Warhammer - Knight of the Realm

by Anthony Reynolds

  Celeste raced around her room, throw ing discarded undergarments into a basket in the corner of the room. She heaved a padded blanket off the floor and with a sharp w hip, made it settle over her bed.

  Bertelis w as standing there uselessly, still naked, holding his bundle of clothes in front of him. Struggling to drag her w ayward blonde hair into order, Celeste ran to the door and peered out. Bertelis made to follow her, but she pulled back abruptly, hearing footsteps and her father's voice. She slammed the door, panicking.

  'He's here!' she said, eyes darting around the room. 'Lady, preserve me!'

  Her gaze settled on the w indow. Following her gaze, Bertelis began shaking his head.

  'No. No!' he said, even as Celeste began pushing him. He ducked and picked up his bundle of clothes as he w as shoved tow ards the arched window.

  'What are you doing?' he said, half laughing. 'It's got to be a fifty foot drop!'

  'More,' said Celeste, still pushing him tow ards the window. She gave him another solid shove.

  'There's a ledge,' she said. 'Now go!'

  A cold w ind w hipped at Bertelis's back, and he glanced over his shoulder, seeing the cobbled courtyard far below .

  There was a knock on her door.

  'He's here!' Celeste w ailed.

  Bertelis turned around on the spot, so that he had his back to the room. The ledge w as not even a foot w ide.

  Lady Celeste slammed the shutters of her w indow closed, almost knocking Bertelis dow n into the courtyard, stranding him on the sill. For a moment he teetered on the edge before regaining his balance. The cold air made goose-bumps rise all over his body.

  Fearing w hat would happen if Lord Lothgar were to open the windows wide only to come face to face w ith his naked buttocks, he shimmied to the side, pressing himself up against the cold stone w all, his clothes bundled in front of him.

  Looking dow n he saw his brother Calard riding into the courtyard below , accompanied by his retainers and vassals, returning from the hunt. He saw Tassilo's upturned face, saw the young man's mouth gape open.

  Calard's gaze settled on Bertelis, seventy-five feet above the courtyard. Bertelis grinned, and raised a hand in greeting.

  'WELL, THAT WENT well,' said Calard.

  The five knights of Garamont, accompanied by some thirty-odd men-at-arms w earing the red and blue of Calard's heraldry, w ere around four miles from Baron Lothgar's castle. The rain was getting heavier, and the sun was dipping low.

  'Who w ould have thought Baron Lothgar w ould have known such... colourful...

  language,' said Bertelis.

  'Not I,' said Calard.

  'I think my ears are still ringing.'

  'Still, I w ould imagine any father would have a few choice words to say if they found a naked man on his daughter's w indowsill,' said Calard.

  'And if his other daughter had just been turned dow n by said man's older brother,'

  piped in Tassilo.

  'True,' said Bertelis. 'I didn't quite realise she was that young.'

  'Or that w e had drunk quite so much of his cellar,' said Calard. 'Live and learn, eh?'

  'Indeed,' said Calard.

  Laughing, the brothers led their entourage aw ay from their host's lands, heading north-w est.

  For a moment it w as like old times betw een the two, the tension and distance that had grow n up betw een the two brothers temporarily forgotten.

  Such a respite w as not to last.

  * * *

  ELISABET AWOKE TO pain. She ached all over, and it felt as though there was a w eight pressed against her chest, making breathing difficult. She was lying on her side, w ith her legs draw n up to her chest. Her joints groaned as she struggled to push herself up. There was no strength in her arms, and every movement brought w ith it fresh agonies.

  She w as still within the cave, she saw, though her vision w as hazy and vague.

  Candles still burnt around her, giving off their sickly stink, but Elisabet w as alone -

  of Haegtesse there w as no sign.

  The hateful doll-totem of herself lay on the pallet, grinning up at her mockingly.

  Feeling the witch's control over her gone, she tried to push herself to her feet, to run from this horrific place, but her vision swam and her legs had no strength, and she collapsed in a spraw led heap. Wheezing, her heart hammering weakly against her ribcage, she sobbed.

  What had been done to her?

  It w as then that she looked at her ow n hands. They were wasted, the skin loose and covered in liver spots. Her fingers ended in yellow, cracked nails. She saw that the hair hanging before her eyes was grey, and she could feel the lice against her flaking scalp. Looking down at herself, she saw that her youthful, supple body w as gone, replaced w ith the cancerous, ancient and skeletal form of Haegtesse.

