'Get out of the w ay, damn you,' snarled Bertelis, brutally shoving men out of his path. Those he deemed too slow received a hard clip over the back of the head for their troubles, despite the fact that there was nowhere for them to go.
They barged their w ay through the stifling crowd, both of them turning their noses up at the ungodly stink of the peasants, until they finally stepped up onto the battlements. With much cursing and shoving, they finally neared the crenulations. A pair of Lyonessian knights errant turned as they were jostled from behind. Their harsh w ords died on their lips as they saw that Calard and Bertelis w ere of higher status, and grumblingly vacated their position in deference.
Their position gave them an unrestricted view of the square below . They could see the vast sea of Norscans arrayed in a semicircle around the keep, a seething mass of barbarians. They maintained a distance of some two hundred paces from the base of the keep's w alls, leaving the square below - the agreed location for the forthcoming duel - clear.
A roar rose from the throats of every Norscan as the enemy w arlord stepped out of the ranks of his barbaric countrymen, and Calard squinted as he took in his appearance.
The Norscan was an absolute beast of a man. By his silver-streaked beard and craggy, w eather-beaten face, Calard judged that he w as in his middling years, but he w as no less impressive for that, and he looked to be in the prime of his strength.
Bedecked in heavy armour of dark metal, the barbarian w ore a thick w hite fur of some unknow n beast over his massive shoulders. Curving horns emerged from his dark helmet, their tips encased in beaten bronze. His thickly muscled upper arms w ere tattooed and encircled with iron tores; his forearms and hands encased in black plate gauntlets.
An immense pair of tw in axes, blades fashioned to resemble wolf heads were strung over the Norscan's back, and a smaller pair of single-headed axes were strapped to his armoured thighs. Threaded onto strings of sinew, the teeth of sharks, wolves and other larger and more unfamiliar predators hung alongside engraved bone-fetishes around his neck.
In the centre of the Norscan's breastplate w as a large jew el of pale blue that resembled a great, unblinking eye, and it made Calard feel vaguely uneasy even to look upon it.
The barbarian chieftain's face, framed by his helmet and its vertical nose-guard, had been daubed w ith blood or paint, every inch of exposed skin coloured a bright red, giving him a daemonic appearance. Charcoal had been rubbed into his eye sockets, making his eyes stand out dramatically.
Turning towards his own lines, the Norscan lifted his clenched fists, encased in black, segmented armour, above his head and the cheering intensified. Then the w arlord began striding out into the open area betw een his lines and the Bretonnian keep. His head w as held high, and his walk was of one supremely confident in his ow n ability.
Half w ay to the keep he came to a halt and stood there, gazing contemptuously at the defenders. Then he bellowed a challenge, his voice deep and reverberating, and though the Bretonnians could not understand his words, his tone w as an unmistakeable challenge.
In answ er, the great oaken doors of the keep's gatehouse groaned open, and its one remaining portcullis rose. Reolus walked out, alone, to face the Norscan warrior, and the gates sealed behind him, echoing with finality.
The Bretonnians' voices rose as one as they cheered their champion, who was striding in a direct line towards the tow ering Norscan, his head held high. He was fully bedecked in his ancient, ornate plate mail, and the unicorn crest atop his helmet w as surrounded by candles. His pristine regal blue cloak rippled out behind him, and the silver edging of his tabard seemed to glow w ith reflected moonlight, for all that it w as daytime, and the noon sun hidden behind the mass of clouds overhead.
The revered grail knight seemed calm and relaxed as he marched forward to meet his enemy. His w eapon was sheathed and he carried no shield - indeed Calard had never seen the paladin use one.
When Reolus w as forty paces from his enemy, the Norscan unhooked one of the handaxes strapped to his thighs. The grail knight's holy blade, Durendyal, was instantly in his hands, the movement so fast that Calard had not even seen it drawn, and Reolus broke into a run tow ards the Norscan.
The black-armoured w arlord hurled the axe at his closing attacker, eliciting an angry murmur from the Bretonnians. Duels were meant to be fought hand to hand, face to face; it w as dishonourable to utilise missile weapons on the field of battle, let alone in a formal challenge. Peasants were allowed to use bow s and man trebuchets, for they had no honour to lose, but no knight of noble birth w ould ever sully himself by using a ranged w eapon outside of the hunt.
