Knights Of Bretonnia: The Omnibus (Warhammer Chronicles) by Anthony Reynolds

Author:Anthony Reynolds [Reynolds, Anthony]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2021-09-17T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TEN

The waves pounded relentlessly against the white stone of the castle walls, the crashing of the surf sending deep, sonorous booms echoing through its halls. Sprays of foam and icy water exploded up the sheer sides of the fortress, reaching for the battlements. Snow was falling from dark clouds overhead and while it was only early afternoon, it was as dark as twilight.

Calard stood upon the north-west wall, braving the elements as he stared darkly out towards the horizon. He could taste the salt spray upon his lips, and snow gusted through the crenulations, billowing around him and chilling his flesh.

It had been three weeks since the catastrophic defeat of the army of Lyon­esse, three weeks since he had been forced to flee like a peasant from the wrath of the Norscan whoresons. He had felt the Lady’s displeasure as he and the other knights of Bastonne had fled the field, pursued by the howling hordes of Chaos.

The slaughter had been terrible, and above it all the Norscan chieftain had watched from atop his throne upon the back of the immense tusker, laughing as the monstrous beast smashed men and horses out of its path with every swing of its heavy head.

He shuddered as he thought again of the violent trumpeting of the monsters as they rampaged through the ranks of the proud knights, stomping and slaughtering everything in their path. They seemed inured to pain, ignoring scores of lances imbedded in their tree-trunk legs, and barely seeming to register the flashing swords that hacked at them. Calard felt his despair grow. What could a man do to fight such beasts? What could an army do to fight them?

Calard clenched his hand into a fist and struck the cold stone of the battle­ments, compacting the snow settling there.

He thought of the Lady Elisabet, the lady whom he had given his heart only to be cruelly betrayed. She had been the last person he had expected to see in the midst of that chaotic battle, a prisoner sat at the Norscan warlord’s feet upon the back of the mighty beast.

Again he saw Elisabet’s large tearful eyes as she tried to get close to him, just after he had learnt of her murderous plot to kill his father, the castellan of Garamont. He saw again the hurt, the pain, and the desperation – the love – in her expression, and it felt like a cold claw clutched at his heart. He had believed that he would wed Elisabet within a year of his return home from Bordeleaux, and had even gone so far as to meticulously plan how he was going to ask for her hand.

He hated her. She had shattered his dreams. She had poisoned his father, turning him into a withered skeleton, old before his time. And he hated himself for the fact that there was a part of him that loved her still.

She was out there, he thought, staring off into the distance, a captive of the brutal Norscan warlord.

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