Warhammer - Knight Errant

by Anthony Reynolds

  'Too many,' she breathed. 'It is draw n here like a moth to a flame. Hatred burns w ithin its breast, and it has turned the full force of its herd here. They are approaching even now.'

  Montcadas sw ore, and the knights glanced around uneasily. None doubted the w ord of the damsel.

  The baron turned tow ards the yeoman, who was trying to w ipe the filth of the dead bird from his foot.

  'Ride for the camp,' he ordered. 'Take tw o of the others, and go at once. Darkness is falling, so be sw ift.' The Garamont yeoman looked to Calard, w ho nodded. 'Kegan!'

  called Montcadas.

  'Yes, my lord,' answ ered a knight w earing a yellow tabard that bore a black cockatrice upon it.

  'Ride w ith them. Ensure that the camp is ready for an attack. Allow no more patrols to leave, and send riders to gather those already out.'

  'It w ill be as you w ish, my lord.'

  'May the Lady be w ith you, Kegan.' Then the baron sw ung towards Anara, 'you w ill honour us by riding at our side, lady?' She nodded absently, her head cocked to one side as if listening to a faint voice. 'I shall ensure there is a steed readied for you.'

  'That is not necessary,' she replied. Turning, she let out a high-pitched, ululating cry.

  In the distance, the w hite mare pricked up its elongated ears and began to gallop tow ards her.

  She w as a beautiful, pow erful creature. Her coat gleamed like silver, and her limbs w ere long and slender, though filled with vigour, speed and power. The horse nuzzled at Anara's outstretched hand, and the damsel leant forward and whispered into the animal's ear. It w as tall, perhaps seventeen hands at the shoulder, and standing next to it, Anara looked like a child. Calard shook his head. Everything was happening so fast.

  'Do you know how close the enemy is, sister?' asked Calard.

  'I cannot see,' she said, not looking at him, focused as she was on her steed. Her voice w as tense, instilling a sense of urgency in the knights. 'They are closing fast.'

  Calard sw ore. Montcadas roared for the patrol to mount up, and a frenzy of activity erupted, as the knights made ready to leave. The trio of yeomen and the knight Kegan galloped aw ay, thundering off to the north.

  Calard licked his lips, wondering w here her sister's tack and saddle w as... probably in the stable at the deserted castle; the castle of his mother's family, he reminded himself. It was all too much to take in. He w as about to ask her w here her saddle was located, but the w ords died in his mouth.

  The proud, pure w hite horse was kneeling down in the grass, lowering its massive shoulders and bow ing its head. Standing on tiptoe, Anara reached up and grabbed a handful of the mare's spotless mane. With a deft leap, she threw one leg over the mare's broad back, and the horse stood upright.

  An old and unenforced law within Bretonnia stated that ladies must ride side-saddle on the occasion that they ride at all, and, even had it not been the law, no noble w oman w ould dream of riding like a man, for one w ho did so would be deemed a harlot. How ever, the damsels of the Lady existed outside traditional laws and values, and there w as not a man in all of Bretonnia, not even the king, who would dare to invoke their ire by reproaching one of them.

  Anara smiled dow n at Calard like the little girl he remembered. Her elegant dress was certainly not made for riding a horse bareback, and many of the knights averted their eyes from the exposed flesh of the damsel's toned lower leg. Calard found himself smiling back at his sister, and Montcadas gave a deep belly laugh at the unconventional sight.

  The damsel's youthful smile faded, her face turning grim.

  'They are here!' she w ailed.

  Ghastly, blaring horns sounded in the distance, and Calard ran for his mount. More horns sounded, and he hauled himself into the saddle, and accepted his lance and shield from a nervous-looking peasant.

  'Get to your horse, now !' Calard ordered, nodding his thanks to the man.

  The knights formed up protectively around Anara. A pair of yeomen rode ahead of them as scouts, and the remainder rode to either side of the knightly formation.

  Giving the signal, the baron ordered the men forward and as one they began to canter aw ay from the castle, eyes scanning the area for any sign of the foe.

  They did not have to w ait long.

  One of the yeomen shouted out, and Calard sw ung his gaze to the east, tow ards the forest in the distance. A group of fur-clad riders had emerged from the tree line, and w as galloping across the fields tow ards the Bretonnians. They leapt dry-stone walls, and another piercing horn sounded.

