Warhammer - Knight of the Realm

by Anthony Reynolds

  A polite cough drew Calard's attention, and he reddened as he turned towards the north w all, realising that he had been gaw ping with all the slack-mouthed dignity of a peasant. A small gathering of knights stood around the fireplace, the ones that he had heard speaking in hushed tones as he entered, though they had fallen silent now and w ere looking tow ards him.

  He bow ed low to the group, his cheeks burning.

  Calard's gaze w as instantly drawn to Reolus. The grail knight dominated the room, radiating pow er and authority, and the others stood around him, their body language show ing their deference. His face was broad and ageless, and he nodded almost imperceptibly to Calard in greeting, a slight smile on his lips, and the young lord of Garamont felt instantly more self-assured.

  He did not know all of the knights standing with Reolus, though from their heraldry, ornate armour and rich clothing he recognised that they were important nobles of the Lyonessian court. It w as likely that they were related to the duke either through birth or marriage. They were all easily a decade older than Calard, and were most likely the duke's most senior knights.

  Maloric w as there as w ell, and he flashed a dark look tow ards Calard, who smirked at him. If anything, Maloric's hatred of him had merely increased after he had saved the Sangasse noble's life on the Norscan occupied isle of Landri.

  The Empire ambassador, Dieter Weschler, gave him a clipped bow . Everything about the man w as neat, organised and precise, from his carefully waxed and curled moustache to every fold of his puffy sleeves. Even his movements were measured and efficient.

  Laudethaire stood w ith them, affecting a dramatic pose w ith one hand upon the mantelpiece above the fire and his luxurious blond hair flowing past his shoulders.

  He eyed Calard w ith a look of disdain.

  'Are you lost?' said Laudethaire, loudly.

  Calard, taken aback, did not answ er immediately.

  'I... I, um,' he stuttered eventually.

  ' ' I, um' . Very insightful,' said Laudethaire. 'We are here aw aiting the imminent arrival of the Duke of Lyonesse, so w hy don't you run along now and leave this to your betters, hmm?'

  Calard reddened again and stumbled over his w ords as he tried to form a reply. He saw Maloric's face tw itch in amusement, but Laudethaire had not yet finished.

  'It's bad enough that w e have one noble of Bastonne present,' said Laudethaire with a careless gesture tow ards Maloric, 'and I mean ''noble'' in the loosest possible sense of the w ord, but tw o?'

  One of the knights of Lyonesse chuckled in amusement and the humour dropped from Maloric's face. Calard w anted the floor to open up and sw allow him w hole as he felt the eyes of everyone present boring into him.

  'The young lord of Garamont came here at my request,' said Reolus, his voice quiet as he stared at the Parravonian pegasus knight. 'Are you calling my judgement into question, Laudethaire?'

  To his credit, Laudethaire hardly baulked, his fear of causing the displeasure of a grail knight flashing only momentarily across his face.

  'I jest,' he said smoothly, recovering instantly. 'And if my humour w as misinterpreted, I offer my most humble apologies. The Parravonian wit is oft misunderstood.'

  Laudethaire bow ed low to Reolus. As he straightened, he flicked his long blond hair over his shoulder and flashed Calard a w inning smile that did not reach his eyes.

  'No insult w as taken, I am sure,' he said.

  'None at all,' mumbled Calard. Reolus w inked at him behind Laudethaire's back.

  Thankfully, the conversation the knights had been having before Calard had entered the room started up again, and the attention w as taken off him. He moved tow ards the group, but stayed on the outer fringe, affecting an interested expression.

  The discussion, which was mainly betw een the knights of Lyonesse and Laudethaire, w ent largely over Calard's head, and he had little to contribute. They were discussing inter-dukedom politics and court life, and Calard was amazed at the offhand w ay they spoke of the back-stabbing, machinations and duplicitous plotting that occurred betw een their various Bretonnian households. From the sounds of it, the politicking that took place in the royal court of Couronne w as as deadly as any battlefield; more so in many w ays, for at least on the battlefield you knew who your enemies were. To Calard it sounded vile, a poisonous viper's nest of intrigue and double-dealings. As lord of Garamont he knew that he would be forced to become involved at least in part in the politics of Bastonne, but he did not relish the thought of it at all. He did not believe he w as even remotely suited for such duties.

