THREE KNIGHTS

by Graham McNeill

DARKNESS WAS APPROACHING as the three knights neared the outskirts of the village, their horses hooves thumping on the rain slick timbers of the bridge. Below them, the river foamed white, swollen by the recent rains washing down the flanks of the Grey Mountains. The roadway led within a badly constructed wooden palisade wall and lamplight from behind shuttered windows cast shafts of light in their path. The air was thick with the smell of woodsmoke.

A wooden sign nailed to an empty guard booth at the end of the bridge proclaimed the village’s name as Gugarde. An ugly name for an ugly town, thought Luc Massone as he and his two companions rode through the broken gateway into town. Luc knew that Bretonnian towns were never the most aesthetically pleasing places at the best of times, but this was a particularly offensive example. His father’s estates to the south of Couronne were much more attractive to the eye. Luc was a powerfully built figure, with a thick mane of black hair and darkly handsome face. A long, white scar trailed from his right temple to his chin, giving him a cruel, sardonic expression.

As they rode deeper into the town, he knew they were being watched. Fitful slivers of light as tattered drapes were drawn aside behind barred windows told him as much. Luc knew that three armoured knights on horseback would not pass unnoticed in a squalid little town like this.

‘This place reeks of fear,’ said Fontaine, Luc’s second brother, riding on his left. ‘They hang witchbane and daemonroot above their doors. Mayhap the stories were true.’

Luc smiled at the unmistakable edge of anticipation in Fontaine’s voice.

‘Did I not tell you so?’ answered Luc, ‘We shall find the dark ones soon, I am sure. Evil like theirs does not die easily.’

‘Then are we three enough?’ asked Belmonde, Luc’s youngest brother. ‘If the nightwalkers have truly returned should we not have come in greater numbers?’

Luc sighed in exasperation at Belmonde’s foolishness. His brother would never learn. ‘And if we brought an army and smashed down their keep stone by stone would that make you a knight? Where would the honour be? How then would you prove your manhood to father with a horde of screaming peasants at your back? No, if we are to do this, we do it alone. Only in this way can you become a knight of the realm as I am.’

Suitably chastened, Belmonde did not reply. Luc reined in his horse before a low-roofed building, the odious stench of unwashed bodies and boiled vegetables emanating from within. A faded sign above the door bore a crude etching of a many turreted castle below which were carved the words, ”The Manor”.

Luc laughed at the inappropriateness of the name as the brothers dismounted, tethering their horses to the inn’s only hitching rail while Belmonde did likewise with their pack mule. Casting a distasteful glance at the establishment, Luc and his brothers ventured within.

THE STENCH OF the inn was an almost physical thing, all-encompassing and overpowering. The sweat of hard labour, poor food and stale beer mingled into a pungent aroma that caught in the back of his throat. The inn was surprisingly full and, conspicuously, none of the bar’s patrons raised their eyes to the knights. A surly looking barkeep sat behind a trestle bar at the end of the room and Luc’s annoyance rose as he moved through them. Did these peasants not realise the honour he brought them merely by deigning to enter their stinking establishment? He drew a gold coin from a purse hanging from his sword belt and dropped it onto the bar.

‘There are three horses and a pack mule outside,’ he stated. ‘See to it that they are fed, watered and stabled adequately for the night.’

The innkeeper’s eyes bulged at the sight of the coin, more wealth than he would normally see in a year, and he snatched it up in his meaty fist. His eyes darted suspiciously around the room, frightened that others might see his sudden good fortune. He smiled and barked, ‘Antoine! Move your worthless carcass and take the lords’ horses to the stables! Hurry now!’

In response, a harried looking youth scurried quickly from the inn.

‘We shall also be requiring rooms, food and wine,’ continued Luc. ‘This should ensure that they are of the requisite quality…’ He dropped another coin on the wooden bar, its clatter causing heads to turn throughout the inn. The innkeeper scooped up the second coin as quickly as the first.

‘You shall have the very best my lords!’ said the man. ‘Best in all Bretonnia!’

‘I somehow doubt that,’ replied Luc airily, ‘but do what you can.’

He turned his back on the man and made his way to an empty table next to the window. Conversations that had been low and subdued before now ceased altogether and every man in the bar stared into his tankard as though fascinated by its contents.

‘Luc,’ whispered Belmonde urgently, ‘do you know how much you gave that man?’

