Noble V: Greylancer (9 page)

“A hard fate. The Noble who took your sight will suffer a death a hundred times more
cruel than that of your friend.”

“Don’t talk like that.” The girl shook her head, shaking off tears from her eyes and
cheeks. “I’ve had enough with death and hurt. The Nobility may think nothing of being
dismembered, but we humans must die screaming and crying in agony.”

“Hm,” Greylancer mused, looking down at his severed lower half.

“I’m sorry, I’ve only just met you. My emotions have gotten the best of me. I just
thought that a bard might understand so many things.” Wiping away the tears, Leticia
said, “Perhaps you’ll compose for me a song.”

“A song?”

“Yes.”

“First, answer me this. Who was the overseer that robbed you of your sight?”

“It was Lord Greylancer.”

A cool wind brushed across the prairie. Waves of grass rippled where Greylancer lay.
“Leticia…” he muttered. “Answer me another. You don’t sound angry. Do you not bear
a grudge against this overlord?”

“He did not order this man to take my sight from me.”

“Yes, but—”

“But there is not enough anger in this world to express what I feel for the man who
did this to me. If ever I found his grave, I would stop at nothing to drive a stake
into his heart. But I bear no resentment toward the overlord.”

“This overlord aside, do you not resent the Nobility?”

“My mother taught me that fate is the messenger of both happiness and misfortune.”

“Your mother…? She abandoned you, did she not?”

“It was the only way they could survive. My mother and father held my hand and cried,
time and again, over how sorry they were.”

“Is parting always so sorrowful?”

“You must be a fortunate man to ask such a question. I’m glad.”

“Glad?”

“Yes, I’m glad that people like you exist. I’m glad to have met you.”

Greylancer directed his eyes away from her smile and looked up.

A clear moon was now visible in the darkening blue sky. Only the day before, he’d
been engaged in a vicious battle on the far side of the moon, and now he lay in a
field on his home planet three hundred thousand kilometers away.

By his side stood a blind girl who told him she was happy they met.

“What else did your mother teach you?”

“Nothing will come of blaming fate. That I am free to go on hating the cause of my
misfortune, but to never think of the world as an evil place. I may hate the Noble
that took my sight, but I must not blame any of the others. The Nobility are alive
as we are, and as long as they exist, they stray and suffer as we do. That is why
I do not hate the Nobility.” Raking up her loose hairs, Leticia urged him. “Now compose
a song for me, please.”

Then came Greylancer’s astounding answer: “You have been warned—it will be poorly
composed.”

“Yes, all right.” The golden-haired girl nodded once, her dress looking like the most
becoming garment in all the world.

The girl closed her eyes and stood beneath the blue sky.

Were Greylancer to reveal that he’d composed a song before, the Nobles might fold
up in laughter at the world’s greatest joke ever told.

Yet, in fact, he had.

Just one verse.

Greylancer searched for it in the cobwebs of memory.

After the wind stroked his hair a second time, out of his crimson lips came a song:

When first you entered with a shadow and began to dance

I could not see the controlling strings

Dance, will you

Dance, will you

Cut the strings of fate into the night and dance

And make Fate fall in step with me

Waves of grass nodded their approbation. The wind blew. Twilight wrapped the nightsong
and its poet in an embrace.

When his voice faded
, Leticia stared at the grasslands in the distance. Despite the darkness of the song,
she appeared bathed in light. “That’s the first song I heard other than my mother’s.”

“Do you like it?”

“Oh, very much,” she said, squeezing her hands in front of her chest. “But it’s a
sad song.”

“Sad?” Greylancer felt a peculiar feeling come over him. The word he’d uttered was
an emotion he’d not recalled feeling before.

From whence had this emotion been borne?

And what had brought it on?

He felt his consciousness drift terribly far away…

And then a door flew open.

A glittering chandelier. Men and women dressed in evening attire. A party? But when?
Then—

His consciousness weaved and slipped deftly between the night dwellers and emerged
onto the veranda, where the marble floor reflected the moonlight.

She stood in the crowd of partygoers milling about like shadows.

Perhaps the white dress had been spun from moonlight. Her face was obscured from view,
as her bare shoulders and back shimmered like water.

Call out her name, Greylancer.

He closed his eyes. He was at a ball.

Yes, her name—

Slowly, the woman began to turn around.

Her name escapes me, but if I glimpse her face—

The distant sound of wheels rumbled from the depths of night.

†

The Noble’s eyes fluttered open.

Greylancer shot a hard look in the direction of the sound, but he could make out nothing
more than waves of grass.

“Is something wrong?” Leticia asked, sensing a change in her companion.

“A wagon approaches.”

After straining her ears toward the road, the girl said, “I don’t hear anything.”

A Noble’s ears were capable of picking up noises several kilometers away. “Your companion
comes this way.”

“Huh?”

“Too late.”

“What?”

“Something else is coming this way. It must have sniffed out the smell of blood. Do
you know your way back to the road?”

“Yes.”

“Keep low and run.”

“What is—”

“A monster. It’s coming straight at us from the west. Quickly.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll manage. You should know I am immortal.”

“You’re talking like a Noble. Come, we’ll run together.”

