Warhammer - Knight Errant Read online

  ANTHONY REYNOLDS

  To the beautiful and talented Serena, for your boundless love and for helping me battle through the Realm of Chaos...

  PROLOGUE

  A CLAMOUR OF rooks erupted from the branches, filling the air with raucous cries.

  Unnerved, the destrier tossed its head, snorting.

  The knight calmed the warhorse with a w ord and guided it deeper into the forest.

  Tw igs like talons scratched against his heavy plate armour, and an icy breeze made the skeletal limbs of the trees shiver.

  A second horse w hinnied, stamping its hooves. The knight turned in the saddle to regard his hooded companion. With a sharp jerk on the reins, the man brought his steed back under control.

  'I'm sorry, my lord,' the hooded figure breathed.

  Without a w ord, the knight turned and continued on. He cast his eyes heavenward, peering through the thick mass of branches overhead. Darkness was falling swiftly, and the first stars could be seen flickering in the deepening colour of the sky. There w ere scuffling noises in the undergrowth from unseen creatures, and a fox, startled, turned its sharp features tow ards the knight. It froze for a moment, its nose tw itching before it disappeared into a thick tangle of brambles. Wolves howled in the distance as, somew here, a new hunt began.

  The eyes of small, scurrying creatures glinted in the dim light as the riders guided their horses ever deeper into the forest. This was not a place w here men were common, and the trees groaned and creaked as they leant over these intruders into their ancient realm. The knight stared resolutely forward, one gauntleted hand resting upon the pommel of his sword.

  As the last colour in the obscured sky succumbed to darkness, the pair entered a small clearing. The rotting swollen bole of a tree lay uprooted on the soil, exposed roots hanging heavy w ith dirt. The fallen tree had created a small glade, and an abundance of new plant life strained up tow ards the gap in the canopy.

  'This should be far enough, my lord,' said the hooded figure, eyeing their back trail, ensuring that they had not been followed.

  The knight nodded curtly, and lowered his armoured w eight from the saddle. He crushed a tiny sapling underfoot as he stepped down onto the wet earth. The plaintive cry of a newborn came from the sw addled shape bundled against his breastplate.

  His face grim, the knight stepped tow ards the bole of the fallen tree. Its bark w as rotten, and clusters of mushrooms clung to its moist sides like limpets. Insects rustled through the rotting leaf-litter, and worms writhed in the rich soil.

  As his hooded companion looked on from horseback, the knight unhooked the sling from around his shoulder and lifted the newborn aw ay from his chest. His expression hard, he placed the swaddled babe upon the ground before the fallen tree. It was tightly w rapped in linen, its round face all that was exposed to the chill air.

  In one sw ift motion, he drew his sword.

  The newborn cried out once more, and the knight closed his eyes tightly against the sound.

  'Lady, give me strength,' he w hispered, his voice hoarse and strained. He lifted his sw ord before him, gripping the hilt with both hands, and placed a kiss against the cold metal blade.

  Reversing his grip, he stepped towards the newborn. Holding the sword downwards like a dagger, he placed the tip of the blade against the babe's sw addled breast. His armoured fingers flexed on the hilt, and he looked down into the face of his son.

  The babe gurgled up at him, and he felt his heart w rench. Steeling himself, he lifted the blade up, ready to plunge it dow n in the killing blow. There the sword hung poised, trembling slightly. A tear ran dow n the knight's cheek, and he clenched his teeth.

  'Do it,' urged his hooded companion.

  With a violent surge, the knight plunged the blade down.

  He sank to his knees, shoulders slumped. The sword was embedded deep in the earth, the babe unharmed.

  'My lord, you must finish it,' snapped his hooded companion. 'It must die, you know this.'

  Opening his eyes, the knight looked into the angelic face of his child.

  'No,' said the knight forcefully.

  'But...' began his companion, but the knight turned and silenced him with a glare.

  'Forgive me, Lady,' the knight whispered, standing and pulling his sword from the ground.

  All semblance of purity w as sloughed off as the babe's face tw isted into a sudden snarl. Its lips parted, exposing an array of tiny, barbed teeth, and it hissed up at its father like a feral w olf cub.

