Warhammer - Knight Errant Page 12

  The attack w as so sudden and so sw ift that the knights were able to form little defence against it, and they fought not only this deadly foe, but for control of their steeds, w hich were terrified by the sudden appearance of the predators.

  There was a bestial roar to Calard's side, and he swung around to see one of the beastmen kick off from a rock tow ards him. Its strongly muscled arms w ere thrown back over its head, and it sw ung a massive double-handed axe back for the killing blow as it hurtled through the air tow ards him, eyes filled with hate locked to his ow n.

  Calard recoiled from the beast, lifting his shield before him, and the axe slammed into it, splitting it down to his arm. The blade wrenched his vambrace out of shape, and he w as hurled from the saddle by the pow erful blow , falling heavily.

  Gringolet bolted, hooves flailing as he raced free of the gulley, and Calard dimly w atched him go. His kite-shaped shield was useless, and he ripped it from his arm as he struggled to his feet, dazed from the fall.

  The beast that had struck him w as crouched low to the ground, and it snarled at him. It stank like rancid meat, rotting vegetation and faecal matter, and launched itself tow ards him, swinging its heavy axe in a lethal arc.

  Calard stepped forw ards quickly with a shout, and, with both hands, he rammed the point of his sw ord into the beast's gut before the blow could fall. The blade sank deep, and hot blood w ashed over Calard's gauntlets, even as the axe dropped from the creature's fingers. With a backhanded blow , it sent Calard spraw ling backwards, his head ringing and sank to ground.

  The beasts w ere butchering the knights, ripping into them w ith terrifying savagery.

  One knight was killed as his head was rammed repeatedly into a sharp rocky outcrop, and others w ere literally hacked apart by axes as they lay prostrate on the earth, having been tackled from their saddles.

  From the ground, Calard saw his brother Bertelis struggling against a pair of beasts, the flashing hooves of his steed keeping them at bay. Calard lurched to his feet, and staggered forw ard to pull his sword from the body of the dead beastman. 'Bertelis!' he roared. 'Ride!'

  One of the beastmen landed on the ground in front of him suddenly having leapt from the rocks above. It rose up to its full height, muscles tensed, its thick chest rising and falling rhythmically. It tow ered over him, standing some six and a half feet in height, and its lips drew back to reveal the mass of yellowed, savage teeth of a predator. Its massive arms w ere ringed w ith tw isted bronze tores, and thick rings of dull metal pierced the flesh of its nipples and cheeks. A brand had been burnt into the centre of its broad head, the mark having seared aw ay fur and skin. It was a crude, eight-pointed star, and the flesh around it was red and sore.

  It surged tow ards him, a curved scimitar cutting though the air. Calard lifted his blade to defend himself, meeting the blow with a clash of steel. The strength of the attack drove him backw ards, jarring his arm. The creature realised his weakness, and its eyes, like those of a goat, glinted with feral amusement. Behind the beast stalking tow ards him, Calard saw more knights being butchered, ruthlessly cut down and murdered. He glimpsed the white tabard of Maloric, w ho was battling w ith a pair of the pow erful creatures. He prayed that the Lady w ould spare the young noble of Sangasse, so that he could cut the bastard w horeson down, in the future.

  The beast attacked again, striking high for Calard's head, and the young knight lifted his sw ord to protect him. The blow drove him to his knees, and the beast, seeing him vulnerable, leapt forw ards and slammed its knee into Calard's face.

  He fell back against the rock face, struggling to get to his feet, lifting his sword w eakly in his hand.

  Another beast ran at him from the left. The creature was smaller and more sinewy than the first, and its face was perhaps more human, w hich made it seem all the more horrific. Its horns were short, stubby nubs that protruded from its brow , and it jabbed a spear tow ards him, but its progress w as halted by a bark from the larger beast. The smaller creature turned away w ith a snarl to find another victim.

  With a contemptuous kick, the pow erful beast that had claimed him as its ow n sent Calard's blade flying from his hand, and placed the tip of its scimitar against his throat. He w eakly pushed it aw ay, but the creature merely placed it there again. Once more he pushed it aw ay, but again it returned the sharp w eapon tip to his throat, and a trickle of blood ran dow n the inside of his breastplate.

