It tipped over the cliff of water and began to fall. Men tumbled from the ship, arms and legs flailing. Calard leant forward over the neck of his steed, kicking his heels into its flanks.
A Norscan fell on top of a knight behind him, knocking the Bretonnian from the saddle, and making his horse stumble. An oar smashed down onto the rump of another destrier, making its back legs give way and sending its rider flying. That knight plunged into the wall of water and was instantly set upon by the sharks lurking on the other side.
There was an almighty crash as the prow of the longship smashed down onto the ocean bed behind the knightly formation. The draconic figurehead ploughed into the causew ay, and there w as a sickening sound of splintering timbers as the weight of the ship crashed down behind it. Its mast broke, crushing a pair of knights at the back of the lance formation as it smashed dow n onto the rocky ocean floor.
Turning in the saddle, Calard w atched as the longship splintered. Men continued to fall, bones breaking as they hit the ground. He saw that the long chasm-like corridor of w ater behind them w as closing, and in another moment it daimed the shattered Norscan vessel, which was crushed by the pressure of the water rushing in upon it.
That frantic ride through the valley of water was the strangest experience of Calard's life thus far, and as they galloped up the causew ay and onto the mainland itself, he marvelled at the pow er that w as his sister's to command. Parting the ocean itself - he w ould never have believed such a things was possible.
The fog above continued to obscure their progress, so that the Norse had no warning of the attack they w ere about to face. With Reolus riding at the fore, the lance of Bretonnian knights galloped out of the ocean, angling their ride across the hard packed sandy beach that led around the bay tow ards the emplaced, infernal war machine of the enemy on the hillock protruding into the ocean half a mile to the north.
The enemy were completely unprepared for such an assault, and before they had even registered the presence of the enemy in their midst, the Bretonnians were cutting a sw athe through them, galloping along the hard packed wet sand around the edge of the bay They passed scores of longships, many of w hich were being pushed into the sea by w arriors. Some of these marauders saw the Bretonnians behind them, and their voices rose in shock and alarm.
Calard's lance took a surprised Norscan in the face, the tip of his weapon punching through the man's eye-socket and smashing out the back of his skull. Releasing his hold on the w eapon, he drew the blade of Garamont in a smooth motion and hacked dow n another enemy w arrior, cleaving deep into flesh.
Horns of w arning sounded, and Reolus pushed the knights on. They were not far from the w ar machine's emplacement now, but Calard knew that there were tens of thousands of Norscans all around - it w as only a matter of time until they w ere surrounded and overw helmed.
A sound like the roaring of a thousand lions echoed out across the land, and an immense ball of red flame shot into the air from up ahead, arcing above the strait tow ards Castle Lyonesse. Flames dripped like molten rock from the immense, deep red missile as it hurtled though the air, and the heat that came off it w as intense.
Choking black smoke blanketed the area w here the shot had come from, upon the hillock jutting into the bay up ahead, and Reolus guided them tow ards it.
Norscans ran into their path, screaming in fury, but the Bretonnians carved through them like a scythe through w heat. Reolus fought with incomparable skill, killing with every strike. Dozens had already fallen beneath his blade and lance, and no enemy had even looked like landing a blow upon him.
They sw ung westward, hugging the sweeping bay and rising out of the fog that blanketed the w ater and beachhead, closing in on the enemy artillery.
They could see more clearly now, but as they climbed out above the fog they w ere themselves revealed to the enemy. Countless fires dotted the darkness in the east, and thousands of Norscan w arriors yet to take part in the siege snatched up their w eapons and began racing through their camp tow ards them.
The desolation of the mainland could be seen clearly. The burnt-out husks of buildings stood like blackened skeletons. It would take many years to rebuild the tow n back to w hat it w as, for the taint of the Norscans to pass and for the scars of this destruction to fade.
At a curt gesture from Reolus, half the knights riding behind him peeled off to the east. If the Norse overw helmed them from the rear before they had a chance to destroy the enemy artillery then this whole gamble w ould be for nought, and so those knights that w heeled off from the main formation would hold them off as best they could.
