His legs w ere shaky, but it felt good to have solid ground beneath him, and he let out a ragged breath.
'Didn't fall off then, Garamont?' asked Maloric from nearby. Calard w as pleased to see that for all the cockiness in his voice, the Sangasse noble looked pale and worn -
clearly the flight had taken its toll on him as w ell.
'Sorry to disappoint,' said Calard through lips that w ere numb w ith cold.
In a low voice, Laudethaire indicated that tw o of his Parravonian kin would take the pegasus to the skies, so as to avoid risk of their discovery.
'What if w e need them in a hurry?' asked Bertelis.
'They w ill be near,' said Laudethaire, looking briefly at the younger of the Garamont nobles as if he w ere a bug.
'Does anyone else think that the Norscans might not just stand idly by w hile we w alk into their camp and take Elisabet?' said Maloric.
'Scared, Maloric?' said Calard in an acidic tone.
'Just not stupid,' he shot back. 'I care for her too, Garamont.'
'She'd not give you the time of day, Sangasse,' said Calard, his voice rising as hatred and jealousy reared w ithin him. In Bordeleaux just before the w ar against the beasts of the w ildwood, Maloric and he had exchanged heated words regarding Elisabet.
Maloric had claimed that the token of affection he wore on his arm had been a gift from her, and Calard had reacted angrily, discounting his w ords as those of a viper.
Still, even then, he had suspected the Sangasse noble spoke true.
'Stay your tongues,' said Reolus, his voice low and firm.
Calard fell instantly silent, ashamed to have been admonished by the holy paladin.
'The Lady's pow er shall conceal our approach,' said Anara, her voice vague and ethereal as she stared around at things that the others could not perceive. 'We shall be as ghosts, spirits passing unseen through the night.'
Calard shuddered, and sw apped an uneasy glance w ith Bertelis.
'Do not speak,' said Anara softly. 'Do not make sudden movements. Do not draw your w eapons. Any of these things will break the spirit-walk and that will be the death of us all.'
The knights, other than Reolus, regarded the slight figure of Anara w arily, but they nodded their heads in understanding. Each of them regarded the damsel with a mixture of reverence, suspicion and fear, for her ways w ere strange and unearthly, and yet undoubtedly divinely inspired.
As the pegasus took to the air, angling out over the sea and disappearing into the fog, Anara began to incant. Calard could not understand her words, but it made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, and he could taste an oddly metallic tang in the air. Anara's eyes rolled back in her head and she threw her arms out to either side, palms held up to the heavens as she continued to speak in that soft, unnatural voice.
Calard felt his skin prickle, and a w ave of intense cold passed through him, making him shiver involuntarily. Ice crystals began to form on his armour, and his breath misted the air in front of his face. Thick fog rolled up off the water and began to surround the knights, who looked around them in unease. The biting chill permeated deeper into Calard's body, making his joints ache and every breath painful, and the forming ice threatened to lock up the joints of his armour. His hands and feet w ere numb, and he could feel that numbness creeping up his limbs and into his body.
It w as suddenly hard to keep his eyes open. All he w anted to do w as to lie down and let oblivion take him.
Blinking against the urge, Calard looked around at Bertelis, who w as pale and draw n, his eyes haunted. The fog continued to build around them, rising to engulf them completely, and Calard felt the icy touch reach his heart. He gasped.
This was what death must feel like, he thought. To lie down and give in to it w as so tempting. He could forget the pressing responsibilities that he felt unworthy to bear.
He could forget about his doubts as to his ow n purity. All he had to do w as close his eyes, and nothing w ould matter.
Do not, thundered his sister's voice in his mind, making him start w ith its sheer pow er. Give in and you w ill be lost forever in this place, neither alive nor truly dead.
Calard's drooping eyes flicked open, and he focused on his sister's face. She gave no indication of having spoken to him, still engrossed in her incantation, with her head throw n back.
Lost in this place, Calard thought, confused. Where are we?
He w as not surprised w hen Anara answered him, still speaking directly into his mind.