Greylancer looked at the girl’s desperate face and then down at his lower body.

If the girl were somehow persuaded to reattach his body, he would regain his freedom
in an instant.

“Go!” he barked. The sound of a Noble’s roar.

†

“Now what?” muttered Greylancer.

He did not appear to be in a terrible panic. A Noble would rise again even after being
devoured by a monster. But being torn to pieces without a fight was something his
pride would not allow.

“Move.” He threw his consciousness into his right hand. “Move, damn it. Move!”

Something bright and colorful thrashed through the grass and appeared before him.

The stout, one-meter body and eight legs stretching ten meters were yellow with black
speckles.

Its shape was similar to that of a giant spider. It halted its advance and eyed Greylancer.

“A ghost spider. Damn that Mayerling. Allowing these behemoths to run loose. And he
calls himself a human sympathizer.”

The surface of the spherical body that could be called neither the cephalothorax nor
abdomen split open in the shape of a cross and a face appeared out of the opening.

It was the face of a middle-aged man.

“The last victim.” Greylancer twisted his lips in amusement. Feeding exclusively on
humans, the monster was also called a
human-faced spider
because it reproduced the face of the last prey it devoured.

More spiders appeared on either side of the first: one with the face of a white-haired
old woman and the other with the face of a boy of sixteen or seventeen. The living
faces of the humans emanated a ghastly aura.

“I’ve tired of lying here. Come and get me.” The words were spoken in provocation.
After eying Greylancer suspiciously, the human faces slackened and broke into eerie
smiles.

The three arachnids quickly closed the five-meter distance.

The face of the middle-aged man opened its enormous mouth to bite off Greylancer’s
head, when something rained down from above.

From where had they been shot?

How had the bowman taken aim? What was but a blur tracing a beautiful arc downward
transformed into three scarlet arrows and skewered the spiders from the back to front.

The spiders let out a hideous scream. Because of their screams and blood that poisoned
the area, the prairie withered afterward and would never grow another blade of grass
within a two-kilometer radius.

“Well now.” While the three spiders writhed in the throes of death, Greylancer admired
the dexterity of the archer lurking somewhere in the grass.

Based on the angles of entry, the archer figured to be over two hundred meters away.
Sighting the spiders from that distance hardly seemed possible. Was it possible, then,
to hit a target without seeing it? Three of them, no less?

The spiders fell sideways at Greylancer’s feet.

At the same time, the human faces stole out of captivity, leaving a hole in the quivering
bodies.

Eight legs sprouted out of each of the faces and carried them into the tall grass
in the blink of an eye.

As soon as they disappeared, the creaking of a wagon drew closer. Within a minute,
a wagon drawn by a headless cybernetic horse emerged from the road.

Next to the young man holding the reins and bow sat Leticia.

The boy jumped off the wagon and ran toward Greylancer, notching an arrow in his bow.

But his feet carried him no further than five steps.
He
was not blind.

The moment he mouthed the word, “Noble,” his consciousness was taken from him. Greylancer’s
eyes burned red.

“Come,” the Greater Noble said.

The youth, bow still pulled ready, began to walk with slow, unsteady steps. Even as
his will was taken from him, his subconscious was fighting tooth and nail to resist.

When he finally stood next to where Greylancer lay, the Noble commanded, “Bring my
lower half and attach it.”

The well-dressed young man must come from Leticia’s adoptive family. Probably an older
brother, given his rugged looks, and how he’d come to fetch Leticia. Above all, he
was the human to whom Greylancer owed his life.

The Greater Noble paid no mind to such trifles. He was an overlord, and aside from
supplying him periodically with blood, the human boy was a worthless barnyard animal
under his protection.

Easing the tension in the bow, the boy rested the weapon by his feet.

His awkward movements suggested the ongoing battle for his will.

When Greylancer touched his legs at last, he smiled a satisfied smile.

The boy had managed to carry out the frightful task.

Sweat dripped from his brow. It was more the result of the struggle between his mind
and will than of physical labor.

“That will do.” Greylancer nodded, his eyes glowing blood red. “Tell me your name.”

“Arrow Belsen,” answered the boy, mortified. Greylancer’s smile grew wider. “How can…a
Noble…in broad daylight…?” he gasped, his spirit not yet broken.

Greylancer ignored him and asked, “How old are you?”

“Twenty.”

“Such ruddy cheeks…how warm and sweet the blood flowing through that body must be.”
Greylancer was able to raise his right arm. The dormant power began to reawaken in
his now whole body. “Come here.”

The right hand beckoned.

The youth resisted as sweat dripped from his chin and dissolved into the dirt.

His body bucked and bowed several times, until finally he was brought to his knees
before the Greater Noble.

“Petty human.” Greylancer grabbed the boy’s black hair and wrenched his neck toward
his chest so the carotid artery came before his eyes. “Well now.” The vampire’s red
lips opened before the rapidly ending day.

“Arrow?” The girl’s voice forced Greylancer to pull away. When he spotted Leticia
approaching with the aid of her stick, his sinister intentions were shaken. Perhaps
with the instinct of the blind, she came to a halt just short of the two men. “I can
sense the two of you about here. Arrow, are you there?”