‘Of course,’ answered Luc, ‘It is only money, and a Bretonnian knight needs not money.’

Fontaine smiled, thinking he understood his brother’s intentions, and said, ‘Yes, one must always be prepared to help the lower orders. You must learn this, Belmonde, if you are to be part of this, the brothers Massone’s quest…’

Silence filled the expectant gap left hanging by Fontaine’s words and he struggled to conceal his anger as no one in the bar took the bait of his statement. Belmonde, finally grasping his brother’s vain theatrics, said, ‘Yes, Fontaine. To destroy the evil blood drinkers that dwell in Blood Keep we must be true to the vows we swore in the Lady’s Chapel in Couronne. We must…’

His words trailed off in the face of Luc’s stare. Unaware of Luc’s chagrin, Fontaine continued, ‘Indeed, brother. For such is our quest, to do battle with the creatures of the night that plague these noble people, that carry their children to Blood Keep and drain them of their souls. To face the vampires!’

Fontaine sat back in his chair, the barest hint of a self-satisfied smirk playing around the corners of this mouth. A throat cleared at a table beside the fireplace and his grin widened as an aged voice began to speak.

‘If you are truly heading to Blood Keep then you are even more stupid than you look.’

Fontaine’s grin vanished and he surged to his feet, face scarlet and his hand flashing to his sword hilt. A blur of silver steel and the blade was in his hand.

‘Who dares insult my honour?’ he roared, eyes scanning the wary crowd. A single pair of eyes rose to meet Fontaine’s. A man, bent by age and toil, his skin worn and leathery, whose eyes, despite the twin ravages of time and alcohol, were clear and blue, haunted by a wisdom that belied his appearance.

Fontaine’s resolve faltered as he met the old man’s gaze, but his pride would not allow him to back down now. He held the sword at the old man’s throat and said, ‘Were you a worthy foe I would challenge you to a duel. But I am a man of honour and will not strike one so venerable.’

The man shrugged, as though the matter was of no consequence, saying, ‘You are a fool to think you can defeat the Blood Knights. They are warriors beyond compare. I know. I stood in the ranks when the Due de Montfort fought them at Gisoreux. He was a great man, but the vampires cut him down like a child.’

Luc stood and gently lowered Fontaine’s sword arm.

‘I am also a warrior of no small repute, old man,’ Luc began. ‘In Kislev they called me Droyaska - blademaster - and in the northern wastes, the Chaos beasts know me as the ”One who walks with Death”. It is the night stalkers who should be wary of me.’

Fontaine spun his sword, sheathing it in one smooth motion and sat down as Luc stood before the wizened figure.

The old man fixed Luc with his piercing gaze, looking deep into the young knight’s eyes. He leaned forwards and whispered, ‘There is fierce pride within you, boy. I see it plain as day, but do not travel to Blood Keep. If you do, you will all die. I can say it no more plainly than that. Heed my warning, leave this place and do not return.’

Luc smiled and turned his back on the old man, addressing the bar’s patrons, ‘Know this, people of…’

‘Gugarde,’ whispered Fontaine.

‘Gugarde,’ continued Luc smoothly. ‘We travel on the morrow for Blood Keep and the vampires. That my name shall be remembered is reward enough.’

His speech over, Luc spun on his heel and strode in the direction of the stairs to the upper floors.

‘Innkeeper!’ he barked. ‘Show us to our rooms and I demand you bring us the finest wines you possess.’

A THIN MIST hung over the muddy road as the three knights led their horses from the gloom of the stable into the weak morning sunlight. Luc tethered his black gelding to the hitching rail again and slid his sword from its oiled scabbard. He moved to the centre of the road, swinging his weapon in easy arcs around his body, loosening the muscles of his shoulders. He slowed his breathing and held the blade before him, the quillons level with his face. Suddenly he lunged, spinning and twisting, the blade a sweeping arc of silver as it spun in a glittering web before the knight. Luc’s bladework was flawless, every movement perfectly balanced and controlled. Cut, thrust, parry and riposte, Luc’s sword became an extension of his flesh. He finished his exercises by making one last, neck-high cut, spinning the weapon by its pommel and scabbarding it.

