Questing Knight(科幻战争)-第8部分

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parade　of　filthy；　cannibalistic　peasants。　Their　captives　were　not　the　feral　brood’s　only　spoils；　they　had
hastily　ransacked　the　larder　of　Morr’s　Rest；　filling　sacks　with　cheese　and　bread；　meat　and　wineskins。
Corpses　had　been　mutilated　and　dismembered；　and　several　of　the　sacks　were　now　soaked　through　with
blood；　stuffed　with　human　body　parts。
They　kept　off　the　roads；　hauled　along　paths　overgrown　with　thorn…bushes　and　rushes。　Occasionally
they　were　forced　into　the　open；　scurrying　across　muddy　fields　filled　with　rotten　crops；　watched　over　by
the　silhouettes　of　scarecrows。　Sometimes　they　could　see　lights　in　the　distance；　but　their　captors　seemed
keen　to　avoid　areas　of　habitation；　and　veered　away　from　them。
They　trudged　knee…deep　through　vast　tracts　of　swampland；　beset　by　great　clouds　of　stinging　midges。
They　climbed　from　this　stinking　morass　as　the　ground　rose；　and　their　pace　picked　up　again　as　they　ran
through　an　abandoned　village　that　had　been　left　to　rot。　The　peasants　seemed　more　at　ease　here；　speaking
amongst　themselves　in　their　low；　ugly　tongue。　Calard　was　poked　and　prodded　by　peasants　whose　eyes
gleamed　with　hunger。
Feet　slapped　loudly　on　the　roadway；　which　rose　steadily；　winding　its　way　through　the　dead　village。
Soon　they　were　in　the　countryside　again；　leaving　the　decrepit　houses　behind　them；　but　their　progress
continued　upwards；　the　muddy　roadway　clinging　to　the　steep　sides　of　a　hill。　A　crumbling；　six　foot　wall　ran
alongside　the　high　side　of　the　road。
They　turned　through　a　decaying　stone　gateway　overrun　with　thorn…bushes　and　ivy。　An　ancient　gate
hung　on　rusted　hinges；　and　the　procession　of　peasants　passed　through。　Calard　noted　the　hourglass　carved
atop　the　archway　as　he　was　bustled　through　beneath　it。
‘A　Garden　of　Morr；’　he　said。
They　rose　above　the　cloying　blanket　of　ever…present　fog　and　Calard　was　afforded　a　clearer　view　of
their　surroundings。　The　graveyard　reared　up　before　them；　clinging　to　a　hilltop　riddled　with　tombs　and
mausoleums。　It　was　massive　and　sprawling；　a　veritable　city　of　the　dead；　tens　of　thousands　were　likely
buried　here。　The　graves　lowest　on　the　hill　were　packed　in　tight　and　marked　with　cracked　headstones　and
slabs　worn　smooth　by　the　passage　of　time。　Many　had　clearly　been　desecrated　and　dug　up。　Winged；
skeletal　statues　being　slowly　strangled　by　ivy　stood　over　some；　while　in　other　areas　mass　pit　graves　were

commemorated　with　little　more　than　crude　epitaphs　scratched　into　stone　slabs。　Large　family　mausoleums
protruded　from　the　hillside　as　they　climbed　higher；　the　richer　tombs　carved　deep　into　the　rock　cliffs。
Black　roses　grew　in　abundance；　their　petals　soft　and　velveteen；　their　deadly　thorns　curved　and　shining
silver。　They　exuded　a　heady；　sickly…sweet　aroma。
Ravens　perched　in　leafless；　twisted　trees　clinging　to　the　hillside；　staring　down　at　the　procession
passing　below。　Images　of　death　were　everywhere；　from　carved　hourglasses　and　black　roses　on　tombs
and　opulent　facades　to　extravagant　sculptures　depicting　the　god　of　the　underworld；　Morr；　in　his　various
guises
The　peasants　became　more　animated；　cavorting　and　leaping；　grinning　and　guffawing。　More　of　the
depraved　creatures　joined　their　group；　though　Calard　had　no　idea　where　they　had　appeared　from。　Within
the　tombs　themselves；　perhaps。
Feeling　eyes　upon　him；　he　looked　up　to　see　a　child　clinging　to　the　base　of　a　cracked；　moss…covered
statue。　The　child　–　he　could　not　tell　if　it　was　a　boy　or　a　girl　–　was　clearly　starving；　little　more　than　a
skeleton　encased　in　skin；　its　head　too　big　for　its　frail　body。　It　stared　at　him　with　red…rimmed　eyes　and　its
flesh　was　covered　in　open　sores。　Something　about　the　child’s　intense　gaze　made　his　skin　crawl。　It　hissed
