In truth, he did not look like the romanticised hero sung about in his ballads. There w ere no flowing golden locks or beauty to make married w omen and virgins swoon, but he certainly had an aw esome presence, one that demanded respect. There was something about him that Calard could not put his finger on, something that made him seem just a little larger, a little fiercer, a little more imposing than other men: something a little more... vital.
There was an off-putting, intense burning light in his eyes, a fey potency, otherw orldly and dangerous. Calard found he could not hold the grail knight's gaze.
'I fought alongside your father,' the grail knight said, making Calard widen his eyes in surprise, 'a good man, strong. At Drow ning Man's Moor he led a desperate countercharge against the restless dead that turned the battle.'
'That battle w as more than forty years ago,' said Calard softly, his eyes large. The grail knight smiled back at him.
Calard w anted to ask a million questions, but did not w ish to appear like a gaw king adolescent.
'You fought the beast,' said Reolus, the smile dropping from his face.
'I... I w anted the glory of killing it,' admitted Calard. 'I thought I could best it, but I...
failed,' he said, hanging his head.
'It w as a brave attempt.'
'Gunthar w ould have said foolish.'
'Impetuous, I w ould say.'
'Why did it leave?' asked Calard. The question had been troubling him. 'Why did it not... finish what it started? Surely it could have w on the field?'
'It could,' said Reolus, his eyes burning with witch-fire. 'Had the battle lasted another hour, there w ould have been no Bretonnian alive, knight or otherwise. In truth, I don't know , Calard. We were hoping that you could shed some light on it.'
'Me?' asked Calard in shock.
'It took something from you,' said Anara vaguely, staring around. Her eyes seemed to be follow ing invisible movements through the air. It w as unnerving like the way a cat w ould stir and stare intently at a blank w all, as if seeing something beyond the ken of human perception. Calard shivered. What did she see? In truth, he didn't want to know . Her eyes came back into focus and she stared at Calard. 'It touched your mind. What did it see?'
Calard blanched as he felt a flash of remembered pain in his head of the insidious tentacles pushing into his mind, sifting through his memories like an open book, rummaging through his deepest desires, his hopes, his aspirations. It felt like he had been violated by the hateful creature, and he shuddered, feeling again the tainted touch of the creature inside him.
'It saw everything,' said Calard, his voice thick, his eyes haunted, 'every memory, everything I have ever experienced.'
He didn't say how for a brief moment he had felt linked to the creature, seeing its memories as if they w ere his. In those moments, he had experienced all that the beast felt, and he had revelled in the pow er, the destruction, the taste of blood on his lips. He had felt savage joy as he had relived the killing the destruction that the beast had w rought. He had felt the beast's rage at all things beautiful and peaceful, felt how they mocked him, and he had yearned to see the w orld burn.
Were those just the beast's memories overlaid over his? Or did they reflect the dark desires that he kept hidden even from himself?
Had the beast tainted him in those brief moments when their minds had melded together? Was he now damned?
'It found w hat it w as seeking in you,' said Anara, her eyes burning deep into his soul.
Could she see the taint that he feared w as lurking deep within? 'What w as it? What did it find?'
'I don't know ! It saw everything. Everything that I am, it saw in those moments.'
The air in the tent became icy, and the light seemed to dim. The pain in his head returned. It felt like seething maggots w ere burrow ing through his brain, and he clenched his eyes closed tightly. Images flashed though his mind, images that the beast had seen, felt and experienced, just as he had experienced its memories. He didn't w ant to feel this again, didn't w ant to see it again, and he pushed against it.
'What did it see?' asked Anara again, her voice cold and insistent. It w as she! She w as doing this, making him relive those moments as he lay helpless beneath the beast.
'Stop,' moaned Calard, fighting against her, resisting.
'What did it see?' she asked icily. Unable to hold back the flood of images, Calard succumbed, and it w as like a dam bursting. He w as lost adrift in a sea of images, feelings and memories. They flicked through his mind in a maddening parade, one after another.
Again, he felt the hot surge of savage victory as the beast had found w hat it had sought.