  The knight turned away from the newborn, full of revulsion. Walking to his warhorse, he remounted. Without a backw ard glance, he rode away, his hooded companion behind him.

  In the darkness of the trees, hateful eyes watched the departing figures. Only when they w ere long gone, leaving just a lingering scent on the air, did the eyes flick tow ards the tiny, abandoned newborn.

  Then the beasts of the forests crept from the darkness and moved towards the infant.

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHLOD BLINKED THE sleep out of his eyes and sat up. He w as beneath a rotting w agon, his companions sprawled around him, clustered together for warmth under the damp blanket they shared.

  He looked around the small clearing, seeing it in daylight for the first time, for they had hauled the w agon here the previous evening. A low fog hugged the ground, and long stems of grass glistened with the heavy morning dew.

  Chlod grinned as he pulled a small, squirming shape from within a deep pocket.

  Lifting it to his misshapen face, he smiled as the w hiskers of the scrawny black rat tw itched in the cold air.

  Producing a small piece of stale biscuit from his pocket, Chlod took a bite before offering the crumbling remains to the rat. It eagerly grabbed the food in its paw s, and began gnaw ing at it frantically. Chlod grinned again.

  'You feeding that damn rat again?' said a muffled voice from beneath the blanket.

  Chlod held the half-starved creature protectively to his chest.

  'He's mine,' he grunted, too loudly. 'There is enough food.'

  Muffled protests came from under the blankets as Chlod's harsh voice disturbed the others' slumber.

  He made a face in the direction of the voices, and turned his attention back to the rat. It had finished its meal and its head was lifted high, nose twitching as it sought more sustenance, making Chlod grin once again. He twitched his own nose in imitation, puckering his lips and showing his crooked, yellow teeth. He extended one stubby, dirty finger to the animal, and it gripped his short-bitten nail, sniffing.

  Finding nothing edible, it w riggled free of Chlod's grasp and leapt from his hands. He frow ned, and snatched at it, but it w as quick, and burrow ed beneath the dank blanket. Chlod's pink, slug-like tongue emerged from the corner of his mouth as he struggled to grab it.

  There was an irritated groan at the sudden movement, and an elbow jabbed into Chlod's ribs, making him scowl darkly. He balled his thick sausage-fingers into a fist and thudded a punch into the shape beside him in retaliation, which was met w ith more protests from the others as they w oke. They shifted their positions, and pulled the blankets tightly around them against the cold.

  Having regained his hold on the rat, Chlod shoved it roughly back into the deep pocket on his stained tunic front, and craw led aw kwardly out from the tangle of bodies. Curses and groans emerged from under the blanket as he made his ungainly progress out from beneath the rotting w agon.

  Blinking against the dull predawn light, Chlod blew out a long breath that fogged the air in front of his face. He shoved a hand dow n the front of his patchwork trousers and scratched at the lice in his nether regions.

  He stamped his feet against the icy cold. A thick mist surroun
ded him on all sides, so that he could see barely ten yards. Ghost-like trees loomed like wraiths through the w et fog and Chlod limped over to check on Beatrice.

  'How are you this fine morning, my beauty?' he grunted as he approached Beatrice.

  She lifted her heavy head in response, her beady eyes fixing on the approaching peasant. Seeing nothing that interested her, her head slumped back dow n into the w et earth.

  Chlod bent dow n and scratched her betw een the ears. She endured his attention, studiously ignoring him. The swine wore the peasant group's best blanket over her back, and Chlod gave her one final, solid pat before rising once more.

  He limped tow ards the still-smouldering fire pit, over which was spitted the remains of the previous night's feast. Chlod's belly was fuller than he could ever remember, and he patted it contentedly. Life was good, he decided.

  He opened up the flap of his trousers and sighed contentedly as he emptied his bladder onto the smouldering ash. Steam rose from the thick yellow stream, and the fire pit hissed. Chlod hummed tunelessly and passed wind loudly.

  He froze, the tune dying on his lips as he heard the jangle of a horse's bit behind him.

  He spun around, his uneven eyes bulging in their sockets as he focused on a pair of knights sitting astride massive warhorses. He swallowed heavily, his heart lurching, as his eyes flicked from one to the other, like a cornered animal.