  A groan of horror claw ed its way up from her age ravaged, half-collapsed lungs, passing her toothless, bloody gums and emerging as a croaking w ail.

  Outside, Haegtesse heard the desolate cry, and smiled. She ran her hands over her stolen body, feeling the pleasing contradiction of softness and firmness, the tautness and fleeting elasticity of youthful skin. She breathed in deeply, rejoicing in her clear vision and the strength she felt in her limbs.

  With a smile, she walked away from the cave, leaving her wasted, dying husk behind her. It had served its purpose these past ninety years. Now she had need of this body, young, untainted and fertile.

  The brambles and thorns parted before her, and she began w alking to the north.

  CHAPTER TWO

  BERTELIS'S ARMS FELT like leaden weights and his breath was coming in short, sharp gasps, but he pushed through his exhaustion and launched another attack.

  Feinting with a strike to the head, he rolled his wrist and w hipped his sword around in a low , disembow elling slash. His opponent took the attack on his shield and launched a strike of his own, his blade hissing through the air. Bertelis deflected the blade, letting it glance off his black and red shield, throwing the other knight slightly off balance. Not giving the man a chance to recover, Bertelis launched into a series of sw ift attacks, his blade cutting left and right, forcing his opponent backw ards, defending frantically.

  Stepping in close, Bertelis slammed his shield into his opponent. The knight grimaced and staggered back. His rear foot, supporting the majority of his w eight, slipped in mud, and he dropped to one knee. In an instant, Bertelis's sword tip was at his throat.

  'I concede,' said the defeated knight, Huebald, blinking rain out of his eyes.

  None of the cousins felt any shame at being bested by their younger kinsman.

  Bertelis had alw ays been talented with the blade but had never been one to dedicate himself to training. That had all changed since the death of Gunthar.

  Gunthar, the old w eapon master of Garamont, had taught both Bertelis and Calard in the arts of sw ordplay and the joust since the day they could walk. He had been one of the finest swordsmen in all of Bastonne in his day, and he had been w ounded in a duel six months earlier, a duel that he had fought in lieu of Calard. Though he had defeated his opponent, Gunthar had in turn been badly injured. His wound had festered, and the only chance would have been to have his leg amputated, though even then his chance of surviving was slim. Refusing to suffer such an ignominious fate - for w hat good w as a knight that could not even sit in the saddle? - Gunthar had given his life defending Bertelis, standing over him and protecting him w hile he was incapacitated. He had taken a dozen or more enemies w ith him before he finally fell, a hero, pierced by a score of blades.

  The old w eapon master had given his life that Bertelis might live, and that was something that the younger Garamont brother had found hard to accept. In the months since, he had dedicated himself to his training to an almost obsessive extent.

  Bertelis removed his blade from his cousin's throat, his chest heaving with exertion.

  Still he allowed himself no rest, and turned to face his other two cousins.
/>   'Come,' he said, nodding to Tassilo. Slender and quick, the youngest of his cousins w as a skilful swordsman and Bertelis enjoyed sparring with him.

  'Enough, brother,' said a voice.

  Bertelis turned to regard Calard, w ho was emerging, dishevelled, from his red and blue tent. His face w as heavy with stubble, and his dark hair was unruly, hanging around his shoulders. He was dressed in the same clothes he had been w earing the night before, and even from here, Bertelis could smell the reek of alcohol on him.

  'Decided to grace us w ith your presence?' said Bertelis, sheathing his sword.

  'Couldn't really sleep with the racket you lot w ere making, could I?' replied Calard.

  'It's almost midday, brother,' said Bertelis. 'We were meant to strike the camp at daw n.'

  'Water,' ordered Calard, sending servants scurrying. He was handed a goblet of w ater, and drank deeply.

  'Midday?' said Calard, squinting up at the overcast sky.

  'That's right,' said Bertelis.

  Calard's bleary gaze w andered around the clearing. 'Training again?' he said.

  'No, I've been milking cattle,' snapped Bertelis. 'Yes, I've been training, for all the good that it w ill do. At this rate w e are not going to arrive at the tournament in time to take part anyw ay.'