  'Montforte is a fool,' Laudethaire w as saying, scathingly. 'He has lost much favour at court due to his heavy-handed approach in dealing with the trade issue. His decrees are restricting the flow of goods through the pass...'

  'Axebite Pass?' said Dieter, his brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to keep up w ith the swift-flowing diatribe.

  The valley known to the cartographers of the Empire as Axebite Pass was the largest and most accessible route betw een Bretonnia and Dieter's homeland. It cut through the giant peaks of the Grey Mountains that separated the tw o lands of men. At either end of the sheer-sided valley stood a mighty fortress, spanning the gap. On the Bretonnian side was Montforte; on the Empire side was Helmgart. Countless battles had been fought in the valley betw een the tw o impenetrable castles, for the peace betw een Bretonnia and the Empire was a fractious thing, and there had been blood spilt on numerous occasions.

  Laudethaire looked at Dieter, as if w eighing whether to even bother answering his question. Finally, he nodded once, and turned away to continue talking with the Bretonnian knights.

  'His w ife is the one with the brains, you know. Montforte has got rich thanks to her shrew d dealings. Abominable w oman. She should have been born a man,' said Laudethaire.

  'Or strangled at birth,' said one of the Lyonesse nobles, eliciting chuckles from his comrades.

  A pair of double doors opposite those that Calard had entered through w ere thrown w ide and conversation ceased. A thickset man dressed in courtly array stepped into the room.

  'Lord Adalhard, Duke of Lyonesse, and the Damsel Anara!' he bellowed, far louder than w as necessary, and stepped aside. The knights dropped to one knee, lowering their heads respectfully.

  'Rise,' said a firm voice, and as he stood upright Calard saw the duke escorting his sister into the room, her forearm gently placed upon his. The duke was garbed for w ar. Anara's gaze floated lazily around the room, her eyes distant, as if she w ere seeing things that no one else could perceive.

  'We don't know w hen the enemy will attack again, so let us get straight to the point,'

  said the duke, coming to a halt and casting his gaze around the gathered nobles. A manservant sw iftly brought a chair to him, but he w aved the man aw ay. 'Casualties?'

  A stew ard stepped forward, flipping open a leather-bound book.

  'Nineteen knights of noble birth slain,' he said. 'Forty-tw o injured. Of those, nine will not fight again, and seven will require months of recovery time.'

  'Peasants?' said the duke.

  'Under tw o hundred,' said the steward.

  'And rough estimates of the enemy losses?'

  'Perhaps... eleven hundred,' guessed the steward.

  'If w e maintain those odds, my lord, then the enemy w ill surely have no chance of breaching our defences,' said one of the duke's knights, a massively overweight marquis w ith glittering rings on his fat fingers. 'We could hold them here for months on end, if not indefinitely, could we not?'

  'It w ould be costly, Carabas,' said the duke. 'And w ho knows what L'Anguille is up to w hile we are occupied here. Invading my lands, no doubt. The man is a sw ine.'

  'There is a w ay that the siege might be broken,' ventured another of the duke's knights, a stick thin, severe looking baron.

  'Speak it then, Broussard,' said the duke.

  'We give them w hat they w ant. We give them the girl.'

  Calard's eyes w idened and
his jaw dropped.

  'Pah!' scoffed the marquis, scow ling at his compatriot. 'Castle Lyonesse has never been taken. We have nothing to fear from the likes of this barbarian rabble. Why should w e deliver them w hat they want, like bullied children?'

  'We have already underestimated them once,' said the duke, 'and we all know what happened as a result of that. I w ill not do so again.'

  'But my lord... you cannot really believe that the castle could fall, surely?' said the marquis. 'It has stood for more than fifteen hundred years, and outlasted a dozen sieges.'

  'It has, Carabas,' agreed the duke. 'But that does not answ er the baron's question.'