  Fully armoured in gleaming plate, the knights stared down at him disdainfully.

  Neither wore helmets, and a flash of envy and aw e overcame him as he saw that their youthful faces w ere free of disfigurement and their shoulder-length hair w as free of tangles or burrs. One, the taller of the pair, had hair the colour of dried wheat; the other had hair as dark as pitch, and wore a serious, grim expression. Neither looked as though they had seen more than tw enty winters.

  Both w ore brightly coloured shields upon their left arms, proudly displaying their heraldry and colours. The caparisons of their steeds also bore their heraldic colours, and each of the knights held a lance upright in their gauntleted right hands.

  Chlod saw that there w as someone else w ith the pair of knights, a hunched peasant w ith a squint, w ho was trying to hide behind the nobles. Chlod focused on the man, w ho low ered his head, pulling his hood down low under the scrutiny. Chlod's eyes narrow ed.

  'Nastor, you squint-eyed bastard,' spat Chlod. 'You sold us out.'

  'Silence, you,' snapped the fair-haired knight, who w as bedecked in black and red.

  His voice w as cultured and noble, each word clearly enunciated, and far from the crude accents of the low er classes. 'And make yourself presentable!'

  Chlod glanced down and realised that his trousers w ere still undone. Hurriedly, he did himself up again.

  The fair-haired knight nudged his steed, and the warhorse stepped obediently forw ard. Chlod flicked a glance tow ards the wagon where the remainder of the peasant band slumbered, unaw are of the danger they were all in.

  The knight moved his warhorse tow ards Chlod, and he instinctively edged backw ards. The beast w as massive, powerful muscles rippling up its legs and chest, and he flinched as it snorted loudly. He had never been so close to a noble mount, and he kept his arms stiffly at his side. For a low born to touch a knight's w arhorse unbidden w as a punishable offence, and he wanted to keep his hands.

  'Low er your gaze, w retch,' snarled the knight. Chlod dropped his eyes, feeling the hot breath of the immense horse on his face. 'Low er,' said the knight, and Chlod prostrated himself on the ground, pushing his face into the mud. This was the end, he thought.

  The other knight then spoke, his voice loud enough to carry across the clearing.

  'I am Calard of Garamont,' he said, 'first born son and heir of Lutheure of Garamont, Castellan of Bastonne.'

  Chlod pushed his face deeper into the mud. 'And you, peasants, are trespassing on Garamont land.'

  CALARD'S FACE WAS dark as he surveyed the effect of his words. Panicked voices rose from beneath the rotting w agon, accompanied by frantic scrabbling. A dull w ooden thump w as followed by a curse, as one of the peasants sat up too quickly and struck his head. A putrid, dank blanket was thrown aside, and Calard's nose w rinkled in disgust as he w atched the wretched peasant outlaws begin to crawl out from beneath their crude shelter, their eyes wide with fear.

  His brother, Bertelis, gave a snort of disbelief.

  'By the Lady, look at the number of them,' he said, 'huddled together under there like vermin.'

  Calard had to agree w ith his half-brother. The peasants must have been practically sleeping on top of each other to have all sheltered beneath the wagon. They stood up, glancing nervously at each other, scratching themselves.

  They truly w ere a pathetic-looking bunch of individuals. Encrusted with filth, they w ere uniformly scrawny, malformed and wretched. Several had pronounced limps and tw isted legs, while others had grotesque protruding foreheads, lazy eyes, and teeth that stuck out at all angles from lips blackened with dirt. As far as Calard could make out, at least one of their number w as a w oman, though she was no less filthy than the others. The peasants squinted around them w ith slack-jaw ed nervousness.

  Calard's gaze sw ept around the makeshift encampment, and fell on the blackened, skeletal carcass spitted over the fire-pit. It w as clearly the remains of a young deer, w hich it was illegal for a peasant to hunt and kill, let alone eat. He sighed, and turned back tow ards the peasant rabble.