We are in betw een, she said, in the shadow realm. This is neither the world of the dead nor the w orld of the living.
Calard looked around him. His surroundings had not changed, though the fog obscured them. No, he realised, that w as not quite correct. The landscape around him had changed, but he had not noticed it at first, blurry and indistinct, as it was in the thick fog. The surrounds were devoid of all colour, he realised, cast in shades of grey, like the vague memory of a dream.
Come, said Anara into his mind, and this time he realised that she must have been speaking to everyone. With the grail knight Reolus at her side, his eyes shining with holy light, Anara stepped forward. The fog parted before her like a peasant rabble before a queen, and the knights fell in behind.
They w alked in silence, and indeed every sound seemed to be muffled, as if they were hearing them from a great distance. The pounding of the w aves, deafening only minutes before, now sounded faint and even the howling of the wind seemed distant.
Calard frow ned as he realised that he could not feel the touch of the w ind at all, and though he w as chilled to the core of his being, he could not feel the snow upon his face. Indeed, those flakes of snow being carried into him by the w ind that he could not feel w ere not settling on any of them, he realised. He reached out to catch one of the snow flakes; it passed right through his hand, as if it were nothing more than an image, w ith no physical form at all.
'What...' he began before he remembered Anara's w arning not to speak. He saw by his brother's expression that he too w as trying to understand what w as happening and as they climbed steadily up from the beachhead, Calard realised that nothing around them seemed real; everything was like a dream.
The hillside itself was shadowy, with no colour to it at all. The rocks and low shrubs clinging to the hillside were vague and indistinct, like after-images that w ere not really there at all. Calard reached out to a strand of tall grass as he passed it, but his hand passed through the colourless ghost image.
Gazing up tow ards the defiled chapel, Calard saw that it too appeared as a slightly distorted shadow image, and even the light of the fires burning within had no colour to them - they merely burnt bright w hite.
Abruptly a pair of Norscan appeared, rounding a stand of rocks just ahead, heading directly tow ards them, moving down tow ards the cove, axes in hand. They were no more than a dozen yards aw ay and could not fail to notice the group of knights in their path. Curiously, he could see a glowing sphere of light in the centre of the Norscans' chests.
Calard's hand flashed to his sword but a hand stopped him. Anger surged as he saw that it w as Maloric's, and in that moment all he wanted to do w as cut the Sangasse noble dow n. How dare he lay hands upon him!
Maloric shook his head and nodded further up the line. Calard glanced up the hill, seeing that the Norscans were making no aggressive moves towards them indeed it looked as if they had not noticed them at all, though they were now less than half a dozen paces aw ay. His eyes were drawn again to the glowing light in the centre of each Norscan's chest. The glow w as coming from within them.
Calard felt a chill as the Norscans' eyes passed over him, looking through him. He saw also that the tw o w arriors were vaguely transparent and he realised that just as everything else in this shadow-realm, they w ere as ghosts. Or perhaps, he thought, it w as himself and his companions who were the ghosts here.
The larger of the Norscans, a hulking warrior that loomed over them all, was clear
ly irritated, and he and his companion were bickering in their brutish tongue, though it sounded like their voices came to his ears from a long w ay aw ay. The smaller man w as pointing down at the cove, and Calard guessed that he had heard or seen something of the Bretonnians' arrival. They are probably sentries, he thought.
Anara and Reolus gave the pair no mind and continued to climb up the shale-strewn path, and the Norscans walked straight through them. The ghost images continued on, still bickering, and Calard flinched as they walked through him. He felt nothing except a momentarily flicker of w armth as the glowing centre in the middle of the Norscan's chests touched him in passing.
Marvelling at the pow ers wielded by his sister, Calard and the knights topped the shale path and found themselves looking down upon the Norscans' camp. Tens of thousands of w arriors were picketed in the snow, their tents dotting the landscape as far as the eye could see. The hills rolled out before them, and Calard saw endless campfires surrounded by marauders w ho w ere eating, drinking and fighting.