'Father,' murmured Calard, his vision swimming, as he came back to himself. He was on the ground, though he didn't remember falling, and he wiped at the foam that flecked his lips.
'What? What w as it?' asked Anara, peering down at him, her face intense and cold, almost cruelly so. He glared up at her. She had done this to him. She had made him relive those painful moments. The throbbing pain in his head faded, and he pushed himself upright, breathing heavily.
'It saw Castle Garamont. It saw our father.'
Daw ning comprehension fell over Anara's face.
Reolus helped Calard to his feet, his face cold and stern, lit with the same impassioned light that had infected his sister.
'What does it mean?' he asked at last, looking tow ards Anara. He had never felt so distant from her than at that moment, even in all the years they had spent apart. She seemed like someone he didn't know at all, and she looked at him as if he was a stranger.
'I know w hat it is,' she said at last, 'and I know where it has gone.'
CHLOD PULLED HIS eye aw ay from the tear he had cut in the fabric, and backed aw ay from the tent. He limped heavily through the camp, wincing at the w ounds he had suffered. In truth, he had been amazed that he had survived. Only a handful of the pilgrims had, and he had been one of the lucky few.
He had shaved the top of his head, and had strapped a battered breastplate aw kw ardly to his chest. A sword, its blade broken halfway along its length, hung from his belt, alongside various artefacts of holy significance that he had stripped from the dead bodies of other pilgrims. He looked every inch the weary battle pilgrim, and he w as confident that his disguise w ould keep him from a hanging.
He limped back to the fire of the pilgrims, and they clustered around him. A sausage w as pushed into his hands, and he ate it greedily, fat dripping down his chin as the pilgrims w aited on his word with bated breath. It had been easy to dominate the remaining pilgrims, and he had appointed himself their abbot. As such, he had the pick of the food they scrounged, and the least louse infested blanket to sleep beneath. He could get used to this life, he thought.
'Do you know w here w e go?' asked one of the devout peasants, w ho sported a livid, open w ound upon his face. Already it was infected, and flies clustered around the cut.
'Our glorified benefactor is preparing for a journey!' announced Chlod betw een mouthfuls of sausage. 'And so, w e must journey w ith him!'
ANARA WAS SPEAKING in an alien tongue, her voice soft and lilting. The sound was musical and enchanting, and it made the hair on the back of his neck stand erect. He had never heard such beautiful sounds, though something in them w as vaguely unsettling, even frightening. Unbidden, the memory of a childhood rhyme said to w ard off the fey spirits of the woods leapt into his mind.
His steed w hinnied, and he stroked its nose to comfort it. It w as a good horse, a big chestnut w ith a brave heart, but it w as not Gringolet. At Anara's insistence, the eyes of each of the horses had been covered with cloth.
Only tw enty-five knights had been chosen, though Calard still did not understand the nature of the journey. Surely they had no time for this ritual, whatever it was.
The beast w as the better part of a w eek ahead of them, and he had no idea how they w ere to find it, or catch up to it. It w as all too confusing. He didn't understan
d what w as occurring around him, and it made his anger rise to be kept in the dark so.
He had been surprised and honoured w hen he had been picked to accompany Reolus and the others, though he knew not why he had been chosen.
'It is only right. All will be made clear,' Anara had said, mysteriously. He found such vague statements infuriating, but he had not argued. He had, how ever, expressed his displeasure w hen Maloric had also been singled out to accompany them, but his w ords had been for nought. Reolus had chosen the young Sangasse noble, seeing in him someone destined for greatness, he claimed, though Calard found that hard to believe. Maloric had tricked him somehow, he was certain, though how he had done it w as beyond him.
He w ished that his brother could have joined them, but his injuries were such that it w as impossible. He felt deep unease at the prospect of riding to battle w ithout Gunthar, Bertelis or Gringolet. His brother would remain with the rest of the knights and Baron Montcadas. He prayed that he w ould see them again.
