Questing Knight(科幻战争)-第11部分

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The　entry　hall　of　the　palace　was　cavernous；　the　arched　ceiling　a　hundred　feet　high。　Statues　of　past
dukes　of　Mousillon　were　arrayed　on　pedestals；　each　standing　in　heroic　poses　and　dressed　for　war。
Pre…eminent　was　a　dramatic　sculpture　of　Merovech　himself；　five　times　life　size；　carved　from　a　block　of
faultless　white　marble。　He　stood　gazing　into　the　distance；　hair　flowing　in　a　frozen　wind；　one　foot　upon　the
chest　of　a　headless　enemy。　The　expression　he　wore　was　one　of　noble　arrogance。
Standing　as　still　as　any　of　the　statues；　dozens　of　guards　stood　arrayed　around　the　grand　foyer；
blocking　access　to　closed　doors　and　sweeping　staircases　that　rose　up　to　higher　levels。　The　doors　to　the
west　wing　had　been　thrown　wide；　and　it　was　through　here　that　Calard　and　Raben　marched；　following　the
other　late　arrivals。
Oil　paintings　lined　the　hallway；　some　of　them　almost　twenty　feet　in　height。　Their　frames　were　opulent
and　heavy；　though　many　were　fading　and　crumbling。　Gaunt；　unfriendly　faces　stared　down　at　them　from
dark　and　somewhat　disturbing　portraits。　Eyes　seemed　to　follow　them　as　they　hurried　by。
Turning　a　corner；　Calard　instinctively　reached　for　his　sword　as　they　were　suddenly　surrounded　by　a
swarm　of　pale；　aristocratic　courtiers；　richly　dressed　as　if　for　a　masquerade　ball。　The　ladies　wore
extravagant　ball　gowns　and　seemed　to　barely　touch　the　ground　as　they　glided　across　the　floor　upon　the
arms　of　their　partners；　who　were　garbed　in　strange；　archaic　fashion。　All　asks；
complete　with　devilish　horns；　jagged　teeth　and　long；　pointed　noses。　An　icy　chill　seemed　to　penetrate
Calard’s　bones　as　the　courtiers　passed　them　in　silence；　and　he　released　his　grasp　on　his　sword　hilt。
They　moved　deeper　into　the　palace　and　could　soon　hear　the　ring　of　clashing　swords。　The　harsh
sound　echoed　through　the　cold　halls；　and　as　it　got　steadily　louder；　they　could　also　make　out　polite
clapping　and　the　dull　murmur　of　conversation。
Rounding　a　final　corner；　they　approached　a　large；　domed　chamber。　Hundreds　of　knights　were
gathered　within；　clustered　in　small　groups　and　drinking　wine。

