He spat down on the thing that had once been Grandfather Mortis, and then turned away.
CALARD KNELT BY Raben, and gently drew back the outcast’s arm to see the extent of his injuries.
‘How’s it look?’ said Raben. His face was pale.
‘It’s a scratch,’ said Calard. ‘You’ll be whoring again in a week, mark my words.’
‘Liar,’ said Raben, with a sardonic smile.
‘You’ll survive,’ said Calard, more seriously. ‘Though you’ll have one hell of a scar to match that one,’ he said, indicating the jagged old wound that crossed Raben’s throat.
‘Ladies don’t like a man that’s too pretty,’ said Raben.
‘Well, you certainly aren’t that,’ said Calard, casting a wary eye around them.
There were few left standing, in truth. It seemed that both sides had practically annihilated the other, though from the looks of things, there were far more of Mortis’s people dead than Merovech’s.
Looking back up towards the dais, he saw that Merovech had filled the chalice with the varghulf’s blood. Now he stood, letting the massive creature’s head drop to the floor, dead. The vampire duke moved towards the first of the throned statues. He raised the chalice above its head, and tipped it slightly, allowing a trickle of frothing blood to drip onto the statue’s head. Red rivulets ran down over its face, removing centuries of dust and grime. Calard’s heart skipped a beat as the statue moved.
It turned its face up towards the stream of blood, its mouth opening wide, showing off impressively elongated canines. Its tongue lapped at the flow, and Calard saw its throat moving as it swallowed.
‘That’s not good,’ said Raben.
Merovech righted the chalice, and the enthroned creature returned to its former position. The duke moved on to the next in line, but Calard’s gaze was locked on the first. Its eyes snapped open, and it smiled.
Calard took a few steps towards the steps of the dais, knowing that he stood little chance against Merovech alone, even without with his newly awoken allies. Nevertheless, he had sworn an oath, and would see Merovech dead or die in the attempt.
‘Calard,’ called Raben, and he looked back. ‘Don’t throw your life away.’
‘This is something I have to do,’ Calard said. He swung back around. His step faltered as the holy light radiating from the Sword of Garamont dimmed, then died altogether. He halted, looking down at it.
What did it mean? Did the Lady disapprove of his actions? But how could she? Was it not she who had led him here?
Three of the ‘statues’ had come awake now, and were on their feet, blinking and stretching their necks like men awakening from a deep slumber. Each was as tall as Merovech himself, and all of them were garbed in similar, barbed armour.
Calard stood stock still, indecision plaguing him.
‘Lady, give me a sign,’ he whispered. ‘Show me what it is you wish of me.’
A blinding flash exploded in Calard’s mind, sending him crashing to his knees, his eyes tightly closed. He gasped at the searing pain in his temples, clutching his head in his hands.
A bewildering flash of images assailed him, overwhelming in their intensity and their power.
It was over in an instant, the pain gone as if it had never been, but the images were seared forever into his mind’s eye.
‘As you will it, Lady, so shall it be done,’ he whispered.
‘Calard?’ called Raben, straining to see him.
‘We have to go,’ said Calard, turning his back on the dais, where all five of Merovech’s vampiric lieutenants how now arisen.
Calard hurried to Raben’s side.
‘We have to go,’ he said again.
‘Sounds good to me,’ said Raben.
‘Put your arm around me,’ said Calard, and then he lifted Raben to his feet. The outcast knight groaned in pain, but did not cry out. Together, they staggered across a floor littered with the dead, making their way towards the chamber’s exit. The few of Merovech’s knights that still stood paid them no heed, staring in wonder at the duke and his newly arisen entourage.
At the door of the chamber they paused, glancing back within.
The scene was one of utter devastation. Hundreds of bodies were sprawled across the marble floor. Many were not yet dead, and the ground rippled with movement. Their cries and moans were pitiful. Blood was splattered up the walls, and more than a few of the bodies had been partially devoured. The corpse of the monstrous varghulf lay motionless upon the dais. Merovech descended the stairs of the raised platform, flanked by the five lieutenants that had served him seven hundred years earlier.
The few living knights still standing in the room dropped to their knees before Merovech. The duke ignored them, walking past with barely a glance. His companions, however, circled them like wolves. As one, they closed in, and began to feed.
Merovech dropped to one knee alongside Bertelis’s headless corpse, and Calard thought he saw something approaching sorrow ghost across the duke’s features as he placed a hand upon his brother’s chest. Then Merovech raised his head, looking down the length of the chamber directly at Calard. He stood, and began walking towards them.
‘We have to leave,’ said Raben.
Calard nodded, and supporting the outcast’s weight, hurried from the room.
They almost collided with Chlod as he came bowling down a wide set of stairs. The peasant was covered from head to toe in blood.
No words were spoken, and after a brief pause, Chlod moved forward to help support Raben. The outcast threw his arm over his shoulder and the three of them began making their way from the palace of Mousillon.
‘Gods, peasant,’ said Calard. ‘You stink.’
Drained of blood, the corpse was dropped unceremoniously to the ground. The vampire’s flesh was flushed, and its mouth and chin was stained with congealing gore.
Nothing living moved within the great hall. Every corpse has been bled dry to satiate the thirst of the duke’s newly risen lieutenants.
It would not be long now, Merovech knew.
Within the hour, the first of the drained knights stirred and rose unsteadily to its feet, staggering like a newborn colt. Darkness lingered in its eyes, and its lips curled back to reveal newly formed canines. More knights stirred as they awoke to darkness, and Merovech smiled.
‘Welcome, brothers,’ he said, spreading his arms wide. ‘Welcome to damnation.’
KNIGHTS OF BRETONNIA
by Anthony Reynolds
Released April 2011
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Table of Contents
Cover Page
Introduction
Strange Demise of Titus Endor
Prospero Burns Chapter One
A Place Of Quiet Assembly
The Inquisition - An interview with Nick Kyme
Primary Instinct
Phalanx Chapter 1
Phalanx Chapter 2
Questing Knight
Free eBook license
Hammer and Bolter - Issue 1 Page 27