CHAPTER 8:

RAIN OF JAVELINS

1

A most distressing incident befell the counterinsurgency forces early next morning.

At daybreak, Mayerling lowered the gravitational barrier shielding his dominion and fired a torrent of javelins over the camp.

Because the barrier encircling Mayerling’s dominion did not quite stretch over the entire sector, the troops were encamped just inside the border’s perimeter. Thus not one javelin had landed outside in neighboring territory. The javelins, which the counterinsurgents effortlessly fended off, measured three meters long, five centimeters around, and weighed five hundred kilograms. Falling at twelve hundred meters per second, they hit with a thousand tons of force on impact.

And yet the damage inflicted was minimal. The innumerable javelins had merely fallen like an endless volley of arrows around the encampments protected by gravitational barriers, around the super-alloy coffins of the Nobles.

The Nobility also employed once-bitten half-humans and androids to guard against day raids by human resisters. Whereas the javelins felled these servants outside the barrier, the Nobility’s weapons and materiel went undamaged.

After the first wave of attacks subsided, three minutes passed before the second wave split the clouds and poured down from the sky. Greylancer appeared under the sun.

The ground was riddled with gleaming black javelins as still more deadly blades were repelled by barriers and fell feebly about Greylancer’s feet.

The javelins coming within meters of Greylancer ricocheted away from the Noble. It was the work of his long lance. Greylancer twirled the lance in his right hand almost casually, flicking away every javelin that fell in his path.

As soon as Mayerling’s domain lowered its barrier, counterinsurgent sensors returned fire. Countless arrows shot into the horizon from the camp toward Mayerling’s castle.

Oddly enough, Mayerling chose not to launch nuclear missiles. A heat-based attack was ineffectual against the Nobility, and human fatalities were of little consequence to the Nobles who regarded the mortals as no better than insects.

The rain continued. The waves of javelins blacked out the sky from the distant horizon to Mayerling’s castle overlooking the hills a thousand kilometers away.

“Well played, Mayerling. You’ve effectively avoided any cause for complaint by any of the territories, no matter who may be in league with whom. As well, this rain of javelins is a demonstration of your strength.”

A security vehicle approached, weaving and steamrolling past the thicket of javelins on the ground, and stopped next to Greylancer.

Four half-humans, wearing black-visored helmets, stepped out of the vehicle.

While able to roam about in the light of day, these once-bitten humans were vulnerable to sunlight, requiring them to be covered in blackout gear from head to toe.

“My lord, you must seek cover!”

“It’s too dangerous!”

They were the only words they managed to get out before the next volley of javelins impaled them from back to front.

So sudden was their end that they each continued several steps toward Greylancer before falling dead at his feet.

“Fools—serves you right,” he spat out, and then he summoned a trio of AG—Android Giants.

Three androids standing three meters tall emerged from the encampment. They approached, brandishing their long swords and striking down the javelins raining down from above, filling the air with the sound of metal clanging against metal. The AGs stopped before Greylancer.

“See that the bodies are buried.” It was an order that would have stunned anyone who knew the Noble.

Regardless of the devotion with which half-humans served their master, in death, they were cast aside like so much monster fodder. Such was the fate of half-humans. Yet the Nobility’s greatest warrior had just now ordered a proper burial for the dead.

The AG carried the bodies away, and the javelin attack ended soon after.

An invisible shield went up over Mayerling’s territory again.

“My chariot!” The half-humans were the only ones to hear Greylancer’s call resounding through the camp.

Seconds later, only the wind witnessed the chariot tear through the seemingly unbreakable barrier and blaze a path above the wintry plains.

†

There were no responses to his incursion, and in less than a minute, Greylancer landed on the eastern edge of a village a mere stone’s throw from Mayerling’s castle.

“A necessary flight, I’m afraid. Circumstances what they are, it couldn’t be helped. There isn’t time to lose. But first—” Greylancer alighted from the chariot and strode toward the village.

Not a soul could be found on the sun-drenched road. He had no choice but to force his way in. Greylancer had not satiated his thirst the night before and was parched.

A house came into view from between the trees.

The Noble bristled at the sound of the turning waterwheel. That the Nobility disliked running water was a fact known throughout the land.