Calard felt a pang of sadness and pride as the formation split. Those knights peeling aw ay w ere forming a long line to protect their rear, and every last one of them must have know n that he would likely not survive, yet not one of them baulked in the face of their duty. Part of Calard w ished that he was riding at their side, for their names w ould surely be remembered in the pages of history, their noble sacrifice honoured for all time. It w as only by chance that he was positioned on the left side of the lance formation, and so w as not part of that group riding off tow ards certain death and eternal glory.
Calard snorted. There w as no certainty that any of them w ould make it back to Castle Lyonesse from this risky sortie, and he realised that the sacrifice of those knights w ould be meaningless if they did not succeed in destroying the enemy artillery.
They w ere climbing steadily now, rising off the hard packed sand lining the bay and joining a rough roadw ay leading up tow ards the headland, where the emplaced war machine w as located. A low, crumbling wall separated the promontory from the town, and as the knights rode through a shattered gate, he realised what this area w as set aside for; it w as a cemetery, a sacred garden of Morr.
Of course no noble w ould ever have been buried here; this was a graveyard reserved for the peasant dead. As such there w ere few individual gravestones scattered across the snow -covered hill, for the vast majority of those buried here w ould have been packed into mass pits, their graves unmarked. Only the wealthiest peasant merchants could have afforded their own plots. Clumps of skeletal rose bushes protruded from the snow , though few of the trademark black roses that could be seen in the gardens of Morr all across the Old World were in flower.
Calard focused his gaze upon their target, squinting towards the infernal war machine that w as smashing apart Castle Lyonesse with its relentless barrage.
Hulking, ape-like creatures attached to each other by chain could be seen hard at w ork around the machine, being whipped by squat, barrel-chested figures, but he paid them little thought, his eyes widening as he looked upon the hulking metal construction.
It w as partially obscured by steam and acrid black smoke exhaled by the hellish machine as if it w ere alive and breathing. It was something akin to the cannons of the Empire that Dieter had described to him, but he had never imagined one to be this size. Its huge barrel must have been tw enty feet in diameter, and it squatted upon huge bronze w heels filled with clockwork mechanisms. Glowing runes were engraved upon its brazen body, and Calard felt his eyes sting just looking upon them.
The bulk of the creation shuddered, swelled and contracted, as if its hide was organic, not unliving bronze and black iron. Curiously, the machine was staked dow n, with giant chains hooked to its form and hammered into the ground, as if it w ere a w ild beast its captors feared and not an inanimate cannon.
The image of the w ar machine seemed to shimmer as if in a heat haze, and he saw the squat figures tending it shovelling what looked like body parts and coal into a gaping metal funnel upon its back as they rode closer. In disgust, Calard realised that many of the mass graves of the peasants w ere even now being dug up, w ith scores of w hat must have been slaves w orking to exhume the bodies of the dead. For a moment Calard had the impression of a huge, insatiable beast being fed by its caretakers, but he discarded the thought as the product of an overactive imagination.
He realis
ed that the slave-creatures were orcs, though they were larger and darker-skinned than the ones he had fought in Bordeleaux. Their heads hung low beneath their massive shoulders, and their flesh was covered in scars and burns. They cringed as their squat captors w hipped them, each lash of the barbed leather lengths flaying skin from muscle.
None of them registered the Bretonnians' presence until they were almost upon them, so intent w ere they on their work. A hulking orc w orker looked up at the knights bearing dow n on them as it dragged a frozen corpse up from one of the pits, and it blinked at them dumbly w ith beady red eyes.
Then the creature bellowed, its massive tusked jaw opening wide, and its comrades lifted their heavy heads towards the knights.
Calard saw w hat he presumed to be the leader of the w ar machine's crewmen swing tow ards them, and grow l something in a strange, grating tongue. The creature - it w as certainly not a human, but neither w as it a greenskin - w as a stunted thing, w earing an outlandish high helm and clad from head to toe in heavy plates of overlapping armour.
