stay
here, Havelock? In the village, I mean?”
His squire frowned and shook his head. “No, my lord. Why would I want to do
such a thing?”
Leofric was surprised and said, “I thought you admired the Herrimaults?”
“I do, my lord,” agreed Havelock. “But I swore an oath to you and I plan on
honouring that. It’s nice here, don’t get me wrong, but…”
“But what?”
“But it won’t last,” whispered Havelock sadly. “You know it and I know
it. When the local lords finally get over whatever feuds are keeping them busy,
they’ll come in force and burn this place to the ground. Can’t have the peasants
believing that there might be other ways of life than the one they’re born to,
eh? Tell me I’m wrong.”
Leofric shook his head. “No, you’re not wrong. I just wish the notions that
underpin the knightly code and the Herrimaults’ code could be put into practice
beyond the conduct of a single knight or outlaw.”
“Well, it’s a noble dream, my lord, but we live in the real world, don’t we?”
Leofric said, “That we do, Havelock, that we do. Here, help me up.”
Havelock pulled Leofric to his feet, the pair of them freezing as a chorus of
wolf howls echoed through the darkness.
Leofric’s gaze was drawn to the edge of the forest as he heard new sounds
beyond that of the howling wolves, the tramp of feet and the crack of snapping
branches as armed warriors marched through the trees.
“Oh no…” whispered Leofric as he saw scores of armoured skeletons emerge from
the treeline, packs of snapping wolves at their heels.
Standing in the centre of the battle line, dimly illuminated by the
flickering glow of the torches set on the palisade walls of Derrevin Libre, was
the gold and silver armoured champion of the dead and the hooded necromancer.
The champion rode the monstrous carcass of the blackest horse, its eyes afire
with the flames of the damned.
“Run, Havelock!” shouted Leofric. “Get Carlomax! Tell him to get every man
who can hold a sword to the walls. We’re under attack!”
Within moments, a hundred men were at the wall, some armed with longbows, but
most with peasant weapons: axes, spears and scythes.
The army of undead had not moved since Leofric’s warning, their utter
stillness draining the courage of the men at the walls with every passing
second.
“Where have they come from?” asked Carlomax, standing beside Leofric with his
bow at the ready and a quiver full of arrows.
“From deep in the forest,” said Leofric. “They are the heralds of the Red
Duke.”
“The Red Duke!” hissed Carlomax, his handsome features twisted in the fear
that such a name carried for the people of Aquitaine. “He rises again?”
Leofric nodded. “I believe he will soon. Havelock and I were riding for the
duke’s lands bearing warning when we came upon your village.”
“Can we hold them?” asked Carlomax. “There are quite a lot of them…”
“We’ll hold them,” promised Leofric, casting his gaze along the length of the
palisade wall. “By my honour, we will hold them.”
Like a wind driven before a storm, the fear of these dreadful creatures
reached outwards, and Leofric could see that each man’s heart was icy with the
chill of the grave at the very unnaturalness of the risen dead.
Though the men on the walls were clearly brave, Leofric knew that their
courage balanced on a knife-edge and that they needed some fire in their bellies
if they weren’t to flee in terror from the first charge.
Leofric marched along the length of the wall facing the undead, lifting his
white bladed sword high so that every man could see its purity in the face of
such evil.
“Men of Bretonnia!” he shouted. “You will hold these walls!”
“Why should we listen to you?” cried a voice in the darkness.
“If you want to live, you will listen to him!” returned Carlomax.
Leofric nodded his thanks and continued. He had thought to appeal to their
duty to the
here, Havelock? In the village, I mean?”
His squire frowned and shook his head. “No, my lord. Why would I want to do
such a thing?”
Leofric was surprised and said, “I thought you admired the Herrimaults?”
“I do, my lord,” agreed Havelock. “But I swore an oath to you and I plan on
honouring that. It’s nice here, don’t get me wrong, but…”
“But what?”
“But it won’t last,” whispered Havelock sadly. “You know it and I know
it. When the local lords finally get over whatever feuds are keeping them busy,
they’ll come in force and burn this place to the ground. Can’t have the peasants
believing that there might be other ways of life than the one they’re born to,
eh? Tell me I’m wrong.”
Leofric shook his head. “No, you’re not wrong. I just wish the notions that
underpin the knightly code and the Herrimaults’ code could be put into practice
beyond the conduct of a single knight or outlaw.”
“Well, it’s a noble dream, my lord, but we live in the real world, don’t we?”
Leofric said, “That we do, Havelock, that we do. Here, help me up.”
Havelock pulled Leofric to his feet, the pair of them freezing as a chorus of
wolf howls echoed through the darkness.
Leofric’s gaze was drawn to the edge of the forest as he heard new sounds
beyond that of the howling wolves, the tramp of feet and the crack of snapping
branches as armed warriors marched through the trees.
“Oh no…” whispered Leofric as he saw scores of armoured skeletons emerge from
the treeline, packs of snapping wolves at their heels.
Standing in the centre of the battle line, dimly illuminated by the
flickering glow of the torches set on the palisade walls of Derrevin Libre, was
the gold and silver armoured champion of the dead and the hooded necromancer.
The champion rode the monstrous carcass of the blackest horse, its eyes afire
with the flames of the damned.
“Run, Havelock!” shouted Leofric. “Get Carlomax! Tell him to get every man
who can hold a sword to the walls. We’re under attack!”
Within moments, a hundred men were at the wall, some armed with longbows, but
most with peasant weapons: axes, spears and scythes.
The army of undead had not moved since Leofric’s warning, their utter
stillness draining the courage of the men at the walls with every passing
second.
“Where have they come from?” asked Carlomax, standing beside Leofric with his
bow at the ready and a quiver full of arrows.
“From deep in the forest,” said Leofric. “They are the heralds of the Red
Duke.”
“The Red Duke!” hissed Carlomax, his handsome features twisted in the fear
that such a name carried for the people of Aquitaine. “He rises again?”
Leofric nodded. “I believe he will soon. Havelock and I were riding for the
duke’s lands bearing warning when we came upon your village.”
“Can we hold them?” asked Carlomax. “There are quite a lot of them…”
“We’ll hold them,” promised Leofric, casting his gaze along the length of the
palisade wall. “By my honour, we will hold them.”
Like a wind driven before a storm, the fear of these dreadful creatures
reached outwards, and Leofric could see that each man’s heart was icy with the
chill of the grave at the very unnaturalness of the risen dead.
Though the men on the walls were clearly brave, Leofric knew that their
courage balanced on a knife-edge and that they needed some fire in their bellies
if they weren’t to flee in terror from the first charge.
Leofric marched along the length of the wall facing the undead, lifting his
white bladed sword high so that every man could see its purity in the face of
such evil.
“Men of Bretonnia!” he shouted. “You will hold these walls!”
“Why should we listen to you?” cried a voice in the darkness.
“If you want to live, you will listen to him!” returned Carlomax.
Leofric nodded his thanks and continued. He had thought to appeal to their
duty to the
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