Luc returned to his horse, examining the beast’s legs and hooves. The stable lad, Antoine, had obviously looked after the horse. Its flanks were clean and groomed and the leather saddle had been given a fresh coating of oil. He crouched beside the gelding and tightened the saddle cinch before climbing onto the horse’s back. He stared up into the soaring mountains and felt a thrill of anticipation surge through him. He was so close to his goal he could almost taste it. High above him, the blackened fastness of Blood Keep awaited him. All his years of questing and battle had led him to this point and now that he was here, he was faintly amused to discover that there was a tremor of fear mixed with his excitement. Would he prove worthy? Almost as soon as he formed the thought, he chided himself for his lack of faith. Had he not fought the mightiest foes and vanquished them? The real question should be, was this quest worthy of him?

He twisted in the saddle to make sure his brothers were ready and saw the young lad, Antoine, standing by the stable door, casting hopeful glances at the armoured warriors. Luc fished in his purse and drew out a copper coin, flicking it in the boy’s direction. The boy scampered forwards and caught the coin, hesitantly approaching Luc. He smiled nervously, exposing yellowed stumps of broken teeth.

‘Sir knight?’ he began.

Luc scowled. ‘I have no more coin for you boy.’

‘No, sir,’ said the boy shaking his head, ‘I don’t want no more of your money.’

‘Really?’

‘Really,’ said Antoine. ‘I want to come with you, to fight the vampires.’

Luc laughed and slapped his thigh with mirth, ‘You want to fight the vampires, boy? How old are you?’

‘Not sure, sir knight. I think maybe thirteen. I can be your squire. I can carry stuff and I can cook and clean swords and stuff. Please?’

‘It takes more than that to become a squire boy,’ said Luc sternly. ‘Years of training, noble spirit and the right heritage. Can you match up to that?’

Antoine’s head dropped and he muttered, ‘I know a short-cut up the mountains to the keep as well.’

Luc’s interest was suddenly piqued. He could see the boy was close to tears at the thought of being left behind and sighed. He didn’t need this, now of all times. But if the boy knew a quicker route through the mountains then perhaps he might be useful after all.

‘Very well,’ said Luc, ‘you may ride the pack mule and will do exactly as I say when I say it. You displease me even once and I will send you back here. Do you understand me?’

Antoine nodded enthusiastically, ‘Yes, sir! I do! You won’t be sorry, I promise.’

‘I’d better not be,’ snarled Luc in what he hoped was a suitably fearsome voice.

Fontaine walked his horse next to Luc and whispered, ‘Luc, are you sure about this? Do we really want this boy travelling with us? We will not be able to protect him properly if we are to go into battle.’

Luc nodded. ‘The boy claims to know a short-cut through the mountains. I shall let him lead us to the pass then send him on his way. He’ll be in no danger and I’ll look out for him if things turn vicious. You worry too much Fontaine. We are on the road to glory brother. Have faith.’

Fontaine shrugged, ‘You know best, Luc.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Luc, ‘I do. Now come on, I want to get as far up the mountains as possible before it gets dark. Even if the boy’s short-cut is genuine, I do not believe we will reach Blood Keep before nightfall, but I want to be sure we’ll get there while it’s daylight the following day.’

Luc touched his spurs to the horse’s flank and the small group headed north along the mud-choked street, Antoine swaying on the back of the pack mule. At the edge of the village, next to the village cemetery, the group passed a small, ill-kept shrine to the Lady of the Lake. A few flowers and a pile of mouldy grain were the only offerings within the alcove and the three knights bowed their heads as they passed. Overhead a carrion bird circled, black wings spread against the struggling sunlight.

THE SUNLIGHT BURNED through the mist within the hour and the ground began to grow noticeably steeper. The day had warmed and Luc removed his helmet. It was warm now, but he knew that once they climbed higher into the mountains, the temperature would plummet rapidly. The short-cut Antoine had shown them had cut nearly seven miles from their journey and Luc was in fine spirits. The air was clear and Luc breathed deeply, enjoying the sense of freedom he suddenly felt.

The morning passed uneventfully, the path up the mountains allowing them to make good time. The miles were covered quickly, though the horses were tired and Luc called a halt to their climb as the sun reached its zenith. Antoine walked and fed the horses as the knights rested and ate a light meal of black bread and cheese accompanied by a bottle of Estalian wine. Luc leaned back against a boulder and peered into the snow capped mountains, their tops wreathed in ghostly grey clouds.