“I have no choice.”

The other houses were quite a distance away and likely located riverside. Even in his state of dormancy, Mayerling would certainly be alerted to any trouble in town. What Greylancer desired was a surreptitious encounter. Mayerling was not yet aware of Greylancer’s encroachment into Western territory, thanks to the chariot’s stealth program, which allowed him to pass undetected by both radar and clairvoyance. This was another invention that Laria had conceptualized and Varossa created.

When Greylancer was a mere ten paces away from the house, the door opened and through it emerged a girl of about sixteen or seventeen and her mother.

They sighted the giant in front of them before anything else.

Their shock gave way to suspicion, and as their expressions arrived at terror, Greylancer strode forward.

A Noble’s presence alone was enough to paralyze humans where they stood. At least in Greylancer’s experience.

But this mother and daughter were exceptions. The emotion that broke through the fear and burst out of their mouths was pure anger.

“A Noble!”

“An enemy of Lord Mayerling,” said the mother. Then she called out, “Dear!”

Seconds passed. The door flew open again, and out rushed two men—a boy in his early twenties and his father this time. The scythe and long barrel in their hands as well as the wailing siren explained their delay.

“You must be with the invading army! You’re not getting a step past us.”

“If you’re aiming for the castle, you’re going to have to kill us all! Take this,” the father said and handed the women a hatchet and a wooden stake.

Arching a brow, Greylancer said, “Seeing how you’ve armed your wife and daughter, it appears you value Mayerling more than your family. Is that true of all humans in the West?”

“No ruler cares more about his people than Lord Mayerling. He’s saved the lives of every one of us here. No, that goes for the entire village. We might as well be dead. We’ll gladly give our lives for him.” The father was trembling, and his face was dripping with sweat as if to affirm the genuineness of his brave intentions.

Greylancer turned his gaze on the girl. “You too?”

“Yes, that’s right,” said the girl, with a hint of innocence still about her even as she nodded sharply. Suddenly, Greylancer realized why he’d felt something was amiss. Teeth chattering in fear, the girl continued, “When Mother and Father were afflicted with a mysterious bacteria that began to rot away their flesh, Lord Mayerling came from the castle himself to deliver the medicine. Both my parents—and my brother and I—when we became infected, he saved us. Even though most of the village fell ill, no one had to die. Afterward, we were also able to receive periodic exams. Lord Mayerling saved our lives.”

“I came to this land fifty years ago.” It was the mother’s turn to speak. “In other parts of the Frontier, children and babies that could have been saved with a little food and medicine died by the dozens at the slightest outbreak of disease. The rulers did nothing but take our blood. Some kind of rulers they are! They can’t even protect their own people! When I came here, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. Fifty years—fifty years living here is plenty. I won’t let you lay a finger on Lord Mayerling.”

“Did you ever live in the North?” Greylancer asked.

“No, just South and East.”

“Hmm.” Greylancer looked upon the girl. “When I look upon your faces, they are different from those of humans living in the other sectors, including my own. Your faces are peaceful. Do you also credit Mayerling for this?”

‘That’s right,” answered the girl’s father, nodding. “The people of this sector live with smiles on their faces. Sure life is hard, but we will never starve or freeze from cold. We aren’t forbidden from having festivals, either That’s why the people here have peace of mind. Try visiting any other sector of the Frontier. You can’t get even a newborn to laugh. Life’s so hard and bitter that there isn’t a soul able to smile. A land where its children are just as scared as the adults isn’t any place to live. Well? What about your land? Do the children laugh there?”

“Hm…” Mayerling, that favormonger, thought Greylancer. Listen to how brazenly your people talk. They are a disgrace to your good name. Then the Noble asked one final question: “Why do you all not have stakes?”

After father and son stared at one another, the son answered, “The stakes are for killing evil Nobles like you. We have no need for them against Lord Mayerling. So we only keep one on hand.” As the boy started forward, the heavy thunder of footsteps drew nearer from down the road.

It was the villagers answering the siren. In the blink of an eye, twenty or so men and women surrounded Greylancer. There would be more coming. All of them had come armed, the hatchets and lances gleaming in their hands.