  'The tournament's w hat, a w eek aw ay? That's plenty of time.'

  'It is tw o days aw ay, brother,' said Bertelis. He turned away, muttering under his breath, a look of disgust on his face.

  Calard's expression darkened.

  'Don't turn you back on me, brother,' he snarled.

  Bertelis turned back tow ards him.

  'How can I serve you, my lord Garamont?' he said, giving a mocking bow .

  Feeling the eyes and ears of his knights and peasants all around, Calard bit back his angry retort. He fixed his younger half-brother with an angry stare.

  'Come here,' he said through gritted teeth, lifting the tent flap and gesturing inside. 'I w ould speak w ith you alone.'

  Seeing the shared glances betw een his knights, Calard felt his rage build.

  'Strike the camp,' he ordered. 'We leave w ithin the hour.'

  CALARD POURED A goblet of w ine and offered it to his brother. Bertelis refused, as he knew he would. The wine w as worth a small fortune, being one of Bordeleaux's finer exports, and rather than have it go to w aste, he drained the goblet. As an afterthought, he poured himself a second.

  'Don't ever talk to me like that again in front of our cousins,' said Calard. 'Our father w ould never have stood for such disrespect. He'd have had you flogged for such insolence.'

  'Our father is dead,' said Bertelis. 'You didn't save him, remember?'

  The colour drained from Calard's face. It had been less than six months since the death of Lord Lutheure, killed by a hateful creature of Chaos. Castle Garamont had been overrun and Calard, accompanied by the revered Grail Knight Reolus and a lance of loyal knights, had raced to save it from destruction. Even travelling the fey paths of the Lady of the Lake, led upon those mystical secret ways by his sister, the Damsel Anara, and travelling many hundreds of miles in the blink of an eye, he had been unable to save his father.

  The true horror of the event had been two-fold. One, that Lutheure w as already dying, his body w ithered and wracked by poison delivered by Calard's beloved, the Lady Elisabet of Marlemont. And tw o, that Lutheure's killer, a horrifying creature that w as truly neither man nor beast, w as none other than the castellan's own mutated son, driven and obsessed to slay its ow n father. The same blood that flow ed in its veins flowed through Calard's, and the horror and disgust of that know ledge haunted his dreams. Tainted blood.

  That w as w hat Calard knew his knights whispered behind his back, and yet he did not silence them. Indeed, he feared it w as the truth.

  'You think he would have lived had you been there?' said Calard, his eyes haunted.

  'We'll never know,' said Bertelis.

  'Maybe you could have saved him,' admitted Calard. 'But you w ere not there; your injuries are only now fully healed.'

  'As I said, w e'll never know.'

  Calard stared into his brother's accusing eyes, seeing the anger simmering there, and he sighed. Taking his goblet of w ine, he sank onto a divan, his shoulders slumped.

  'What is w rong w ith you these days?' he said, not looking at Bertelis. 'Where is all this anger coming from? Is it because of father's death? Is it because of me?'

  Bertelis's hands were clenched into fists.

  'What's w rong w ith me? Take a look at yourself. You've been drunk for months, neglecting your responsibilities... you don't even know what day it is.'

  'I didn't ask for our father to die,' snapped Calard. 'I didn't ask to become the lord of Garamont.'

  He looked up at his brother.

  'Is that w hat this is about? You w ant to be the lord of Garamont, Bertelis? I'll abdicate. I don't w ant these responsibilities. You can have them.'

  'That is not w hat I w ant and you know it,' said Bertelis.

  'I'm sure your mother w ould be most displeased to hear you say that,' said Calard.

  'Leave her out this,' grow led Bertelis.

  'I thought you'd be the last person to lecture me,' said Calard, taking another swig of his w ine. 'You used to be different. All you do is train these days. You never used to be so... obsessed.'

  'Would that I had paid more attention to Gunthar,' said Bertelis.

  For a moment, there w as silence.

  'You've changed, brother,' said Calard, at last.

  'Yes, I have,' said Bertelis. 'Maybe it is about time that you did, too.'

  Calard placed his goblet on a side table and hung his head in his hands. His half-brother and he had alw ays been the closest of friends. He had believed that he would alw ays be able to rely on Bertelis, no matter w hat. How had things gone so wrong?