Its broad chest w as covered by a thick black beard tied into tight coils, and stubby tusks protruded from its mouth. Calard realised it was one of the dwarfen-kin said to inhabit the mountainous reaches of the Old World. He had always been led to believe that they w ere honourable and doughty allies, even if they were greedy and stubborn, but there w as nothing good in this w arped creature; it had clearly been twisted by the malignant forces of Chaos. It shouted something in its strange, deeply resonant language, and the black-skinned orc slaves were whipped into the path of the Bretonnians.
The slaves needed no encouragement, scrambling out of the grave pit, hefting their tools and launching themselves towards the knights. Behind them the stunted w orker-creatures continued to toil aw ay at ''feeding' the monstrous w ar machine. The slavemaster itself lifted a w eapon from a stand at its side. That w eapon vaguely resembled Dieter's repeater handgun, but w here the Empire ambassador's w eapon had five thin barrels, this arcane construction had just one barrel, though it w as flaring and w ide at its end.
The black orcs w ere hampered by the chains welded around their necks, but they attacked the knights without fear. Perhaps they longed for death, Calard thought.
Each of the beasts w as huge, w ith densely muscled arms tw ice as thick as a man's thigh. Reolus took the head off the first of the beasts w ith a sweep of his dimly glow ing sword and ran another through with his lance. Two other orcs were raised into the air, half-strangled by the chains around their necks as Reolus lifted the spitted orc high, before hurling it away from him w ith a flick.
Several of the hulking beasts used the chains binding them as a w eapon to take out the legs of the horses, showing a glimmer of bestial intelligence. Several steeds were felled as the black orcs pulled the chains taut, muscles straining and the knights riding these unfortunate horses were catapulted from their saddles.
Calard slammed the blade of Garamont dow n onto the head of another of the dark-hued greenskins. It was like striking rock, sending a jarring shudder up his arm, but his blow shattered its skull and hacked deep into its miniscule brain, blood spurting.
The creature didn't register it was dead right away, and it snarled and swung a w ild blow , forcing him to sw ay to the side to avoid it.
Calard saw the dw arf slavemaster heft his heavy w eapon to its shoulder, and he gave a shout of w arning. There was a tremendous boom, and fire billow ed from the widely flared barrel of the blunderbuss. A sw ath of death ripped through the Bretonnians and four knights were killed instantly, flesh and armour shredded.
There was a sound like some infernal giant beast sucking in a great intake of breath, making the air reverberate, and then the war machine fired again, sending a roaring fireball skyw ard.
At this range, the heat w as nigh on unbearable, and Calard's vision wavered before him. A black orc made a grab at him but he severed the creature's arm at the w rist, leaving its immense hand locked around the reins. Another knight was thrown from the saddle as one of the greenskins w rapped its ape-like arms around the forelegs of his steed, getting trampled in the process but managing to drag the destrier down to the ground. The knight directly behind tried vainly to haul his steed out of the w ay, but there w as not enough time or room, and the legs of his horse were broken as it slammed into the fallen steed in front.
Calard struck another orc a glancing blow , his sword rebounding off its thick skull, making it reel. It stumbled and disappeared under the flashing hooves of another knight, and they were through.
Reolus galloped hard, steering them tow ards the snarling, stunted dwarf slavemaster.
The heavily armoured creature had discarded its blunderbuss in favour of a heavy axe, its blade gleaming black obsidian. Its companions had joined it now, hefting heavy spiked tools in their thick, gloved hands.
Each of the dw arfs w as no more than four foot high, but built like oxen. Each had a thick beard that fell dow n over their leather and iron aprons, and their arms w ere almost as thick as their bodies.
Behind them the immense enemy w ar machine lurched, seemingly moving under its ow n impetus, and Calard recoiled in the saddle as he saw clawed legs of living bronze at the front of the w ar machine's carriage ripping up the ground as they dragged its w eight around to face the knights.
Choking black smoke w as exhaled from the barrel of the infernal machine, and Calard saw the entire thing writhe as it turned, metal flexing like living flesh.
Daemonic faces appeared in the brazen sides of the giant weapon, pressing outw ards from w ithin, snarling and hissing. He saw that the rim of the gaping barrel w as lined w ith tusks and fangs. The inside of the barrel w as lined with concentric circles of teeth, thousands of them, and volcanic fire raged deep within, making Calard's eyes w ater and his armour heat up unbearably.