His sister lifted a silk kerchief before her, and delicately unwrapped it to reveal an oak leaf that gleamed of gold. She continued to speak in the beautiful, fey language and the leaf began to shine with a golden inner light.
Mist began to rise from the still pond they w ere arrayed before, as if summoned by Anara's lilting voice. It flowed across the top of the mirror-like pool and coiled around his legs. It billowed upwards, and, with a gasp, Calard saw a ghostly form take shape w ithin the mist. It glided forwards like a spirit, its body transparent, and he saw that it w as a w oman of incredible, haunting beauty.
'The Lady,' Calard breathed in aw e. Her hair flowed around her as if she was underw ater, and her billowing dress rippled like the surface of a lake. Her arms w ere held out to either side, and she glided through the mist like an apparition. She seemed to glow from w ithin, and yet Calard could see the trees on the far side of the sacred pool through her body.
Her lips moved, but Calard heard no sound. Anara answered her, still speaking in that otherw orldly tongue, and the ethereal, graceful Lady gestured with one elegant, slender limb. She inclined her head to Reolus, who bow ed deeply, and then her almond shaped eyes roved over the gathered knights. Calard felt his mouth dry up as he felt the pow er of those eyes turn tow ards him. He lowered his gaze, toying w ith the reins in his hands, unable to meet her stare.
After w hat felt like an age he felt her attention shift away from him, and he sagged, feeling drained.
Billow ing mist surrounded the legs of his warhorse, as if stirred by a grow ing wind, though no breeze penetrated the sacred copse. He lifted his eyes once more, gazing around in w onder. Glowing orbs of light circled through the mist, like will-o-the-w isps from children's tales, and he realised that the trees around him were fading.
He thought he heard high-pitched giggles from the glowing spheres of light as they sw ooped around his head, and he tried to focus on them, to see past their blinding light. He felt his cloak and hair being tugged as if by tiny, mischievous hands, and he almost laughed out loud in w onder.
The mist began to sw irl around the clearing with more vigour, centred on the heavenly vision of w omanhood, and Calard's mouth hung slack in wonder.
He heard haunting music, and a thousand achingly beautiful voices lifted in w hispered song all around. Tears ran down his cheeks. In wonder he glanced towards Reolus. He realised, strangely w ith no sense of alarm, that he could see through the grail knight, as if his body w as as ethereal as the mist billowing around them.
Anara too seemed as insubstantial as smoke, and, w ith a shock, Calard lifted his hands before his face to see that they too w ere transparent and ghostly, like smoke that could be carried aw ay on the w ind. His heart beat fiercely in his chest, and he found it suddenly hard to breathe. His chestnut destrier too w as as insubstantial as a ghost, as w ere the reins in his hand.
He turned his head to the side, and saw that the other knights too w ere gazing in fear and w onder at their ethereal limbs, and he saw the dread in Maloric's ghostly eyes.
Montcadas lifted a hand in farewell. He alone amongst the gathered knights was not insubstantial, his body and limbs as solid as ever.
'Be calm,' said Anara's voice, sounding like a distant whisper. 'No harm shall come to you. Step forw ard into the mist.'
Calard saw that the vision of the Lady was fading, and he cried out to her, not w ishing to be parted from her holy presence. A hint of a smile played upon her lips, and she w as gone. Calard could see nothing of his surroundings now, the mist having sw allowed everything. The other knights were gone, as w as Anara, and he was alone, lost adrift in the mists.
'Step forw ard,' said Anara's w hispering voice, apparently from a great distance, and Calard closed his eyes and did as she bid him, leading his chestnut w arhorse.
BARON MONTCADAS STOOD motionless, watching until the knights and Anara had faded completely from sight. The ghostly mists dissipated, and he was alone in the sacred copse.
He w hispered a final, parting blessing, and walked out into the sunshine. A ragtag group of grail pilgrims was clustered beyond the grail sanctuary, sitting around a small fire over w hich a scrawny hare was spitted. Barely a dozen of them had survived the battle, and they looked up at him expectantly, their faces brightening.
Seeing that he w as not their lord Reolus, their shoulders slumped, and they turned back to their fire.
