'I just don't know anymore,' said Tassilo miserably. 'What if Folcard was wrong?'
'Folcard is not w rong. None of us takes pleasure in what must be done,' Baldemund hissed. 'But it is our duty. Calard's blood is unclean. His mother was fey-touched.
His sister's a freak, and his brother was... well, we all saw w hat his brother w as. We cannot risk the Garamont bloodline being forever tainted.'
'Calard must die,' said Huebald. 'We do it, now .'
CHAPTER TWENTY
CALARD WAS SLOUCHED on a simple bench in one of the keep's kitchens, weary beyond w ords but unw illing to allow himself to fall asleep. The kitchens were not an area often frequented by nobles and the furniture in the room w as simple and functional, with little thought for comfort or aesthetics. Still, just to be sitting dow n felt like luxury, even garbed in full armour as Calard w as.
His sw ord w as upon the thick wooden table in front of him, and he was chewing on some salted meat that Bertelis had discovered in one of the clay pots in the adjoining w alk-in larder. He, his brother and the Empire ambassador, Dieter Weschler, were sharing a jug, and even though it w as just cheap cooking wine - all the good vintages w ould be stored in the no-doubt cavernous cellar beneath the keep - no w ine had ever tasted finer to Calard.
They sat in silence. Calard's mind was a jumble of turbulent emotions. He replayed his vision of the Green Knight over in his head, trying to decipher its meaning, but the thought of Elisabet, nursing her Norscan-fathered child upstairs, kept intruding.
He w as also excited by the prospect of seeing Reolus meet the barbarian w arlord in challenge. He was certain that the duel would be recounted all across Bretonnia in years to come, and he felt privileged to be present at such an august event.
'He w ill win, won't he?' said Bertelis.
'The Lady is w ith him,' replied Calard by w ay of answ er.
'I have never seen a better sw ordsman,' said Dieter, 'except my Emperor's personal champion, Ludw ig Shwarzhelm. And even then, it would be a close thing.'
'You think your Emperor's man could beat Reolus?' said Bertelis, doubtfully.
'I w ould not w ager my entire fortune on it,' said Dieter. 'Perhaps just a portion.'
'I'd happily w ager my fortune on Reolus,' said Bertelis. 'Had I a fortune to w ager.'
'By Sigmar's grace, such a w ager w ill only ever remain theoretical,' replied Dieter.
'Long have the bonds betw een our realms been strong, and long may that continue.'
'I'll drink to that,' said Calard. 'We have plenty enough enemies around us than to draw w eapons against friends.'
The door to the kitchen was pushed open as Calard and Dieter clunked their goblets together in salute, and Huebald and Baldemund w alked in, looking grim and tense.
Calard's brow creased in concern. 'Tassilo?' he said.
'Worsening,' said Huebald, coming to stand opposite Calard. Baldemund sat dow n at the table, sliding the sword of Garamont aside.
Calard and Bertelis stood instantly, intending to go to their cousin's side, but Baldemund held up a hand to forestall them.
'He is w eak. The surgeon says he should only receive one visitor at a time,' he said.
'And he has asked to see Bertelis first.'
'Really?' said Calard, w ho had always been closer to Tassilo than his brother.
Baldemund nodded.
Calard looked at Bertelis, who shrugged.
'Well, he has asked for you, so go,' said Calard, and Bertelis left the room.
Huebald, sharing a glance w ith his conspirator, cleared his throat and turned tow ards Dieter.
'Could you give us the room, ambassador? There is a family matter that my cousin and I w ould like to discuss with Lord Garamont.'
'Of course,' said Dieter, w ho stood up and gave a curt bow of the head to Calard before taking his leave.
Huebald and Baldemund w ere left alone in the kitchen with Calard, who offered them the jug of w ine. They made no reaction to his offer, and he frowned as he placed the jug back onto the table.
'What is it?' he said, a feeling of dread descending over him. Was Tassilo dead? Had something happened to Elisabet?
'You know that w e are loyal to Garamont, don't you cousin?' said Huebald.
'What are you talking about?' said Calard in confusion. 'Of course I know that.'
'And you know that if anything were to threaten the Garamont line, we would do w hatever it took to preserve its integrity, yes?' said Huebald.
'What is your point?' said Calard.