Separating the land of Bretonnia from the heathen land of the Empire, the Grey Mountains towered above him. Blood Keep nestled in a narrow pass that connected the two lands and had once been a mighty fortress, home to a noble order of warrior knights that had protected the lands hereabouts from harm. The knights had been renowned for their honour and martial skills, the very sight of their banner enough to send cold jolts of fear through the servants of evil.

Legend told that one day a warrior had presented himself at the gates and demanded to join the order. It was said that this had been the deathless knight known as Walach of the Harkon family and that he had, in one night, infected the order with the curse of vampirism. The knights took the ancient name of the Blood Dragon order as their own and years of terror and bloodshed were unleashed on the lands surrounding their fortress. It had taken the combined might of four orders of Empire knights to stand against the vampires and drive them back to their fortress. After three years of siege, the gates were finally breached and the castle put to the torch. The knights and witch hunters slew the vampires and the evil legacy of Blood Keep passed into history. To this day, it was believed that their evil had been defeated, but Luc knew that the bloodline still lived.

Deep in the northern Chaos wastes he had fought one of the soulless vampire knights and cut the head from his body in a battle that almost cost him his life and left him with the long, white scar on his face.

Luc had gazed upon the seraphic face of the vampire and watched in amazement as his youthful face had aged centuries in a matter of seconds before disintegrating into ashes. The vampire’s blood-red armour, exquisitely detailed with intricate scrollwork and moulded muscles, was all that remained of the creature. It was a work of art and Luc could tell that it was incredibly ancient. The vampire must have been hundreds of years old, yet looked no different than Luc’s youngest brother, its youth prolonged for all eternity!

Luc shook his head at the memory, remembering the feelings the vampire’s demise had stirred within him. He finished his bread and pushed himself to his feet. They set off again and continued further up the mountain, the air becoming colder as they went higher and higher into the peaks. The sun dropped behind them, bathing the Loren Forest in a golden glow as the day wore on.

‘Luc?’ said Fontaine, startling him from his thoughts.

‘What?’

‘It is getting late. Should we not send the boy home?’

Luc glanced round at Antoine, cursing as he raised his eyes to the darkening sky and realised that it was too late to send the boy back.

‘No, he will need to make camp with us tonight. I will send him back tomorrow. Where we go he cannot follow.’

‘Where shall we make camp?’

Luc scanned the horizon, spying a circle of jagged boulders perhaps an hour’s ride uphill. He pointed to the spot he had selected. ‘There, we’ll make camp in the rocks yonder.’

NIGHT DREW IN swiftly and it was dark long before they arrived at the circle of boulders. A wolf howled in the distance and the knights paused in their ascent. An answering chorus of howls echoed mournfully across the darkness and the horses whinnied in fear, eyes wide and ears pressed flat against their skulls. Antoine once again took the horses as they reached the rocks and Belmonde began preparing a fire in the lee of a flat-sided boulder. Satisfied that all was well, Luc walked to the edge of the camp and stared into the inky blackness, his thoughts on the castle above them and the beings that were said to have returned to dwell within it.

The mountains were a different place at night. Where earlier he could see for hundreds of miles in all directions, now he could barely see his hand before his face. The fire behind him illuminated a pitifully small area, its fitful light a tiny island of life in the night’s darkness.

Luc returned to the fire, the reflected heat from the boulder beginning to warm him now. He settled down on his haunches, watching as Antoine unpacked a pot, some chopped meat, vegetables and oats from the panniers on the pack mule. Luc suddenly realised how hungry he was, his mouth watering at the thought of a hearty broth.

‘You’ll need some water for that pot,’ pointed out Fontaine. ‘There’s a stream about twenty yards or so that way.’

Antoine glanced fearfully in the direction Fontaine had indicated, unease plain on his features. Luc sighed, ‘Take a torch from the fire, boy. And don’t be long, I’m so hungry my belly thinks my throat’s been cut.’

Reluctantly, Antoine took up a burning brand and picked his way over the uneven ground in the direction of the stream. The brothers chuckled as they heard the boy cursing as he slipped on the uneven shale. Fontaine followed the bobbing torch as Antoine made his way towards the stream. A sudden sense of premonition made him glance uphill from the lad’s position as he caught sight of sinuous movement at the edge of the torchlight. He sat bolt upright, reaching for his sword as he saw more shadowy forms with red coals for eyes surrounding the boy.

