Warhammer - Knight of the Realm

by Anthony Reynolds

  'He and his brother, along w ith his entourage, have been my guests for a w eek now, drinking my oldest wines and dining on my finest foods. Another week of this and I w ill be a pauper,' said Lothgar. 'I hope this proves w orthwhile.'

  'If Madeleine ensnares him then it will be, my lord.'

  Baron Lothgar grunted in response, casting his gaze skyw ards.

  'The w eather is turning,' he said, 'and there is little chance of any sport here. The boar can w ait another day. Let us return home.'

  The knight nodded his head as he drew his steed to a halt. He signalled to one of the peasants trotting nearby, w ho lifted a horn to his lips and blew three sharp blasts.

  'Let's hope that Lady Madeleine has been more successful in her hunt,' said Lothgar.

  'IT WOULD APPEAR that the hunt is over, my lord castellan,' said Lady Madeleine.

  A drunken cheer rose from the knights of Bastonne at the proclamation.

  'About time,' said Lord Calard. 'We are in need of more drink, anyway.'

  Lady Madeleine raised a delicately plucked eyebrow.

  'You have not already consumed enough of my father's w ine for one morning? I'd suggest that you w ere already drunk if it w ere not impertinent.'

  'That w ould be impertinent indeed,' said Calard in a low voice, leaning tow ards Madeleine. 'But I am disappointed. I had hoped, amidst the confusion of the hunt, to have stolen some time w ith you alone, unchaperoned.'

  'Now it is you w ho is being impertinent,' said Madeleine.

  Calard stood in the saddle, and saw that Baron Lothgar w as guiding his steed tow ards him. He dropped back into the saddle and gave Madeleine a w ink.

  'Care for a quick ride?' he said w ith a w icked gleam in his slightly glazed eyes. 'It is too fine a morning to return to your father's castle just yet.'

  'Too fine a morning?' replied Madeleine, laughing. 'It's raining, you fool.'

  'Nothing w rong with a bit of rain,' said Calard. He turned his steed in a tight circle, and it stamped its hooves, eager to run. 'Well?'

  'My father w ill not be best pleased,' she said.

  'And you? Would you be best pleased?' Calard smiled as he saw the young lady shake her head slightly, exasperated w ith him.

  She sighed. 'Fine,' she said.

  Calard kicked his horse into a gallop, and the two of them raced off through the trees, just as the baron w as draw ing near. Calard laughed out loud at the outraged look upon his host's face.

  Calard had been aw ay from Garamont for almost tw o w eeks now. The pressures and demands of his newfound position niggled in the back of his mind, as much as he tried to ignore them.

  He had a realm of his ow n to govern now, and was responsible for all who dwelt w ithin it, peasant and noble. Levelling taxes and levies, resolving grievances, overseeing the proper usage of his realm's monies, negotiating alliances and border disputes w ith his neighbouring lords, ensuring his dues were paid to duke and king, maintaining order across his lands; all were his duty now to oversee. The amount of paperw ork w as unfathomable, the petty politicking and back-stabbing of his court exhausting. He had a newfound respect for his father, for he had never heard the old man complain, nor had he ever appeared to falter under the pressure. Indeed, Calard had never realised there was any particular pressure in the position.

  'There is much w ork to be done here, my lord,' Folcard had said w hen Calard had informed him he would be attending the tournament in Lyonesse. 'I shall pen a polite refusal.'

  'No,' Calard had said. 'I think a few weeks away will do me good. In my absence, I empow er you to act on my behalf, Folcard. You are more suited to all this anyw ay.'

  Calard w as w ell aw are that he was running away from his responsibilities, but he had pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind.

  He and his companions had been on their way to the tourney w hen they had stopped in at Lothgar's estate a w eek earlier. The baron had w elcomed them in, opening up his cellar and organising an impromptu feast, mistakenly believing that Calard w as here to w oo his daughter. In the w eek since, Calard had been happy to maintain the misunderstanding. They had time to kill before the tournament in Lyonesse began and besides, he w as enjoying himself.

