Questing Knight(科幻战争)-第7部分

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They　approached　the　centre　of　the　room；　where　the　revellers　were　gathered　most　tightly。　A　circle
some　thirty　feet　in　diameter　was　sunk　into　the　centre　of　the　chamber；　positioned　directly　below　the
domed　ceiling。　Three　circles　of　steps　descended　down　to　this　sunken　floor；　which　was　carved　with
intricate　spiralling　designs。
Two　knights　were　duelling　in　this　combat　circle；　while　more　gathered　knights　and　their　ladies　watched
on；　politely　clapping　and　cheering　when　either　knight　scored　a　palpable　hit。　Calard　hardly　glanced　at　the
two　combatants　as　he　pushed　through　the　crowd；　his　gaze　locking　on　a　figure　on　the　opposite　side　of　the
circle。
Merovech　stood　engrossed　in　the　contest；　arms　folded　across　his　chest。　A　full　head　taller　than　any
other　knight　in　the　room；　he　was　armoured　in　archaic；　fluted　armour　of　such　dark　metal　it　was　virtually
black；　its　edges　serrated。　His　face　was　handsome　and　cruel；　and　as　white　as　the　palest　marble。　He
appeared　not　to　have　aged　at　all　from　the　last　time　Calard　had　seen　him；　six　years　earlier。　His　pure　white
hair　was　long　and　straight；　hanging　halfway　down　his　back。
‘This　is　where　I　leave　you；’　said　Raben　under　his　breath。　‘I　wish　you　luck。’
Calard　ignored　him；　completely　focused　on　the　duke。　Raben　backed　away　into　the　crowd；　and　was
gone。
Moving　slowly；　like　a　man　stalking　a　wolf；　Calard　closed　the　distance　with　his　prey。

CHLOD　RAN　AROUND　the　corner；　breathing　hard；　and　leaned　back　against　the　wall。　His　heart　was
thumping　loudly；　and　he　closed　his　eyes　for　a　moment；　trying　to　control　his　breathing。　From　beneath　his
shirt　he　pulled　a　rat　skull　attached　to　a　string。　Lifting　it　to　his　lips；　he　kissed　it；　whispering　a　prayer　to

Ranald；　before　tucking　it　back　into　place。
Glancing　back　around　the　corner；　Chlod　saw　a　pair　of　guards　marching　down　the　hallway　towards
him；　their　movements　unhurried　and　perfectly　synchronous。　Each　held　a　large　double…handed　sword；　and
was　armoured　head　to　toe　in　black　plate　armour。
Cursing　under　his　breath；　Chlod　broke　into　an　awkward　run；　moving　as　quickly　as　his　ragged　breath
and　uneven　legs　would　allow。　He　ducked　into　a　side…passage；　and　loped　through　a　storage　room　packed
to　the　ceiling　with　dusty　casks　and　wooden　pallets。
He　was　five　levels　below　the　ground。　The　nobility　clearly　rarely　came　down　this　low　in　the　palace；　for
the　passages　were　narrow；　cluttered　and　bereft　of　the　opulent　ornamentation　of　the　upper　levels。　This
was　the　domain　of　the　duke’s　servants；　though　he　had　seen　far　fewer　of　them　down　here　than　he　had
imagined　were　needed　to　service　the　daily　running　of　the　palace。
Rounding　a　corner；　he　came　upon　the　kitchens；　which　were　utterly　deserted。　Rats　and　spiders
scuttled　across　the　floor；　and　everything　was　covered　in　a　thick　layer　of　dust。　Chlod　judged　that　no　one
had　used　them　for　decades。　There　were　four　kitchens　all　in　all；　connected　by　low　arches；　and　there　were
enough　ovens　to　feed　an　army。
Hearing　the　clomp　of　armoured　feet　behind　him；　Chlod　bolted；　running　through　the　kitchens　and
passing　through　a　host　of　empty　walkthrough　pantries。
A　pair　of　closed　double　doors　loomed　ahead　of　him。　A　rotten　chair　and　a　desk　were　tucked　into　an