‘No!’ he yelled as the first wolf attacked, a bolt from the darkness with gleaming fangs and claws. The boy barely had time to scream before the giant wolf’s jaws closed on his head, tearing his face off in a spray of blood. Claws like knives raked down his chest, laying him open to the bone. The creature’s body was briefly illuminated by the torchlight as it attacked, rotting skin and bone glistening wetly through mange ridden fur.

Antoine’s body spasmed as he died, his hand swinging around and thrusting the torch into the wolf’s body. It howled as long-dead flesh and fur ignited spectacularly. The sudden flare of the wolf’s death cast a wider ring of illumination and Luc had a brief glimpse of over a dozen undead wolves closing on them. The knights drew their swords, Luc grabbing Fontaine’s arm as he made to rush to Antoine’s aid.

‘He’s dead!’ he snapped. ‘There’s nothing we can do for him now!’

Fontaine nodded curtly, and stood back to back with his brothers, the fire at their centre.

Antoine was dead for sure. All they could do was avenge him and fight off these devil dogs as best they could. Their war-horses reared and stamped the ground as the wolves circled them, hooves lashing out as the beasts came in range. One wolf pounced forward, jaws wide. An iron shod hoof smashed its skull to shards with a single blow.

‘Don’t leave the firelight!’ yelled Luc as a wolf leapt at him. He ducked, swinging his sword in a short, brutal arc. His blade disembowelled the wolf, decaying entrails spilling from the wound. Its carcass landed on the fire, sparks and embers flying.

Howls echoed as the wolves attacked en masse. Luc drew his dagger and thrust the blade between the fanged jaws of another hell beast. It howled and rolled away, tearing the weapon from his hand. He sidestepped and swept his sword down, beheading another wolf. Fontaine staggered from the fire, his shoulder guard torn away by powerful claws. He dropped to his knees, a wolf’s jaws snapping shut on his vambrace. The armour held and Fontaine grunted in pain as the metal compressed on the flesh of his forearm. Luc thundered his boot into his brother’s attacker, feeling ribs break under the impact. He stabbed with his sword and another beast was silenced. Luc pulled Fontaine to his feet, dragging him back to the fire.

Belmonde swung wildly with his sword and a burning torch. The wolves snarled, wary of the flames. The three brothers regrouped at the fire, their breathing shallow and laboured. The pack mule was down, screaming as blood pumped from its torn belly. Again the wolves charged, to be met by the steely defences of the knights. Keen blades flashed in the firelight and blood splashed the rocks. Luc slashed and cut, killing wolves with every stroke. The carnage continued until the first cold, grey slivers of light began spilling over the high peaks. With a howl of defiance the wolves melted into what darkness remained, leaving their slaughtered kin behind. Belmonde slumped to the ground, his armour streaked in gore, his face lined with exhaustion.

Fontaine sat next to him, wiping the blade of his sword clean on a dead wolf. Like his brother, he was covered in blood. Luc stared up the mountainside, grinning fiercely and raised his sword to the lightening sky.

‘I am Luc Massone!’ he shouted, ‘and I am coming to Blood Keep!’

He turned to his brothers and walked to where the war-horses stood, their flanks heaving and nostrils flared. The animals bled from scores of wounds, but they were alive. It was not for nothing that Bretonnian war-horses were renowned as the finest cavalry mounts in all the realms of Man. He sheathed his sword and gently stroked each animal’s head, calming them with soft words. Finally he allowed himself to sit next to his brothers.

‘Well done,’ he said. ‘You fought well. I am proud of you both.’

For long seconds no one spoke until Belmonde’s head snapped up.

‘Antoine!’ he groaned, standing on weary muscles and limping across to where the boy had died. The burnt corpse of the wolf lay where it had fallen, a pile of stinking ashes, the wood of the brand lodged in the remains.

But there was no sign of the boy, just a wide crimson stain on the rocks.

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.

A SINGLE, LONELY path wound its way over the rocks towards the broken gates and the knights directed their horses towards the remains of Blood Keep. Luc smiled, breaking the ice that sweat had formed on his skin. He was here! Nothing could stop him now. He glanced over at his brothers and his smile faltered, but as he imagined the rewards of success, he put such thoughts aside.

‘I dislike this place,’ said Belmonde as they entered the cold shadow of the keep’s walls. ‘We should not be here.’

Luc said nothing, urging his mount further up the path. The walls soared nearly sixty feet above him, the stonework blackened by fire and the rubble infill spilling from holes blasted long ago by Empire cannon. A shiver passed through Luc as he entered Blood Keep and though he told himself it was the cold, he only half believed it.