  He looked around the room, and his gaze came to rest on Laudethaire. He raised his eyebrow s questioningly. 'Well?'

  'I sw ore an oath to protect those unable to protect themselves, my lord,' said the knight loftily. 'I w ould rather die than break my w ord.'

  'Nobly spoken,' said the duke. 'Though I feel there is a caveat coming...'

  'You are as perceptive as you are honourable, my lord,' said Laudethaire w ith a bow .

  'If it w as know n beyond any shadow of doubt that the lady that Lord Reolus and I rescued w as indeed what she appears to be, there would be no contending what must be done. But I saw her w ield unholy powers with mine own eyes. She is possessed. I say give the w itch over to the Norse.'

  The duke grunted noncommittally. He looked down at the ground thoughtfully for a moment, then lifted his gaze, switching betw een Maloric and Calard.

  'And you tw o? I believe that both of you had some... attachment to the girl.'

  Calard licked his lips, his mind spinning.

  'I cared for Lady Elisabet of Marlemont, it is true,' said Maloric slowly. 'But I am not convinced that the creature that lies unconscious is her.'

  'Anara? Is it Elisabet?' asked Calard, looking at his sister, who was talking to herself, acting out tw o sides of a hushed conversation. She did not seem to have heard the question, and several of the knights glanced at each other uneasily. She laughed to herself, and then scowled, and kept talking under her breath.

  'Anara,' said Reolus, gently touching her on the arm. She snapped out of her double-sided conversation, looking vaguely startled, like someone forcibly woken from the middle of a dream. She smiled w armly at the grail knight, and for a moment she once again resembled the girl that Calard remembered.

  'Your brother asked you a question,' said Reolus.

  'Is it Elisabet?' said Calard as the damsel turned tow ards him w ith a questioning expression. 'Is it Elisabet that w e brought back w ith us?'

  'Yes,' said Anara solemnly. 'And no.'

  Calard furrow ed his brow .

  'It is Elisabet's body,' elaborated the damsel, 'but she does not inhabit it.'

  'Possessed, as I said,' said Laudethaire.

  'I don't understand,' said Calard.

  'Her body is a puppet,' giggled Anara, making spider-like motions with her hands, as if she w ere manipulating a marionette. 'She has no control over her strings. I thought at first she might be in there, imprisoned and helpless, a passenger with no control, but that's not so. She is... gone.'

  'Gone?' said Calard.

  'Gone,' said Anara.

  'Can you expel this... presence... that has taken up residence within the girl's body?'

  asked Reolus.

  'Yes,' said Anara.

  'Elisabet w ill be herself again?' said Calard.

  'Yes. No. Maybe,' said Anara, shrugging. Her eyes misted over. 'If she is alive, there is a good chance that she will return. It might happen instantly, or it may take years, or never. She may not be able to find her way back. She may be w andering the spirit-w orld, lost and blind, or she may already have passed through the veil into the realm of Morr. She might not w ant to come back.'

  'It is w orth the risk,' said Calard. Maloric nodded his head in agreement.

  'Fine,' said Duke Adalhard. 'Do it. And if she does not return, then do w e hand her over to the Norscans? Reolus, what do you say on the matter?'

  'You know my answ er. It is unthinkable to even consider handing a noblewoman of Bretonnia over to the likes of these Chaos w orshippers. Even if she were to pass from the w orld when the exorcism takes place, she deserves better than to have her body handed over to the enemy. Were it to mean the death of every last knight of Lyonesse, I w ould answ er the same,' said Reolus. 'As indeed would you, my lord.'

  'I w ould,' nodded the duke. 'It's agreed then. Our fates are in the Lady's hands, and the courage of those defending this castle.'

  'We have nothing to fear from these heathen savages, my lord,' said the Marquis of Carabas. Calard noted that this knight had not been present at the massacre some w eeks earlier, and he shook his head at w hat he saw as his uninformed bravado.

  'What's that noise?' said Laudethaire suddenly.

  At first Calard heard nothing, then a distant sound like the roaring of a furnace could be discerned above the how ling wind. And it was getting closer.