alcove　alongside　them。　A　skeleton　was　slumped　in　the　chair；　a　quill　pen　still　clasped　in　its　hand。　Chlod
could　see　what　looked　like　a　ledger　upon　on　the　sloped　desk；　its　paper　yellow　with　age。　Neat
handwriting　could　still　be　discerned　on　the　pages。　Evidently；　this　was　the　post　of　the　larder…master；　whose
job　it　was　to　keep　a　tally　of　all　goods　taken　in　and　out。　Chlod　had　worked　for　a　time　in　a　middling…sized
castle　in　Carcassonne；　and　he　had　made　an　art　out　of　deceiving　the　larder…master　there。　It　had　been　a
good　life；　that；　and　he　had　not　felt　a　moment’s　remorse　when　the　man　had　been　hanged　for　the
irregularities　in　this　ledger。
A　dark　shadow　seemed　to　hover　around　the　skeleton　slumped　in　the　larder…master’s　chair；　and　it
coalesced　into　a　roughly　man…like　shape　as　Chlod　drew　near。　It　solidified　as　he　got　closer；　turning　from
an　indistinguishable　vague　shape　to　that　of　a　portly　man　with　huge　sideburns。
It　opened　its　mouth　to　speak；　but　no　words　came　out。　It　seemed　angry；　gesturing　insistently　at　Chlod
with　its　ghost　quill；　and　it　radiated　a　deadly　chill。　He　had　no　wish　to　pass　near　this　restless　spirit；　but　he
could　already　hear　the　sound　of　armoured　boots　closing　in　behind　him。
Taking　a　deep　breath；　his　blood　running　to　ice　in　his　veins；　Chlod　hurried　to　the　double　doors。　The
spirit　became　more　agitated；　shouting　soundlessly　at　him　and　pointing　at　its　ledger。　The　doors　would　not
give；　and　he　rattled　them　as　he　struggled　to　turn　the　rusted　handles。　He　glanced　over　his　shoulder　and　saw
the　two　black…armoured　guards　marching　towards　him。
The　shade　of　the　larder…master　was　incandescent　with　rage；　bellowing　at　him　silently。　It　came　out
from　behind　its　desk；　separating　completely　from　its　skeleton；　and　hovered　towards　him。　Chlod　quaked；
fighting　with　the　double　doors　vigorously　as　panic　set　in。
The　ghost　reached　for　him。　Chlod　recoiled　from　its　touch；　but　there　was　nowhere　to　go；　and　he　was
backed　up　against　the　closed　doors。　The　shadowy　form　touched　his　face；　and　he　screamed。　It　felt　as
though　needles　of　ice　were　penetrating　his　skin；　and　the　left　side　of　his　face　went　numb。　He　saw　the
ethereal　shade　of　the　larder…master　smile。
The　doors　gave　way　behind　him　suddenly；　ripping　free　of　their　hinges；　and　Chlod　crashed　through。
Weevils　and　rot…worms　writhed　in　the　splintered　chunks　of　rotten　wood；　and　he　scrambled　backwards
through　the　debris。

The　shade　stared　down　at　him　from　the　open　doorway。　Its　image　wavered；　like　a　mirage；　as　the　two
black…armoured　guards　marched　through　it。
Chlod　clambered　to　his　feet　and　ran。　He　staggered　through　storerooms　stacked　with　empty　shelves
and　others　hanging　with　meat　hooks；　until　he　came　to　the　very　back　of　the　larder。　Here；　a　heavy　wooden
crane　was　positioned　above　a　large　wooden　trapdoor　in　the　floor。　A　thick；　corroded　chain　was　spooled
around　the　crane’s　mechanism；　and　a　massive　hook　hung　at　head　height　from　the　end　of　its　length。　The
underside　of　a　further　trapdoor　was　positioned　directly　overhead；　leading　to　the　upper　levels　of　the
palace。
It　was　through　these　trapdoors　that　the　palace’s　stores　were　replenished。　Branches　of　the　Grismarie
had　been　redirected　beneath　the　palace　in　centuries　past；　and　in　times　gone　by；　barges　laden　with
