Warhammer - Knight Errant

by Anthony Reynolds

  'You there!' called the yeoman, stalking towards them, making the peasant wail even more. Chlod sw ore.

  'What's going on here?' demanded the yeoman.

  'We are dead men, dead!' w ailed the man clutching at Chlod's jerkin.

  'What's he on about?' asked the yeoman suspiciously. Chlod flashed him a lopsided, idiotic grin.

  'My cousin,' he said, his voice thick with feigned stupidity. 'He is afflicted.' Chlod leant forw ard, and spoke his next words in an over-exaggerated, conspiratorial stage w hisper. 'Maybe plague.'

  At the w ord, the yeoman stepped back, one hand flying up to cover his mouth and nose.

  'Get him aw ay!' said the yeoman, w aving his hand.

  Chlod grinned stupidly and nodded, leading the peasant away.

  Once clear of prying eyes, Chlod stabbed the man six times in the gut, and let him fall to the ground beside a pile of grain sacks.

  He had not know n what to do next. There were few places to hide, and there was no w ay that he could escape the camp w ithout being seen.

  His salvation had come in an unexpected form.

  Maybe he w as blessed.

  He had grinned from ear to ear as he saw the approach of the grail knight and his pilgrims. In the pilgrims, he saw a refuge, and an idea formed in his head. He had scrambled tow ards them, bustling through the press of bodies to look upon the great knight.

  'My eyes!' he had screamed, falling to his knees before one of the pilgrims.

  'My eyes are healed!' he had lied, yelling at the top of his lungs. 'It is a miracle! I w as blind, but now I can see! Lord Reolus has healed my sight!'

  He had been surrounded by the dirty pilgrims, who lifted him roughly to his feet.

  'Witness the healing powers of our great lord!' bellow ed one them. 'This man was blind, but now his eyes are clear! He hath looked upon the greatness of lord Reolus, and his sight has been returned to him!'

  'A miracle!' shouted Chlod, and he had been embraced into the fold of the pilgrims, cloistered w ithin their number.

  One of the pilgrims leant in close to Chlod, his eyes glinting with more than a touch of madness. He carefully unravelled a cloth, his face lighting up w ith fanatical devotion and aw e.

  'Look upon this holy artefact, brother,' said the buck-toothed pilgrim. In his hands, he reverently held what looked like a rotting lamb joint, rancid flesh still clinging to the bone. 'The hallowed Reolus did eat of this bone,' said the man in a hushed voice.

  'His teeth did tear at the meat, giving him sustenance, and now I am its bearer. It protects me,' he w hispered, 'for the glory of the great man w as imparted unto it w hen he did touch it w ith his healing hands.'

  Chlod gazed at the bone in feigned aw e. It stank, the rotting meat filled with squirming maggots, but he did not let his disgust show on his face.

  Truly he w as blessed, he thought to himself. He had food in his belly and was, for now , safe from prosecution. Life truly was grand.

  THE BURNING RED orb of the sun dipped over the horizon, setting the sky on fire, and silence descended across the flat-topped hill of Adhalind's Seat.

  Hundreds of knights were gathered there, and they stood in serried, concentric ranks, surrounding an open area in the centre of the circle. Every noble that w ould fight this night w as there, to join together in prayer and receive the Lady's blessing before battle commenced.

  Hundreds of yeomen and servants stood a respectful distance away from the knights, holding the destriers, lances and shields of their lords. They would not take part in the blessing, for the cult of the Lady was restricted solely to the nobility, on pain of death, and they dutifully faced away from the proceedings.

  A cool w ind whistled over Adhalind's Seat, and Calard shivered involuntarily. He w as at the forefront of the Garamont contingent, and his brother Bertelis stood at his left.

  'Where's Tanebourc?' w hispered Calard, glancing sideways. Without Gunthar's reassuring presence, he had come to rely on the tall, easy-natured knight, and it was unusual for him not to be at his side.

  'I don't know ,' said Bertelis, glancing around. He shrugged. 'He will be here somew here.' Calard nodded, frowning, but drew his gaze back tow ards the empty circle in front of him. He took a deep breath, and tried to clear his mind. Staring resolutely forw ard, he sought the peace that he had experienced within the serene grail shrine, but it w as elusive, and thoughts kept intruding into his calm.

