Questing Knight(科幻战争)-第4部分

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The　darkness　was　filled　with　the　howling　of　wolves；　the　beat　of　heavy；　leathery　wings；　and　the　rustle
of　unseen　creatures　in　the　undergrowth　nearby。　They　dared　not　rest；　and　pushed　on　through　the　night。　A
multitude　of　eyes　glinted　in　the　torchlight；　watching　their　progress。　In　a　break　in　the　ever…present　fog；
Calard　glimpsed　huge；　black…furred　wolves　loping　alongside　the　road；　dogging　their　progress。
Wolves　were　not　the　only　things　stalking　them。　On　more　than　one　occasion　Calard　glimpsed　hunched
figures　on　the　road　behind　them。
‘They’re　back　again；’　said　Chlod；　his　voice　strained　as　he　looked　back　along　the　road　behind。
‘They　have　been　there　for　some　time；’　Calard　replied。
‘They　are　growing　bolder。’
‘‘We　need　to　find　shelter；’　said　Calard。　‘We　cannot　travel　on　through　another　night　without　rest；　not
hounded　by　those。。。　things。’
They　continued　on　in　silence　as　the　shadows　deepened　around　them。　Abruptly；　the　muddy　road
turned　and　veered　over　a　small　creek；　angling　straight　into　the　dark　forest　they　had　so　far　been　skirting。
The　wood　was　shadowy　and　threatening；　its　trees　bloated　and　misshapen。　Their　trunks　were　rotten　and
covered　in　lichen　and　fungus。
‘Do　we　go　in？’　asked　Chlod。
‘It　has　to　lead　somewhere；’　said　Calard。　‘And　we　have　to　keep　moving。’
With　a　nudge；　he　urged　his　steed　on。　Its　hooves　sank　into　the　marshy　ground　as　it　stepped　down　to
the　shallow　creek。　The　water　stank；　and　was　covered　in　a　film　of　scum。　With　a　kick　of　encouragement；
Calard’s　warhorse　leapt　forward；　clearing　the　stream　and　climbing　the　bank　on　the　other　side。
Chlod’s　mule　was　incapable　of　such　a　leap　and　seemed　reluctant　to　step　into　the　foul　waters。　As
Chlod　kicked　and　swore　at　the　stubborn　beast；　Calard’s　gaze　was　drawn　upwards　by　the　ugly　cawing　of
carrion　birds。
More　than　a　dozen　corpses　were　strung　up　in　the　trees　overhead；　hanging　from　ropes　and　gibbets。

They　spun　gently　as　black　birds　tore　strips　of　flesh　from　the　bodies。
Movement　in　the　trees　dragged　his　attention　down　from　the　grisly　sight。　Shadows　were　detaching
themselves　from　the　surrounding　darkness；　edging　towards　them。
Calard　reached　over　his　back　and　drew　his　massive　bastard　sword　from　its　sheath；　holding　it
one…handed。
‘Hurry　up；　peasant！’　he　hissed。
Perhaps　catching　a　scent　of　the　hunters　on　the　breeze；　the　mule　lurched　forwards　suddenly；　almost
throwing　Chlod　from　its　back；　and　the　peasant　lost　his　grip　on　the　reins。
‘Whoa！’　shouted　Chlod；　clinging　on　desperately　as　the　mule　set　off　down　the　roadway；　ears　flat
against　its　skull。
Calard’s　steed　flared　its　nostrils　and　stamped　its　hooves；　and　he　fought　to　keep　it　under　control；
guiding　it　skilfully　with　his　knees　as　he　took　his　sword　in　both　hands。　He　heard　something　hiss　nearby；　the
sound　low　and　sibilant；　and　he　kicked　his　steed　into　a　canter。　It　needed　no　encouragement；　and　took
after　Chlod　instantly。
Glancing　back；　Calard　saw　a　pack　of　hunched　creatures　loping　after　them。　He　could　not　tell　if　they
were　human　or　beast；　or　some　horrid　blend　of　the　two。
Something　caught　at　his　hair；　scratching　his　neck；　and　Calard　swung　his　sword　with　a　cry。　It　was　just
a　branch；　and　Calard　swore；　berating　himself。　Foul…smelling　sap　was　dripping　like　blood　from　the　tree；
and　it　recoiled　with　a　groan；　twigs　shivering。
‘Lady　above；’　Calard　breathed。　The　other　trees　seemed　to　lean　in；　branches　reaching　towards　him。
Ducking　away　from　their　snagging　twigs；　Calard　urged　his　warhorse　into　a　gallop。
Within　a　few　heartbeats　he　had　drawn　alongside　Chlod；　still　clinging　vainly　to　his　panicked　mule；　and
he　reached　out　and　grabbed　the　beast’s　wildly　swinging　reins。　Calard　forced　the　animal　to　slow　its　wild
gallop。　Behind　him；　the　road　was　clear　again。