produce　were　poled　up　the　wide　tunnels　from　upriver。　Casks　of　wines；　pallets　stacked　with　meats　and　all
manner　of　goods　and　foodstuffs　from　all　across　Bretonnia　and　beyond　would　have　once　been　hauled
directly　into　the　palace　from　the　canals　below　without　the　Mousillon　nobility　ever　being　forced　to　witness
their　arrival。
Chlod　turned　around　on　the　spot；　eyes　darting　around　frantically　for　a　way　to　release　the　trapdoor；
before　his　eyes　settled　on　a　rusted　lever　set　in　the　wall。　A　spider　the　size　of　his　hand　had　constructed　an
intricate　web　between　the　lever　and　the　stone　wall；　and　it　turned　towards　him；　a　myriad　of　eyes　glinting　in
the　darkness。　He　slapped　it　away；　and　took　hold　of　the　lever’s　handle。
The　lever　was　ancient　and　rusted；　and　had　clearly　not　been　used　for　decades。　It　resisted　him；　and　he
closed　his　eyes　as　he　strained　to　move　it。　He　planted　one　foot　against　the　wall　and　bent　his　back　against
it；　groaning　with　the　exertion。　It　did　not　budge。
The　guards　closed　towards　him　unerringly；　hefting　their　heavy　swords。　They　were　less　than　ten　yards
away。
‘Come　on！’　shouted　Chlod；　tugging　frantically　on　the　lever。
With　a　horrendous　screeching　of　metal；　the　lever　gave　way　and　Chlod　fell　to　the　ground。　There　was　a
grinding　of　gears　and　the　two　halves　of　the　trapdoor　swung　downwards；　like　the　floor　beneath　a　hangman
’s　noose。　They　struck　the　walls　of　the　vertical　shaft　with　a　resounding　boom；　and　at　the　same　moment；　the
chain　from　the　crane　began　to　unspool。　The　heavy　hook　rocketed　down　into　the　darkness；　and　the　sound
of　the　chain　unravelling　was　deafening。
A　cloud　of　bats　erupted　from　below；　screeching　and　clawing。　In　their　midst；　eyes　tinged　red　and　their
flesh　covered　in　open　sores　and　filth；　the　most　devolved　of　Grandfather　Mortis’s　children　burst　from　the
darkness。　A　narrow　staircase　descended　around　the　edge　of　the　vertical　shaft　leading　down　to　the　canal
fifty　feet　below；　and　dozens　of　wild…eyed；　emaciated　figures　appeared；　crawling　over　each　other　in　their
haste。
One　of　them　was　cut　almost　in　two　by　a　black…armoured　guard；　the　heavy　blow　splitting　him
diagonally　from　shoulder　to　hip。　Then　the　two　armoured　figures　disappeared　beneath　the　feral　tide；　borne
to　the　ground　with　a　crash。
The　chain　had　come　to　a　shuddering　halt；　and　after　a　pause；　it　began　to　reverse；　hauled　back　up　by
toothed　cogs　and　immense　counter…weights　hidden　behind　the　stone　wall。
Chlod　lay　still；　breathing　heavily；　as　he　watched　the　demise　of　the　two　guards。　Rocks　pounded　their
helmets　until　the　metal　buckled　inwards；　and　knives　were　slid　between　gaps　in　their　plate。　Finally；　the　two
armoured　figures　were　still。　One　of　their　visors　had　been　wrenched　completely　out　of　shape　and　torn
loose；　and　Chlod　hurriedly　looked　away　as　he　saw　what　was　contained　within。　If　ever　the　suit　of　armour
had　ever　been　worn　by　a　living　man；　that　time　was　long　past。
The　chain　continued　to　recoil；　clunking　loudly　as　each　link　was　reeled　in。　Finally；　the　massive　hook
reappeared。　Four　iron　rings　had　been　attached　to　it；　each　hooked　into　smaller　chains　that　were　orange
with　rust。　A　loading　pallet　was　hauled　into　view；　carrying　the　smiling　figure　of　Grandfather　Mortis；　who