  They rode for several minutes, weaving betw een the silver-skinned trunks of birch, and Calard w as impressed w ith the skill of the lady's riding. Even at a full gallop, she remained elegant in her side-saddled position, courtesy in a large part to the double-pommelled saddle on w hich she sat. Such a saddle allowed ladies to ride at a gallop, and even to safely jump fences and fallen logs. Beneath her flowing dress, Madeleine's legs would be curled around the twin pommels, holding her tight against the horse's body.

  At last they came upon a clearing, and the tw o of them reined in their steeds. Calard w as laughing, and he swung his leg over his mount and dropped to the ground, using his boar-spear for balance. He staggered, and realised he was more drunk than he had thought. Madeleine laughed, and ramming the spear into the ground he stepped in close, his hands circling her slim waist.

  He breathed in her scent as he lifted her from the saddle and placed her lightly on the ground. She did not resist as he pulled her close.

  'So, w hen are you planning on asking my father, then?' she breathed.

  'Asking your father w hat?' said Calard, distracted as he looked down into the impressive crevasse of her bosom.

  'Why, for my hand in marriage, you fool.'

  Calard blinked. 'What?' he said.

  'You w ere going to ask my father for my hand?' she said, pulling away from him and fixing him with a steely look.

  'Well?' she said, eyes hardening.

  'Well...' said Calard.

  Madeleine pushed away from him, a look of outrage on her face. 'You bastard,' she said.

  From somew here, Calard heard dogs barking, but in his drink-addled state, and with a furious young lady glaring at him, he barely registered the sound, nor w hat it portended. The ears of both horses suddenly flattened, and they began paw ing at the ground, nostrils flaring.

  'You are a drunkard fool, Calard of Garamont,' snapped Lady Madeleine. 'A boy, playing at being a man. I shall be telling my father forthwith that your intentions here have been anything but noble.'

  The sound of dogs barking came ever closer, and Calard's eyes were drawn past Madeleine's shoulder. The horses whinnied in fear. Madeleine's voice seemed to fade aw ay as he saw the undergrowth shudder, leaves and branches shaking.

  'Are you even listening to me?' she said, but her voice had become just a distant drone.

  A massive, furred shape burst from the trees, snorting and stamping. It was almost five feet tall at the shoulder, and its bulk w as immense. Its fur rose in a sharp, matted ridge dow n its spine, and four tusks emerged from its slavering mouth, each easily tw o feet in length. Its beady, red-rimmed eyes were filled with rage. A second later and it w as charging.

  Calard hurled Lady Madeleine aside. She fell with a squeal of outrage to the muddy ground, and Calard reached for the spear embedded in the earth.

  The immense boar, easily the largest such beast that Calard had ever clapped eyes on, came at him in a w ild rush, hurtling across the clearing at great speed. Thick, ropey threads of spittle dripped from its maw as it bore dow n on him, and Calard spun the spear up in front of him. The beast must have been ten times his weight.

  Jamming the butt of the spear dow n into the ground, Calard stamped one foot dow n hard onto it, setting it as best he could. The bladed tip he lifted, and he tensed his body as the immense beast hurled itself at him, intending to rip him from groin to neck w ith its tusks.

  The spear took the boar in its chest, and the force of its impact drove it deep into its flesh. It felt to Calard like he had been struck by a falling mountain, and he was hurled backw ards, falling to his back as the boar's momentum carried it over him.

  The stink of the beast w as terrible, and hot blood gushed across his face. It came dow n on top of him, its weight all but crushing th
e life from his body. The creature w as not dead, and it struggled to right itself, slipping in the mud and its ow n blood. It snorted, sw inging its head around to gore him, but trapped underneath the beast as he w as, he was mercifully out of its reach, and it merely gouged out several great rents in the earth.

  He heard the pounding of horses' hooves nearby, and heard dogs barking and grow ling furiously. He gasped as the great boar staggered to its feet, one hoofed leg almost crushing his hip, and he tried to roll to the side. The boar sw ung its head violently, and he heard a pitiful yelp as a dog w as sent flying.

  Calard rolled from beneath the mighty beast as a spear rammed dow n into its shoulder, and a pair of armoured boarhounds leapt on it, jaw s snapping. Calard's spear w as still embedded deep in its chest, and blood w as pumping from the wound.