  For a moment, Calard thought they w ere reinforcements coming to their aid, but the riders carried no pennants or standards, and did not appear to be armoured. Peasant outriders? He dismissed the idea almost instantly, for they wore no tabards displaying the colours of their lords.

  'The enemy is swift,' said Anara, and Calard squinted at the riders.

  As they drew closer, he saw that they w ere around thirty in number, and hounds ran alongside them. Sighting the knights, the dogs erupted into a frenzy of barking and deep-throated grow ls that carried across the undulating hills. Then the riders split abruptly into tw o groups. One group continued riding directly tow ards the knights, w hile the other peeled off to the north, clearly intending to cut them off. He saw a handful, perhaps five riders, split aw ay from this group, and they took off in the direction that Kegan and the yeomen had ridden.

  Horns blared once more, and Calard glanced in concern at his twin, as Montcadas picked up the pace. His w orry was unfounded, for despite lacking a saddle and stirrups, Anara rode upon the back of her w hite mare easily, her slight body crouched over the horse's neck.

  'Lady above,' said Bertelis. 'What manner of beast are they?'

  As the enemy drew nearer, Calard could see that he had been wrong. These were not riders at all. They were twisted creatures of Chaos. Their lower bodies were like those of shaggy oxen, though their legs ended in taloned claws that tore up the turf, rather than cloven hooves. Where the creatures' heads ought to have been there w ere instead muscled torsos, complete with thick, human-like arms, and topped by heavy, horned, bestial heads.

  They w ere like the beastmen of the forest that Calard had fought before, but melded, somehow , w ith a massive quadruped to create this bastard hybrid. Long, matted braids of hair and fur streamed behind them, and they hefted crude spears and axes in their hands. One lifted a horn to its bestial mouth as it ran, blow ing a long note that w as echoed by a blare from the other group.

  Nor w ere the hounds running at their side natural beasts. As large as ponies, they w ere slavering creatures covered in thick fur, and spines ran down their backbones.

  Their jaw s w ere heavy, and filled with teeth and tusks, and their tongues lolled from their mouths as their red-rimmed eyes locked onto their prey.

  The group riding directly at the Bretonnians was draw ing close, and the roars and braying cries of the pack could be heard, along w ith the growls and barks of the massive w ar hounds. Up ahead, the other group w as angling into their path, to block their progress to the north.

  The mounted yeomen, riding alongside the knights, nocked arrows to their bow s and, rising in the saddle, they began to fire into the enemy. Calard saw an arrow slam into the heavily muscled chest of one of the enemy centaur-creatures. It threw it off balance, and it stumbled. With a snarl, it snapped the arrow -shaft off, leaving the point embedded in its flesh, and continued its w ild charge across the grassland.

  Another arrow took one of them in the throat, and it fell with a gargled scream. It struck the ground hard, and rolled, legs snapping beneath it. Its companions ignored it, trampling it into the earth in their eagerness to close with their enemy.

  Tw o of the massive hounds, driven mad by the scent of blood in the air, leapt on the fallen creature. They tore it apart in a gory feast, clamping their vice-like jaw s onto its body, and shaking their heavy heads wildly from side to side, ripping flesh and muscle.

  With perfect discipline, the
knights formed into a tight fighting wedge, with the Baron Montcadas at its tip. Anara rode in the middle of the lance formation, protected on all sides by the armoured bulk of knights.

  When the enemy to their flank w as no more than a hundred yards distance, Baron Montcadas abruptly sw ung to the right. The knights followed his move closely, and the formation w heeled around to face the enemy head-on. Baron Montcadas lifted his morning star high, and began to sw ing it above his head. The knights kicked their steeds into a charge in perfect unison.

  'For Bastonne and the Lady!' roared Montcadas, and Calard and the other knights echoed the w ar cry.

  The enemy roared and leapt forwards to meet them, unflinching, the massive w ar hounds running hard at their sides. They lifted crude spears up high; they did not couch them like the Bretonnians did with their lances. The lead creature hurled its spear like a javelin, the full weight of its body behind the throw. The spear lanced through the air, and a knight w as ripped from the saddle as the weapon punched through his breastplate. Other spears were hurled, but they w ere battered aside by shields.