Baldemund stood. Calard stared up at his tw o grim-faced, silent cousins.
'By the love of the goddess, spit it out,' Calard said.
'I'm sorry that it has to go this w ay, cousin,' said Baldemund. Then he and Huebald slid their swords from their scabbards.
'What is this?' said Calard, suddenly conscious of the fact that his own sword was beyond his reach.
'Something that should have been done a long time ago,' said Huebald, moving around the table tow ards Calard, blade draw n.
'I'm sorry, Calard,' said Baldemund, circling around his other side. 'The purity of the Garamont line must be preserved.'
Calard stood up sharply, knocking over the bench on which he sat. Huebald picked up the sw ord of Garamont and hurled it across the room. It clattered on the stone floor and slide to a far corner, beneath the great arched oven built into the wall.
'Your bloodline is cursed; you know that as w ell as w e do. It cannot be allow ed to bring Garamont to ruin.'
'This is madness,' snarled Calard, still backing away from the tw o armed knights.
'No,' said Huebald. 'It w ould be madness for us to ignore the oath w e swore to your father and stand by and allow his house to fall to damnation.'
'You sw ore the same oath to me,' snapped Calard. 'Where is your honour?'
'You should have stood aside and let your brother rule, Calard,' said Baldemund.
'You could have avoided all this.'
'Enough talk,' snapped Huebald. 'It is time the taint that besmirches Garamont's honour w as removed once and for all.'
Calard backed up against the w all. There was nowhere to run.
* * *
'PLEASE DON'T HATE me for my part in it,' said Tassilo, his eyes feverish.
'Hush,' said Bertelis. 'Calm yourself. You need your rest, cousin. Lie back.'
'You don't understand,' said Tassilo, fighting off Bertelis's mothering attentions. 'It had to be done! For the good of the Garamont line!'
'Sleep, cousin,' said Bertelis. 'You'll feel better once you have had some rest.'
Tassilo was burning up, sweat pouring off his body and his skin radiating heat. He reached out and grabbed Bertelis by the arm.
'Listen to me! His blood is tainted,' said Tassilo. 'It had to be done. Do not hate me.'
'What are you talking about, cousin?' Bertelis said warily, wondering if Tassilo was delirious.
'You w ill do Garamont proud, Bertelis.'
Bertelis felt a sense of foreboding descend over him, and he stared at Tassilo with haunted eyes, fearing the answer to his next question.
'What have you done, Tassilo?' he said.
'Do not hate me,' said the feverish knight. He coughed, splattering blood and mucous dow n his shirt front.
'You are talking about Calard, aren't you?' said Bertelis w ith some urgency. 'What have you done, cousin?'
'For the good of Garamont,' Tassilo managed, in-between wracking coughs.
Bertelis stared at him in horror. Could this merely be some fevered delusion? In his heart he knew that it was not.
'Oh mother, no,' he breathed. Long had his mother, the Lady Calisse, hated Calard; long had she desired to see her own son take up the rulership of Garamont. Bertelis had been convinced that she had been behind the attempts on Calard's life six months ago, before the death of their father, but his mother had vehemently denied that.
Bertelis had even gone so far as to keep the identity of one of Calar
d's w ould-be killers from his brother, in an attempt to save his mother from shame and retaliation.
It had been Tanebourc, a favourite of his mother's, that had tried to kill Calard on the field of battle in Bordeleaux, and had his identity been made known, then the finger of blame w ould surely have settled upon Bertelis's mother, the Lady Calisse.
Still, his mother had denied it so vociferously that he had almost believed her, for all that he knew she was capable of such a thing. Almost.
'Lady of grace, let it not be so,' breathed Bertelis, and he spun to leave.
He paused in the doorw ay and looked back tow ards the sick man, who was staring at him w ith dark ringed eyes.
'If any harm has befallen my brother, I w ill return here and kill you myself,' promised Bertelis. Then he drew his blade, and ran from the room.
'Forgive me,' breathed Tassilo.
MALORIC YAWNED AS he strode along the corridor, heading tow ards stairs that w ould lead up to the ramparts atop the keep. He came to a fork, and glanced dow n the shadow y side-passage. He did a double-take w hen he saw a pair of men-at-arms dressed in the red and blue livery of Garamont standing guard outside a door halfway dow n the corridor. At a w him he changed his course, turning to w alk tow ards them.