‘Where　is　Chlod？’　said　Calard　suddenly；　coming　to　a　halt　as　they　approached　the　entrance　to　the
large　room。　Raben　looked　behind　them。　The　peasant　was　nowhere　to　be　seen。　The　outcast　shrugged。
The　clash　of　swords　echoed　loudly；　and　there　was　an　enthusiastic　cheer。
‘No　matter；’　said　Calard；　and　they　moved　within；　slipping　effortlessly　into　the　crowd。
The　chamber　was　even　larger　than　it　had　at　first　appeared；　and　Calard　guessed　that　there　must　have
been　in　the　realms　of　three　hundred　nobles　gathered　within。　Massive　pillars　propped　up　the　exquisitely
painted　domed　ceiling；　and　dozens　of　alcoves　and　side…chambers　were　set　off　the　main　expanse。
A　raised　dais　was　positioned　against　the　western　wall；　dominating　the　room。　The　statues　of　five
ancient　warriors　were　seated　in　high…backed　thrones　there；　covered　in　a　thick　layer　of　dust　and　cobwebs。
They　sat　side　by　side　beneath　an　immense　window　of　stained　glass　that　depicted　them　as　they　had　been
in　life。　The　window　was　backlit　with　candles；　and　Calard　frowned　up　at　the　scenes　of　depravity　and
wanton　barbarism　depicted　there。　They　showed　the　warriors　slaughtering　men；　women　and　children；
cutting　their　hearts　out　and　drinking　their　blood。
A　covered　altar　lit　with　candles　was　positioned　centrally　upon　the　dais　in　front　of　the　old　statues。　A
large　chalice　of　silver　and　ebony　was　housed　within　this　tabernacle；　its　shape　formed　in　the　likeness　of
serpentine　wyrms　twisting　around　one　another。
Raben　took　a　delicate　crystal　glass　of　claret　from　a　tray；　smiling　and　nodding　to　those　he　knew。
Calard　scanned　the　room；　his　gaze　darting　from　face　to　face。
‘Take　a　drink；’　said　Raben　under　his　breath。　‘And　try　not　to　look　quite　so　out　of　place。’
Calard　saw　the　sense　in　Raben’s　words　and　made　a　conscious　effort　to　relax。　They　slipped　through
the　crowd；　angling　towards　the　raised　dais；　and　he　nodded　to　several　knights　who　turned　to　coldly　regard
him。　They　nodded　in　return　and　turned　away　in　disinterest。
They　approached　the　centre　of　the　room；　where　the　revellers　were　gathered　most　tightly。　A　circle
some　thirty　feet　in　diameter　was　sunk　into　the　centre　of　the　chamber；　positioned　directly　below　the
domed　ceiling。　Three　circles　of　steps　descended　down　to　this　sunken　floor；　which　was　carved　with
intricate　spiralling　designs。
Two　knights　were　duelling　in　this　combat　circle；　while　more　gathered　knights　and　their　ladies　watched
on；　politely　clapping　and　cheering　when　either　knight　scored　a　palpable　hit。　Calard　hardly　glanced　at　the
two　combatants　as　he　pushed　through　the　crowd；　his　gaze　locking　on　a　figure　on　the　opposite　side　of　the
circle。
Merovech　stood　engrossed　in　the　contest；　arms　folded　across　his　chest。　A　full　head　taller　than　any
other　knight　in　the　room；　he　was　armoured　in　archaic；　fluted　armour　of　such　dark　metal　it　was　virtually
black；　its　edges　serrated。　His　face　was　handsome　and　cruel；　and　as　white　as　the　palest　marble。　He
appeared　not　to　have　aged　at　all　from　the　last　time　Calard　had　seen　him；　six　years　earlier。　His　pure　white
hair　was　long　and　straight；　hanging　halfway　down　his　back。
‘This　is　where　I　leave　you；’　said　Raben　under　his　breath。　‘I　wish　you　luck。’
Calard　ignored　him；　completely　focused　on　the　duke。　Raben　backed　away　into　the　crowd；　and　was
gone。
Moving　slowly；　like　a　man　stalking　a　wolf；　Calard　closed　the　distance　with　his　prey。

CHLOD　RAN　AROUND　the　corner；　breathing　hard；　and　leaned　back　against　the　wall。　His　heart　was
thumping　loudly；　and　he　closed　his　eyes　for　a　moment；　trying　to　control　his　breathing。　From　beneath　his
shirt　he　pulled　a　rat　skull　attached　to　a　string。　Lifting　it　to　his　lips；　he　kissed　it；　whispering　a　prayer　to