  There was a deafening crack, as Dieter Weschler, riding within the formation, fired one of his w heel-lock pistols. A cloud of acrid smoke rose from the long barrel of the w eapon, and Calard saw one of the beasts stumble and fall, the shot blasting out through the back of its head w ith a spray of blood.

  The knights lowered their lances, and the two forces struck. The impact was immense, and the lead creature fell beneath the spiked ball of Montcadas's morning star, its skull smashed asunder. A spear thrust skidded off Calard's shield, and he plunged his lance tip into the neck of one of the beasts, using the full force of his momentum to drive it through the enemy's flesh. It sheared through the creature's body like a hot knife through a w ad of butter, and the beast fell, blood spurting from the fatal w ound.

  War hounds snarled and grow led, and jaw s snapped at Gringolet's neck, but the pow erful destrier trampled the beasts beneath its hooves. An axe slammed into the head of the knight at Calard's right, shearing through the metal of the man's helmet and shattering bone. The man swayed in the saddle for a moment before falling beneath the thunder of hooves.

  The w edge of knights drove through the middle of the enemy, smashing them aside, and striking out w ith lances and swords. The bellows and roars of the enemy were deafening but the knights fought ferociously. A serrated blade struck Calard's breastplate, and he w inced from the force of the impact, though it could not penetrate his thick armour. He lashed out w ith the butt of his lance, smashing it into the snarling bestial face of his attacker, before Bertelis sliced open its throat with a deft sw eep of his blade.

  With a roar, a massive, tusked hound w ith four eyes leapt, its weight dragging one of the proud Bretonnian w arhorses down. The steed screamed horribly as it fell, and jaw s closed around its neck. The knight bome by the destrier fell with a curse, but there w as no time to aid him, as the Bretonnians thundered clear of the melee.

  Ranging out on the flanks of the knights, Garamont yeomen fired their bow s smoothly, sinking arrow after arrow into those beasts that had survived the knightly charge. Three arrow s pierced a centaur-beast, and it collapsed to the ground, its legs giving w ay beneath it. A war hound dropped with a yelp as a shaft drove betw een its vertebrae.

  The knights wheeled around sharply. They had lost five of their number, and had killed perhaps tw elve of the enemy, and a half dozen or so hounds. They charged back into the reeling enemy, slaughtering the remainder.

  The second group w as closing on them from the north, and Montcadas shouted for order, w heeling the lance formation around tow ards the threat. Pain flared in Calard's w ounded side, and he could feel blood running down his torso. He had clearly ripped open the assassin's wound during the fight, though at the time he had felt nothing.

  He knew that the next charge would prove more costly, but he felt a fierce sense of pride w ithin him. He would not allow anything to harm his sister now that he had found her after so many years.

  'Hold,' called Anara, her voice full of authority, all hint of otherworldliness gone. 'Do not charge them.'

  Obediently, the knights reined in their steeds, and the damsel pushed betw een them to gain a clear view of the closing enemy. They were no more than eighty paces aw ay, and closing fast, and Calard's anxious gaze flickered betw een Anara and the enemy.

  Apparently defying logic, Anara slipped from the back of her mare.

  'Sister, w hat are-' began Calard, but he w as silenced by a raised hand.

  The knights shuffled in unease as the damsel bent down and removed the soft slippers from her feet. She wiggled her toes, and cold, wet mud oozed betw een them.

  Calard looked uneasily tow ards the closing enemy. They were less than forty paces aw ay.

  Anara began to chant, her voice low, moving to rhythms that w ere alien to the ears of the gathered knights. The warhorses of the knights, perhaps sensing the tension in their riders, began to stamp their hooves into the wet earth, and shake their heads.

  Calard patted Gringolet heavily on the neck, whispering calming words to the destrier, though his eyes were locked on the enemy that w as so close that he could pick out individual details. He could see the jangle of bones and infernal bronze icons looped through holes in the beasts' horns, and the hellish symbols carved into their flesh and hides.

  Calard licked his lips, and clenched his fist around his weapon. The enemy were closing fast, and the knights would be slaughtered if they were caught motionless.