  The creature w as toying with him, and Calard felt rage swelling up w ithin him. He screamed in anger and pain, and swatted the blade aw ay from his throat w ith the flat of his hand, before launching himself at the beast, hands clutching for its throat.

  It seemed to give a braying laugh, and made no move to step aw ay. Rather, it moved into Calard's path and slammed its w ide forehead into his face, felling him instantly.

  His vision swimming before him, Calard w as kicked onto his back, and he felt a cloven hoof press down upon his chest. He dimly registered the figure of the beast above him, and saw it draw back its scimitar for the killing blow.

  Calard prayed that his brother had escaped the ambush as he w aited for the blow to fall, but it never came.

  There was the pounding of hooves, and Calard thought he felt warm light upon his skin. Then the beastman w as sent spinning aw ay from him, falling heavily to the ground. Calard stared numbly at the headless corpse as its hot lifeblood gushed out onto the forest floor, and then the head of the creature hit the ground, rolling end over end.

  Calard tried to rise to his feet as the armoured shapes of knights charged by, but his strength abandoned him, and he slumped back to the ground. He saw a knight bedecked in blue and silver carve his way through the fray, surrounded by a hazy shimmering light.

  Then Calard's vision swam before him, and he fell face down onto the ground.

  REOLUS TORE THROUGH the fern gulley, smiting the enemy like the avenging paladin of the Lady he w as. In his right hand, he wielded the silver lance, Arandyal, shining in the dimness of the forest with a glimmering light, and in his left, he held the lance's mate, the glow ing sword Durendyal. Both holy weapons were said to have been blessed by tears shed by the Lady, and only one of pure heart w as able to hold them. Blood slipped off the weapons like oil, and they struck with the speed and potency of enraged serpents.

  Reolus tore through the beastmen, impaling them on Arandyal's length and cutting heads from shoulders w ith each swing of Durendyal. He lifted one struggling beastman high into the air, watching dispassionately as it slid down his lance, before he hurled the creature aw ay from him w ith the flick of his wrist. It slammed into the rock face, broken and dying.

  Fey light shone in the grail knight's eyes as he killed. Nothing could stand against this avatar of the Lady's fury. Horns blared, and the beastmen slipped like ghosts back into the deep forest, leaving a scene of destruction and violence in their wake.

  Defiant and burning w ith holy passion, Reolus watched them flee.

  The grail knight lifted his gaze, and scanned the trees. His eyes locked onto a distant, motionless figure overlooking the carnage.

  He sensed the burning hatred within the creature, and felt his pride and anger rise as he registered the power it wielded. Tall and filled with incredible strength, it held a tw isted staff of gnarled heartwood, and three pairs of horns rose from its head. It bared countless sharp teeth at him as he began to advance cautiously tow ards it, guiding his pure white steed w ith his knees.

  Pale eyes the colour of a frozen lake stared back at the advancing grail knight. Set w ithin a different face, those eyes might have been considered noble, but in this inhuman, bestial face they were horrific and disturbing.

  Its face w as criss-crossed with stitches and scars, a mask of flesh that w as pulled tight across its features. Thick ropes of matted hair and fur hung dow n its back, and it hissed a taunt as the knight approached.

  The horrific beast slammed the base of its staff into the ground w ith a snarl. Tendrils of roots unfu
rled from the tw isted wood, probing the earth like skeletal fingers. They burrow ed into the ground, and Reolus felt a w rench within him as they began draw ing power from the land. Ferns withered and turned black, all moisture drained from their leaves, and worms and beetles in the earth writhed and contorted as the life w as sucked from them. The beast quivered ecstatically as black, pulsing veins appeared upon the surface of the staff.

  With a movement both elegant and menacing, the creature lifted its other long arm, and planted its spider-like, taloned hand upon the trunk of the tw isted oak tree.

  A knot on the bole of the tree split open w ith a painful tearing sound, and dark fluid that stank of rotting meat ran from the w ound. The rent gaped wider and wider, opening like a dripping, foul orifice, and the beast stepped w ithin. Reolus urged his steed forw ard, asking the Lady for strength, but the rent w as instantly sealed. He stared at the tree before him and sw ore.