It　was　half　an　hour　before　they　escaped　the　grotesque　wood；　and　Calard　let　out　a　breath　that　he　didn
’t　realise　he　had　been　holding。　Up　ahead　he　saw　a　small　farmhouse。　Turning　up　a　muddy　path；　he　led　the
way　towards　it。
There　was　no　sign　of　life　at　the　farm　other　than　a　starving　three…legged　goat　tethered　to　a　rotten
stump。　The　pitiful　animal’s　ribs　were　clearly　visible　beneath　its　stretched　skin。　It　bleated　frantically；　pink
tongue　protruding　as　it　strained　on　its　chain。
Calard　spied　a　small　covered　well；　and　slid　from　his　saddle　alongside　it。　He　began　drawing　the
bucket　up　from　below；　hauling　it　up　on　its　thin　rope。　His　horse　was　lathered　in　sweat；　its　mouth　flecked
with　foam。　Calard　hoped　the　well…water　was　drinkable。　He　dragged　the　bucket　over　the　lip　of　the　well；
and　lifted　it　to　his　nose。　Frowning；　he　brought　it　to　his　lips　and　took　a　swig。　He　spat　it　out　instantly；
coughing。
‘Bad？’　asked　Chlod。
‘Bad；’　said　Calard；　throwing　the　bucket　to　the　ground　in　disgust。　It　split　like　an　overripe　fruit；　spilling
its　contents。　His　stomach　churned　as　he　saw　bloated　worms　wriggling　in　the　water。
A　woman’s　cry　sounded　nearby；　high…pitched　and　in　pain；　and　it　was　joined　by　voices　raised　in　anger
or　excitement。　The　sounds　were　coming　from　around　the　side　of　the　farmstead’s　barn。　Calard　drew　his
sword　and　rode　towards　it。
A　foetid　stench　assailed　his　nose　as　he　approached　the　barn；　something　akin　to　rotting　meat　and
excrement。　Rounding　the　rotting　structure；　he　saw　a　cluster　of　peasants　gathered　around　a　woman　on　the
ground。　They　were　beating　her　mercilessly　with　sticks；　and　Calard　winced　at　the　savagery　of　the　attack。
She　screamed　again；　but　was　knocked　back　to　the　ground　as　she　tried　to　rise。　The　peasants　laughed

cruelly；　clearly　enjoying　their　sport。　Indignation　and　anger　swelled　in　Calard；　and　with　a　yell；　he　kicked　his
steed　forwards。
The　peasants　looked　up　in　shock；　then　scattered。　They　took　off　over　the　fields；　and　Calard　dragged
on　the　reins；　cutting　short　his　pursuit。
‘Cowards；’　snarled　Calard；　shaking　his　head　in　disgust。　He　sheathed　his　sword　and　turned　his
attention　to　the　woman。
She　was　sitting　on　the　ground　like　a　broken　puppet；　slumped　forward　over　her　splayed　legs。　Her　hair
was　long　and　unkempt；　hanging　down　over　her　face。　Her　thin　shoulders　heaved　with　each　pained　intake
of　breath。
‘They　are　gone；’　said　Calard；　stepping　towards　her。　‘They　will　trouble　you　no　more。’
Her　tattered　peasant　garb　was　ripped　at　the　shoulder；　exposing　skin　that　was　purple　with　bruises　and
cuts。　The　girl　made　no　move　to　cover　herself；　and　Calard　averted　his　eyes　out　of　modesty。
‘You　are　hurt；’　he　said；　stepping　close。
Her　head　snapped　up　and　Calard　caught　a　glimpse　of　bloodshot　eyes　staring　out　through　the　girl’s
tangle　of　matted　hair。　Thin　lips　drew　back　to　expose　filthy；　jagged　teeth；　and　as　Calard　recoiled　in　disgust
she　lashed　out；　seizing　his　forearm。　Swearing；　he　tried　to　pull　away；　but　the　girl　was　surprisingly　strong
and　held　him　in　a　vice…like　grip。
With　a　feral　hiss　she　slashed　at　him　with　her　free　hand；　fingers　curved　like　talons。　Those　fingers　were
long　and　bone…thin；　their　nails　cracked　and　encrusted　with　filth。　Instinctively；　Calard　turned　his　face　away
from　the　blow；　a　move　that　undoubtedly　saved　his　eyes　from　being　torn　from　their　sockets。　Still；　he　could
not　avoid　the　strike　entirely；　and　her　nails　gouged　four　deep　cuts　across　his　cheek　bone。
With　a　curse；　Calard　backhanded　the　feral　peasant　girl　hard　in　the　side　of　her　head。　She　slammed
heavily　to　the　ground；　losing　her　grip；　and　Calard　backed　away；　blood　dripping　from　the　left　side　of　his
face。
Scrambling　onto　all　fours；　the　girl　glared　up　at　him；　pure　hatred　burning　in　her　eyes。　An　animalistic