  Their charge began to falter, however. Though they fought wildly to maintain their momentum, they w ere slowly sinking into the water-soaked earth.

  In amazement, Calard looked at Anara, w ho w as continuing her incantation unabated. The ground around her feet had dried up, the mud hardening to a rock-like crust.

  Slavering w ar hounds snapped and growled as they clambered over each other, frantic to escape the sinking mire. The beast-centaurs roared and bellow ed in rage and frustration, thrashing frantically as they tried to free themselves from the marsh.

  With each violent movement, they sank further into the clinging mire. One of them roared and hurled its spear tow ards the knights, but it fell ten yards short.

  Several of the Garamont yeomen rode in close to the edge of the sw ampy area, and fired into the helpless creatures. They killed several, before Montcadas ordered them to stop in order to conserve arrow s. The baron stared in wonder at the diminutive damsel, w ho was continuing her incantation, her eyes having rolled up into the back of her head.

  Her lips w ere turning blue, and she began to sw ay slightly. Calard dropped from his saddle and w ent to her, but w as unw illing to lay hands upon her, for fear of w hat might happen if he interrupted her spell.

  Within minutes, the creatures of Chaos had disappeared, bellowing defiance as they w ere sw allowed by the mire.

  Anara finished chanting, and swooned, falling forwards. Calard caught her in his arms.

  Her eyes flicked open, blazing w ith sudden anger. 'Don't touch me!' she hissed, her eyes flashing with fey light. She pulled free of Calard's arms, and he gaped at her.

  She quickly recovered her composure, and colour began to return to her face. With an imperious glance at Calard, she mounted her w hite steed.

  'Come, brother,' she said, her voice soft and distant once more, the sudden anger of a moment before forgotten. 'We must be aw ay. The beast is draw ing near.'

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  THE RIDE BACK to camp w as like a hellish nightmare. Horns pursued the knights, and as the last of the sun's rays dropped over the horizon, they saw dark shapes emerging from the forest of Chalons. Howls and roars echoed around them, and the Bretonnians held flaming brands high to hold back the darkness that threatened to close around them like a death shroud.

  Tw ice they were attacked, set upon by packs of beastmen that erupted from the darkness, leaping from ambush and setting about them w ith axes and curved sw ords. Five kni
ghts and a pair of yeomen were dragged from their saddles and butchered in the first attack before the knights rode free, speaking prayers to the Lady for those that had fallen.

  There was no w arning of the second attack, and it had been led by a monstrous creature that stood some ten feet tall, a behemoth of flesh and muscle. The massive head of a raging bull topped its pow erful, hunched frame, supported by a neck thicker than the body of a horse, and its w ide horns spanned almost six feet from bronze-encased tip to tip.

  It pounded out of the darkness w ith its head lowered, and slammed into the knights, sending several of their steeds flying. It lifted a w arhorse on its horns, flicking it over its shoulder as if it w eighed nothing at all, sending the knight in the saddle of the horse crashing to the ground ten yards aw ay. It w ielded a massive spiked club in each hand, and rusted chains locked the weapons to its arms, so that it w as unable to discard them. It smashed the skull of another horse w ith a blow that fell w ith the force of an avalanche, and roared, spittle flying from its bovine lips.

  Smaller beastmen sw armed in its w ake, and a frantic combat had erupted. Seven knights w ere killed before the massive bull-headed beastman slumped to the ground, pierced by more than a dozen sw ords and lances. Its lesser minions, seeing the great creature topple, took flight, and the weary Bretonnians pushed on, leaving the dead w here they lay.

  Sounds of pursuit dogged them, and unnatural roars and cries echoed through the darkness.

  They found their path blocked by tw isted branches and briars, and there were raised voices as a tense argument erupted. The yeoman scouts w ere accused of leading them astray, but Calard defended them, spying a small roadside shrine that he had noticed earlier that day w hen they had passed this way. The forest w as interposing itself in their path, seeking to slow and block their passage, and Calard had been surprised to see tears glistening on Anara's cheeks.

  'They are in pain,' she said mournfully, laying a slender hand upon the trunk of one contorted tree, its boughs dripping with red sap. Branches creaked and groaned alarmingly, and leafless limbs shivered and strained. Eyes filled with malice glinted in the orange light of the torches, and Calard shivered.