Every one of them had a burning sphere of light in their breast, and he saw that some w ere brighter than others. A couple of the warriors, perhaps one or tw o in every thousand, had fires that burnt w ith such white-hot intensity that it hurt his eyes to look upon them.
An altercation betw een two clearly inebriated warriors escalated, cheered on by their comrades, and one of them buried his axe in the other's neck. Blood rendered black in Calard's monotone vision sprayed out across the snow, and with another blow the head w as severed from the warrior's shoulders. The victor hefted the head of his opponent high into the air, but this w as not w hat Calard w as focusing on. His eyes had been draw n to the soul-light of the defeated Norscan. He watched as the sphere flickered and grew faint before blinking out completely, like a candle snuffed out.
Quickly, w hispered Anara, and the knights followed as the damsel and the grail knight led the way up tow ards the headland, towards the imposing chapel positioned there.
They moved through the Norscan camp, walking straight through tents and warriors like ghosts. An immense warhound lifted its head at their passing, grow ling, but a drunken Norscan kicked the beast into silence.
They w alked straight through cooking fires on which animals and men were spitted, feeling nothing as they passed through the flames.
In the distance they could hear the trumpeting of the shaggy mammoths that had w reaked such havoc against the army of Lyonesse, though where those beasts w ere caged or picketed, Calard knew not.
Everyw here he looked, Calard saw vile evidence of the Norscans' brutality. Bodies w ere impaled on spears driven into the earth, their skin stripped from their muscles and loathsome symbols carved and branded into their flesh. Warriors were stretching the flayed skins of men across their shields and massive pauldrons, daubing their breastplates and faces w ith blood.
Warriors that seemed more beast than men hunkered dow n over the butchered carcasses of animals, ripping them apart w ith hands and teeth in the manner of dogs, grow ling at anyone that came near.
They passed near a w arrior whose soul-light burnt w ith particularly fierce intensity.
The hulking Norscan w as bedecked head to toe in black armour, and a single twisting horn sprouted from his helmet. A pair of serrated swords were crossed upon his back, each blade covered in glowing runes of dark pow er, and a forked tongue darted from his mouth as if he w ere tasting the air as Anara steered them past him. He stood up, sniffing, searching for them, but his eyes, which Calard saw were as black as pitch, passed over them without focussing - clearly even with his daemon-given pow ers he could still not see them.
Every instinct screamed for Calard to draw his sword and attack these vile, heathen barbarians. Their very presence was an affront to the goddess, and he was quivering w ith hatred as they picked their way through the enemy encampment. These were the ones w ho had butchered so many honourable knights three weeks earlier, and he dearly w ished to enact the Lady's vengeance upon them.
They climbed in a direct line tow ards the defiled chapel at the top of the headland.
Bloody standards made from the flensed skin of his kinsmen were ' rammed into the earth outside the temple, and they fluttered and waved in a strong wind that he could not feel. The ornate stained glass windows of the chapel had been smashed, and he saw that young w omen w earing the garb of temple novices had been nailed to the w alls, the symbols of the profane deities of the Norscans carved into their foreheads and their eyes plucked from their sockets by the carrion birds that perched on every available roost. There were tens of thousands of the crows and ravens, and they squabbled and fought for positions out of the w ind.
She is near, came Anara's voice.
If Anara felt any outrage at the w rong done to the temple of her patron deity, she gave no outw ard sign. The doors of the temple had been smashed inwards with colossal force, hinges ripped completely from the wall, and the bodies of innocents w ere strew n around, nigh on unrecognisable as having once been men and women. Most of them had been half-consumed by carrion birds and w arhounds.
Reolus made to climb the steps and enter the temple, but Anara stopped him w ith a hand upon his arm, and proceeded to w alk around the outside of the temple, heading for its rear.
Dim sounds of revelry could be heard coming from w ithin as the knights followed the damsel's lead.
They w ere high up on the headland here, with sheer cliffs that fell away into the ocean far below . Calard jerked in shock as there was a dim crash and a man fell through him to land at his feet, an axe embedded in his back, amid a show er of glass. Calard stepped aw ay from the man as he tried to rise then fell forward, dying, his soul-fire flickering.
