Warhammer - Knight Errant

by Anthony Reynolds

  It had been such a proud day for him, receiving his first pay. Four years had past since then, and now at around eighteen, he was regarded as a veteran. He had fought in tw o battles, and killed three of his lord's enemies. In the second battle, he had almost been killed but he had defied death and recovered from his wounds. But he had never had to face a foe such as he faced this day.

  The big, scarred yeoman that had selected him four years earlier stood nearby, his perpetual scow l stamped on his face. The man seemed undaunted by anything, and he stood glaring at the approaching enemy, his thick-bladed sword held in his right hand. Even though the weapon was missing its tip and bore more than a hint of rust, that the yeoman w as allowed to bear a sw ord at all w as testament to the level of trust placed in him. Radegar would not allow himself to show any fear in front of the man, w ho he still regarded w ith a mixture of respect and fear.

  More than the presence of this brutal yeoman, how ever; it was the fact that a knight of the realm stood w ithin their ranks that made Radegar sw ell with pride and push his fear deep w ithin him. The knight's helmet was high and had a miniature heraldic dragon upon its crest, and his armour gleamed in the flickering light given off by the braziers nearby. Radegar w as deeply honoured to be standing alongside one of the nobility, and he swore that he would not fail in his duty. No, it w ould be a fate far w orse than death to quake in fear in front of such a noble knight. Surely, as long as the regal knight stood against their fore, they would hold.

  The enemy bore dow n on mem, screaming and roaring, even as hundreds of flights of arrow s continued to pepper their ranks from the hillside behind.

  'This is it, boys,' bellowed the yeoman. 'Don't you shame me now , or I'll cut off yer ears and eat them for breakfast! For Garamont!'

  Radegar braced himself. He leant his left shoulder forwards, so that his shield protected him, and the man to his left, just as the man to his right protected him.

  Each of the men-at-arms carried a long polearm, and the spikes of the unwieldy w eapons w ere lowered to create a nigh on impenetrable w all of death.

  The first of the gigantic hellhounds leapt betw een two of the heavy wooden stakes that had been driven into the ground in front of the men-at-arms. Its immense shoulders w ere covered in mangy, matted fur, and its eyes reflected the flames of the braziers.

  It hurled itself at the dragon-helmed knight, and its massive paw s slammed into his armoured chest, bow ling him backw ards even as his sword blade penetrated the beast's chest. With one savage bite, the knight's head, helmet and all, was ripped from his shoulders, and blood sprayed out like a fountain. The beast's thick body was impaled by polearms, but it had done its w ork, and Radegar felt panic begin to rise w ithin him. It had happened so fast.

  He had no time to think, as scores of the massive hounds struck the line. Radegar thrust his polearm forw ard, taking one of the beasts squarely in the chest. The force of the beast's momentum knocked him back a step, into the men behind him, and his feet slipped in the mud.

  He saw his scowling yeoman hack his blade into the side of the head of another beast, the sw ord biting deep. Radegar pulled his weapon back, and w ith a shout he thrust again, feeling his weapon bite into flesh.

  The man to his right dropped to his knees as a massive w eight dragged his shield low , and in the next instant a snarling beast tore his face off w ith a snap of its jaw s.

  The axe-head of a polearm slammed dow n onto the beast's skull, cracking it like a nut, and it died instantly, blood and brain splattering. Men were shouting in fear, panic and anger, and order began to be lost. More holes w ere made in the shield-wall as men died, some as their arms w ere savagely ripped from their sockets by the monstrous hounds and others as massive jaw s ripped at their throats, spraying blood w ildly.

  Radegar shouted w ordlessly as he struck. A heavy weight slammed against his shield, and he was pushed backw ards again. In that moment, Radegar knew that the line w as going to break, and that he w as going to die.

  A hulking, goat-legged creature appeared before him, its snarling face that of an animal's, though its eyes burned w ith feral intelligence. It held a curved blade in one hand, and leapt tow ards him. Radegar thrust his polearm desperately towards the creature. It sw ayed aside from the point, grabbed the haft of the polearm in one thick hand and pulled it violently towards it. Radegar was jerked forwards, stumbling off balance tow ards the beastman.