  The gathered knights dropped to one knee as Anara w alked serenely up the aisle that had been left in their ranks, her movements regal and calm, projecting purity, serenity and gentleness. She wore a dress of palest blue, and her hair was covered in a matching headdress. The sleeves of her dress were long and flowing, with streams of material hanging from the cuffs to the ground. Her silver fleur-de-lys pendant shone upon her pale neck, and a matching icon was set into the delicate silver belt that circled her slim w aist. The belt had been beautifully crafted to represent entw ined strands of ivy, each silver leaf perfect in every detail. A matching garland of silver ivy circled her headdress.

  Anara's head w as held high, and her face was emotionless. She had applied delicate make-up to her face to accentuate her beauty, and the effect w as stunning. Her lips w ere the colour of pale rose, and delicate lines of coal surrounded her eyes.

  As she held a heavy silver chalice in her slender, pale hands, she was the very image of the Lady of the Lake herself, and Calard felt the intake of breath as the knights gazed upon her.

  The Baron Montcadas and the grail knight Reolus walked a step behind Anara. Their sheer size and the masculine strength they projected made Anara appear even more delicate and fragile, like a single w hite rose. Montcadas, almost as broad as he w as tall, w alked slowly, his bearded face serious. He moved like a bear, his gait rolling and pow erful. Reolus, almost tw o heads taller than the baron, w alked with the grace and languid pow er of a lion.

  Anara stopped in the centre of the circle of knights, her gaze sw eeping over the gathered w arriors. She gave no flicker of recognition as her eyes passed over Calard.

  The baron and the grail knight dropped to one knee respectfully before Anara, and she lifted her chalice up high before her, like an offering to the sky. Lowering the grail, she dipped the fingers of one hand into the cool water within, and stepped tow ards the tw o kneeling men.

  With soft w ords, she flicked the water over their bow ed heads, before steeping back.

  Montcadas rose, and turned around on the spot to address the gathered knights.

  'I am not one for speeches,' he boomed, his voice carrying easily over the gathered knights, 'so I shall keep this brief. We face a terrible foe, my brothers. They are many, and come at us w ith hatred and jealousy in their twisted hearts. We are like a beacon in the night, surrounded on all sides by darkness, and yet, with faith in the Lady, we shall defeat that darkness, and it w ill come to fear us.'

  The baron prow led around the circle.

  'Each man here is a knight of Bretonnia. Whether a young knight errant,' boomed the baron, giving Calard a slight smile, 'or a revered knight of the grail,' he said, bow ing tow ards Reolus, 'you are all knights of chivalry and honour. I know that you w ill fight w ith all your heart and all your valour. I need not implore you to do so, and so I shall not. For the honour of our noble land, of the Lady, of our valiant king of our lords, and in honour of each other, I know that each man here w ill give his all. I am proud to fight alongside you. I could not w ish for a finer group of knights. It is humbling to have the honour of fighting alongside you, and so for that I thank you, and I thank the Lady, for she has truly blessed us by sending the damsel Anara and the noble grail paladin Reolus to us in our time of need.'

  The baron slid his sword from its scabbard, and raised it high in the air before him.

  Over five hundred knights stood and mirrored the action, the hiss of steel resounding across the hilltop.

  'For the king, the Lady and Bretonnia!' roared the baron, and the cry w as echoed b
y the gathered knights.

  'Let us pray,' said the grail knight Reolus as the cry faded. He did not raise his voice, but it carried easily to every ear. The grail knight turned tow ards Anara, and dropped to one knee. His sword was held in a dow nward grip in his hands, its point in the soil, and he bow ed his head until his brow touched the pommel of the legendary w eapon.

  In turn, the circular ranks of knights dropped to their knees, bow ing their heads to their sw ords. Anara stepped to Reolus, w etting her fingers in the chalice. Speaking softly, she pressed her hand to the grail knight's crown. At a w ord from her, he rose to his feet and sheathed his blade. Then he took the grail from the damsel's hands, and w alked behind her as she began to move along the ranks of knights, blessing each man in turn.

