“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.”
3
“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 fifte
en.”
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.”
“Why is that?”
“We have no time for tears if we want to live,” answered Michia, looking away for a moment. “Half of the children die within two months of their birth. The land in these parts can barely grow a tenth of the crops that we need to survive.”
“You receive necessary rations from the Administration Bureau in the Capital.” Greylancer’s tone turned serious. Overseeing the Northern Frontier sector was his responsibility.
For the first time, an incredulous expression came into Michia’s eyes. “Do you not know?”
“About what?”
“The rations we receive from the Bureau do not last any of the villages more than a week.”
“That’s absurd. I’ve seen to it that you will never go hungry. Your welfare has always been a priority.”
“But you do not deliver the supplies yourself.”
“You’re not suggesting—my vassals? Profiteering?” He shook his head. A ferocious gleam began to burn in his eyes. “Why do you weep now, amid this reality too hard for tears? And…”
Greylancer swallowed his words, as a faint smile crept across Michia’s face.
“There is another reason why I weep,” she said, hopeful and bashful at the same time.
“Speak it now,” said Greylancer gravely.
Her pale arms twined around his neck.
It was a moment best described as a miracle.
No other time in history has a human, neither spellbound by a Noble’s gaze nor seeking servitude, ever willingly desired a Noble.
“I weep because—” Michia stopped. Greylancer looked up at the entrance. “What’s wrong?”
“An unfortunate intruder.” Greylancer clenched Michia’s hand.
Four silhouettes rushed inside and scattered about the stable.
“Michia—what are you doing?” The earth-scorching cry belonged to Chief Lanzi.
Though she let go of his hand, rather than pulling away, Michia collapsed over Greylancer’s lap.
“What are…my lord, just what have I done to earn your disfavor?” The chief trembled violently.
Two of the men appeared to be the chief’s hired hands, and the other, Greylancer recognized. The man had been the one glaring at Greylancer with murderous intent at the tavern.
“My lord…what is…this?” An emotion unlike despair and shock swelled in the chief’s voice.
CHAPTER 3:
THE PRIVY COUNCIL'S
DECISION
1
Greylancer rose to his feet and offered no explanation in his defense. Resuming the bearing of an overlord ruling over his lowly human subjects, the Noble glared.
A shock wave of contempt and anger ripped through the four intruders. They were sent reeling on their heels, and two of the men fell onto their backsides.
“The door was open, so you are forgiven for not knocking or announcing your presence. I shall take my leave.” Greylancer moved toward his cybernetic horse without so much as acknowledging Michia.
“My lord,” said the voice of a younger man. When Greylancer did not slow his pace, the voice called out, “There’s something you should see.”
Sensing an odd confidence in the frightened voice, Greylancer turned his head.
A horrible chill stabbed like a stake at his immortal heart.
A youth of about twenty with his head wrapped in bandages stood clutching a rusty cross in his outstretched hand.
The others let out a cry. Though there were only four men including the chief, their voices rang across the stable with the force of an entire division of men.
“So it works,” said the youth. “I was wandering around some old religious ruins and came across an ancient tome. I guess what was written in it was true—the Nobility fear the crucifix.” He nodded at the others behind him, but two of the men were paralyzed with fear, as the stakes and hammers trembled in their hands. “Don’t just sit there! Do it!” yelled the youth at the top of his lungs.
“Chief, Chief…” Greylancer gnashed his teeth.
The chief was struck motionless by the fury in Greylancer’s voice. The cross was supposed to render the Noble unconscious, or so the youth had said. But though the Noble had averted his eyes, he hardly appeared shaken, much less about to fall into a swoon.
Greylancer hulked over the chief like a mountain. “Have you any idea what you’re doing?”
“I-I know it,” stammered the chief. His teeth chattered as if to rebuke the temerity of his actions. “Th-this is an act for…for all humanity! A day that will live in history. This night will sound the starting shot of humanity’s revolt against the Nobility!” The last words tripped off his tongue, not from growing calm but from desperate abandon.