A leather-vested man, who appeared to be the leader, shouted, “Prepare to die! Lord knows why you can walk about during the day, but from the looks of you, you’re a Noble to be sure. Which parts are you from?”

“The North.”

“North? Then you’re from Greylancer’s sector?” His voice fell. Even in a land safeguarded by an iron ruler, the name of the Northern Frontier’s overseer was capable of rousing fear in humans.

Would they fall silent or stir in excitement upon hearing the name again? Beneath the light of day, the Noble proclaimed, “I am Greylancer.”

The humans chose silence, as if they feared the light.

2

Then they heard the sound of footsteps, like a moving mountain.

The hulking shadow came toward them, each footfall shaking the ground like aftershocks.

The humans gazed up toward the heavens.

Stopping in front of the family cowering in front of their home, Greylancer wrapped an arm around the girl’s waist.

Snatched up into his embrace as she was, the girl let out not a sound. Hearing his name had stunned her into a state of shock.

One of the villagers let out a doleful moan.

“Close your eyes,” the Noble whispered in a strangely gentle voice.

A massive hand brushed over the girl’s eyes, which had been held open by sheer terror.

Oh, light, what evil is this, so threatening in your presence? The humans succumbed to the darkness.

When they opened their eyes and uncovered their ears, they watched the girl leaning her cheek inside the Greater Noble’s cape.

She seemed asleep. A look of peace, a trusting smile. Sweet dreams.

Greylancer set her down gently, like a father would a beloved child. The girl’s feet alighted softly on the ground.

The girl stood on her own feet.

And still she slept.

Her pale complexion, the glossy lips. Red veins that an ambitious artist would beg to immortalize on canvas.

Wait.

Does she breathe?

By the time the question entered the villager’s minds, the girl had crumpled to the ground.

The villagers looked down, riveted by the two bite marks on the girl’s neck.

“You have my gratitude,” said Greylancer to the girl’s family. “Now I shall go and destroy Mayerling.”

The name of their lord incited a reaction.

Violent emotion filled their dumbstruck faces. The girl’s mother cried out first.

Then the girl’s father and brother let out a scream and lunged at the Noble.

Lightning flashed across their necks.

The two heads, sailing through the air, appeared as if they were propelled by great gushes of blood.

When the heads rolled to the ground, the mob converged at once and descended upon the enemy.

Greylancer also began his advance, whirling his silver lance as he pushed forward into the crowd.

He took one steady step after the next.

One by one, the villagers fell before him and to the right and left and behind him, as their necks spouted blood like a champagne shower.

This was a Noble.

This was Greylancer.

Spattered from head to toe in blood, the giant licked the gore from his arms.

But Greylancer was growing restless.

No matter how many he felled, more humans attacked.

The fright on their faces was palpable. They were the looks of the vanquished intuiting their own defeat. Closing their eyes and gritting their teeth, nevertheless, they continued their attack, brandishing their stakes and shooting their rifles.

Why? Why do they not fear death when they will surely die? Greylancer furrowed his brows.

More footsteps. The sound of reinforcements.

But should his advance against the humans’ defensive stand continue, the entire village was liable to perish.

The smell of blood filled the winter morning.

“Stop, stand back!” shouted a voice, along with the sound of horseshoes clopping in the distance. The sound grew louder until the mob parted before Greylancer, and three armored riders on black horses appeared. “We are with Lord Mayerling’s patrol unit. Are you Lord Greylancer?” the giant on the lead horse asked.

“I am.”

“Ah, so you are. Please forgive the people of this village.”

The three patrolmen dismounted their horses.

“They were merely acting out of devotion,” said Greylancer. “Mayerling is a ruler to be envied.”

“Such gracious words. We have orders to ensure your safe arrival at the castle. This way, please.” The patrolman raised his hand, and a blue shuttlecraft descended from the sky and hovered three meters overhead.

“That won’t be necessary. My chariot awaits.” Greylancer pointed behind him. He shook his entire blood-stained body in one vicious motion, and for a moment, he disappeared in a crimson haze. When the haze dissipated, the Noble and his cape were utterly free of blood.