  Calard closed his eyes, feeling the cool metal pommel upon his skin. His lips moved silently as he recited prayers and mantras long ingrained in his memory. He lost all concept of time passing, until the scent of lavender and rose filled his nostrils, and he breathed in the heady aroma.

  'Lady of grace and beauty,' spoke Anara softly, 'protect this knight as he does battle in your name. Protect him from cow ardly blow s, and guard him from evil. Protect him, oh merciful Lady, and guide his lance and blade against your enemies.'

  Her cool, w et fingers pressed lightly against his crown, and he felt warmth and calm w ash through him. Now he felt no unease, and none of the dread he had felt earlier.

  It had been cleansed from him by the healing power of the goddess.

  As he opened his eyes, blinking as if waking from a long, refreshing slumber, he saw that darkness had almost completely descended over the land.

  'Go now , my brother knights,' boomed Montcadas, 'and fight w ell.'

  CALARD SAT IN Gringolet's saddle as the sun finally dipped over the horizon. Anara w as alongside him, sitting casually upon the back of her w hite mare. They were scanning the distant tree line, w hich was getting harder to see as the sun descended.

  'Where w ill you stand?' he asked at last.

  'Where I am needed,' replied Anara, her voice vague and distant.

  The knights were gathering into formation, and final orders were being bellowed to the men-at-arms as they moved into position. He had to join his own formation. All the young knights errant had been drawn together into w edges of thirty men, each led by an experienced knight of the realm, whose job it w as to keep the eager young knights in line.

  'Will w e be victorious?' he asked softly. Anara w as slow to answer.

  'It is... unclear.'

  The black birds circling overhead erupted in a sudden cacophony of raucous cries as the last vestiges of the blazing orange sun disappeared. The cries were joined by hundreds of hunting horns that blared hatefully from w ithin the corrupted forest encircling them. Pounding drums began to beat savagely, until the whole area resounded w ith the hellish sound. Roars and braying bellows echoed across the sky, and the w asted, tortured trees began to shudder and groan.

  'I have to go,' said Calard, seeing the formation he was to join w heeling into position upon the hilltop, facing tow ards the west. He looked at his sister, his twin whom he had spent so many years seeking w ord of. Now that battle w as to commence, he was concerned for her safety. It w as a ridiculous notion, considering the power she was able to w ield. He had not the words to express his feelings.

  'Be safe, my sister,' he said at last. She made no reaction to his w ords, merely staring into the distance, her eyes clouded and vague. Calard pulled his noble destrier Gringolet around sharply, and kicked his heels into its sides, cantering towards his allocated position.

  Anara shivered, feeling the malevolent hatred of the enemy wash over her like a w ave.

  'And so it begins,' she breathed.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  IT SEEMED AS though the corrupted Forest of Chalons w as ablaze w ith fire.

  Thousands of torches flickered betw een the dark forms of the trees, and dark shapes moved w ithin the twisted woodland as the massed forces of the enemy drew nearer.

  The entire forest was alive with movement.

  There was to be no escape. The enemy had completely encircled the Bretonnians, and they massed beyond the tree line, snarling and braying in eagerness for the coming bloodshed.

  The first beasts broke from the trees, holding torches aloft, hefting spears and sw ords, axes and spiked clubs. Many carried foul, totemic standards of tw isted w ood and rusted iron, from w hich were hung severed heads and hands, as w ell as battered Bretonnian helmets. They were lean, sinewy creatures, twisted mockeries of humanity, w ith small horns protruding from their scalps and evil expressions upon their hateful faces.

  Many of them ran forw ards, snarling and waving their weapons, before turning and slinking back to the forest's edge. Thousands of the creatures moved within the concealing darkness of the trees. Horns blared and drums of taut human skin w ere pounded. Several of the creatures strode forw ard and turned their matted, furred backs tow ards the Bretonnians, cocking their legs to defecate and urinate. They flicked their cloven hooves backw ards, kicking their foul spoor and clods of earth in the direction of the defenders, accompanied by braying barks that might have passed for laughter.

  Calard tensed in the saddle, his eyes blazing with anger.

  Massive w ar hounds prowled through the darkness, growling and snapping at each other, sniffing the air. Several of them began to how l, as the clouds parted and the green glow of the Chaos moon, Morrslieb, radiated down from the heavens.