The pair of guards w ere talking in low voices, but they fell silent as they saw him approach. They stared resolutely ahead as he stopped in front of them, w isely not looking him in the eye. Their polearms were crossed over the door, barring the way.
'What is in there, peasant?' Maloric demanded of one of the men.
The man-at-arms stuck out his unshaved chin. 'Kitchen, my lord.'
'Very important duty, guarding a kitchen,' said Maloric. 'Stand aside.'
'We cannot do that, my lord,' said the man-at-arms.
'The lord of Garamont is having his way with a serving girl inside, is he?' sneered Maloric.
'I w ouldn't know, my lord,' said the peasant, shifting his feet aw kwardly.
'Of course not,' said Maloric. 'Stand aside.'
'We cannot do that, my lord.'
Maloric stepped in close, staring into the peasant's eyes. He could smell the cat's piss stink of the man's sw eat, and his lip curled in disgust.
'I am going through that door, peasant,' said Maloric in a low voice. 'And if you attempt to stop me I shall see you both hang.'
Maloric put a finger upon the blade of the man's polearm and pushed it out of his w ay, staring at the man the w hole while, daring him to resist. Cowed, the man shifted his feet and looked down, but did not make a move to stop him. Maloric turned to stare at the other man, w ho, after glancing at his companion, moved his ow n weapon out of Maloric's w ay.
'That w asn't so hard, w as it?' he said, and pushed through the doors, a half-smile on his face.
UNARMED, CALARD KNEW that he had no chance against both Huebald and Baldemund. Both w ere skilful swordsmen and he had no more room to back aw ay from them, nor w as there any form of w eapon nearby.
'The Lady curse you,' he snarled.
'You are the cursed one here,' returned Huebald.
The door to the kitchen opened inwards suddenly, and the traitorous cousins w ere momentarily distracted.
Calard moved sw iftly, stepping in close to Huebald and slamming his fist into his cousin's face.
Huebald managed to turn his head, so that Calard's gauntlet glanced off his cheek rather than breaking his nose. Still, the blow was a pow erful one, and Huebald's head snapped back.
Before Calard could w rest the sw ord from Huebald's grasp, how ever, the tip of Baldemund's sw ord w as at his throat, and he froze. More pressure was applied to the sw ord tip, and Calard w as backed up against the w all. Only then did he notice who the intruder w as.
'What in the name of the Lady is going on here?' said Maloric in amusement, a sardonic half-smile on his face.
'This is none of your concern, Sangasse,' snapped Huebald. 'Walk aw ay. Now!'
'I don't take orders from the likes of you, Garamont lapdog,' replied Maloric, casually w alking further into the kitchen. 'Think I'll stay aw hile.'
'I'm telling you, Sangasse; turn around and w alk out of here,' growled Huebald. 'This is nothing to do w ith you.'
In response, Maloric turned a chair around so that its back w as facing the Garamont knights. He sat dow n, straddling it, an amused expression on his face.
'Tw o armed knights against one, unarmed. Not very sporting,' he commented. 'But please, don't let me stop you.'
Calard tensed himself, about to risk trying to overpow er Baldemund, who still had him pinned to the wall, a sword at his throat.
'Don't,' w arned Baldemund, sensing his intention. The sword tip pressed harder against his neck, breaking the skin.
'Do as he says, Maloric,' said Calard. 'Get out of here. This is a family matter.'
'Your family really is not normal, Garamont, you know that?' replied Maloric, smirking. 'Inbred lunatics, all of you.'
'I told you to leave, Sangasse,' Huebald said, taking a threatening step towards Maloric.
'Take one more step tow ards me w ith that draw n sword,' said Maloric, still looking at Calard and still smiling, 'and it w ill be your last.'
'Kill the Sangasse bastard!' shouted Baldemund, and Huebald stepped forw ard, his blade flashing for Maloric's head.
The Sangasse noble stood quickly, stepping back, draw ing his blade and kicking the chair he had been sitting on into Huebald in one smooth motion. Huebald stumbled as the chair struck him in the mid-section, and Maloric's blade slashed through the air.