“You are exactly as his lordship described. Then allow us to accompany you to the castle.”

“No need.”

“That would leave us delinquent in our duties. We have orders not to leave your side, if we should happen upon your audience.”

Thinking better of his refusal, Greylancer said, “Come,” and began walking. The path underfoot was muddy. The clay caked on his boots was red.

“Lord Greylancer is a guest of Lord Mayerling. Any impertinence will not be tolerated,” the patrolman announced.

The villagers were struck motionless even before the patrolman’s warning. So ferocious was Greylancer in battle and so sudden the end that they had lost the will to fight.

Soon the lavish shuttlecraft and the much smaller, but elegantly adorned, chariot blazed a path to the hills south of the village and landed beyond the walls of Mayerling’s impregnable castle two minutes later.

†

Despite the modest sculptures and furnishings, the choice and skillful placement of jewels and metal adornments reflected Mayerling’s taste, integrity, and fortitude in such a way that a guest—even an enemy—might feel at ease. Such was the drawing room where Greylancer confronted Mayerling’s coffin.

While such a meeting might appear eerie and impolite to humans, to a Noble consigned to sleeping in his coffin during the day, receiving a guest in this defenseless, vulnerable state, albeit from within a well-fortified coffin, was the highest form of hospitality.

“I’ve been expecting you, Lord Greylancer.”

“So it seems. How did you come to learn that I walk during the day?”

“There isn’t a Noble in the Frontier that doesn’t know. I’m surprised the Privy Council hasn’t twisted your arm to tell them your secret.”

“They have.”

“So they have.” The voice inside the coffin let out a low laugh, imagining the outcome of the exchange. “And?”

“Virgilius was chancellor then. I pretended to lose my footing and knocked him with this lance, and he never asked of it again. After five attempted break-ins and an attack on my sister, my secret is still safe.”

“Oh? How did you accomplish that?”

“Any uninvited guest that dared enter never left. As for the poor soul that attacked my sister, he fell victim to a more formidable enemy than I. The questions and summonses ceased after that.”

“I hear Chancellor Virgilius never regained the use of his arm.” And then, the voice, brightening with curiosity, said, “Perhaps the lands to the east, outside Noble rule, have some method of accomplishing this magical feat of yours?”

“I’ve heard likewise, but nothing more.”

“Would you care for a smoke?”

At Mayerling’s prompting, Greylancer cast a glance at the gold cigar box on the marble table. “No,” he answered.

“We tried using the energy source from one of the OSB’s energy emitters to aid plant growth. You may find it to your liking.”

“It’s a cancer risk,” Greylancer said, either in jest or sarcasm. The Nobility were not in the least affected by radiation exposure.

Nevertheless, Greylancer took a cigar out of the box with some interest and cut the end with a cutter.

Lighting the end with a lighter from the table, he took a long drag and let out a swirl of blue smoke.

He lifted another cigar out of the box and said, “Quite good. And the radiation produces this?”

“Radiation discovered in the OSB’s star system. It may have many uses.”

Greylancer took another drag and said, “Well now—”

“You desire a duel.”

“Tell me about Chancellor Cornelius first. There is a plot, I hear. Any truth to the rumor?”

“Yes, I heard it from the chancellor himself, though I doubt he’ll ever speak of it again.”

“Who else is involved?”

“To my knowledge, every last member of the Privy Council.”

Greylancer flashed a bitter smile. “Fascinating. It appears the odds are stacked against you.”

“I’m not so naïve as to choose a castle defense in a battle that I intend to lose.”

“Yes, I am quite aware. My duty is to prove just that and to dash that dream. Duchess Mircalla—I should say, the supreme commander—”

“I hear the woman is quite the tactician.”

“Against men as well.”

“Have you been prey to her advances?” Mayerling asked, his tone dropping low.

“Not as of yet. But Macula has been ‘bitten.’”

“Zeus?”

“He’s always had a weakness for beautiful women. But I suspect Mircalla is not the only prize he is after.”

“What is Zeus plotting? He can’t be…?”

“I do not know. It’s something I sensed when last we met in this very castle. Merely a hunch. I can’t say for certain.”

“The probability?”

“About thirty percent.”