  Another spear w as driven into the boar, striking deep behind its left shoulder blade.

  The tip of the spear found its heart, and it slumped to the ground, still fighting. The huge, armoured dogs continued to w orry at the beast as it died, until they were hauled off the immense carcass.

  Calard w as helped unsteadily to his feet. He put a hand to his head and saw blood on his fingers.

  'Are you all right, my lord?' said a voice, but he couldn't focus on w hom it w as that had spoken.

  'Fine,' he managed. Then he fell backwards, and hit the ground hard.

  Suddenly, everything changed.

  Calard didn't hear the harsh w ords spoken betw een father and daughter, or the concern in the voice of his cousins, Huebald, Baldemund and Tassilo. He didn't see his companions as they swung from their saddles to come to his aid. It w as as if as soon as he struck the ground he w as transported to a different place, a different time.

  Dark clouds rushed across the skyline with unnatural speed, as if hours were passing in the blink of an eye. The light faded, until it was as dark as tw ilight, throw ing the surrounding forest into gloom. The temperature plummeted, and he began to shiver uncontrollably. His breath fogged the air in front of his face, and splinters of frost began to form across his armour.

  A thick, cloying fog rose around him, and Calard looked around for any sign of his companions. He could see nothing. He was alone, utterly alone.

  The undergrowth beneath him began to w rithe like a living creature, and he cried out, but the rising fog deadened all sound. Ivy and grass coiled around his hands and boots, craw ling over his leggings and curling around his arms. He fought to rise from the ground, but the plant-life tightened around him, pinning him in place.

  A ghostly figure began to materialise w ithin the fog, and Calard ceased his struggles, his eyes w idening. He heard the snort of a destrier, and as the apparition solidified, he saw that it rode the largest w arhorse he had ever seen.

  An overpow ering, earthy smell filled his nostrils. It w as not an unpleasant scent, but w as strong and heady, a mix of sap, moist earth, rotting vegetation, oak and fir.

  The rider was armoured from head to toe in archaic plate. Coiling ivy bedecked this armour, and a thick plume of leaves erupted from the crow n of his helmet. The greenery covering the apparition's armour w as in constant movement, constant grow th. Fresh leaves unfurled, new life bursting forth. Within heartbeats, these young leaves matured and grew w ide, before starting to w ither and yellow. Then they fell from its armour, and the mesmerising cycle began anew.

  From w ithin the darkness behind the eye-slits of its helmet burnt a pair of furious, glow ing orbs, exuding a ghostly green light, and Calard felt his body shudder involuntarily w ith terror as they fixed on him.

  Calard fought against the plants restraining him, thrashing and pulling against their restrictive grasp, desperate to get aw ay. The grass, ivy and roots merely tightened their grip, and whipping strands of ground creepers wrapped themselves around his neck, constricting his breath.

  The immense destrier stamped its hooves and snorted, exhaling great billowing clouds of steam. The apparition slowly drew its sword.

  That sw ord, ancient and terrible, was covered with intricate spiralling engravings, and an icy fog fell from the blade. The knight levelled the point of the sword towards Calard, and he felt a freezing chill emanating from the blade.

  Calard's breath w as coming in short, sharp gasps as he stared up at the knight looming above him, expecting to be cut dow n at any moment. The supernatural figure exuded a raw , elemental power, a kingly majesty that w as at once terrible and aw esome. Its glow ing green eyes glared dow n at him balefully and he felt its terrible rage w ash over him like the untamed fury of a storm.

  The knight muscled its immense steed closer, black hooves slamming into the ground scant inches from Calard. The mighty beast tossed its head, and he felt its hot breath on his face.

  Face me, cow ard.

  Calard reeled backw ards as the stabbing pain of the unnatural voice pierced his mind.

  Face me! it pulsed again, and he cried out.

  'I can't!' he cried. How could he fight against this supremely powerful, mystical w arrior, him with his hands bound by w hipping cords of ivy, roots and grass?

  How can you hope to best me, if you cannot even best yourself?

  'Help me!' cried Calard, though to w hom he cried to, he couldn't say.

  Cow ard!