  The beast's blade flashed, and Radegar screamed as it sliced deep into his shoulder, cleaving muscle and flesh, and striking the bone w ith crippling force. His weapon dropped from fingers that he could no longer feel, and he fell to the ground before the massive creature. Its stench was overpowering like rotting meat and urine, and it loomed above him, sw inging its murderous blade.

  I am dead, thought Radegar. Cloven hooves pounded as the enemy drove over the top of him. He w as kicked in the head, and felt one of his legs break as a heavy cloven hoof stamped dow n upon the limb. Moaning in agony and fear, he waited for the fatal blow to fall, praying to Shallya that it w ould be sw ift.

  Rough hands gripped him around his armpits, and he cried out in pain. His eyes lolled around in their sockets, and his body w as slick with blood, but, for a moment, he thought he w as being rescued, carried free of the battle. A glimmer of hope flickered within him.

  That hope w as dashed as his eyes came into focus. He was being dragged aw ay from the Bretonnian lines.

  An animal groan of panic escaped his lips, and he began to fight against the stinking creature hauling him aw ay. He kicked out and thrashed around. Hands slick with his blood slipped, and Radegar was dropped heavily to the ground. There was an angry snarl, and a hoof struck him in the side of the head. He tasted blood in his mouth, and spat out shattered teeth.

  The beast grabbed him around his broken leg and began dragging him backw ards through the mud, and he screamed again. His shield, the precious shield bearing the honourable heraldry of Garamont, w as still attached to his arm, and it carved a furrow in the earth behind him.

  Then, blessedly, he was released from his torment as he slipped into unconsciousness.

  'WHAT IN THE Lady's name are they doing?' breathed Calard in horror. Scores of men-at-arms w ere being hauled aw ay from the front line by the beastmen. They were being dragged kicking and screaming back tow ards the distant tree line, where the monstrous tall beast stood pacing back and forth like a caged animal, surrounded by its heavily armoured guard.

  He had no time to consider the grim fate of these men, however, as trumpets blared, and the order to charge w as declared.

  Calard slammed dow n the visor of his simple, unadorned helmet and kicked Gringolet into a gallop.

  All around Adhalind's Seat, knights charged.

  The ranks of the men-at-arms opened up before the knights errant, and they charged through the gap. They covered fifty yards in seconds, and Calard felt the thrill of battle w ash over him.

  Beastmen streamed into the gap created by the parting ranks of the Bretonnian infantry, and lances were lowered. Tensing for the impact, Calard picked his target, a hulking brute w ith horns spiralling from its forehead, wielding a pair of rusted cleavers.

  The knights ploughed into the enemy, and Calard's lance took his foe squarely in the chest, punching through its ribcage. It fell to the ground, blood pumping from the w ound, tearing the lance from Calard's hands, and his sword flashed into his hand in an instant.

  Sw inging the blade in a low arc, Calard carved a bloody slash across the neck of another enemy, and it fell with a scream, even as another lance tore through its shoulder, smashing it to the ground.

  On the knights errant charged, driving through the enemy ranks and smashing them aside. Spears and blades glanced off shields and armour, and dozens of beastmen w ere crushed to the ground, trampled into pulp beneath the hooves of the destriers.

  The ground trembled beneath the charge of the knights. Nothing could stand in their path.

  Surging throug
h the press, the formation swung to the north, riding hard in front of the line of angled stakes, tearing through the enemy pushing forward there. Faced w ith enemies on two sides, the beastmen fought desperately, many of them turning tow ards this new threat only to be cut dow n by the men-at-arms that, at that moment, surged forw ard through the stakes, stabbing and cutting.

  Hundreds more beastmen surged forw ards at the knights, screaming as they ran, covering the ground with swift leaps and bounds. They came on in an endless tide, and the air w as filled with their braying roars.

  Calard shattered the horns and skull of another beast w ith a dow nward strike, and reeled backw ards in the saddle as a blade slammed into his shield, almost knocking him from the saddle. He fought for balance, his arm tingling from the impact, but remained in tight formation w ith the other knights. The knights errant swung around in a w ide arc, cutting and killing, struggling to maintain their impetus.