  Thirty miles aw ay, a tree w as ripped open, and the beast stepped forth.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ANNABELLE POURED THE boiling w ater into the goblet, wincing at the acrid stench that rose w ith the steam. Pieces of bark and herb floated around in circles within the steaming liquid. The serving girl looked around, ensuring that none of the kitchen staff of Castle Garamont w ere nearby. Then she drew a small pouch from w ithin a fold in her dress, and carefully loosened its ties.

  She w ithdrew a heaped amount of pow der from w ithin with a small wooden spoon, careful not to breathe in any of the potent mixture. The powder was the colour of congealed blood, and she tipped it into the steaming brew . It dissolved into the mix instantly, and she slipped the wooden spoon back into the pouch, fastened the ties and concealed it once more w ithin the folds of her dress.

  She lifted a w ooden pot from a shelf, and opened its lid, breathing in deeply of the sw eet scent within. Stealing a glance around her, she dipped her finger into the thick syrup, and closed her eyes in contentment as she sucked the honey from her fingertip.

  As a pair of haggard old servants shuffled into the kitchens, carrying cane baskets filled with dirt covered vegetables, Annabelle busied herself, spooning out a generous portion of the fresh honey and mixing it into the steaming goblet, before putting the pot back on the shelf.

  Moving to the basin, she w ashed her hands thoroughly and wiped them dry on her apron front. Then she removed the apron, and hung it from a w ooden peg. With the flat of her hands, she smoothed back the simple cloth shawl that covered her head and straightened her clothing.

  Satisfied w ith her appearance, she lifted the silver tray on w hich the steaming goblet stood, and began to make her w ay sw iftly through the castle, heading tow ards the lord of Garamont's chambers.

  Annabelle did not know what the powder was that she mixed into her lord's draught each day. The lady w as insistent that she not be observed adding it to the hot w ater, w hich had made her uneasy and reluctant, but the lady had made her sw ear on her life that she w ould do as she w as bidden and speak not a w ord of it to anyone.

  In recompense for her silence and duty, the lady gave her a copper coin with each turning of the moon.

  For Annabelle, who had two young children to care for in the hovel-town at the base of the castle, that coin meant the difference between them eating or going hungry, and the unspoken threat in the lady's eyes made her fear to refuse.

  The side door reserved for servants was pushed open by a guard stationed there, and Annabelle nodded her thanks. The entrance room w as stuffy and dim, the drapes draw n across the w indows.

  Lady Calisse of Garamont w as there, bedecked in a flowing dress of deep purple, her hair held up in tw o coils inside her veiled, rich headdress. She talked in a hushed voice w ith a black-clad, elderly physician, who w as a frequent visitor of late. They spoke out of earshot of the lord of Garamont, w ho w as dozing in his bedchamber beyond, and, as Annabelle drew near, intending to scurry past them and leave the steaming goblet upon the side table beside her lord, she overheard their words.

  'I fear Morr is calling him,' said Lady Calisse, her face drawn and pale, her eyes red-rimmed and filled with sorrow. 'Please, in the name of the blessed Lady, you must be able to do something.'

  'I cannot understand it,' said the bent, elderly physician, shaking his head w oefully.

  'We should have seen improvements by now . This... this is beyond my skill, I regret to say, my lady. It is as if some unholy malady is eating aw ay at him from w ithin, and I am at a loss as to its cause.'

  'He is drinking the draught you ordered to be prepared for him, every day,' said lady Calisse, her face drawn, pale and full of lamentation and despair. Annabelle lowered her head and made to scurry past the pair.

  'You girl,' said the physician, and Annabelle froze, raising her eyes like a startled rabbit. 'Come here.'

  Bending her knees in a slight curtsey, careful not to spill the steaming goblet, Annabelle approached the physician. The elderly man lifted the goblet from the silver tray w ith withered hands covered in liver spots, and held it under his nose. His sharp eyes seemed intense and cruel to Annabelle.

  'What are you adding to this draught?' he asked, his voice tense. The lady Garamont looked at her sharply, her immaculate face and plucked eyebrows making her appear cold and unforgiving. Annabelle cringed beneath their withering gaze.

  'My lord?' she stammered.

  'It is a simple question, girl. What are you adding to this draught? You are putting something else in it.'