“Yeah.” The boy pulled away from Greylancer and stood up. Snatching the bow up off
the ground, he returned the arrow to the quiver on his back. “I went through an ungodly
experience, but it’s over now.”

“I’m glad. Thank you.”

“There are three dead ghost spiders here. Don’t come any closer.”

“You killed them, didn’t you? You’re so brave.”

“It’s nothing.” Arrow looked down at Greylancer and asked, “Can you walk?”

“I’ll manage.” Greylancer shot a glance at Leticia. “Is he your true love?”

“That’s right.” It was Arrow that answered. Leticia could only blush and nod.

“He is a good man. I wish you a happy life.”

“Thank you.”

“We should go back to the wagon. It will be dark soon,” said Arrow. “He can stay the
night with us.”

“That’s a wonderful idea.” Leticia smiled, suspecting nothing of the true nature of
her current circumstance. “This man is a troubadour,” she informed Arrow, as they
walked together back to the wagon.

Watching protectively over her every step, Arrow nodded. “Oh, so he’s a bard.”

“He even composed a lovely song for me. I wish you could have heard it.”

“Not a chance.”

“Arrow!” Leticia admonished. “I’m sorry, he’s always this way.”

“So you are his adopted sister,” said Greylancer, walking several paces in front of
the couple.

“That’s right,” Arrow answered again. “But we want to be together.”

“That sounds fine.”

“When that day comes, would you come to our wedding?”

Arrow’s eyes grew wide at Leticia’s request. “Now wait a minute, this man is—”

“A troubadour,” said Leticia, “with lovely songs to sing. Would you write a song like
the one earlier for our wedding? I promise to send you an invitation.”

“If your invitation should ever find me.”

“Oh,” Leticia gasped. She began again, sounding as if she might cry, “What shall I
do? How will we keep in touch? I know, you can write to me! Not every day, or once
a week. Once a month. And if you’ll tell me where you are and where you’re going next…”
Her face clouded again. “No…that won’t do. A troubadour travels daily. Perhaps you
should write me once a week. If you don’t mind.”

Greylancer didn’t know why. Perhaps it was the way she had tacked on, “If you don’t
mind.” Whatever the reason, the Noble let out a full-throated laugh. “Very well. Once
a week then. If you so desire to hear my song.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Listen to you,” Arrow muttered sullenly. “So much more cheerful now.”

The three climbed onto the wagon.

After the cybernetic horse started into a gallop, Greylancer asked, “Who taught you
the bow?”

“A traveling bowman.” Arrow cracked the whip, and the horse accelerated.

“The wicked bow skill—the ability to fell an unsighted target. Fewer than ten Nobles
are known to practice it. What is your range?”

“The farthest I’ve attempted is two kilometers. But my master succeeded from over
ten kilometers.”

“How is it you accomplish this?”

“I can hit any target I’ve seen once, whether he’s inside a house, underground in
a wine cellar, or on a moving boat. I don’t need to see him firsthand. I can look
at a picture or drawing.”

“What if you can do neither?”

“I can listen to a detailed description and shoot.”

“And when you’re unable to do that?”

“If I had a strand of the target’s hair, a sliver of skin, a part of a nail…”

“Nothing of the kind.”

“Then I’d have to go by the name alone.”

“Hm, can you do it?”

“But the accuracy goes down to ten percent.”

“A formidable skill.” It was a sincere appraisal. That the boy was human did nothing
to lower the Noble’s estimation of his skill. Such was the measure of the Noble named
Greylancer. Then, he asked a frightful question: “Have you ever felled a Noble?”

“Alas, no. My master hasn’t either. But if I had a mind to, I wouldn’t miss.”

The wagon rattled down the road in silence for nearly an hour before entering the
tiny village.

Arrow and Leticia’s house stood just west of the village square.

The farmhouse was spacious and made of lavish materials, as might be expected of a
family affluent enough to adopt.

The three climbed down from the wagon inside the barn.

“I’ll be by with a blanket later,” said Arrow.

“Arrow, what are you saying?” Leticia said. “We can’t have a guest sleep in the barn!”

“It’s all right,” said Greylancer. “Your brother knows well how to treat me. It is
the proper way.”

Hearing this, Leticia could say nothing more. “What will Mother and Father say?”

“I’ll explain to them later.” With this curt response, Arrow left the barn.

“My brother is acting very strangely,” said Leticia, to which Greylancer answered,
“He is only doing what I requested.”

“When was that?”

“In the grasslands, before you returned.”

“Why won’t you come inside the house?”

“We troubadours are not easy around others. It’s far easier to be alone with our words.”

Each utterance weighed heavily like iron. Leticia nodded in satisfaction. “Then I’ll
be back later to bring you dinner. I hope you can tell me about all the places you’ve
seen then.”

Then Leticia padded out of the barn.

Beneath the sixty-watt light bulb, Greylancer stood alone. Around him were haystacks,
hoes, spades, and scythes of various sizes, a wooden cart, sacks of fertilizer and
seeds, along with the sprayers to disperse them. They took up space in the century-old
barn as if they had been waiting for Greylancer for as long.