The barrel snapped shut as the living war machine lunged forward, straining like a w ild bull at its restraints. Hellish runes glowed white-hot as it pulled against the chains. The steeds of the knights, as w ell trained as they w ere, refused to continue the charge tow ards the infernal daemon engine, baulking and fighting against their riders.
The knightly formation fractured, some horses rearing and bucking while others came to a dead halt. Others swung to the side, flattening their ears and galloping at full speed, w hile some tried to throw their riders.
Calard's steed reared, pulling against him, and he fought to regain control.
The dw arfen slavemaster stepped forward and hacked his obsidian axe into the chest of one bolting horse, and it screamed in a disturbingly human manner as it collapsed to the ground, throw ing its rider. The knight w as instantly set upon by a pair of brutish black orcs, w ho slammed his head into a rock, crumpling his helmet like paper w ith a sickly, metallic squeal.
Only Reolus continued the charge, and he cut dow n two of the Chaos dwarfs with slashes of his blade. The immense daemon engine ripped free of several of its chains, tearing the links apart in its fury, and it lurched towards Reolus, brazen fore-claws ripping up great sods of earth in its eagerness.
Calard cried out as the immense, sentient engine lunged for the grail knight. With masterful control, Reolus forced his steed to back up, and the huge maw of the hellish cannon snapped shut just feet in front of him. He drove his silver lance into the machine, and smoke rose from w here its point entered the beast, as if it w ere a heated poker being plunged into w ater.
Reolus ripped his lance free as the daemon engine thrashed in pain or anger, and red fire spouted from the puncture w ound.
Calard w as throw n from the saddle of his steed as his destrier bucked again, and he landed hard. He heard again a deep sucking intake of breath, and gasping for breath he pushed himself to his knees, turning towards Reolus.
The grail knight was seated defiantly in the saddle before the immense daemon engine, a glowing aura surrounding him. Calard shouted in denial as the machine belched volcanic red fire tow ards the grail knight.
/> Reolus w as completely hidden from view, lost w ithin the hazy inferno that consumed him, and Calard pushed himself to his feet. The blade of Garamont w as in his hand, and bellow ing in outrage, horror and despair, he charged tow ards the hellcannon.
The dw arf slavemaster was suddenly before him, snarling hatefully as it sw ung its black-bladed axe in a murderous arc. Calard managed to get his shield in the path of the blow , but the axe sheared through it, knocking Calard to the side but saving him from harm. He slashed w ith his own blade, but the dw arf turned it aside easily. This w as a foe of considerable skill, Calard realised.
The hellfire spewing from the maw of the daemon engine ceased, and the young lord of Garamont risked a quick glance tow ards Reolus, expecting to see nothing but a charred corpse. Miraculously, the grail knight appeared unharmed, sat aback his night-black steed, and the aura around him glow ing almost painfully bright. The Chaos dw arfs axe almost took off one of Calard's legs as he gaped at the holy knight, but he managed to step back at the last second, though the axe grazed his armour, cutting through it w ith contemptuous ease.
The glow surrounding Reolus began to fade, and he urged his steed towards the giant hellcannon, brandishing his weapons. The infernal daemon engine snapped at him, but he ducked beneath its gaping maw and drove his blade into its side, tearing a gaping rent in it as he rode by. The machine thrashed, and flames the colour of blood roared from w ithin its body.
It rounded on the grail knight, clockwork wheels grinding and bronze forelimbs scrabbling, and dozens of reaching talons extended from the machine's sides, grabbing for him. He evaded their grasp with ease, severing several of them with cuts of his blade. They fell to the ground, hunks of lifeless, inert metal, the life infusing them gone, and he plunged his lance into the beast again.
It w as clearly in pain now, and the runes binding it blazed w ith heat. Another slash of his sw ord carved through one of the binding hoops of iron that ringed the engine's barrel, and its runes disappeared w ith a hiss.
Warhammer - Knight of the Realm Page 23