greater Noble to endure for this long without batting
an eye.

He was already inside the stable.

In a separate stall apart from Chief Lanzi’s wagon and cybernetic horse were two tethered
horses. One mount had only the burden of its master’s garments.

Greylancer rose to his feet and staggered two steps in that direction before losing
his balance again and toppling over.

The anger swelling on his face conveyed a shame for which not even death could atone.

Lurching like a boulder with arms and legs, Greylancer brought himself up on one knee.

And then he heard a gasp from outside the door.

The patter of footsteps, and then a pale hand rested on his shoulder.

“Were you watching, woman?” Neither an expression of gratitude nor joy, the Noble’s
words were imbued with a ghastly chill.

She seemed to tense for a moment and then quickly replied, “Yes, I was.” The determination
in her voice shook his look of menace. “Let me help you.”

“Are you the chief’s wife?”

“Michia, yes.”

“Do not meddle where you do not belong.”

“Yes, I know. But this an expression of my appreciation.”

“Appreciation?” Greylancer’s neck made a grinding sound as he twisted it in the woman’s
direction. “What are you talking about?”

“Come inside the house, if you care to know.”

“No,” he growled. “Move over there.” His eyes gestured toward the pile of calorie
weeds before him. The color and shape of an ordinary haystack, it was actually synthetic
grass, the primary energy source for cybernetic horses.

Bearing down on one knee, he labored to his feet. The pit of his stomach burned like
fire.

He shrugged off the woman’s hand, sending her reeling several steps back, but she
managed to keep her footing and returned to Greylancer’s side, undeterred.

Again, her arm wrapped around his. No longer trying to break her hold, Greylancer
lumbered forward and slumped against the pile of calorie weeds. Crushed under the
weight of the giant, the haystack crackled like a mound of tiny crushed bones and
compressed under him into a thick bed.

Michia repositioned him, threw open his cape, and found the wound on his stomach.
A black stain seeped through his green and gold embroidered shirt and spread downward.

Michia nodded. “Stay here,” she said and stood up.

“Wait. How did you know that I would return here? You were not outside.”

“I’ve been waiting here in the stable. Knowing you, I expected you would come directly
here without saying goodbye.”

“
Knowing
me?”

“Yes, my lord.” Nodding kindly, she twirled around and hastened out the door.

Within ten minutes, she returned with a white med case hanging from her shoulder.

Human medicine was useless in treating vampiric injuries. Michia hoisted the case,
nonetheless, and revealed a false bottom. Greylancer’s eyes glimmered at the sight
of the items she produced from the case.

The red plastic packets were dehydrated blood. Were they discovered, the entire family
would surely be crucified as servants of the Nobility. Even more astounding were the
plastic vials stored in a cryogenic agent.

When Michia removed the lid from one of the vials pluming white smoke, a sweet bouquet
crept into the Noble’s nasal cavity.

“What is…?”

“My blood, your lordship. If we ever had occasion to meet, I wanted you to have a
taste.”

“You’ve been collecting blood?” Greylancer regarded the chief’s winsome wife as if
he were looking at an unfamiliar creature.

“Yes.”

“It’s true that human blood is the best elixir for healing my wounds. But if anyone
should find this—”

“I would be torn to pieces, yes. No matter, I have cut my own wrists and collected
the blood you see here, and another cache that I’ve collected over seventeen years
is in a freezer in the basement.”

“But why? What appreciation do you owe me?”

“In due time,” Michia said. “Please drink first.” Handing him the vial, she turned
her back and waited.

“I am healed.”

When Michia turned around, the vampire’s mouth was painted crimson, a line of blood
streaking from one edge of his lips and dripping off his chin.

She averted her eyes before Greylancer wiped the blood with the back of a hand.

“The blood is good. But I have no memory of the taste.”

“If you did, I imagine I would be your servant instead of wedded to another.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Seventeen years ago—perhaps the years mean nothing to you—I was fifteen years old.
One summer day, my school had planned a field trip by steam bus.” Michia took the
unfinished vials from Greylancer’s hand and returned them to the case. Her distant
look seemed to reflect the sweetness of the memory.

Buoyed by good weather and the steady performance of the bus, the class ventured twice
as far as they’d planned to go to the western forest.

She began picking flowers and gathering various edible plants, and by the time she
looked up, darkness had already unfurled in the western sky.

The teacher chaperone turned pale. After boarding the students onto the bus and departing
back to the village, he realized he’d left one girl behind.

“That girl was me. When I realized that I’d strayed from the group, I found myself
in an old, magnificent abandoned graveyard. A thoroughly devastated ruin. Gravestones
were overturned; the names engraved on them were scraped off and unreadable. The earth
had been torched with gasoline. It must have been a Nobility graveyard destroyed back
in the days of the human uprisings. Only the doors of the tomb were untouched by the
devastation. A most ominous and beautiful graveyard. I understand now the entire property
had been proportionately designed to appear aesthetically pleasing, but at the time,
I simply could not tear myself away from the wicked beauty of the place.”

And then she came to another realization—her classmates were long gone and she was
utterly surrounded by darkness.

Terror embraced her entire being. When she started running in the direction of the
bus, Michia heard the sound of stone grinding against stone behind her. She did not
need to turn around to recognize that the tomb door had opened. Or that something
had risen from the tomb and was now lurking behind her.

The putrid odor of soil assaulted her nostrils, penetrating her consciousness until
she grew light-headed. She collapsed into his cold embrace.

A voice whispered in her, “So very warm. And delicious.”

“You’ve cut your finger. Was it a blade of grass, perhaps? You have shaken me out
of my slumber. My body swells for this tiny life. Allow me to sample a taste.”