was　standing　with　his　arms　raised　above　him　like　an　ascendant　god。
A　cluster　of　filthy　peasants　manhandled　the　crane；　swinging　it　away　from　the　gaping　trapdoor；　and　it
settled　to　the　floor　with　a　final　groan。
‘Excellent；　excellent；’　said　Mortis；　stepping　away　from　the　platform　and　rubbing　his　skeletal　hands
together。
He　moved　towards　Chlod；　still　lying　against　the　wall；　and　lifted　him　gently　to　his　feet。　He　stroked
Chlod’s　cheek　with　the　back　of　one　grey；　wrinkled　hand。　‘You　have　done　well；　my　child；’　he　said。　‘The
sins　of　the　past　are　forgiven。’
Grandfather　Mortis　continued　to　stroke　Chlod’s　cheek　for　a　moment；　then　he　grabbed　him　tightly
around　the　neck；　his　thumbs　pressing　hard　into　his　throat。　Chlod　gaped　like　a　landed　fish；　his　eyes
boggling。
‘But　don’t　even　think　about　leaving　us　again；’　said　Mortis。　‘You　belong　with　us；　and　I　will　not　tolerate
any　disobedience　from　you　again。’
From　somewhere　distant；　there　came　a　ferocious　roar；　booming　up　through　the　lower　levels　of　the
palace。　Mortis　released　Chlod；　a　look　of　rapture　upon　his　face；　and　Calard’s　manservant　fell　to　his
knees；　gasping　for　air。
‘Harken；　my　children！’　said　Mortis；　lifting　a　hand　to　his　ear。　‘Hear　the　call　of　our　beloved　lord！
XI
HIS　FACE　A　mask　of　grim　resolve；　Calard　slipped　through　the　braying　crowd。　His　gaze　did　not　waver
from　Merovech。　Calard　was　some　ten　people　back　from　the　edge　of　the　fighting　circle；　and　was　making
his　way　steadily　through　the　press；　closing　the　distance　to　the　albino　duke。　His　fist　was　clenched　tightly
around　the　hilt　of　the　Sword　of　Garamont；　sheathed　at　his　hip。
There　was　a　grunt　of　pain　and　a　splash　of　blood　in　the　fighting　circle　below；　and　the　crowd　roared　its
approval。　Merovech　alone　made　no　reaction；　his　expression　cold　and　detached。　Calard　ignored　the
glances　he　received　from　knights　and　ladies　as　he　pushed　his　way　through　the　onlookers；　drawing　ever
nearer　the　butcher　responsible　for　the　sacking　of　Castle　Garamont。
‘Kill　him！’　shouted　a　woman　wearing　a　spidery　lace　ruff　around　her　slender　neck。　Her　powdered
cheeks　were　flushed　and　her　pupils　dilated。　Her　cry　was　echoed　by　dozens　of　others；　all　crying　out　for
blood。
Calard　was　now　directly　behind　Merovech；　and　he　began　to　work　his　way　forwards；　shouldering
through　the　crowd。
The　duke　stood　alone；　aloof　and　distant　from　all　those　gathered　around　him。　No　one　came　within　arm
’s　distance　of　his　person；　possibly　out　of　respect；　or　perhaps　more　likely　out　of　fear。　Merovech　was　a
motionless　island　amidst　a　braying　sea　of　humanity；　yet　far　from　making　him　appear　unthreatening　or
calm；　his　utter　stillness　was　deeply　unsettling。　It　set　him　apart　from　those　around　him；　perhaps　even　more
so　than　his　alabaster　countenance；　making　him　appear　inhuman　and　alien。
Calard’s　gaze　never　wavered。　Cold　fury　burned　in　his　eyes。　He　was　only　yards　away　now；　only
seconds　from　attaining　his　vengeance。　His　whole　being　became　utterly　focused；　his　senses　heightened　to
unsurpassed　levels　in　anticipation　of　this　final　confrontation。
He　could　smell　the　sickly　fragrance　of　the　scented　perfumes　and　oils　worn　by　the　courtiers；　which　did
little　to　mask　the　excited　sweat　exuded　by　those　watching　the　brutal　contest　below。　He　could　taste　the
