Knight Errant by Anthony Reynolds

Author:Anthony Reynolds
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781844165513
Publisher: BL Publishing
Published: 2008-12-11T16:00:00+00:00

CALARD WAS DREAMING of Elisabet, and he smiled in his sleep as he breathed in her intoxicating scent. They were lying together in the long grass overlooking Castle Garamont, enjoying the heat of summer, the sound of insects, and each other's body.

This was paradise, he thought, and Elisabet kissed his naked chest, nuzzling against him.

A voice was trying to intrude, but he pushed it away, not wishing the vision to break. It became more insistent, and in his dream he sat up, staring around him in confusion. Bees heavy with pollen flew ponderously from flower to flower, and tiny crickets clicked and leapt away from the sudden movement.

'What is it, my love?' asked Elisabet sleepily.

The voice was getting louder, more insistent.

'Anara?' he said, looking around in confusion.

Wake, said the voice, jolting him with its power.

He came awake instantly, and saw a flash of movement above him.

Throwing himself to the side, the knife stabbed down into his pillow, and Calard rolled from the pallet.

'Take him!' hissed an urgent voice, and dark shapes loomed towards him. His eyes flashed across the tent, and he saw his thrashing brother pinned down on his pallet by other shapes, a rough sack over his head.

A knife stabbed towards him, and he turned the blow aside as Gunthar had taught him, using his forearm to force the attacker's arm away. He thundered his elbow into the man's hooded face, and the attacker reeled backwards, falling heavily over the small chest that housed Calard's clothes.

Calard threw himself to his side as he sensed movement behind him, and he hissed as a blade that had been aimed at his neck slashed across his shoulder. Another attacker came at him, blade flashing and Calard launched himself forwards, his hands reaching for the man's wrist.

His momentum made him slam into the attacker, who tripped backwards over the pallet with a curse. Going with him, Calard fell on the man heavily with his knee, driving the air from him. Sweeping up the attacker's knife, Calard rose swiftly to his feet, slashing around to keep the assassins at bay.

Three of them circled warily. He stole a quick glance towards his brother, who was still struggling against the men pinning him down. One of the men flicked a glance behind him, to see what was transpiring and he swore. His accent was crude; a peasant's accent. Even had he not spoken, the stench of the assassins betrayed their lowborn status.

'Garamont!' roared Calard at the top of his lungs, and his brother began to fight anew, throwing off the men pinning him down.

The three attackers moved in on Calard. He swung to the right and grabbed one man's arm as it slashed towards him, knife gleaming. He pulled the attacker off balance and huded him into one of the others, but cried out in pain as the third man's knife plunged into his side.

Dropping to one knee, he punched up, ramming his knife into the man's throat.

He stood upright, wincing at the pain in his side.

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