They found themselves within a wide, granite-flagged courtyard, drifts of snow piled high against the walls. Wind whistled through the stables and lean-to’s around the walls, a ghostly lament to the warriors who had once occupied this place. The main keep of the fortress squatted against the sheer rock face of the mountains, its main gateway also splintered and broken. Blackened loopholes in the wall gaped like empty eye sockets and Luc could not help but feel he was being watched.

He gently patted his horse’s flanks. The beast was exhausted and frightened. Something about this place had the beast’s hackles raised and looking round he saw that the other horses were similarly wary. His brothers moved to stand alongside him.

Luc turned to Fontaine and smiled in triumph. ‘Blood Keep,’ he said.

‘What now?’ asked Belmonde, staring at the inner keep.

‘We find the vampires,’ answered Luc, untying his shield from his war-horse. ‘Come on.’

His brothers shared an uneasy glance and also took up their shields, following Luc as he walked his horse towards the inner keep. Fontaine looked into the sky as Belmonde tied the horses to a broken timber spar. He couldn’t see the sun and wondered how long it would be until nightfall.

The three brothers stood together at the gate and drew their swords.

‘Come, brothers,’ smiled Luc. ‘The vampires await.’

THE DARKNESS WITHIN was absolute, as though light itself were afraid to venture too deeply. Two skeletons lay inside the gateway, slumped against the wall and still clutching rusted spears. Luc crouched before the nearest cadaver, tearing two lengths of cloth from its tattered tunic. He snapped the shaft of the dead sentinel’s spear and wrapped the cloth around one end, passing the other half and some of the cloth to Belmonde. Fontaine dug out a tinderbox and lit the dry fabric, the light from the torches illuminating the passage with a flickering glow.

Luc set off without a backward glance, advancing down the wide corridor with his torch held before him. Murder holes pierced the ceiling and arrow loops punctuated the walls. Luc could imagine the horrific casualties the Empire knights must have suffered attacking down this hallway. The passage ended at a sharp right turn, ascending a spiral staircase into the cobwebbed darkness. Luc swapped the sword into his left hand, knowing that the turn of the stairs would prevent him from using the sword effectively in his right. He slid along the outer wall of the stairs, his weapon extended before him, having learned to use either hand with the same deadly skill.

The knights emerged into an echoing cloister, the air musty with the stench of decay. Hundreds of skeletons littered the floor, clustered around an oaken double door, their armour rusted through and bones filmed with the dust of centuries.

‘Do you know where you are going?’ whispered Fontaine nervously.

‘Of course,’ hissed Luc. ‘To find the vampire’s lair.’

‘Then should we not be looking for a way down rather than up?’ said Belmonde. ‘I was led to believe that vampires would make their lairs within underground crypts and sepulchres.’

Luc shook his head. ‘The main hall will be where we shall find these vampires. I am sure of it.’

His brothers looked unconvinced, but Luc pressed on before they had time to contradict him, stepping carefully over the skeletal warriors towards the door at the end of the cloister. The door was splintered at its centre and he pushed it open, beckoning his brothers to follow as he slipped through into the main hall.

Golden sunlight filtered in through high windows, partially blocked with rotted velvet drapes, revealing a long banqueting hall with a gigantic wooden table running its length. Shields and suits of blood-red armour lined the walls, below crossed lances, unlit torches and faded tapestries.

Belmonde and Luc passed down one side of the table, Fontaine the other, lighting the torches set in the sconces as they went. Their armoured boots echoed loudly in the deserted hall.

‘The table is set for drinking,’ said Belmonde, nodding towards empty goblets placed before every seat.

‘But not eating,’ pointed out Fontaine. ‘Where are the plates?’

‘The vampire does not take sustenance as we do, brother,’ answered Luc.

Fontaine grimaced and advanced towards the massive fireplace, bending his head towards the grate. He turned back to Luc and said, ‘This smells of woodsmoke, a fire has been lit here recently. And look, there is fresh-cut wood here. Why would the undead require heat?’

Luc joined his brother at the fireplace. He shrugged. ‘I do not know, Fontaine. Perhaps other travellers have passed this way recently.’

‘And stopped for the night in Blood Keep?’ blurted Belmonde. ‘They must have been desperate.’