metallic　tang　of　blood　in　the　air。　He　could　hear　every　grunt　and　grimace　of　the　two　duelling　knights；　the
scrape　of　their　boots　upon　the　grooved　floor　of　the　killing　circle；　and　the　sharp　clang　of　metal　on　metal。

He　could　feel　the　reassuring　weight　of　the　Sword　of　Garamont　beneath　his　grasp。
Calard　stood　directly　behind　the　duke　now。　All　he　had　to　do　was　draw　his　blade　and　run　the　fiend
through。　No　one；　not　Merovech　nor　any　of　his　gathered　knights　would　be　able　to　stop　him。　He　started
drawing　the　Sword　of　Garamont　before　he　regained　control　of　himself。
Cutting　an　enemy　down　from　behind；　even　a　monster　like　Merovech；　was　an　honourless；　dog　act；
and　one　that　would　lessen　him　in　his　own　eyes　and　the　eyes　of　the　Lady。　And　besides；　Merovech　was
only　one　half　of　the　murderous　pair　that　had　butchered　his　nephew　and　laid　waste　to　his　castle。　Before
Merovech　died；　he　was　honour　bound　to　discover　the　identity　of　the　second　fiend；　so　that　he　too　could
be　brought　to　justice。
The　duel　came　to　a　sudden；　brutal　end。　It　was　a　shockingly　one…sided　affair；　with　one　knight　clearly
toying　with　the　other。　Finally　tiring　of　the　game；　he　struck　his　opponent　a　vicious　blow　to　the　neck。　The
knight　dropped　to　one　knee；　sword　clattering　from　his　grip。
Calard　saw　all　this　only　dimly；　the　action　taking　place　in　his　peripheral　vision；　his　gaze　still　locked　on
Merovech。
The　crowd　hollered　and　stomped　their　feet；　and　Calard　heard　the　fallen　knight　begging　for　mercy。
The　other　knight　turned　his　back　on　him；　lifting　his　sword　high　into　the　air；　accepting　the　roar　of　the
crowd。　The　beaten　warrior　lowered　his　hand；　and　his　head　dropped　in　defeat。　There　was　a　lot　of　blood；
but　the　wound　was　not　fatal。
With　inhuman　speed　and　savagery；　the　victorious　knight　swung　around　suddenly；　sword　blade
flashing。　The　defenceless　knight　was　decapitated；　and　a　fountain　of　blood　erupted　from　the　stump　of　his
neck。　The　head　bounced　and　rolled　across　the　floor；　coming　to　a　halt　against　the　lowest　curved　step　of
the　killing　circle。　A　surprised　expression　was　etched　upon　its　ashen　face。　For　a　second　the　headless
corpse　remained　upright；　blood　spraying　forth　in　rhythmic　spurts；　before　it　toppled　forwards　and　was　still。
Blood　continued　to　gush　from　the　body；　running　into　the　spiralling　grooves　carved　in　the　floor。　The　crowd
cheered　their　approval。
The　speed　and　savagery　of　the　dishonourable　blow　dragged　Calard’s　attention　briefly　away　from　his
foe。
He　looked　upon　the　face　of　the　duel’s　victor；　and　his　blood　ran　cold。
It　was　his　brother；　Bertelis。
XII
CALARD’S　EYES　WIDENED　in　horror。
Bertelis　stood　alone　in　the　circle；　splattered　in　blood。　His　face　bore　an　unhealthy　pallor；　and　a　cruel
half…smile　ghosted　across　his　blue…tinged　lips。　He　dropped　to　his　knees　before　Duke　Merovech。
‘For　your　honour；　my　lord；’　said　Bertelis　in　a　voice　that　made　the　hairs　on　the　back　of　Calard’s　neck
stand　on　end。　It　was　at　once　his　brother’s　voice；　and　it　wasn’t；　tinged　with　bitterness　and　cruelty。
Merovech　laid　his　hand　upon　the　back　of　Bertelis’s　head　as　if　in　some　dark　benediction。　They　held
the　pose　for　a　moment；　then　Merovech　spoke。
‘Rise；’　he　said；　his　voice　cold　and　dispassionate。
Calard　was　frozen　in　place；　staring　at　his　brother。