Montcadas began to w alk back to the camp, but paused, looking back at the w retched little band of pilgrims. Being of low birth, they would be hanged if they were discovered entering the sacred copse surrounding the grail shrine, and doubtless they w ould w ait out here beyond its edges until Reolus emerged. He smirked, thinking that they w ould be w aiting a long time. How long before they realised that Reolus w as not going to return to them? A month? A year? Until death claimed them?
That w as most likely, he thought. They w ould wait like loyal, abandoned hounds for the return of their master, w ho was, even now, hundreds of miles away.
He felt a sudden pang of guilt for them. They had bled to defend Bretonnia from the beasts, just as everyone else had on the field of battle, and he felt he ow ed them at least the know ledge that their master w as gone.
Turning around, Montcadas strode tow ards the pitiful group. They saw him coming and jumped to their feet, lowering their eyes and wringing their hands nervously.
Nobles spoke to them infrequently, and w hen they did it was usually to drive them aw ay or curse them.
Montcadas cleared his throat.
'Lord Reolus has gone,' he said. 'It is pointless for you to w ait for him. He will not come back this w ay.'
The pilgrims traded glances, confused by his words. Montcadas nodded his head, his guilt assuaged, and turned to leave.
'My... my lord?' stammered one of the pilgrims, and the baron turned back tow ards them, eyebrow s raised in question. The one who had spoken was a hunchbacked w retch with an uneven face. The man bow ed several times, and a rat poked its head out briefly from his tunic. The pilgrim bit his thick lip, but did not speak further.
'What is it? Speak, man,' said Montcadas impatiently.
'We... w e are his pilgrims, my lord, and we must follow in his footsteps wherever he leads us.'
'And?'
'We... w e saw him go into the trees, my lord. He has not come out.' The man w as picking his words carefully, trying not to sound antagonistic. 'Is he not, therefore, still inside?'
'I said that he has gone, and so he has. He is gone.' Montcadas turned aw ay and began to w alk aw ay from the pilgrims, tiring of the discussion.
'Please, my lord!' cried the hunchbacked pilgrim, limping after him. 'Where has he gone?'
Montcadas gave a long sigh and paused.
'To Bastonne,' he said over, his shoulder, and marched aw ay.
IT SEEMED LIKE an age had passed before the mists began to clear and Calard began to make out shapes around him once more. Shadow s of trees loomed over him, and he saw the stars ov
erhead, glinting in betw een boughs and leaves. He recognised these w oods, and his brow creased in confusion.
Like ghosts appearing out of the mist, he saw the others w alking alongside him, each one leading his horse, and Anara, walking out in front, leading her snow-white mare.
A chill wind rustled the leaves overhead, and the mists lifted aw ay, dissipating as if they had never been. Calarc saw that his limbs w ere solid once more, and let out a breath of amazement.
It w as night, and Mannslieb w as a glowing disc of light high in the heavens overhead, though it had been the break of daw n but moments before. Anara removed the scarf covering her mare's eyes, and the other knights did likewise. In silence, they followed the damsel through the w oods, gazing around in wondering incomprehension.
Finally, they came to its edge, and again Calard's jaw dropped.
In the distance, out across the rolling, dark fields was his home, Castle Garamont. It w as on fire.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
A MILLION QUESTIONS raced through Calard's mind as they galloped through the darkness tow ards the castle. How had they travelled so far in so short a time? Why w as Castle Garamont besieged? And by w hat manner of foe? Was his father well?
He yearned to ask these questions, but Anara's face w as cold and focused, and she chanted softly. He dared not disturb her thoughts, and the faces of the other knights w ere grim and serious, focused and set.
As they rode closer, he could hear shouts of men and bellowing roars that w ere all too familiar. The beasts had come to Garamont.
The main keep and two of the tow ers were ablaze, fires roaring from w indows and lighting up the night hellishly. They galloped past rundown, peasant hovels, whose inhabitants w ere standing out in the night, wailing and staring at the distant fires in horror.
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