Huebald dropped his sword, which fell with a clatter to the floor, and lifted a hand to his throat, w hich had been neady sliced open from left to right. He lifted his hand, covered in blood, up before him, and his eyes goggled in shock and his mouth gaped open soundlessly. Then Huebald fell, first to his knees, then face first onto the floor.
Calard felt Baldemund tense for the killing thrust, and he grabbed the blade in his hands, dragging it to the side. The tip of the blade sliced across his throat and blood began to run freely from the w ound, but it w as just a shallow cut, and he managed to w rest the blade to the side. Throwing himself forwards, he smashed into Baldemund, knocking them both off balance.
Of the pair, it w as Baldemund who recovered the quickest, and he thundered an elbow into the side of Calard's head. The young lord of Garamont hit the ground hard. He tried to rise but fell back onto the floor, struggling to maintain consciousness.
Baldemund stood over him, blade poised to finish him off, but he turned w arily tow ards Maloric as the Sangasse noble stalked tow ards him, blood dripping from his sw ord.
'I have no argument w ith you, Maloric,' said Baldemund, but the Sangasse noble snorted in derision.
'I believe your w ords w ere ''kill the Sangasse bastard' . That's good enough justification for me. It's not every day I get to kill lackeys of Garamont,' said Maloric, and their blades came together.
It lasted no more than a few heartbeats. After trading several blows, Maloric parried a desperate attack and sent a lightning riposte that clipped Baldemund in the temple.
The knight staggered as blood w elled up from the scalp w ound, and he fell to one knee. Maloric stepped forwards and ran Baldemund through.
Bertelis came crashing through the kitchen door, blade in hand. Seeing Maloric standing over his brother, bloody sw ord in hand, he let out a roar and charged tow ards him.
Maloric tw irled his blade in his hand, the half-smile returning to his face, and he stepped forw ard to meet Bertelis head-on.
'No,' said Calard, pulling himself shakily to his feet.
Bertelis's and Maloric's blades came together, their deeply ingrained enmity lending their attacks venom. Bertelis's blows were swift and powerful, but they w ere all turned aside by Maloric's flashing blade, which seemed to tw ist through the air like a silver-scaled serpent, awaiting the perfect moment for a fatal strike.
'Stop!' bellow ed Calard.
'Why?
' grow led Bertelis, keeping his eyes on his opponent.
'Don't stop on my account,' sneered Maloric.
'If he had not arrived, I w ould now be dead,' said Calard.
'Don't flatter yourself that it w as intentional,' retorted Maloric.
Bertelis lowered his sword, glancing down at the lifeless bodies of his cousins, Baldemund and Huebald. He shook his head in disbelief.
At that moment a horn sounded, joined instantly by the brutal pounding of human-skinned drums. A great roar erupted from beyond the keep's w alls, and thousands of w eapons began clashing against shields in time with the drums, a deafening, barbarous din.
'Reolus,' said Calard.
The outcome of the w ar w as about to be determined.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CALARD, BERTELIS AND Maloric burst out onto the top of the keep. The ramparts looking dow n over the square w ere packed, with the majority of the surviving defenders crowding in to get a clear vantage. The battlements and tow ers were thronged w ith men, and peasants clung to flagpoles and took up precarious positions atop the crenulations in order to get a clear view dow n below.
Maloric spun to leave them, to find his ow n way through the press of bodies. He turned and looked back over his shoulder, as if feeling the looks of hatred he was receiving from the brothers. He stared hard at Bertelis.
'We have unfinished business, you and I,' said Maloric, before shoving a path through the heaving pack of humanity aw ay from the brothers.
Bertelis spat upon the ground in the Sangasse noble's direction.
'Our ow n cousins,' Bertelis said bitterly, shaking his head. 'I can still not believe it.'
Calard grunted in response. In truth, he was still in shock himself, and gnawing doubt w as churning his insides. What if Huebald and Baldemund w ere right?
'Out of the w ay, peasants!' said Bertelis in a large voice, barging his w ay through the press in a different direction. Calard shook his head, trying to dispel his anxiety.
The Garamont nobles pushed their way through the unwashed masses, bustled from side to side as the crow d surged. The knights tow ered over the vast majority of men-at-arms and bow men, hundreds of generations of malnutrition and inbreeding ensuring that few of low birth stood even to a knight's shoulder.
Warhammer - Knight of the Realm Page 31