The　duke　loosened　one　of　his　exquisite；　tight…fitting　leather　gloves　and　pulled　it　free；　exposing　a　hand
as　pale　as　virgin　snow。　He　drew　a　slender　dagger　from　his　hip　and　placed　it　across　his　naked　hand。　His
fingers　closed　tightly　around　the　blade；　and　with　a　smooth；　slow　movement；　he　slid　the　dagger　free。　His

blood　shone　brightly　upon　the　blade。
Sheathing　the　knife；　Merovech　clicked　his　fingers　and　a　goblet　of　wine　was　handed　to　him。　He　lifted
his　pale　hand　above　the　goblet；　still　clenched　in　a　fist；　and　let　his　blood　drip　steadily　into　the　wine。　When
the　flow　ceased；　he　handed　the　goblet　to　Bertelis；　who　accepted　it　with　a　look　of　hunger。
‘All　of　Mousillon　salutes　you；　Bertelis；　champion　of　champions；’　said　Merovech。
Bertelis　lifted　the　goblet　high；　then　threw　his　head　back　and　gulped　back　its　contents。　He　shuddered
in　rapture；　his　eyes　half…closed　as　he　lowered　the　drinking　vessel　from　his　lips。
Calard　groaned　in　horror　as　he　watched　his　brother　drink　the　wine　infused　with　blood；　shocked　to
the　core　of　his　being。　Bertelis　wiped　a　ruby　drip　from　the　corner　of　his　mouth；　and　Duke　Merovech
stepped　down　into　the　centre　of　the　duelling　ring。　He　moved　with　a　lion’s　grace。
Bertelis　had　always　been　tall；　standing　half　a　head　clear　of　Calard　himself；　but　Merovech　towered
over　him。　He　turned　around　on　the　spot；　eyeing　the　gathered　knights。　His　white　features　contrasted
sharply　with　the　black　of　his　armour；　and　his　red…tinged　eyes　glinted　in　the　torchlight；　like　those　of　a　wolf。
All　conversation　had　ceased　in　the　chamber；　and　now　all　were　gathered　close　in　around　the　duelling　pit　to
hear　their　master’s　words。
‘Tonight　is　an　auspicious　night；　my　brothers；’　said　Merovech；　his　voice　booming　out　to　fill　the
expansive　hall。　He　began　to　stalk　around　the　perimeter　of　the　circle；　like　a　caged　beast。　‘Tonight　is　the
dawning　of　a　new　era　in　Mousillon’s　history。　Once；　our　realm　was　the　most　powerful　in　all　Bretonnia。
Now　we　have　a　chance　to　reclaim　that　glory；　you　and　I。’
Calard　found　himself　captivated　by　Merovech；　unable　to　tear　his　eyes　away　from　him。
‘For　seven　hundred　years　I　slumbered；’　said　Merovech。　‘I　awoke　to　find　Mousillon　a　pale　shadow　of
its　glorious　past；　overrun　with　vermin；　its　lands　annexed　by　its　neighbours；　its　very　name　a　by…word　for
despair　and　failure。　But　now；　I　have　returned。　Now；　Mousillon　will　rise　again。　And　you；　my　brothers；　will
rise　with　it。’
Merovech　had　returned　to　the　centre　of　the　circle　and　now　he　stopped　his　restless　pacing。　Calard
could　feel　the　excitement　building　amongst　the　onlookers。
‘Each　of　you　has　proven　yourself　worthy；’　said　Merovech；　‘and　so；　I　will　grant　you　the　greatest　gift
that　you　shall　ever　receive。　Tonight；　you　become　as　gods　among　men；　and　together　we　shall　take　back
what　is　rightfully　ours。　All　of　Bretonnia　shall　kneel　before　us；　and　the　lands　shall　run　red　with　blood。’
As　if　on　cue；　there　came　a　grinding　of　gears　and　the　turning　of　ancient　mechanisms；　and　the　domed
ceiling　overhead　began　to　open；　unfurling　like　the　petals　of　a　black　rose　under　the　midnight　sky。　The
clouds　were　parting　overhead；　and　the　silver　light　of　Mannslieb　shone　down　into　the　expansive　chamber。
There　were　gasps　from　the　crowd　of　onlookers；　but　it　was　not　for　this　mechanical　wonder；　or　the　sig