  The pow er and malice in the w ords stabbed at him, and Calard cried out, closing his eyes tightly. He heard the mournful sound of the apparition's blade humming through the air, and he clenched his eyes tighter, waiting for the blow to fall.

  'Just do it!' he bellow ed.

  'Do w hat, my lord?' said a concerned voice.

  Calard opened his eyes, and found himself staring into his cousin Tassilo's concerned face.

  'Tell me w hat you w ould have me do, my lord, and I w ill gladly do as you w ish,' said the knight.

  Calard turned his w ild gaze from Tassilo, kneeling over him, and saw his other companions, Huebald and Baldemund, standing nearby, looking worried. A light rain w as falling but it w as bright, despite the thick canopy created by the tall beech trees.

  The unearthly chill was gone, and of the apparition, there was no sign.

  'Are you all right, my lord?' said Baldemund.

  Calard nodded, though he immediately regretted it as shooting pain lanced through his head.

  'I'm fine,' he said. 'Stupid of me, to have fallen. I'm fine, really.'

  All sense of drunkenness had left him, though his head w as pounding and there was a horrible taste in his mouth.

  His hands w ere still shaking as Tassilo helped him to his feet.

  'You gave us a terrible shock,' said the young knight with some relief. 'I thought you'd lost your senses there for a moment. One of the boar's hooves must have struck you in the head. It bled a lot, but the w ound isn't deep.'

  Calard mumbled something about the drink, and wiped a hand across his face. He w aved aw ay Tassilo, and pulled himself back into the saddle.

  'Baron Lothgar? Lady Madeleine?' he said.

  'Gone,' said Huebald. 'I don't think they are best pleased w ith you.'

  'No?' said Calard, still somewhat w oozy.

  'I think the lady's words were something along the lines of ''I'd sooner marry the boar than that Bastonnian pig' ,' said Tassilo, smirking.

  'You w ere thinking of marrying her?' said Baldemund.

  'Of course not,' said Calard, looking around. 'Where's the boar?'

  'The baron's peasants took it,' said Huebald.

  'Was it as big as I remember?'

  'Bigger,' said Tassilo, smiling.

  'Come,' said Huebald. 'I'd say it w as past time that w e w ere making our w ay back. I think it w ise for us to collect our gear and be on our w ay before the baron decides to gift it to the poor.'

  Calard's mind w as drifting back to the glow ing eyes of the apparition. The Green Knight... It had been the same for months now, the vision. It haunted his dreams, and only strong drink seemed to keep it at bay.

  Calard dragged his thoughts back
to the present.

  'Yes, I fear w e have outstayed our w elcome,' he said. 'Just let us hope that my brother has done nothing in our absence to bring further dishonour upon our host.'

  He had a sinking feeling that was not going to be the case.

  'GET UP!'

  Bertelis tried to ignore the voice, and rolled over in the sumptuous bed, throw ing an arm across his eyes.

  Clothes - his clothes he realised - w ere thrown at him, and he groaned.

  'Come back to bed,' he said, reaching out w ith a hand, his eyes still closed.

  'Get up, you fool!' the girl said again, her voice filled w ith panic. Bertelis lowered his arm and propped himself up on the mattress, his gaze lingering on the girl frantically dressing herself at the foot of the bed.

  Lady Celeste, Baron Lothgar's younger daughter, w as a beauty and no mistake, petite and perfectly formed in all the right places. He watched the delicate curve of her back as she struggled to pull on her dress. Her fair hair was pinned up, but errant strands hung loose dow n her pale shoulders. He smiled, enjoying the view as she bent over to retrieve one of her slippers. Articles of clothing were strewn across the room, having been cast aside in the heat of passion the night before.

  Celeste saw his grin and her eyes flashed with a mixture of panic and amusement.

  'Get up, you fool!' she said again. 'My father is on his way here, now!'

  The grin dropped from Bertelis's face and he hauled the sweat-soaked sheets aside, the threat of discovery galvanising him into action. Naked, he leapt to his feet.

  'What is he doing back so early? I thought the hunt w as meant to take all day?' said Bertelis.

  'It w as,' said Lady Celeste. She threw open the wooden shutters of her window and leant out.

  'Oh, Lady above, he is already on his way up,' she wailed. 'I'll be disowned!'