The smell of decay and dirt drew closer to Michia’s neck.

It was at that moment another voice called out, “Wait.”

“That voice reverberated frostily but forcefully in my mind. In that instant, I was
able to escape the curse of the dark presence behind me.

“‘She is a subject of my sector, Lord Joyceron,’ said the voice. ‘I am Greylancer,
your successor as overlord of this sector.’

“It was the first time your name was burned into my heart.

“‘I know you, Greylancer,’ the voice behind me said. ‘I have felt the passing of time
from inside my grave. I have known about you since your youth. Do not interfere.’

“‘You were relieved of your post as overlord for fomenting the human uprisings. If
you lay a finger on one of my subjects, I will have to intervene.’

“‘You dare oppose another Noble to protect a human?’

“‘That, too, is the Nobility’s fate.’

“The shadow behind me leapt at my rescuer, tracing an arc over my head. Then there
was a strange sound as I glimpsed the spearhead pierce its black-caped back. In an
instant, the shadow fell to the ground, dust.”

In the darkness, Michia had recognized an even darker shadow with a great lance in
its outstretched hand. The sinister figure stood against the night as if it might
penetrate the darkness.

Michia stood motionless, unable to speak.

The figure that had rescued her from one horror was a horror himself. But the emotion
swelling inside her heart was neither terror nor fear, but excitement.

Greylancer, she recognized, was none other than the name of the current overlord.

Those around Michia condemned the Noble as the devil, citing legends of countless
atrocities he’d perpetrated. Michia believed in those legends.

Yet how strong, rugged, fierce, and gentle was this immoveable mountain of a man before
her.

Saved from the clutches of a cursed death. Perhaps given the extreme prejudice she’d
previously had, her impression of the Noble had been completely overturned.

Much to her shock, Michia had found herself in love with Greylancer from that moment.

“Are you all right?” the shadow asked, a voice like steel.

“Yes,” answered Michia, in a voice that was unexpectedly clear.

“Good. Then go.”

“It seems I’ve been left behind. I am alone here.” Then she uttered a question that
even she could hardly believe. “Would you take me back to Ardoz?”

“Do you know who I am?”

“Yes, you are Lord Greylancer, overseer of the Northern Frontier.”

“And you ask me to return you to your village?”

“Why yes. You said that it is your duty to protect us, just before.”

The shadow fell silent. Michia sensed something tremendous and inexpressible roiling
inside the giant.

It soon subsided and hardened into steel.

“Very well. But swear this. You will never speak of your time with me.”

“I swear,” Michia answered immediately and then added, “Why?”

“Do not ask.” His earth-rattling voice shook Michia’s heart.

“I understand.”

At last, the girl realized that her rescuer was unmistakably a Noble.

And now she spoke before him again, in the stables of her husband. “You departed first
and I followed you out of the forest. In the moonlight, I could make out a single-passenger
wagon—no, a chariot made of gold and steel—which you helped me onto. You then escorted
me back to my village. Rocking in that chariot by your side was a most heartwarming
time. The cries of the night birds or cursing winds did not frighten me. I yearned
to ride to the ends of the earth with you. After you dropped me at the edge of town,
I watched you ride off and I wept. I have been dead ever since.”

Michia finished recounting her childhood incident quietly and with great feeling.

Greylancer’s reaction was immediate. “I do not recall,” said the voice of steel.

Michia could find not a foothold from which to scale this impenetrable fortress. In
which case perhaps a ladder was in order. “I remember, and that is enough. You dropped
me at the entrance of the village and told me to forget. Ironically enough, it was
those words that stayed with me,” said Michia, her eyes glistening.

“That is in the past,” Greylancer said gruffly. “Your blood was warm and sweet, nevertheless.
I am reborn. But perhaps I shall have another taste.”

“Then please.” His pale fingers twined around Michia’s hand clutching the vials. She
was frozen by the pain like steel wires digging into her flesh.

“Why must I drink such dregs when your hot lifeblood is so plentiful here?” Greylancer
drew her into his arms. “My eyes can see the veins in your body. My ears can hear
your blood flowing. My mouth yearns to drain it dry.”

“My lord…” Michia moaned. Her eyes grew shrouded in mist. Hot breath escaped her lips.
Under the tyrannical gaze of the oppressor, humans most often cringed and cowered
and seethed. Perhaps Greylancer recognized that Michia was an exception. This woman
showed none of the inescapable fear or hatred that his victims usually betrayed when
under his spell. “How I have waited for this moment,” she gasped. “Take me where you
will. Turn me into whatever you please. It has long been my wish to die by your hand,
ever since you rescued me when I was fifteen.”

When she threw her arms against his chest, Greylancer faltered.

This was an uncommon experience for the brave and peerless warrior. That look of blatant
terror on the victim’s face just before the “kiss” was the one thrill a vampire existed
for. Yet here was this woman throwing herself into his embrace.

Greylancer put a hand on her chin and gazed into her face. “Your kind have always
looked into my eyes and could do little else but cower in terror. You are not like
them. Are you not afraid of me?

“Why no,” she answered, her voice dreamy. “Had you not found me in that forest seventeen
years ago, I would be an entirely different woman. You saved my life. It is yours
to do with as you please.”

Greylancer furrowed his brows. “Are you weeping?”

“I do not know.” Another luminous tear rolled down her cheek.

“I don’t understand it. The act of crying, that is. The Nobility have never shed tears.
Nor have I. I have heard that humans cry for two reasons. Fear and sorrow. If you
are not afraid, are you sad?”

“No.” Michia shook her head. “I have cried out of sadness only once in my life, shortly
after I was born. I have never wept since. That is the same for all humans on the
Frontier.”