  Larger beastmen began to emerge from the trees. Massively muscled and with thick horns curling from their temples, they pushed their smaller brethren out of the w ay, their thick lips curling back as they snarled and spat. Many of these creatures bore evidence of sickening mutations; some had spiked ridges of bone that erupted from their spines and elbows, while others had an additional arm protruding aw kwardly from their shoulders, or a single, w eeping eye in the centre of their foreheads. These, it seemed to Calard, w ere given additional respect, and the smaller beastmen slunk around them w arily.

  Several herds of the centaur-like beasts emerged, roaring loudly and kicking at any of the lesser beastmen that came near them. Each of the groups held aloft a totem, upon w hich horrifying, skinless bodies were nailed, the muscles glistening wetly.

  Calard w as horrified to see that not all of the men w ere dead, and he watched, aghast, as one skinless man writhed in agony, fighting against the iron spikes that had been driven through his hands and feet. His tongueless mouth opened in a silent scream of torment. He might w ell have been a knight of Bastonne, for all Calard knew , kept alive for the amusement of his tormentors. Even as he watched, he saw one of the beasts poke at the man's exposed muscles w ith the barbed tip of his spear, laughing uproariously as the man thrashed and struggled.

  As he w atched the enemy gather, Calard began to see w hat he took as barbaric tribal distinctions. He saw one dominant group of beasts w ith black-painted arms, as if they had dipped their limbs in pitch. Another group had entwined briars and branches of thorns through their horns, and they snarled at any that came near them. Another group w ere daubed all over w ith blood. Their fur had been draw n into spikes, perhaps with lime and congealed blood, giving them a daemonic appearance.

  This red-furred tribe w as highly aggressive, and, even as he watched, he saw them surround one smaller, isolated beastman of another grouping and smash it to the ground w ith blow s to the head and shoulders. The pack descended on the fallen creature, ripping and tearing, fighting each other in their eagerness. Calard saw the beasts feasting on the entrails of the unfortunate creature, pulling on intestines w ith their teeth and claws, and fighting over the organs. When they stepped back, mere moments later, they left a trampled, bloody and mutilated corpse, and they smeared the creature's fresh blood across their chests.

  There were clearly rivalries and blood feuds betw een the different groups of creatures, and members of the herds fronted up to each other, snarli
ng and smashing weapons together, trying to prove their dominance over each other. Calard saw several violent clashes, as beasts slammed their horned heads together w ith bone-jarring force.

  Most of the creatures w ore little more than straps of leather across their bodies, though others w ore scraps of armour that had clearly been scrounged from fallen enemies. One group wore thick plate armour that had been blackened w ith fire and beaten to fit their bodies. Plates of metal had been hammered into their heads, roughly hew n and cut to fit around their curling horns. These creatures bore immense, long-hafted axes and blades that they carried on their shoulders.

  Even larger creatures stalked through the milling press, hulking monsters with blood-shot eyes, standing over eight feet tall, and with the heads of bulls. The smaller beasts hissed at them behind their backs, but scurried out of their paths w herever they w alked.

  Other nameless and formless horrors crashed through the trees, hauled into the clearing by giant chains and hooks that tore at their flesh. They were sickening, mutated mounds of fur, muscle and bone, and they screamed and how led in agony and mindless fury from mouths that opened up across their skin, and emerged from the tips of w rithing tentacles. They were horrid amalgamations of torsos, heads, horns and limbs that seemed to protrude at random from their flesh, and Calard felt horrified loathing as he looked upon them.

  Dozens of straining beastmen dragged one of the massive beast-spaw n monstrosities forw ards. Thick rings of iron pierced its flesh, and its skin was pulled taut, like canvas sails, by the black chains attached to them. It screamed and roared as it fought against its captors. Spines of bone and horn erupted from its back, and it sw ung its crab-like claws at any w ho got too close. Another of the creatures was covered in open sores that w ept pus and blood, and maggots w rithed beneath its skin, making it ripple like a pennant in the wind. It had a pair of conjoined horse's heads, though spines had erupted above and below their eyes, and long, barbed tongues flashed from their toothy maw s.