The axe w as hurled with incredible power, and it spun through the air, end over end, tow ards Reolus's head. He sw ayed to the side as he increased the speed of his run, and the throw ing axe hissed by him, missing him by scant inches.
Less than tw enty paces now separated the two paragons of w ar, and the Norscan had his other throwing axe in his hand. He w aited for the grail knight to draw closer -
fifteen paces, ten - then hurled the missile at Reolus w ith even more pow er than the first.
The grail knight swatted the axe aside with his sword and sprinted towards the Norscan, his blade clenched in both hands. The enemy w arlord drew his twin battleaxes and stalked forw ard to meet Reolus head on. With a roar they came together.
Reolus ducked beneath a sw inging axe and sliced his blade across his opponent's side as he surged by him, his gleaming sword carving through armour and flesh.
Still, there was no great cheer from the Bretonnians as their hero took first blood -
the onlookers w atched on in tense silence. The blood on Reolus's blade danced and spat, like fat on a hot skillet, leaving its surface spotless.
The w ound did not appear to slow the Norscan, however, and he swung towards the grail knight, twin axes carving murderous arcs through the air, forcing Reolus to duck backw ards and sw ay his body to the side to avoid their touch.
The Norscan went after him, axes cutting left and right, and Reolus w as forced to his knees as he blocked a heavy overhead strike. The barbarian w arlord kicked the grail knight hard in the chest, sending him crashing onto his back, eliciting a deafening roar of approval from the Norscan host.
Reolus w as back on his feet in an instant, and again the combatants hurled themselves at each other. Reolus's blade w as a blur of silver that w eaved a deadly pattern through the air as the grail knight ducked and spun, in constant motion, as he avoided the Norscan's brutal attacks.
He could not match the Chaos lord's sheer pow er and risked having his sword knocked from his hands by meeting the Norscan's blow s head-on. Nevertheless, his sw ord mastery w as beyond compare. With the most delicate of touches, he ensured that blow s that w ould have shorn his head clear of his shoulders and severed limbs w ere deflected, just missing their mark and leaving him unscathed. He deftly turned aside axe blow s that, had they connected, would have hacked him in half, and his blindingly fast ripostes sliced through the Norscan's armour, scoring several wounds w ithin the first minute of the duel, splattering the snow underfoot with blood.
The spectacle of the tw o champions doing battle, both displaying skill and strength far beyond normal men, w as breathtaking. Several times Calard felt certain that Reolus w ould be caught by the Norscan's devastatingly powerful strikes and slain, only for the grail knight to sw ay out of the w ay at the last moment, or knock the axe head off target, before spinning away and launching a series of attacks that had the w arlord frantically defending. More than once a cheer lifted in Calard's throat as he w as certain that Reolus w as about to land the killing blow , but each time the cheer died aw ay before it sounded, w ith the Norscan battering the Bretonnian's sword aside just before it plunged into his throat, or forcing the grail knight to pull the blow before it landed by launching a deadly attack of his ow n.
Axe and sw ord came together with a clash that echoed through the castle, neither w arrior back
ing dow n. Reolus ducked under his enemy's guard, even as the Norscan sought to drive his knee up into the Bretonnian's midsection, and the grail knight carved his sw ord into the warlord's side as he moved smoothly past the bigger man.
The w ound was deeper this time, and blood began to run dow n over the Norscan's hip and leg, staining the ground underfoot.
The Norscan turned, roaring in anger, swinging his axes in a pair of lethal arcs.
Reolus stepped forw ard and dropped to one knee, the axes slicing the air above his head, and thrust his blade into the warlord's stomach.
The gleaming silver blade of Durendyal drove through his foe's gut, melting through the thick plate armour smoothly. Lunging forward, Reolus wrenched the blade sidew ard in a disembow elling cut. Blood erupted from the terrible wound, and a deafening roar erupted from the Bretonnians. Calard punched the air victoriously, screaming at the top of his lungs, ignoring the pain in his neck, and Bertelis howled in approval.
How ever, the Norscan w as not yet done. He backhanded Reolus, putting all his strength and bodyw eight behind the blow. His armoured fist caught the grail knight under the chin and snapped his head back. Reolus w as lifted off his feet and thrown backw ards, his back arching, and came crashing down onto the hard packed snow ten yards aw ay.