Ranald；　before　tucking　it　back　into　place。
Glancing　back　around　the　corner；　Chlod　saw　a　pair　of　guards　marching　down　the　hallway　towards
him；　their　movements　unhurried　and　perfectly　synchronous。　Each　held　a　large　double…handed　sword；　and
was　armoured　head　to　toe　in　black　plate　armour。
Cursing　under　his　breath；　Chlod　broke　into　an　awkward　run；　moving　as　quickly　as　his　ragged　breath
and　uneven　legs　would　allow。　He　ducked　into　a　side…passage；　and　loped　through　a　storage　room　packed
to　the　ceiling　with　dusty　casks　and　wooden　pallets。
He　was　five　levels　below　the　ground。　The　nobility　clearly　rarely　came　down　this　low　in　the　palace；　for
the　passages　were　narrow；　cluttered　and　bereft　of　the　opulent　ornamentation　of　the　upper　levels。　This
was　the　domain　of　the　duke’s　servants；　though　he　had　seen　far　fewer　of　them　down　here　than　he　had
imagined　were　needed　to　service　the　daily　running　of　the　palace。
Rounding　a　corner；　he　came　upon　the　kitchens；　which　were　utterly　deserted。　Rats　and　spiders
scuttled　across　the　floor；　and　everything　was　covered　in　a　thick　layer　of　dust。　Chlod　judged　that　no　one
had　used　them　for　decades。　There　were　four　kitchens　all　in　all；　connected　by　low　arches；　and　there　were
enough　ovens　to　feed　an　army。
Hearing　the　clomp　of　armoured　feet　behind　him；　Chlod　bolted；　running　through　the　kitchens　and
passing　through　a　host　of　empty　walkthrough　pantries。
A　pair　of　closed　double　doors　loomed　ahead　of　him。　A　rotten　chair　and　a　desk　were　tucked　into　an
alcove　alongside　them。　A　skeleton　was　slumped　in　the　chair；　a　quill　pen　still　clasped　in　its　hand。　Chlod
could　see　what　looked　like　a　ledger　upon　on　the　sloped　desk；　its　paper　yellow　with　age。　Neat
handwriting　could　still　be　discerned　on　the　pages。　Evidently；　this　was　the　post　of　the　larder…master；　whose
job　it　was　to　keep　a　tally　of　all　goods　taken　in　and　out。　Chlod　had　worked　for　a　time　in　a　middling…sized
castle　in　Carcassonne；　and　he　had　made　an　art　out　of　deceiving　the　larder…master　there。　It　had　been　a
good　life；　that；　and　he　had　not　felt　a　moment’s　remorse　when　the　man　had　been　hanged　for　the
irregularities　in　this　ledger。
A　dark　shadow　seemed　to　hover　around　the　skeleton　slumped　in　the　larder…master’s　chair；　and　it
coalesced　into　a　roughly　man…like　shape　as　Chlod　drew　near。　It　solidified　as　he　got　closer；　turning　from
an　indistinguishable　vague　shape　to　that　of　a　portly　man　with　huge　sideburns。
It　opened　its　mouth　to　speak；　but　no　words　came　out。　It　seemed　angry；　gesturing　insistently　at　Chlod
with　its　ghost　quill；　and　it　radiated　a　deadly　chill。　He　had　no　wish　to　pass　near　this　restless　spirit；　but　he
could　already　hear　the　sound　of　armoured　boots　closing　in　behind　him。
Taking　a　deep　breath；　his　blood　running　to　ice　in　his　veins；　Chlod　hurried　to　the　double　doors。　The
spirit　became　more　agitated；　shouting　soundlessly　at　him　and　pointing　at　its　ledger。　The　doors　would　not
give；　and　he　rattled　them　as　he　struggled　to　turn　the　rusted　handles。　He　glanced　over　his　shoulder　and　saw
the　two　black…armoured　guards　marching　towards　him。
The　shade　of　the　larder…master　was　incandescent　with　rage；　bellowing　at　him　silently。　It　came　out
from　behind　its　desk；　separating　completely　from　its　skeleton；　and　hovered　towards　him。　Chlod　quaked；
fighting　with　the　double　doors　vigorously　as　panic　set　in。
The　ghost　reached　for　him。　Chlod　recoiled　from　its　touch；　but　there　was　nowhere　to　go；　and　he　was
backed　up　against　the　closed　doors。　The　shadowy　form　touched　his　face；　and　he　screamed。　It　felt　as
though　needles　of　ice　were　penetrating　his　skin；　and　the　left　side　of　his　face　went　numb。　He　saw　the
ethereal　shade　of　the　larder…master　smile。
The　doors　gave　way　behind　him　suddenly；　ripping　free　of　their　hinges；　and　Chlod　crashed　through。
Weevils　and　rot…worms　writhed　in　the　splintered　chunks　of　rotten　wood；　and　he　scrambled　backwards
through　the　debris。

The　shade　stared　down　at　him　from　the　open　doorway。　Its　image　wavered；　like　a　mirage；　as　the　two
black…armoured　guards　marched　through　it。
Chlod　clambered　to　his　feet　and　ran。　He　staggered　through　storerooms　stacked　with　empty　shelves
and　others　hanging　with　meat　hooks；　until　he　came　to　the　very　back　of　the　larder。　Here；　a　heavy　wooden
crane　was　positioned　above　a　large　wooden　trapdoor　in　the　floor。　A　thick；　corroded　chain　was　spooled
around　the　crane’s　mechanism；　and　a　massive　hook　hung　at　head　height　from　the　end　of　its　length。　The
underside　of　a　further　trapdoor　was　positioned　directly　overhead；　leading　to　the　upper　levels　of　the
palace。
It　was　through　these　trapdoors　that　the　palace’s　stores　were　replenished。　Branches　of　the　Grismarie
had　been　redirected　beneath　the　palace　in　centuries　past；　and　in　times　gone　by；　barges　laden　with
produce　were　poled　up　the　wide　tunnels　from　upriver。　Casks　of　wines；　pallets　stacked　with　meats　and　all
manner　of　goods　and　foodstuffs　from　all　across　Bretonnia　and　beyond　would　have　once　been　hauled
directly　into　the　palace　from　the　canals　below　without　the　Mousillon　nobility　ever　being　forced　to　witness
their　arrival。
Chlod　turned　around　on　the　spot；　eyes　darting　around　frantically　for　a　way　to　release　the　trapdoor；
before　his　eyes　settled　on　a　rusted　lever　set　in　the　wall。　A　spider　the　size　of　his　hand　had　constructed　an
intricate　web　between　the　lever　and　the　stone　wall；　and　it　turned　towards　him；　a　myriad　of　eyes　glinting　in
the　darkness。　He　slapped　it　away；　and　took　hold　of　the　lever’s　handle。
The　lever　was　ancient　and　rusted；　and　had　clearly　not　been　used　for　decades。　It　resisted