at　him；　baring　small；　pointed　teeth。
Calard　grimaced　as　his　captors　yanked　at　the　noose　around　his　neck；　jerking　him　onward。
Ever　higher　they　climbed；　then　down　into　the　yawning　mouth　of　one　of　the　larger　crypts。　They　passed
under　a　lintel　carved　in　the　likeness　of　Morr；　arms　outspread　as　if　in　welcome。　In　was　cold　and　dank　in
the　low…ceilinged　burial　chamber；　and　it　smelt　of　wet　earth　and　things　long　dead。　Roots　hung　through
rough…hewn　roof；　like　grasping；　skeletal　arms。
A　massive　sculptured　sarcophagus　dominated　the　tomb。　The　heavy　lid；　carved　to　represent　a
serenely　posed　knight　with　arms　crossed　over　his　chest；　lay　cracked　and　discarded　on　the　floor。
‘What　is　this？’　said　Calard　through　clenched　teeth　as　he　was　dragged　towards　the　casket。
‘Get　in；’　hissed　one　of　the　peasants。
He　strained　against　his　captors；　fighting　against　them　as　they　tried　to　haul　him　towards　the　open
casket。　Had　they　dragged　him　all　this　way　just　to　bury　him　alive？　He　was　far　bigger　than　any　of　them；　and
they　struggled　to　make　him　move；　but　his　face　began　to　turn　purple　as　the　noose　around　his　neck
tightened。
‘Enough；’　hissed　one　of　them；　breaking　the　deadlock　by　kicking　Calard　hard　in　the　small　of　his　back。
He　staggered　forwards　into　the　casket；　and　looked　down　into　it；　gasping　for　breath。
Bones　and　rotting　cloth　had　been　pushed　roughly　aside；　and　he　saw　that　a　hole　had　been　smashed　in
the　bottom　of　the　sarcophagus。　He　could　feel　a　slight　breeze　coming　up　through　the　hole；　bringing　with　it　a
foetid　stench　of　decay。
One　of　the　peasants　crawled　in；　like　a　spider；　and　disappeared　down　the　hole。
‘Bring　them；’　came　its　voice；　from　the　darkness。
‘Lady；　protect　your　servant；’　breathed　Calard。
THE　ENTIRE　HILL　was　riddled　with　tunnels；　and　they　were　dragged　deep　into　the　labyrinth。　Chewed　bones
were　strewn　across　the　floor　of　these　tunnels；　and　the　way　was　lit　by　stinking　candles　burning　in　carved
niches。
Faces　crowded　around　to　look　upon　these　newcomers；　from　tiny　children　to　ancient　crones；　and
Calard　realised　that　there　must　have　been　many　hundreds　of　peasants　eking　out　a　horrid　existence　down
here　beneath　the　earth。　What　better　place　for　them　to　call　home　than　a　graveyard；　he　thought　darkly。
All　of　the　inhabitants　were　starving。　Their　eyes　were　dull　and　lifeless；　as　if　any　hope　that　had　ever

dwelt　there　had　long　faded。　Tiny；　shrunken　babes；　too　weak　even　to　cry；　were　held　to　the　bony　chests　of
mothers　unable　to　produce　milk　to　feed　them。　Most　of　the　peasants　were　stooped　and　hunched；　their
bodies　and　faces　malformed　and　ugly　from　generations　of　inbreeding　and　malnutrition。　Many　were
missing　limbs；　and　more　than　a　few　bore　evidence　of　leprosy　and　the　wasting　sickness。　They　were　a
pitiful　bunch；　and　even　Calard；　who　was　generally　inured　to　the　fate　of　those　of　low　birth；　found　himself
disturbed。　Hands　covered　in　dirt　reached　for　him　as　he　was　dragged　deeper　beneath　the　ground；　touching
his　face　and　clothes　in　wonder。
The　procession　gathered　a　sizeable　entourage　as　Calard；　Raben　and　Chlod　were　led　into　the　depths
beneath　the　Garden　of　Morr。　They　crowded　after　the　captives；　straining　to　see。　Every　side…passage　was
filled　with　staring　faces。　Children　ran　behind　them。　As　they　descended　further；　the　catacombs　carved　by
the　hands　of　men　gave　way　to　naturally　formed　caves；　their　walls　slick　with　moisture。
At　last　they　came　to　a　rocky　cavern　at　the　dark　heart　of　the　hill。　Hundreds　of　stubby　candles　lit　the
area　with　a　flickering　orange　glow。　It　was　cold　and　moist；　and　an　acrid　stink　hung　in　the　air。　Looking　up；
Calard　could　see　that　the　roof　was　a　seething　mass　of　furred　shapes：　bats。
Rock　formations　jutted　up　from　the　floor　and　hung　from　the　ceiling。　In　places　these　had　had　come