  A monstrous form burst through the tide of enemies, tossing beastmen aside in its eagerness to kill. Its immense, mutated form w as covered in spines of bone and snapping jaw s, and rents in its flesh gaped open, exposing countless mouths and tongues that w rithed like serpents. It trailed lengths of chain behind it, and rampaged forw ards, needing no goading now that the scent of blood w as heavy in the air. A myriad of bloodshot eyes on stalks sw ung tow ards the knights, and it screamed in pain and bloodlust, the sound ripping forth from half a dozen throats. With a shout, the knights angled towards the monstrosity, cutting down the savage beastmen in their path.

  A thick neck of glistening, exposed muscle burst from w ithin the hulking mass, and snapping jaw s closed around the neck of a horse, even as five lances drove home into the beast. Arms ending in bony spurs punched forward, skewering knights and tearing them from their saddles, and lashing tentacles wrapped around steeds, burrow ing through flesh and eye-sockets, dragging them dow n.

  Calard slashed w ith his sword, severing half a dozen eyestalks that spurted black, hissing blood as they w ere cut, and the remaining eyes retracted within the monstrous creature's body. More lances and sw ords plunged into its malformed bulk, and its lifeblood gushed forth in a torrent, spurting from a dozen w ounds.

  It flopped to the ground, thrashing madly in its death spasms, killing another pair of knights as it died. A spear smashed into the side of Calard's helmet, and he reeled, his ears ringing, and he saw scores of beastmen closing in around them. He kicked Gringolet forward with a shout, and the knights were then galloping clear, leaving the dying monstrosity behind them.

  A horse collapsed as a sw inging axe chopped its legs from beneath it, and it screamed as it fell, the knight borne upon the beast sailing into the air. The knight directly behind the fallen warhorse had no time to react, and his steed broke its front legs as it stumbled over the flailing beast. The fallen knights were set upon instantly by savage beastmen, their helmets caved in with powerful blow s.

  Galloping directly towards Adhalind's Seat, the massed forces of the enemy scattering before them, the knights errant urged their steeds on. The men-at-arms again parted before them, and they thundered through the gap. The ranks closed behind them, and it w as only then that Calard saw how many of his comrades had fallen.

  Suddenly fearful, he glanced around to see his brother. Bertelis was there, at his side, his armour splattered w ith blood, and he exhaled in relief. Lifting his visor, Bertelis gave him a savage grin.

  Bloodied, the knights errant cantered up the hillside, and wheeled around to face the battlefield once more.

  Peasants ran forw ard, handing fresh lances to them, and passing them flagons of w ater.

  Hundreds of beastmen w ere still streaming from the trees in a relentless, never ending swarm, and Calard felt a stab of panic. He had barely survived the first charge, but it had made virtually no impart on the enemy ranks. Breathing heavily, he took a sip of w ater, before passing the skin back to a peasant and making ready for another charge. It w as going to be a long night.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHLOD SWORE AGAIN, tears of unrestrained terror running down his blotchy cheeks. He w as pushed roughly from behind, and he stumbled forward. There was no w ay he could see that he could get out of this, and he cursed himself for a fool. He had thought he w as so clever in seeking refuge amongst the pilgrims, but now he saw that he had doomed himself.

  He w as in the middle of the group of fervent men, being bustled and pushed from all sides. He could not have fought his w ay clear of them if he tried, which in fact, he had.

  He had been enjoying the hospitality of the pilgrims and the sudden esteem he had gained since he had been ''healed' of his feined blindness. He had eaten better than he had done in w eeks, happy to speak loudly of the miracle he had received in exchange for food and cheap wine. He had even accepted the heavy, spiked club that he had been given, thinking that, if nothing else, it could be sold or traded at a later date.

  He had certainly not expected to be physically dragged into battle by the fervent pilgrims. They were madmen, he had decided; insane, deluded madmen obsessed w ith achieving recognition, however slight, from the object of their idolisation. They w ould gladly throw themselves onto the swords of the enemy if they thought that it w ould garner a nod from the grail knight, and indeed he had seen several individuals do just that.