“I’ll trust those odds.”

“Damn if you aren’t a bore to talk to.” Greylancer raised his right hand, wherein the silver lance awaited its bloodbath. “Fortune be with you.”

The lance pierced through the coffin and into the floor.

It took all of two breaths for the blood spilled forth from the gash in the coffin to stain the floor.

Greylancer’s lips curled into a grin.

He swung the lance in an arc, heaving the coffin effortlessly through the air.

Wood, it was not. The stone coffin weighed several hundred kilograms. It smashed against the wall thirty meters away with a deafening crash and fell to the floor. Neither the wall nor floor was damaged.

“Your guest departs!” Greylancer bellowed toward the door some distance away.

†

Greylancer was summoned to the operations room at the counterinsurgency’s headquarters as soon as Mircalla awakened.

“I’ve read the records.” The fair-skinned beauty stared at Greylancer with a look that was neither disapproving nor cordial. The counterinsurgency base camp was equipped with a surveillance system in case of enemy attack. “I cannot maintain discipline when my subcommander acts alone and without notice.”

“You are entirely right.” Greylancer nodded, contrite. At minimum, the law must be observed. This much was in his blood.

“So?” Mircalla asked, frigid.

“I paid a visit to Mayerling’s castle and impaled him as he slept inside his coffin.”

“Oh?” Her crimson lips rounded into an O, but her eyes, shaped like arrowheads, were bereft of emotion. “That much I believe. What surprises me is your safe return after killing the castle’s lord.”

“Then you do not know Mayerling. He left orders to treat an invited guest as a guest to the last, regardless of his own fate. His orders are inviolable.”

“Then it appears this battle is over.”

“Wishful thinking, I’m afraid,” he said, hiding none of the contempt for the woman’s shallowness. “If there is even one vassal of mettle in that castle, he will defend the castle to the last man, even after his lord has perished, and for certain if Mayerling ordered his men to resist to the last.”

“According to your characterization of him, Mayerling doesn’t seem the kind of Noble to give such an order.”

“If there is a vassal of any mettle. On the other hand, they might agree to a bloodless surrender if so ordered by Mayerling. Therein lies the gamble.”

“Hmm, we’ve been appealing for the castle’s surrender, but we have yet to hear a response. Let us discuss a course of action at the war council meeting. But say nothing of our meeting here.”

Greylancer grinned again, this time in admiration. A shrewd move.

In the event the enemy refused to surrender, and it became known that Mayerling was dead, the morale of the counterinsurgency forces would increase tenfold. Meanwhile the enemy’s morale would typically decrease; however, in Mayerling’s case, the veneration his vassals held for their lord was far more powerful than even a Noble’s true death. Should the two armies come to blows, the counterinsurgency would face a surprisingly intractable enemy, killing its will to fight. As commander, Mircalla could ill afford to engage in a long, unnecessary battle.

†

As a result of the war council meeting, the generals, fuming from the morning’s attack, had reached a consensus. They would commence the siege as soon as the barrier was neutralized.

“But our neutralizer will not work against Mayerling’s barrier.”

When one man voiced this reality, another said, “We have no choice but to wait until the science corps make the necessary enhancements to the neutralizer. And so, we must bide our time.”

“There is no other way.”

“Agreed, agreed.”

A malaise filled the war room.

On the battlefield, the warriors gathered here would burn in pursuit of the enemy. But once war-making was understood as a futile exercise, the blood pulsing through their bodies turned cold, their vitality quelled. For better or for worse, this was the Noble’s nature. Perhaps it was also the cause of the Nobility’s eventual decline. They were ignorant of Greylancer’s breach of enemy lines and murder of Mayerling. Commander Mircalla had kept the facts from even the top generals.

Greylancer, who’d closed his eyes and relegated himself to bystander, suddenly, angrily, popped his eyes open. So insufferable was the air of indecision that he had reached the end of his rope.

Would he press to ride his chariot once more and lead the attack on the enemy? Or would he defy Mircalla’s intentions and tell them that Mayerling had perished?

Like fish noticing boiling magma spouting out of murky waters, the warriors turned in Greylancer’s direction.

At least, they attempted to until—

A fist came crashing down atop the table.