together；　forming　slick…sided　columns。　Drips　fell　from　the　ceiling　like　rain；　causing　ripples　in　milky　pools　of
water　that　gathered　in　hollows。
Dozens　of　natural　windows　looked　down　into　the　chamber；　each　crowded　with　the　graveyard’s
inhabitants；　who　bustled　for　the　best　vantages。
Calard　and　Raben　were　dragged　towards　a　natural　stone　platform　in　the　centre　of　the　cavern。　An
empty　throne　was　carved　into　the　rock　at　the　centre　of　this　platform。　Hundreds　of　human　skulls　were
piled　up　around　it。
Seated　on　the　roughly　hewn　steps　below　the　throne　was　a　figure　that　Calard　at　first　mistook　for　a
dusty　corpse。
Almost　imperceptibly；　the　skeletal　figure　raised　its　head　to　regard　their　approach。　Thick　matted
clumps　of　grey　hair　hung　down　over　an　overly　long；　ashen　face。　That　face　was　ancient；　so　deep　were　its
lines　that　they　looked　as　though　they　had　been　carved　with　a　chisel。　Clouded　eyes　glinted　in　deep
sockets。
Calard　and　Raben　were　forced　to　their　knees。　Their　weapons　were　tossed　to　the　floor　nearby；　and
the　clatter　they　made　reverberated　sharply　off　the　cavern　walls。　Chlod　tried　to　hang　back；　his　head　low；
but　he　was　shoved　forwards　to　stand　alongside　his　master。
‘What　have　you　been　keeping　from　me；　you　little　toad？’　said　Calard　out　of　the　corner　of　his　mouth。　It
was　the　first　chance　that　he　had　to　speak　to　Chlod　since　their　capture。　The　hunchbacked　manservant
made　no　answer。
‘Quiet；’　said　a　voice；　and　Calard　was　cuffed　across　the　side　of　the　head。
‘How　is　it　you　are　known　here？’　hissed　Calard。　‘Answer　me！’
Still　Chlod　offered　no　explanation；　and　again　Calard　was　struck；　harder　this　time；　knocking　him　to　the
ground。
A　bone　shard；　as　sharp　as　a　dagger　and　three　inches　long；　lay　on　the　cavern　floor　just　inches　from　his
nose。　He　turned　onto　his　side；　wriggling；　and　as　he　was　hauled　back　to　his　knees；　he　picked　up　the　bone
shard　and　secreted　it　in　his　clasped　hands。
A　hush　descended　over　the　cavern；　broken　only　by　the　steady　dripping　of　water。　The　figure　on　the
steps　regarded　them　in　silence；　his　gaze　inscrutable。　Calard　lifted　his　head　high；　eyes　blazing。
‘I　demand　that　I　be　released；’　he　said　in　a　low　voice。
The　grey　man’s　eyes　bored　into　Calard；　but　he　remained　silent。

‘My　purpose　in　this　cursed　land　lies　not　with　you；　or　your。。。　people；’　said　Calard。　‘Release　me。’
The　ashen…faced　figure　continued　to　regard　him　silently　for　a　moment；　then　stood；　his　movements
slow　and　deliberate。　He　looked　as　though　he　was　unfolding　as　he　rose　to　his　feet；　his　limbs　looking　too
long　and　too　thin；　like　the　legs　on　an　insect。　His　matted　hair　hung　past　his　thin　waist。　He　wore　a
threadbare　robe　of　faded　majesty；　something　that　might　have　been　worn　by　a　noble　lord　in　a　bygone　era。
Delicate；　moth…eaten　lace　hung　from　the　cuffs　of　his　sleeves　like　dusty　spider　webs。
With　regal　grace　he　moved　in　front　of　the　two　kneeling　knights　and　the　quaking　figure　of　Chlod。
His　hands　were　long　and　slender；　his　fingers　like　ivory　needles。　He　gestured　for　the　two　knights　to
rise；　and　they　were　hauled　roughly　to　their　feet。　Calard　stood　with　his　head　held　high；　refusing　to　be
cowed　before　this　pauper　king　and　his　tattered　court。
The　grey　man　was　frail　and　corpse…thin；　and　his　back　was　slightly　stooped；　yet　even　so　he　towered
over　Calard。　He　walked　around　the　three　of　them；　appraising　them。
He　came　to　a　halt　in　front　of　Chlod。　The　hunch…backed　manservant　flinched　as　the　grey　man　reached
out　towards　him。　Thin　fingers　lifted　Chlod’s　chin　until　he　was　looking　up　into　the　ancient　face。　Tears　ran
down　his　face。
The　skeletally　gaunt　figure　began　to　laugh。　The　sound　was　deep　and　hollow。
‘It　has　been　a　long　time；’　said　the　grey　man；　still　chuckling。　‘Welcome　home；　Chlod。’
‘Home？’　hissed　Calard；　glancing　sidewards　at　his　manservant。　All　colour　had　drained　from　Chlod’s
face。
‘Allo