Its hand closed around Lutheure's thin neck, and it lifted him up into the air.
Knocking the thrones out of its path, almost crushing the Lady Calisse in the process, it slammed the castellan against the back w all. Calard cried out. The old lord's feet w ere a good foot off the ground, and he kicked w eakly. The Gave bent forw ard and snarled, its face an inch from the castellan's.
Perhaps hearing or sensing Calard behind it, the beast sw ung its head around and levelled its dagger tow ards him, snarling in rage. Still Calard came on, and the beast bent its arm, placing the tip of the dagger against the lord of Garamont's neck. The old lord, his eyes fearful, swallowed thickly, and a bead of blood ran dow n his throat.
Calard froze, hatred burning w ithin him.
Calard's stepmother w as w ailing from w here she had fallen, tears running down her face. 'My husband!' she cried.
Calard took a cautious step tow ards the beast. It hissed in warning, pressing the dagger deeper into his father's flesh, and Calard froze. He risked a glance down at Anara, w ho was stirring at his feet, a purple bruise spreading across her temple.
Maloric, back on his feet, w as circling around the flank of the beast, his body low , as if he w as stalking game.
'Maloric,' hissed Calard. 'Don't.'
Ignoring him, Maloric stepped lightly up the dais stairs, intent on his prey the beast hissed at him and pressed the dagger deeper into the castellan's neck. Calard saw blood begin to flow more freely.
'Maloric!' barked Calard. The beast, distracted by the shout, turned its head tow ards Calard, w hich was all the opening that Maloric needed.
The Sangasse nobleman leapt forwards, his slim blade stabbing deep into the beast's side. It snarled in anger and pain, and dropped Lutheure. The castellan crumpled to the floor, and Calard cried out, lurching forwards to strike the beast dow n.
With a dow nward slap of its open hand, the creature snapped Maloric's blade, leaving the tip protruding from its body. Maloric staggered back, gazing in horror at his shattered w eapon.
The Gave tore the blade from its side and sent it hissing through the air. It struck Calard in the shoulder of his sword arm as he lunged forwards, shearing through his armour and sinking deep into his flesh. The force of the throw spun him to the ground, and his sw ord flew from his hand.
The beast turned back tow ards Lutheure, w ho was trying to drag himself aw ay, and it stamped tow ards him angrily. The Garamont lord cried out w eakly as the beast's hand clamped around his leg and jerked him back.
Blood w as running from the wound in Calard's shoulder, and his fingers felt numb.
He looked around for a w eapon and saw the revered sword of Garamont lying discarded on the flagstones nearby. Shaking off his shield, he lifted the exquisite blade from the ground. He held it tw o-handed, forcing his numb fingers to close around the hilt.
The beast w as crouching over his father, revelling in his terror. Reaching behind its heavy head w ith both hands, one still holding the bloody dagger in its grip, Calard heard leather ties break, and, for a moment, he could not fathom w hat the wretched creature w as doing.
Calard stared in horror as the beast removed its ow n face.
It claw ed at its features, and like a snake shedding its skin, the stitched, rotting flesh w as ripped aw ay. Even its horns fell away from its head, and, it w as only when they dropped to the floor and he saw the leather ties and buckles, that Calard realised the beast had been w earing a mask.
The creature blinked, and its true features w ere exposed.
Calard's mind baulked as he found himself looking at a broad, disturbingly human face. It w as like the face of a savage, its cheeks and brow heavily scarred from self-inflicted mutilations, and smeared with mud and dried blood, but it w as clearly a human face. Somehow that seemed to make it even more horrific. Ice-blue human eyes darted around before fixing once more upon Lutheure.
Thick ropes of matted hair hung down to its w aist, and a long goatee beard hung from its chin. If one saw just its face, and not its unnatural bestial legs and furred body, it might have passed for human, albeit one that w as feral and barbaric. Its lips drew back, exposing hundreds of small, sharp teeth, and the image w as shattered.
'Abomination,' breathed Lutheure in revulsion and horror.
'What is it?' Calard asked no one in particular, his voice thick with disgust.
'Our brother,' replied Anara from the floor, touching a hand gingerly to her bruised temple. Calard felt his sanity begin to fray.
'Borne by our mother before she threw herself to her death in shame,' continued Anara, 'a creature that should have been killed at birth.'
Looking past the filth that encrusted the beast's face, past the savage scars that crisscrossed its features, he saw his own face looking back at him. It w as like looking in a bew itched mirror, and seeing a corrupted and distorted vision of himself looking back.
No one moved, stricken with the horror of the creature's true nature. None could dispute the familial resemblance. This beast w as of the Garamont bloodline.