  The pilgrims did everything they could to be noticed by the grail knight. They cooked and cleaned for him, doted on his every word, and spit-polished his armour and boots, under the w atchful eyes of his servants and squires to ensure they did not make off w ith anything. They threw flowers before him, and proclaimed his good deeds w herever he travelled. They immortalised him in song and his every pronouncement, however mundane, was memorised and deemed as sacred testament.

  The grail knight tolerated them at best, and did not acknow ledge their presence in the slightest. So, when he had approached the pilgrims and said the words, 'Gather your w eapons. We fight the enemies of Bretonnia this day,' his words were greeted w ith impassioned enthusiasm and fanatical devotion.

  Chlod had never been in a battle before, not like this, and it terrified him. The screams of the dying and the brutal clash of w eapons, the roars of the enemy and even the frenzied cries of the pilgrims, all filled him w ith terror.

  Short even for a peasant, a fact not aided by his pronounced hump and stooped posture, he could see barely a thing except for the back of those in front of him. Of the enemy he had seen no sign, but he could hear their savage roars and braying shouts, and he w as not ashamed to feel his bladder loosen, and warmth run down his legs.

  The pilgrims pushed and shoved, desperately trying to get to the front of the mayhem. Chlod tried to squirm and muscle his w ay further back, aw ay from the front line, but, despite all his efforts, he was carried forwards, driven closer and closer to the terrifying sounds of slaughter.

  Blood splattered into his face. The crowd surged forwards again, and Chlod could not help but trample over a fallen man, who screamed and reached out for him. Fearing that he w ould be dragged dow n under the surging crowd, Chlod knocked aw ay the man's grabbing hands w ith the base of his spiked club, breaking his fingers.

  Then he saw the enemy, and he thought he w ould die on the spot from sheer panic.

  Taller by far than any of the peasants, they had the heads of goats tw isted into hellish, daemonic visages, sharp teeth protruding from bleating mouths.

  They slashed with axes and swords, dismembering the pilgrims with savage fury. He saw one of them fall, a shattered sword stabbing into its neck, and blood drenched pilgrims fell upon it in a fury, stabbing w ith knives and hacking with axes.

  For each of the enemy that fell, three or more of the devout, fanatical peasants were slain. The enemy was cleaving through the tightly-packed ranks of the peasants like scythes through w heat, and Chlod pushed back aw ay from them w ith all his strength.

  Only a few men stood betw een him and the foe, but try as he might, he could not pull aw ay from them
. Screaming incoherently, or bellowing the name of Reolus, the peasants surged forw ards once more, and Chlod was driven closer to the enemy than ever.

  An axe sang through the air and slammed into the neck of the man in front of him, and arterial blood sprayed across his uneven features. He could taste the hot blood on his lips, and could smell it in his nostrils. Then the man fell. The beastman struggled w ith its axe, the blade lodged betw een two vertebrae, and with a shout, the man next to Chlod rammed his rusted, scavenged sword into its belly. A second blade stabbed into its heavily muscled thigh, and it swung its arm around, smashing its shield into the face of one of its attackers, breaking the pilgrim's jaw and half-ripping it from his face.

  A pow erful shove propelled Chlod towards the beast, just as it managed to tear its axe free of the corpse on the ground. With a shout of sheer terror, he lifted his spiked club in both hands and slammed it into the creature's head. It fell to its knees, but w as still alive and dangerous, and so Chlod rammed his club into its face again, knocking it backw ards.

  Blood covered his face, and he trembled uncontrollably. Then he was driven forwards once again by the surging crow d, and Chlod's voice joined with the chorus of manic screams.

  DIETER WESCHLER, CAPTAIN w ithin the Reikland state army and second cousin once removed from Emperor Karl Franz, had decided that he hated Bretonnia. He had an official function and duty to perform here, however, and was careful to maintain an air of civility. His duty had been given to him by the Emperor, and he w ould not allow his feelings and prejudices to betray him.

  'A show of solidarity betw een neighbouring nations,' he had been told.

  The nobles of this land were pompous and arrogant, and their peasants were dow ntrodden and lived in despicable, crushing poverty. How a nation could laud itself as being honourable w hile it w as clearly so corrupt w as beyond him. Behind the carefully constructed veneer of honourable conduct, this land was decaying and crumbling, self-centred and self-aggrandising.