‘Perhaps,’ agreed Luc, watching as the thin strips of light filtering into the hall from behind the velvet drapes slowly crept across the floor as the sun descended behind the peaks. Fontaine caught Luc’s gaze and also noticed the dimming light.

‘Luc!’ he exclaimed, ‘the light is going! It must be later than we thought. We must leave this place!’

‘It may already be too late for that,’ answered Luc, hearing the rustle of dry bones from the cloister they had passed through and noticing armoured figures cloaked in shadow on the balconies above them.

‘Lady protect us!’ prayed Fontaine as the oaken door burst open and the previously lifeless skeletons marched relentlessly into the banqueting hall, spears and swords raised before them.

‘For the Lady!’ screamed Belmonde, launching himself forward, his sword smashing the first skeleton to fragments. Dust billowed around the skeletons as they attacked. Flesh and blood fought dry, withered bone, the air filling with the crack of ancient skulls and ribs. Luc hacked a skeleton apart at the waist and smashed his shield into another. Fontaine kicked the legs out from under his assailant, breaking its skull open with his boot heel. Belmonde’s sword rose and fell, the blade as much a bludgeon as a cutting weapon. The skeletal warriors were no match for the knights, but no matter how many the brothers killed, there were more to take their place.

Slowly but surely they were forced back towards the fireplace, the shadowed figures above them silently watching the battle. Fontaine screamed in pain as a spear point stabbed into his unprotected shoulder, where the armoured plate had been torn away by the wolves. The thrust pitched him off balance and he fell to his knees. A sword smashed into his temple, tearing the helmet from his head. His vision blurred as blood streamed down his face.

‘Fontaine!’ shouted Belmonde as his brother struggled to rise.

Bony fingers grasped at Fontaine’s wrists, the press of numbers preventing him from rising. He roared as the skeletons held him down, struggling to free his sword arm and kicking out desperately. He had a fleeting, horrified glimpse of a wide spear-point plunging towards him before it was rammed deep into his belly below his breastplate. It tore upwards into his heart and lungs, bursting from his back in a flood of gore. His screams trailed into a bloody gurgling as an axe split his head apart.

Belmonde hacked his brother’s killer down, screaming a denial. Luc was at his side, sweeping aside the undead with brutal sword blows, but it was far too late for Fontaine Massone. Backs to the wall, Luc and Belmonde kept the skeletons at bay with desperate skill, tapping reserves of courage neither knew they possessed.

As he destroyed another skeleton, Luc felt his fury building. This wasn’t how it was supposed to end! He spared a glance up at the dark balconies and the warriors watching the furious battle.

‘Cowards!’ he yelled as he smashed his dented shield into the grinning face of another opponent. ‘Where is your honour? I am Luc Massone and I slew one of your kind! I demand you come down and face me!’

Almost as soon as he had spoken, the skeleton horde ceased their attack and took a single backward step. The hall was silent, the sudden absence of noise more unnerving than the clash of arms. Belmonde rushed to Fontaine’s side, cradling his dead brother’s head in his arms. Tears streaked clear trails in the dust coating his face.

‘Oh my brother, what have we done?’ he wept.

‘Belmonde!’ hissed Luc. ‘Stand beside me. Now!’

His brother ignored him until Luc grabbed him by the shoulder and hauled him to his feet. Belmonde’s face was twisted in grief, his sword held limply at his side. Luc smiled weakly at him. ‘Fear not, brother. This will all be over soon.’

He looked towards the balconies, watching as the armoured figures slipped out of sight. The metallic rasp of armour sounded as the watchers descended to the banqueting hall, emerging from concealed alcoves either side of the fireplace.

Three powerful warriors, clad in suits of exquisitely fashioned crimson armour stood wordlessly before the two brothers. The Blood Dragons wore no helmets, their pale, aquiline faces regarding the exhausted knights before them with expressions of faint amusement. Each carried a black bladed sword, its surface seeming to shimmer with an oily iridescence.

The knight on the left tilted his head to one side and raised his sword.

‘You say you have killed a Blood Dragon?’ said the vampire. ‘You will forgive my scepticism, I hope?’

Like a striking snake, his sword lashed out at Luc’s neck. Luc had been ready and swiftly parried, his riposte slashing towards the vampire’s groin. The Blood Dragon barely had time to react, his sword flashing down to block the blow. Fast as quicksilver, Luc altered the direction of his cut and hacked off the vampire’s head in a single, powerful sweep. The Blood Dragon toppled backwards, his body ashes before the armour hit the stone floor.