“Lord Greylancer.” The young Duke of Krolock from the Southern Frontier sector turned his flaming eyes from his trembling fist up to the great warrior. His given name was Darshan. “Never mind the others. But how can you sink into this morass of cowardice? This is intolerable! I won’t stand for it! One barrier, and you’re fit to sit idly by, staring off into enemy territory instead of marching upon it—and you call yourself a warrior? Commander Mircalla, if you intend to attack the castle, I beseech you, give the order now.”

“And if I do, what do you propose to do?” Mircalla asked. Despite her frigid tone, she looked upon the young Noble with kindness.

“As impregnable as the barrier may be, it cannot stretch ten kilometers under the surface. Perhaps the commander is aware of the House of Krolock’s renown for our subterranean attacks.”

“Yes, I’ve seen it with my own eyes from your father. The underground mole, code name Landross.”

“Indeed, we have a weapon by that name. The temperature of the magma immediately under the earth’s crust in this part of the world is approximately a thousand degrees. My men will move through the magma at will, advance below Mayerling’s castle, and break through from below. I beseech you to grant my men that honor.”

“Denied,” answered Mircalla. At this, Greylancer felt his temples twitch. She continued, “The decisions made by the war council are ironclad. No one shall disobey. Besides which, the enemy will not give in to brute force. So long as I am supreme commander, no one shall die in vain.”

The young general’s entire body trembled with anger. His youth struggled to forgive the vagaries of battle.

“The commander’s orders.” The men’s eyes shot back to Greylancer as the giant stood from his chair. With the gazes of the generals gathered on him, he strode toward Darshan Krolock and rested a hand on his shoulder. “We are forbidden to defy them even in death. But in the very least, there is one true warrior in our midst. Commander, I yearn to depart for my nightly patrol.”

“This concludes the war council.” Mircalla’s icy voice settled in the spines of the generals.

†

Beneath the moonlight, the silver-blue exteriors of the steel moles seemed to shiver in want of returning underground.

The hulking vehicles, measuring a hundred meters long, were capable of twisting themselves through the ground like enormous insects, albeit ones with conical drills instead of mandibles and caterpillar belts instead of six legs.

Soldiers were standing at attention next to the ten moles.

They were about to deploy a forbidden assault from a barrier-protected area of the camp that would allow them to elude detection. The eyes of the soldiers shone crimson, and their white fangs gleamed in the shadows cast by their helmets.

Standing before the men already briefed of their mission and awaiting their command, Darshan Krolock, himself outfitted in battle gear, quietly pointed at the steel insects. “Board your vehicles.”

The men ran without a sound.

As Krolock moved to follow, a rust-tinged voice called out from behind, “Do you go?”

“Lord Greylancer.” The eyes of the young leader were filled with reverence. “You knew?”

“No.” Greylancer shook his head. “It was only that I would do the same.”

“I beg of you to overlook what you’ve seen here.”

“It appears the sodden air of the war council has done something to my eyes.” Greylancer affected a bleary-eyed look. “We possess the technology to manufacture drill-shaped tanks with liquid metals, yet we cannot escape the old,” he said, referring to the crude build of the subterranean vehicle. By all appearances, it was beyond outdated—rather like an ancient toy weapon out of a magazine from eons ago. The body was even held together with steel rivets. “Perhaps the height of the Nobility’s fondness for anachronism. I shall not stop you, but will you not reconsider?”

“I’m surprised you would ask. The battle is decided in life and death. I can no longer stand idly by on the battlefield in uncertainty.” Krolock rolled up his sleeves and said, “Just you see, Lord Greylancer. If we cannot breach the castle from underground and capture Mayerling, we shall destroy his castle. Even if we must undermine its foundations and sink it into the mantle layer.” The young Noble smiled an invincible smile.

Greylancer looked on silently as the steel moles burrowed, one after the next, into the earth. The roar of the machines was stifled by the earth itself as they pushed under the surface. “A dreadful thing,” he muttered to himself.

Overhearing this, a white-haired officer who happened nearby asked, “How do you mean?”

Greylancer’s answer was immediate. “That such a young Noble must perish before the likes of you.”