  Everything had changed with the death of their father. Calard's w hole world had been shattered. He w as blood-brother to a mutant monstrosity. His beloved had been exposed as a w ould-be murderer. Attempts had been made on his life, and he had accused - falsely, it seemed - his step-mother, the Lady Calisse, Bertelis's mother.

  And he had been thrust into a position of great authority and responsibility that he w as now here near ready for.

  Coming back to the present, his head still in his hands, Calard sighed.

  'There is truth in your w ords, brother,' he said. 'And I am sorry for mentioning the Lady Calisse.'

  In a w ay, Calard felt sorry for his brother, for he knew that the Lady Calisse spouted her poison in his ear at every occasion.

  Bertelis folded his arms and shifted his feet. 'You are under a lot of pressure,' he said. 'I do not envy you.'

  Calard smiled, though his eyes were hollow and empty.

  'Is it really tw o days until the tournament?'

  'It is,' said Bertelis. Calard swore.

  'Tw o w eeks we've been away from Garamont then,' he said, shaking his head.

  'Folcard is going to kill me.'

  THOUGH WELL INTO her middling years, Bertelis's mother, the haughty and proud Lady Calisse, w as a strikingly handsome w oman still, and as she laughed, the years dropped aw ay from her.

  In her prime, Calisse had been a renowned beauty, and before she had w ed Lutheure of Garamont, a score of knights from all over Bretonnia had paid her suit, competing for her hand. Elegant and imperious, she was reclining on a velvet chaise longue w ithin castle Garamont, her diaphanous silk dress flowing around her.

  'It w as you w ho tried to have him killed,' she said in a soft voice, her eyes gleaming w ith deadly amusement. 'I knew it!'

  The chamberlain of Garamont, Folcard, stood in the doorway, tall and gaunt, like a looming vulture w aiting for its prey to die. His face was long and severe, and his nose w as hooked. He had the look of one who had been sucking on lemons, and deep frow n lines were permanently etched on his face.

  'Keep your voice dow n,' Folcard said.

  'Oh,
calm yourself,' said Calisse with a dismissive wave of a hand heavy with rings. 'I sent all the servants aw ay that w e might speak freely.'

  For more than six decades Folcard had served the Garamont line, overseeing the day to day running of the castle and its estate with a rod of iron. He was the terror of the servants, an exacting and harsh master, but he w as nevertheless widely respected for he w as himself no slouch, even at his age, and put in more w ork than any of those w ho served under him.

  Castle Garamont and its line was Folcard's life, utterly and completely, and his devotion could not be questioned. Which was why Calisse was so amused to have finally worked out that it w as he w ho had tried to have Calard murdered w hile engaged in Bordeleaux the previous autumn.

  Folcard glared at her, making no attempt to hide his disdain for her, though she was long past caring w hat the old chamberlain thought of her.

  'It w as Tanebourc, w asn't it?' said Calisse. 'He w as the one that you coerced into doing your dirty w ork?'

  'Your lover?' snapped Folcard. Calisse stared at him blankly.

  'Yes, I knew that you w ere being unfaithful,' said Folcard. 'Your adulteries started soon after Bertelis w as born, if I am not mistaken?'

  'Was that how you got to him? You blackmailed him into doing what you w anted, threatening to tell Lutheure that he was bedding me if he didn't do as you w ished?'

  'Something like that,' said Folcard.

  'If you knew of my... infidelity these last tw enty years, why did you never speak of them to my husband?'

  'I am a loyal servant of Garamont,' said Folcard coldly. 'I w ould never have done anything to bring dishonour upon my lord.'

  Calisse laughed, the sound cold and unfriendly, but filled with genuine humour.

  'But you w ould happily have your lord's son murdered?' she said. 'It is a curious sort of honour you follow , my dear chamberlain.'

  'The Lady Yvette of Bordeleaux was tainted,' spat Folcard. 'Touched in the head.

  Corrupted. She ensorcelled Lutheure, ensnaring him and clouding his judgement.'

  Lady Calisse's expression hardened. Always she had felt as though she w ere in the shadow of her husband's first wife. Always it felt to her as if her husband had judged her, w eighing her against his first partner. He would never allow so much as a bad w ord spoken of her in his presence, and Calisse had been forced to endure having a painting of the woman stare at her across the great hall for her entire marriage.