Luc pulled his sword back to the guard position.

‘Anyone else?’ he asked.

The dark haired vampire with deep violet eyes who faced Luc glanced at the empty suit of armour beside him and said, ‘You are fast and skilful for a mortal. There are few alive who could have even scratched Grigorij, let alone slain him.’

Luc nodded. ‘My skill with a blade is great.’

The vampire smiled. ‘Where is your humility, knight? You are arrogant.’

‘It is not arrogance if it is the truth,’ pointed out Luc.

The Blood Dragon laughed. ‘Here, in this place, you are a child amongst your betters. I could kill you in a heartbeat. You cannot hope to vanquish me. Surely you must know that?’

‘I know that,’ nodded Luc.

‘Then why are you here?’ asked the vampire. ‘You have not come to slay me?’

‘No,’ admitted Luc as Belmonde stared at his brother in horrified fascination.

‘Then why?’

Luc altered his grip on his sword and shouted, ‘Because I have come to join your order!’

His blade slashed and blood geysered as Luc Massone spun round and beheaded his brother. Belmonde’s corpse swayed for a brief moment, then slowly crumpled to the floor, slumped across Fontaine’s lifeless body.

Luc faced the Blood Dragon and planted the sword, point first, on the stone hearth, his face alight as he met the vampire’s stare.

‘The blood of innocents is on my hands and I am a warrior beyond compare. Where in the mortal world can I find my equal?’ hissed Luc. ‘I bring you this offering of my own flesh and blood as proof of my desire. I am one of you and I demand you grant me the boon of immortality!’

Hot excitement pounded through his veins. Luc’s skin flushed red, his scar a livid white line across his face. It was done. He had reached the point where all mortal laws ceased to bind him. He would become one of the ever-living, destined never to die, destined only to become the greatest warrior of the age!

The Blood Dragon watched the blood pump from Belmonde’s neck and raised his eyebrows in puzzlement.

‘Demand…’ he said as though he had never heard the word.

‘Aye,’ snarled Luc. ‘It is my right. I deserve this.’

The vampire knight grinned, exposing razor sharp fangs.

‘Very well, you shall have what you deserve,’ he promised.

THE VILLAGE OF Gugarde echoed to screams of pain and fear. Dark horses with red eyes carrying crimson armoured knights stalked the streets. No one had really believed the three knights boasts of defeating the vampires of Blood Keep when they had passed through the village some six months ago, but perhaps there had been tiny embers of hope stirred in a few hearts. That hope was now ashes on the wind as black armoured skeletons dragged the screaming inhabitants from their beds to the slaughter.

The knights laughed as peasants ineffectually waved bundles of daemonroot before them. A venerable human with a rusty sword had been the only one prepared to fight, but there had been no honour in slaying one so old. The vampires would feed, but would not lower themselves to trade blows with those who were not worthy of their blades.

Undead warriors in rusted armour stood motionless as their masters began feeding on the villagers, zombies picking themselves up from the mud as the vampires raised the newly dead to swell their ranks. Bats flapped noisily overhead as snarling wolves padded soundlessly through the village, seeking out those who had chosen to hide from the vampires. There would be no escaping the killing.

In the walled cemetery at the village’s edge, stooped creatures hugged the shadows, scrabbling at the wet ground. Pale, blotched skin hung loosely from their emaciated frames as they dug the dead from the ground. Perhaps a dozen of the vile ghouls pawed furiously at the earth, the hunger for cold, dead flesh driving their efforts. At last the group dragged out a simple casket, the largest of the fiends wrenching the coffin lid off and howling in triumph. Clawed hands reached within, desperate for the taste of human meat, but the largest creature snarled and the rest pulled back hissing.

It reached inside the coffin, tearing out the dead heart and ripping great chunks of rotten meat from the bones of the corpse. It scuttled to the cemetery walls to devour its horrific meal, unnatural hunger in its eyes.

The moon emerged from behind a cloud and the degenerate beast blinked in its unforgiving glare, noticing a small shrine lying on its side where the Blood Dragon’s charge had knocked it. It stared at the shrine as a faint memory stirred, as though the sight should be familiar to it. But the memory was gone and the beast shook its head, biting deeply into the cold heart it carried and scratching idly at the long, white scar that ran from its right temple to its chin.