The Norscan swayed and dropped to one knee, grimacing in pain, blood streaming from his stomach like a w aterfall. His twin axes dropped from limp fingers. Blood pooled beneath him, melting the snow, and his head drooped.
Reolus's gleaming sw ord was still protruding from the Norscan's gut, impaling him, and blood spat from the w ound as if the blade w as white-hot. Calard held his breath, w illing the barbarian to fall, aw are that he was watching the death of a mighty foe.
Reolus picked himself groggily up from the ground, visibly unsteady on his feet, and turned to w atch the Norscan die. His helmet had been w renched out of shape by the Norscan's fist. He pulled it off and hurled it away from him, shaking his head to clear it. Blood w as on his lips, and he wiped it aw ay with the back of his hand.
The sight of that blood filled Calard with disquiet. It seemed to bring the revered grail knight dow n to earth, emphasising his mortality, making him seem vulnerable and human. Calard had alw ays regarded Reolus as some eternal saint of the Lady, ageless, immortal. He had never considered that he was a man of flesh and blood, a man that could be killed, just like any other.
Still, he had bested this mighty enemy, and Calard w ondered if there was any living being that could possibly defeat the holy paladin. At this moment, he believed not.
Surely, only a god w ould have any chance.
Calard's eyes w idened in horror suddenly, and a hushed silence fell across the ramparts.
In defiance of death, the Norscan dragged the hissing blade slowly from his body, and dropped it to the ground.
The torrent of blood flow ing from the Norscan's gut w ound had slowed to a trickle, and then it stopped altogether. Calard shook his head in horrified wonder as the tow ering barbarian pushed himself to his feet, in defiance of Morr's claim upon him, in defiance of rational thinking.
No man should have still been standing after such a dismembering cut, nor after losing so much blood.
The Norscan picked up his axes as he rose, and he rolled his shoulders and stretched his neck from side to side, as if he were merely w arming up rather than having just received w hat should have been a mortal w ound. He sucked in a deep breath, and Calard felt his skin prickle, as if there were unholy forces at play here that he could not perceive. Then the Norscan breathed out, and a cloud of black smoke emerged from his lungs. The barbarian's eyes locked onto Reolus with icy intensity. He flashed the grail knight a predatory smile, white teeth contrasting sharply with his red painted face, and Calard felt his blood run cold.
Was the Norscan not a man at all, but rather some immortal daemon in human form? Had Reolus been tricked into fighting a being incapable of being killed?
The Norscan spun his axes in front of him, rolling his wrists. The blades w ailed as they cut glittering arcs before him, as if the air itself cried out in pain as they sliced through it.
'He can't lose,' said Calard. 'He can't.'
'He w on't,' said Bertelis, though Calard thought he could detect a hint of doubt in his brother's voice.
Grail knight and hellspawned Norscan warlord stood staring at each other in hatred, one armed, one not. Reolus's sw ord, Durendyal, lay upon the ground in front of the barbarian lord. The blade of the hallowed weapon w as glowing fiercely, as if reacting to the proximity of this ancient, ancestral enemy.
Surprised murmurs rippled along the battlements as the Norscan kicked Reolus's w eapon over to him. Bertelis smiled in wonder and Calard blinked in disbelief. He w as shocked to see such an honourable move from an accursed Norscan child-murderer.
The immense warrior gestured for Reolus to pick up his sword and continue the battle. Reolus stared at his sacred blade for a moment, then knelt to retrieve it. He turned it around in his hands, so that he held its blade point dow nwards like a dagger. He leant his head against its crosspiece, eyes closed as he prayed to the Lady. The Norscan began to pace back and forth like a caged beast, clearly impatient but graciously allow ing his opponent to finish his entreaty to the goddess.
After a moment, Reolus opened his eyes, and w hite holy fire burnt there, furious and intense. He saluted, his sword leaving a faint glowing after-image hanging in the air for a moment, and nodded to the Norscan. The barbarian w arlord ceased his restless pacing and strode tow ards the grail knight, axes bobbing up and dow n in his hands in eagerness.
They came together w ith a brutal clash of w eapons, trading blow s back and forth w ith such speed and skill that it w as impossible for the eye to follow.