Calard continued on after the others, rounding the rear of the temple. What he saw made him recoil in horror.
A circle of eight thick wooden pylons had been driven into the ground, their fire-blackened lengths daubed w ith infernal symbols. They were hazy and indistinct, as w as everything in this cursed shadow-land. Affixed to each pole was a chain. The eight lengths of chain met in the centre of the circle, where they were welded to a thick collar of metal encircling the neck of a young w oman.
The w oman was heavily pregnant, and a black iron brank w as locked around her head like a cage. The device was akin to the scolds' bridles that were sometimes used to punish gossiping or argumentative peasant w omen, but this one filled Calard w ith loathing, for there was something deeply unnatural about it. Shadow s w rithed around it like living things, and it w as engraved with vile runes that burnt w ith fiery intensity, binding the woman as pow erfully as the brank itself.
A crude aw ning - a heavy canvas sail of a Norscan longship, Calard realised - had been strung up over the w oman, giving her a modicum of protection from the elements, and fires burnt outside the circle. Furs w ere strewn beneath her, but the tension of the chains ensured that the woman was unable to lie dow n upon them -
the best she could manage w as to sit slumped, her head lolling forward, with the chains keeping her in an upright position. To treat anyone with such disregard made Calard feel sick to the pit of his stomach, but to do so to a pregnant young lady w as beyond reason.
A score of armed guards stood around the circle, talking amongst themselves, backs to the fires to ensure they maintained their night-sight, but Calard paid them no mind, his eyes focusing on the slumped form of the pregnant woman. Even shadowy and ghostlike as she was, with her face obscured by the repulsive brank locked around her skull, he realised that there was something sickeningly familiar about her.
'Elisabet,' he breathed in horror.
The ghostlike figures of the closest sentries snapped to attention as he spoke aloud, their heads turning in his direction.
One of them muttered something under his breath, staring straight at Calard and making a w arding motion w ith one hand. Calard reached for his blade, his hand closing around its ornate hilt.
The other sentries w ere hefting shields and
weapons, gazing around them w arily. As if aw oken by the sudden tension of her captors, the imprisoned figure of Elisabet moaned and lifted her head, the chains attached to her neck clinking.
'In the Lady's name,' breathed Calard in horror, taking an involuntary step forwards.
One of the sentries barked a w ord in the harsh Norscan language, and made to lift a horn to his lips and sound a w arning that would bring the entire Norse army running.
Reolus w as suddenly in motion. He drew his sacred sword, Durendyal, and in this shadow y in-betw een realm it blazed w ith ethereal flames. Similar flames seemed to burst into life from the grail knight's eyes, burning with the fury of the goddess, and the Norscans fell back from him, terror w ritten on their faces at the ghostly apparition taking shape before them.
Then the grail knight cut dow n the first sentry, his blade first hacking through the Norscan's horn just as it touched the w arrior's lips and slicing cleanly through the man's head, carving through teeth, skull and brain matter w ith the ease of a hot knife cutting through pig-fat. Before the top half of the man's head had slid aw ay from the rest of this body, Reolus had stepped past the w arrior and killed another tw o men, his blade sliding through the muscled torso of one and the other dying instantly as Reolus skewered his head-on the length of his sacred blade. He moved w ith such sublime grace and speed that no one had even made a move, and three men w ere already dead.
'Take them!' roared Reolus, and Calard tore the blade of Garamont from his scabbard, leaping tow ards an axe-wielding ghost. He saw that his own sword too w as glow ing faintly, and his vision shimmered before him as he stepped out of the realm of shadow s and back into reality.
Sensation returned to Calard in a flood, almost stunning him w ith their vibrancy. The sound of battle around him w as loud, and he felt the biting wind tugging at his cloak, felt the heat of the fires nearby. He smelt blood and death, and he plunged his sword into the throat of the Norscan before the hulking warrior could react to his sudden appearance. The warrior's ice-blue eyes widened as the blade slid through his flesh and severed his spine, blood bubbling up from the fatal w ound.
Warhammer - Knight of the Realm Page 17