  'You are illegally encamped on Garamont lands, and are accused of poaching Castellan Garamont's stock. The proof of this claim is there in front of me. More than this, you are accused of avoiding taxes levied by the Marquis Carlemont, a vassal of lord Garamont. It is also claimed that one of your number killed a yeoman of the marquis in cold blood and stole his truffle swine. As such, you are outlaw ed, and will be accompanied to Castle Garamont, w here you w ill face the penalty for such crimes.'

  Several of the peasants broke into tears at the pronouncement, while others dropped to their knees. They all knew that the pronouncement was as good as a death sentence. Shouts of protest and despair erupted from coarse throats. A scuffle erupted, and tw o of the peasants fell on another, grabbing him forcefully.

  'It w as Benno, here, milord what done the yeoman in! It w as him! We done nothin'!'

  Bertelis, w ho had circled around behind the wagon, gave a derisive snort, and answ ered before Calard could respond.

  'Did he force you to flee the service of your lord? Did he force you to poach, and eat of Lord Garamont's venison? No, I think not. You w ill all hang.'

  'Have mercy, young lords!' one of the peasants cried, before collapsing sobbing into the mud.

  'Warden! Take them into your custody,' Calard ordered.

  A small regiment of peasant men-at-arms w alked out of the mist, carrying tall shields painted in the red and yellow of the Castellan of Garamont, his father. They carried simple staves, topped w ith curved blades and hooks. One of them held an old sword proudly in his hand, and nodded his head at the young knight's command. The men-at-arms began trudging tow ards the peasants. Lowborn themselves, the men-at-arms w ere only a little less pathetic in appearance than the outlaw s. They w ere peasants too, after all, thought Calard.

  'You there!' shouted Bertelis, seeing movement beneath the wagon. His warhorse snorted and stamped its hooves, sensing the tension in its young rider. 'Come out now !'

  Calard stood in the stirrups, trying to see w hat w as happening. There w as a flash of movement, and Bertelis's steed reared. A sharp crack resounded as the flailing hooves connected, and a body fell heavily to the ground. Shouting erupted anew from the peasants, and they broke into movement.

  'Hold!' shouted Calard, his young voice full of authority. 'Any man that runs w ill be assumed guilty and cut dow n! Warden! Take them!'

  The men-at-arms tried to restore order, pushing several of the peasants roughly to their knees with the butts of their polearms.

  'They've killed Odul
f!' shouted one filthy man, w ho had clumps of hair missing from his head. He slammed his fist into the face of one of the Garamont soldiers, and Calard cursed. Others cried out, either in protest or fear, and Calard could hear Bertelis sw earing.

  'Stupid w horeson!' shouted Bertelis. 'The vermin came at me!' His voice sounded incredulous.

  A peasant outlaw grabbed one of the men-at-arms' w eapons, struggling against him.

  At a barked order from their w arden, the other soldiers began laying about them w ith impunity, knocking peasants down into the mud w ith fierce blow s. Calard swore again, and muscled his massive warhorse into the fray. He slammed the butt of his lance onto the head of one struggling peasant, and the man collapsed unconscious into the mud. Benno, the man accused by his comrades of murdering the yeoman, broke free of the restraining grip on him and bolted for the trees.

  Kicking his spurs into the side of his horse, Calard broke free of the scuffle in pursuit, forcing men to leap out of his w ay, lest they be trampled. Hooves pounded up the muddy ground as he closed quickly on Benno. Calard thundered past him and pulled his steed sharply into his path. Benno, breathing hard, halted, eyeing the knight w arily, and holding his hands up in front of him.

  'I w arned you not to run,' Calard said, glow ering with outrage, 'but I w ish to see no more blood spilt here today. Get back w ith the others before I change my mind,'

  Calard said, indicating sharply with his beardless chin. The man's shoulders slumped, and he turned back to w here the men-at-arms w ere finally restoring order.

  A flicker of movement attracted Calard's attention, and he saw a roughly clothed shape clamber atop the rotting w agon, a bow in his hands.

  'Ware the w agon!' he shouted, even as the man drew back the bow string, an arrow nocked. Calard could not believe what he was seeing; for a peasant to draw arms against a noble or one of his retainers w as almost beyond comprehension.

  Calard kicked his horse forward, shouting. The bow man spun around at Calard's cry, his bow sw inging in the young knight's direction, and loosed his arrow.