  Horns blared in w arning, and shouts of panic, fear and alarm echoed up from all over the castle. Then there was an almighty crash, like the rumble of thunder directly overhead, and the ground shook. Calard felt the floor reverberate, and the suits of armour arranged around the room clattered as the vibrations running up through the keep made them shudder. The reverberation made an ancient candelabra upon the mantelpiece jump forw ards, and it would have smashed upon the floor had not Laudethaire caught it as it fell. He placed it back upon the mantelpiece as the reverberations subsided.

  'Earthquake?' said Laudethaire.

  'No,' said Reolus, shaking his head. 'The Norse.'

  * * *

  A SECOND FIREBALL w as arcing through the air, daemonic fire trailing in its wake, as Calard burst out onto the top of the keep. He ran to the east-facing battlements, leaping up the stairs to the crenulations as other knights rushed up the stairs behind him, pushing gawping men-at-arms out of the w ay. Calard noted that it came from the location that they had identified earlier as the dug-in emplacement upon the beachhead. Shouts of panic could be heard from all over the castle.

  The blazing comet lit up the sky, like a miniature sun screaming across the heavens, though the light it cast w as a deep, malevolent red, tinging everything ruby w ith its daemonic glow . It roared like a dragon as it hurtled dow n towards the castle. The turbulent strait running betw een the island and the mainland was lit up, and Calard could see hundreds of longships ploughing through the water tow ards them. The second assault w as about to begin.

  'To arms!' shouted Calard, he raced back tow ards the stairw ay leading down through the keep.

  Halfw ay dow n the spiralling, dark staircase, Calard w as thrown against the wall, losing his footing as the ground shook beneath him; the fireball had clearly struck, and deep reverberations made the w hole island shudder. He swore and pushed himself off the wall, and continued his mad dash dow n through the levels of the keep.

  He w as breathing hard as he reached the bottom of the spiralling stairway and ran out into the courtyard at the base of the keep. Men-at-arms w ere running tow ards the eastern w all, and Calard paused to catch his breath. Reolus and Dieter ran out into the courtyard behind him.

  The sky w as filled w ith a hideous roaring sound, and Calard shielded his eyes against the inferno as another fireball came screaming down tow ards the island. Even from this distance, Calard could feel the intense heat it radiated as it fell inexorably tow ards one of the immense tow ers looming above the eastern curtain wall. Calard looked on in horror.

  Men w ere streaming away from the doomed tow er, racing along the walls to either side of it and hurling themselves down the stairs leading from its lower levels to the inside courtyard. There was only one exit from the top of the tow er, a steep spiralling staircase, and no doubt scores of men w ould be fighting to hurl themselves down it.

  Calard knew that none of them w ould survive.

  The roaring inferno struck the top of the t
ow er with colossal force, engulfing it in red fire. The entire castle trembled beneath the impact, and the top two levels of the tow er w ere utterly demolished in an instant. Stone turned molten beneath the unnatural heat, running like syrup down the sheer sides of the w alls, and tons of red-hot rock w ere sent flying in all directions.

  Hundreds of men w ere consumed in the raging holocaust. Those standing exposed on top of the tow er w ere killed instantly, flesh and bones burnt aw ay to cinders even as the trebuchets w ere rendered into ash. The skin of those inside burst into flame, their lungs filled with scalding heat and fire as they breathed in. The top of the tow er exploded like earthenware left too long in a kiln, stonework thrown out in all directions. The lucky ones were ripped apart in the detonation, heads and bodies crushed by hunks of superheated stone, but those that w ere not killed instantly were hurled into the air, their flesh burning as they plummeted hundreds of feet to their deaths.

  Molten, burning chunks of rock crashed down into the buildings within the castle w alls, smashing through shingled and thatched roofs, and a dozen of them w ere instantly ablaze.

  The w alls of Castle Lyonesse had stood resolute in the face of the restless dead of cursed Mousillon, and had repelled more than one large-scale assault by the dark elven kin from across the seas. They had w ithstood stones hurled by catapults, had defied battering rams, and even held firm against the cannons of the Empire navy.