Meanwhile the youth with the cross ran up to one of the feckless men on the ground and seized a stake and hammer. “Father!”
Chief Lanzi winced.
“Ah, so he is your son, is he? You also spoke of a daughter.” Greylancer’s voice took on a scornful tone that seemed to threaten not only Chief Lanzi but also his progeny in the present and extending into all eternity.
Lanzi’s son shoved the two weapons to his father’s chest. “Father, stab him in the heart with this.”
The stake and hammer rattled in the chief’s arms, as his entire body trembled.
“Father!” cried his son. But when Lanzi continued to shake, he yelled, “Then hold this. I’ll end him!” The youth shoved the cross in his father’s hands and took the stake and hammer in his own.
As he stood ready to lunge at Greylancer, Michia intervened for the first time. “Stop it, Lanok. You must stop. Lord Greylancer is—”
“I don’t want to hear it!” cried Lanok. “You’ve been a good mother to us. You never hit us or threw us out in the dead of winter for disobeying you, like our real mother. You were fair, but firm, an ideal mother. Leticia and I have always thought of you as our real mother. But now, look at you! Throwing yourself into the arms of this Noble. You’re a traitor! A traitor to Leticia, my father, and me, your friends, the village, the Frontier, and all of humanity! Leticia is lucky she isn’t here to witness this. As soon as I finish the Noble, you’re next!” These baleful words were enough to paint over the night with sorrow.
Lanok rushed forward with the stake pointed at Greylancer’s chest and lifted the hammer over his head.
Tackling his side to intercept his advance was Michia.
The two tangled and spun around several times in the other’s clutches before tumbling to the ground.
The cybernetic horses let out a loud whinny.
“Chief Lanzi,” boomed Greylancer. “Put down the cross!”
The old chief dropped the crucifix as if he’d been struck by a thunderbolt.
Greylancer’s right arm
traced a wicked arc.
It was easy enough to call it a sudden flash of steel. But the tip of the lance exceeded three meters and its grip easily five meters in length.
The blade stopped not on Lanok, who’d scrambled to his feet, but at the throat of his companion, who was left twitching helplessly on the ground.
The Noble cast a smile that might rightly be called benevolent. With his eyes trained on the boy before him, Greylancer addressed the rebel leader. “Lanok, was it? As overseer, I have governed over this land by example. My regard for you humans is no different than that of other Nobles. But I will not promise your safety and leave you to fend for yourselves in a wasteland not even beasts or monsters dare inhabit. Nor will you be laid to slaughter for my gain. And in return my demand is this—absolute loyalty. It is easily given. Do not cross me, do not talk back in anger, and do not lie. And never raise a sword against me. They are the commandments I have passed down to you at my appointment and have repeated time and again. You have been allowed to live in peace ever since. A peaceful life. Is that not what you humans desire?”
“Ruled by the Nobility, surviving on what rations you toss our way—peaceful? Even if that were true, it’s no way to live. We live and breathe! As long as we are subjugated by your rule, we might as well be dead. What good is living in death? There are enough living dead already! Cursed vampires, cold-blooded bastards! This planet was born for us warm-blooded humans!” Lanok shouted, “You will die proudly, Hendry!”
“Hmph, did you hear him,” Greylancer said to the youth named Hendry. “A mere boy who must be defended by his mother. Will you listen to him?” The lance dug into the boy’s throat. Blood snaked down his neck. “Tell me that you want to be saved. Cry and scream that you do not want to die. Grovel before me and beg for your life. Then you will be allowed to live. Then you shall have the honor of serving me.”
When Hendry heard this, a certain look floated across his face. Lanok let out a groan.
A servant of the Nobility—a human who is bitten and dies by the hand of a Noble returns to life with the same abilities of the Nobility. As one of the living dead. A vampire. When he submits to his station as a well-heeled dog of his master, he ceases to be human. Most such servants would think of themselves as better than human.
Noble V: Greylancer Page 4