growl　rumbled　from　deep　in　her　chest。　Her　teeth　were　bared　and　she　began　to　crawl　swiftly　towards　him；
like　a　spider　closing　in　on　its　prey。
Calard　drew　his　bastard　sword；　and　she　hesitated。　Sensing　her　indecision；　he　yelled　loudly　and　took
an　aggressive　step　towards　her。
With　a　hiss；　the　girl　turned　and　fled。　He　watched　her　go；　revulsion　written　on　his　face；　but　his　head
snapped　around　as　he　heard　Chlod　scream。
‘Master！’
Moving　quickly；　Calard　hauled　himself　into　the　saddle　of　his　warhorse。　Rounding　the　front　of　the
barn；　he　saw　his　manservant　pointing　wildly。
There　were　dozens　of　loping　figures　approaching　the　farm　from　across　the　muddy　fields。　Calard
could　not　be　sure　if　they　were　the　same　ones　that　had　been　following　them；　but　he　thought　it　likely。　He
saw　instantly　that　there　were　too　many　of　them　to　fight；　and　while　the　notion　of　fleeing　from　them　made
his　face　burn　with　shame；　he　knew　that　it　would　not　serve　the　Lady’s　purpose　to　die　meaninglessly　here。
‘Forgive　me；　Lady；’　he　whispered。　‘Peasant！　We　ride！’
Chlod’s　mule　bucked　suddenly　as　the　wind　shifted；　bringing　with　it　the　scent　of　the　approaching
hunters。　The　hunchbacked　peasant　fell　backwards　into　the　mud；　and　the　mule　took　off　over　the　fields。
Calard　swore；　and　made　to　go　after　the　beast；　but　dragged　himself　back　as　more　of　the　hunched
figures　appeared；　rising　from　concealment。　They　leapt　on　the　mule　like　a　pack　of　wild　dogs；　and　it
screamed　in　terror　as　it　was　dragged　to　the　ground。　They　were　peasants；　he　saw　now；　undernourished
and　filthy；　but　some　of　them　appeared　so　devolved　and　inbred　as　to　be　barely　human　at　all。

His　steed　tensed　beneath　him；　stamping　its　hooves　and　snorting　in　agitation。
The　starving　peasants　were　running　towards　them　now；　closing　the　distance　quickly。　Their　faces　were
twisted　in　ravenous　hunger。
‘Keep　back；　or　by　the　Lady’s　name　I　will　not　stay　my　blade！’　roared　Calard；　holding　his　sword　high。
They　came　on　undaunted；　and　he　swore　again。
Making　his　decision　quickly；　Calard　rode　forward　and　plucked　Chlod　from　the　ground　by　the　scruff
of　his　neck。　He　dumped　him　on　the　saddle　behind　him；　and　urged　his　destrier　on。
If　the　warhorse　was　overburdened　carrying　two　riders；　it　didn’t　show；　and　within　heartbeats　they
were　riding　hard　up　the　muddy　roadway。　The　starving　peasants　ran　after　them；　but　they　were　easily
outpaced。　Only　once　the　hellish　farmstead　was　several　miles　behind　them　did　Calard　rein　the　destrier　in；
patting　her　neck　appreciatively。
Darkness　closed　in；　bringing　all　its　claustrophobic　terrors　with　it；　and　so　their　second　night　in
Mousillon　began。
V
IT　WAS　PITCH…BLACK　as　they　approached　the　inn；　yet　it　could　only　have　been　an　hour　after　nightfall。
It　was　built　like　a　fortress。　It　had　few　windows　on　its　lowest　level；　and　these　were　shuttered　and
barred。　Fifteen…foot…high　walls　topped　with　spikes　enclosed　it　completely。　Braziers　burned　brightly　in　a
vain　attempt　to　keep　the　night　at　bay。　A　stout　gatehouse　was　the　only　entrance　to　the　compound；　and　to
Calard’s　trained　eye　it　looked　able　to　withstand　all　but　the　most　concerted　siege。
As　they　rode　into　the　light；　Calard　pulled　his　hood　down　over　his　face。　They　were　spotted　as　they
approached　the　inn’s　fortified　gate；　and　sentries　levelled　heavy　crossbows　in　their　direction。　Calard　knew
that　his　armour　would　provide　scant　protection　at　this　distance；　but　if　he　felt　any　unease；　he　did　not　show
it。
‘Who　goes　there？’　called　out　one　of　the　guards。
‘Travellers　seeking　a　room；’　replied　Calard。
‘The　gates　are　sealed　at　nightfall；　stranger；’　came　the　reply。　‘Move　along。’
‘What　now？’　said　Chlod；　eyeing　the　night　with　haunted　eyes。　Wolves　howled　in　the　distance　and　he
shivered。
‘I’ll　be　damned　if　we’re　spending　the　night　out　here；’　Calard　said　under　his　brea