'Your line is cursed,' hissed Maloric. Calard w anted to strike Maloric down, but, for all that, he could not argue w ith his words.
The beast snarled dow n at Lutheure. Then, with a movement fuelled by hatred, the beast rammed its dagger into the side of Lutheure's neck. Calard screamed, yet w as pow erless, as the serrated blade sank through his father's flesh to the hilt. The blade w as w renched clear, and it clattered on the stone as it was dropped from long fingers.
Arterial blood pumped from the fatal w ound, and Calard roared in protest and horror, running forwards. The beast lifted Lutheure to its chest, cradling the dying man almost like a mother holding a sick child to her bosom. An anguished howl ripped from its throat.
Calard sw ung the sw ord of Garamont in a pow erful, two-handed arc, blinded by grief and rage. Rather than try to avoid the blow , the creature merely tilted its head back, exposing its neck. In that instant, all the bestial hatred, loathing and rage slipped from its face.
Calard slammed the sw ord into the Gave's neck, the blade hacking deep into its flesh. Rich blood spurted from the shocking wound, and its head tipped backw ards, only loosely attached to its body by tendons and sinews. The beast fell twitching as its blood pooled beneath it, mixing with its father's blood.
Calard dropped to his knees, cradling his father's head in his hands. The life w as slipping quickly from his eyes, and his mouth moved as he tried to speak.
'My son,' he gasped, blood gurgling from his neck.
'I am here, father,' Calard said, tears running down his face.
The dying man's eyes searched past Calard frantically. 'Bertelis,' he gurgled, and Calard felt a pain lance his heart as he realised it was not he that his father sought.
Even in death, his father spurned him.
A deep w racking sob shook Calard's body. The Lady Calisse wailed as she threw herself over her husband's corpse.
The sounds of battle continued unabated as Reolus continued to hold the enemy at bay, but Calard did not register them.
His eyes w ere locked on his father's gaunt, dead face.
EPILOGUE
SPLUTTERING TORCHES MADE shadows leap like capering daemonic figures across the roughly hew n stone walls.
The chamber had been carved from the bedrock beneath Castle Garamont centuries earlier, long before the foundations of the fortress had been laid. In ages past, chieftains of the Bretonni tribe had gathered here for meetings of great import, though this had been long forgotten by all but a handful. For centuries, the meeting place had lain dormant, forgotten and redundant, its very existence known only to the successive chamberlains of the Garamont household, and accessible only by secret passages know n to few .
No one had needed to use the chamber for over five generations.
Now , seven hooded figures were gathered here, hugging themselves against the icy chill permeating from the ancient stone surrounding them. The seven sat in rough s
tone thrones carved into the walls.
'The Garamont line is tainted,' said one of their number, nothing more than his chin visible w ithin the shadow of his hood, 'and one now rules whose bloodline is cursed.'
There were mutterings among the gathered figures.
'Tanebourc failed. The time for subtlety is passed. We must eradicate this stain upon the Garamont name.'
'You w ould have us act against the lord w e have sworn fealty to?' voiced one of the hooded figures, his voice strong: a knight's voice. 'And betray our oaths of allegiance?'
'We sw ore an oath to protect the line of Garamont!' snapped the first speaker. 'I saw the cursed beast. It w as the blood-brother of our new ly appointed lord, a thing that should not have been,' he said forcefully. 'Our duty is clear. In the Lady's name, we are duty bound to stamp out this... taint, for the honour of the Garamont bloodline.'
'It should have died at birth,' he added, speaking to himself, remembering. If only Lutheure had finished it, so long ago. Who could have predicted that it would survive? He cursed himself for not seeing the creature dead.
'Then w hat?' asked another hooded figure. 'Does not our lord Lutheure's youngest son bear the curse in his blood?'
'It w as not Lutheure's blood that w as tainted,' snapped another. 'His first wife brought this curse upon the Garamont line. Bertelis is not tarred w ith her...
unholiness.'
Several of the hooded figures rose from their seats, their voices angry. Others rose to meet the arguments, and the raised voices echoed maddeningly around the enclosed space.
The first speaker raised his hand for silence. 'Enough!' he barked, his voice authoritative and fierce. The angry din died down, and the hooded figures took their seats.
The first speaker pulled his hood from his face, and glared around, silencing the last of the mutterings.
'This is our duty,' barked Folcard, chamberlain of Garamont. 'As painful as it is, our path is clear. In the name of Garamont and of the Lady, w e must cleanse the taint.'
The chamberlain's fierce gaze settled on each of the hooded figures in turn. 'Lord Calard must die.'
Table of Contents
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
EPILOGUE
Warhammer - Knight Errant Page 32