Warhammer: Questing Knight by Unknown

Author:Unknown
Language: eng
Format: epub

IX

With a gasp, Calard awoke.

He lay upon a plush four-poster bed and could hear birds singing their morning chorus outside. Sunlight streamed through arched windows, and the scent of spring wafted through the high-ceilinged bedchamber borne on a warm breeze.

He swung his legs from the bed and looked around in confusion. An open chest at the foot of his bed was overflowing with clothes – his clothes – and a half-eaten meal of quail and duck lay on silver platters on a side-table. His armour hung from a wooden stand in one corner of the room, and his sword leant against the unlit fireplace.

He was within his bedchamber in Garamont. He was home.

Strange, half-remembered images flickered through his mind. He saw a forest filled with malign spirits, and trees that walked like men. He saw one of the fey folk, with slanted golden eyes and pointed ears, and he shivered, remembering an unnatural winter that had blanketed the land in snow.

His dreams were fading fast, dissipating like lake mist under a rising sun. He knew there was something important he had to do, something important that he had to remember, but he could not recall what it was.

With a sigh, he pushed himself to his feet and padded towards his washbasin. The familiar sounds of the castle reached his ears. He could hear peasants in the fields, and the clatter of pots and pans from the kitchens downstairs. He heard weapons clashing and a yeoman bellowing orders as he put his men-at-arms through their training drills, and he could hear the rhythmic clang of a blacksmith’s hammer upon an anvil. He heard a dog barking, and from somewhere, he heard a washer woman singing tunelessly as she went about her chores.

Calard filled the basin with a jug of water and splashed cold water across his face. He looked at himself in the mirror. His face was smooth and youthful.

The door burst open, and he turned to see his brother Bertelis stagger into the room. He threw himself down upon Calard’s bed, groaning theatrically.

‘I’ll never drink again,’ said Bertelis. ‘What a night!’

Calard grinned.

‘My head feels like it is going to explode,’ said Bertelis. ‘Make it stop!’

‘I had the strangest dreams,’ said Calard, turning back to his wash basin and staring into the mirror. His reflection seemed almost like a stranger…

‘Oh?’ said Bertelis. ‘Did you dream you could beat me at the joust? Because that would be strange.’

‘No,’ said Calard. ‘I was embarked on the quest. My clothes were torn and covered in dirt, and my armour battered and worn. I had a beard, and my hair was long and streaked with grey. I was tired. So tired.’

Bertelis snorted.

‘You have such boring fantasies, my brother,’ he said. ‘Now mine, on the other hand…’

‘I came home after many years of questing, but Garamont was in ruin,’ said Calard. ‘And Elisabet was dead. You killed her, my brother. It was an accident, but I was angry and grief-stricken. A distance grew between us, and you left.

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