Calard found himself virtually unable to breathe, so focused w as he on the struggle betw een these two aw esome w arriors. Never would he see their like again, he knew.
Each w as a champion that rose but once a century, and both w ould doubtless be remembered long into the future, their deeds recounted for generations to come.
Reolus stepped around his larger opponent, every movement in perfect balance, his glow ing blade flashing back and forth to turn aside the Norscan's furious attacks. For long minutes the tw o battled, each straining to land a killing blow, yet they were so evenly matched that few hits found their mark at all, and none of those were fatal.
They stepped apart after a brutal passage of attacks, and both men w ere breathing hard. The Norscan was bleeding from a dozen w ounds, and parts of his armour w ere hanging loose from his body. Reolus w as bleeding from a cut to his head w here he had suffered a glancing blow, and his armour w as rent in two places, with blood seeping from w ounds to his thigh and shoulder.
Still, neither warrior was about to relent, and after no more than a few heartbeats rest, they closed the distance separating them, grunting with effort as their blades came together.
The Norscan snarled and brought one axe crashing down in a pow erful blow, intending to cut Reolus from crow n to sternum. The grail knight whipped his sword around in a circular double-handed parry, and the axe blade slid down his sword to slam into the ice-hard ground. The Norscan's second axe wailed as it hammered around in a vicious arc, slicing towards Reolus's hip, and Calard tensed.
Rolling his wrists deftly, Reolus continued the movement of his circular parry and his blade flashed up, slicing cleanly through the Norscan's wrist even as the axe screamed tow ards him. The Chaos warlord's hand was completely severed, and it fell to the ground, axe still clutched in its grasp. The move had been so perfectly executed, so perfectly timed, that it took Calard a moment to register w hat had just occurred.
The barbarian bellow ed in pain and rage, blood pumping from the stump of his arm, but still managed to get his other axe blade in the way of a savage strike from Reolus that w as arcing in tow ards his groin. The Norscan deflected another two lightning attacks, staggering backw ards in an effort to
put some room betw een him and his furious attacker.
A w ild swing forced Reolus to jump backw ards, giving the Norscan some much needed breathing space. The bloody stump at the end of his left arm w as dripping into the snow , and he was hissing in pain and rage.
Reolus circled the Norscan warily, the blood that had splattered his silver and blue tabard sliding off it like water off oiled leather, leaving it pristine and unspoiled. The Norse w ere chanting a w ord - a name? - over and over, stamping their feet and clashing weapons against shields in time to the pounding rhythm.
'Styr-bjorn! Styr-bjorn! Styr-bjorn!'
The sound echoed relentlessly around the castle, rebounding back off the curtain w alls, reverberating maddeningly. The sound drowned out the shouts and cheers of the heavily outnumbered Bretonnians, and the Norscan warlord seemed to find strength in the sound.
'Styr-bjorn! Styr-bjorn! Styr-bjorn!'
With a roar, the Norscan launched himself towards Reolus, slashing his axe towards the grail knight's neck. Reolus turned the blow aside and struck for the throat, but the Norscan caught the blow on his armoured forearm, knocking it aside. The grail knight deflected two more slashing axe blows, each one knocking him back three paces, and the Norscan kept coming after him, roaring in fury.
Reolus sw ayed aside from one of the frenzied attacks and the Norscan's arm flicked out as they came close together, bloody stump hooking around the back of the grail knight's neck. Before he could slip free, Reolus was pulled into a rising knee, the blow striking him in the sternum w ith sickening force. His breastplate buckled inw ards, and the Norscan drove his knee up into the smaller man again, wrenching his armour further out of shape.
The grail knight managed to tw ist free of the Norscan's grasp, his blade slashing a bloody gash across his enemy's face.
Reolus ducked beneath a hate-fuelled strike, the axe slicing a hair's breadth past his face, and stepping to the side, the grail knight slashed his blade across the barbarian's thigh. The blade sliced through armour and iron-hard muscle and struck bone. The Bretonnian paladin tore his sword free, and as the Norscan swung at him w ith his bloody stump, he impaled the limb on its length. The sword passed through the w arlord's forearm and slid clear though the other side.
Warhammer - Knight of the Realm Page 32