WH-Vampires 02.30(R)-Three Knights by Graham McNeill

Author:Graham McNeill [Graham McNeill]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Warhammer
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

THE BROTHERS DIVIDED the supplies from the dead mule and set off with the dawn's light. Luc knew Fontaine and Belmonde had been shaken by the wolves' attack and he couldn't blame them. Such beasts were feared throughout the Old World, but Luc had faced horrors a hundred times worse and prevailed. A pack of mangy wolves would not stop him from achieving his destiny.

The journey became slower as the ground became more treacherous and icy, the path vanishing as they climbed past the snowline and the weather quickly worsened. Several times their horses stumbled on the slick rocks and the knights were forced to dismount, leading their horses over ice-covered ledges. All three were well wrapped in thick furs, yet still the wind leeched the heat from their bodies as it knifed through them. Hours passed in a white haze, swaying with exhaustion, the freezing temperature robbing them of strength.

'Luc! We must turn back!' implored Fontaine, moving alongside his eldest brother.

Luc shook his head violently, 'No! We go on. It can't be far now.'

'You said that two hours ago.'

'I know what I said, damn you!' snarled Luc. 'We're almost there. I feel it in my bones. We cannot stop now! I will not stop!'

Luc dragged his mount onwards, ending the discussion.

Another hour of frozen misery passed before they crested a snow covered rise and a vast shape emerged from the whiteness. At first Luc wasn't sure what he was seeing as he stared into the flurries of white before him. Then, gradually, shapes began to resolve themselves from the blizzard. Jutting from the rocks, shattered walls and breached bastions loomed out of the falling snow. Smashed turrets and broken merlons, all that remained of the ruined fortress-monastery reared vast and bloated, like jagged and blackened teeth. Before them lay the rotting carcass of what had once been one of the mightiest citadels in the Old World. Splintered gates hung on sagging hinges and the air of desolation was palpable.

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