  The lady Garamont leant forw ard and sniffed. 'Honey,' she said.

  'Yes, my lady,' said Annabelle in a rush. 'I have been adding a spoon of honey to my lord's draught each morning. I had hoped that it might make it more palatable for my lord.' Her w orried eyes flicked to the glowering physician. 'I hope that I have not done w rong.'

  The physician's harsh glare softened, and he smiled, placing the goblet back upon the silver tray.

  'No, you have not done w rong, girl. Lord Garamont is blessed indeed to have servants that clearly love him.'

  Avoiding their gaze, Annabelle blushed deeply and curtseyed once more. She hastily backed aw ay from the nobles, and entered the lord of Garamont's bedchamber.

  LUC SIGHED INTO the darkness. He was unable to sleep. His mind was restless, thoughts of the w earisome duties and tasks of the day ahead intruding on him.

  Tomorrow w as the start of the annual maintenance of the dry-stone walls of the southern hill, a dreary task that w ould take the better part of tw o w eeks to complete.

  The southern hill, a mile from the village, yielded the sweetest grapes in the area, and it w as of paramount importance that the fields were tended with diligent care.

  Though the hill had the best drainage and sunlight in the area, relentless winds battered the slopes, and so hundreds of low, curving walls w ere constructed around the precious plants, to protect them from having their soil stripped from their roots by the w inds.

  Those w alls had been in existence for dozens of generations, yet after harvest time each year the entire village gathered to rebuild w alls that had fallen, and to extend them further up the slopes. It had been this way for hundreds of years, and now the vineyard spraw led as far as the eye could see. It was a source of constant pride to the villagers that the grapes that made the region's finest w ines were grown here, though of course none of them had ever been allow ed to sample the fine vintages.

  Their work had been deemed of such importance that the village had been exempt from sending any of its men to join Lord Sagremor's gathering army. Luc did not know w hy an army had been mustered, but w ord had come of a great victory in the north. There had been other mutterings since then, though, of villages burnt to the ground, their inhabitants slaughtered.

  Such rumours made the villagers nervous, and some had even spoken of fleeing to the w est. Luc had poured scorn on those who repeated such gossip. The lord of Sagremor had long been good to them, and he w ould certainly protect them if there w ere any threat. Luc's
family had tilled the soil here for five generations, and he w ould not bring shame upon their memory by fleeing his responsibilities. The gossipmongers w ere most probably speaking falsehoods anyway, he had assured his frightened wife.

  With another sigh, Luc carefully slipped from the rough pallet, careful not to disturb his w ife. She moaned in her sleep and rolled over but did not w ake, and, in a moment, her breathing had become deep and regular once more. Luc moved across the cramped, simple room that w as his home, stepping over the sleeping forms of his w ife's sister and husband, huddled together under a blanket. He crouched down beside the cot w here his two children slept, curled up w ith their cousins. He listened to the sounds of their rhythmic breathing and smiled. I am truly blessed, he thought.

  I have a w onderful w ife, a pair of beautiful children, and shelter over my head. He prayed to Shallya, goddess of mercy, that the tw ins would survive the coming winter, and brushed the yellow hair from his daughter's forehead.

  Luc had fathered five children in his twenty years, but the tw ins were the only ones to have survived longer than three summers. His first child had been stillborn, and its mother had died during the difficult birth. Luc had remarried, and his new wife had borne him a daughter, w ho was sickly and had not lasted a w eek. Then, she had borne him a son. He had seemed strong and healthy, despite his malformed arm, but he had succumbed to the w asting cough, and died just days before his third birthday.

  These tw o, his twins, were his pride and joy. With hair the colour of corn and eyes that sparkled w ith mischief, they were the sunshine of his life.

  Standing carefully, so as not to disturb anyone, Luc moved to the single window in his home, and drew the wet-smelling blanket that served as a curtain aside. Peering out in the night, he glanced up at the moons. They were low in the sky. It w as three hours until daw n.

  Know ing that he had only an hour before he had to rise for the day's w ork, Luc was about to move aw ay from the w indow back to bed, but a movement in the corner of his eye drew his attention. A shape was moving in the darkness, and he paused, w aiting for the sliver of the white moon to come out from behind a cloud to light the figure.