Questing Knight(科幻战争)-第9部分

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‘Home？’　hissed　Calard；　glancing　sidewards　at　his　manservant。　All　colour　had　drained　from　Chlod’s
face。
‘Allow　me　to　introduce　myself；’　said　the　wasted　old　man；　turning　towards　Calard。　The　ghost　of　a
smile　played　at　his　ashen　lips　and　the　result　was　unsettling；　he　resembled　nothing　more　than　a　grinning
corpse。
‘I；’　said　the　deathly　old　man；　‘am　Grandfather　Mortis。’
‘Grandfather　Mortis；’　said　Calard；　dryly。
‘The　one　and　only；’　said　the　old　man；　giving　Calard　a　mocking　bow。
‘I　am　Calard　of　Garamont；　a　questing　knight　of　Bastonne。’
‘Engaged　on　the　quest；　is　it？’　said　Mortis。　‘And　this？’
‘Raben；’　said　the　outcast　knight。
‘Just　Raben？’
‘Just　Raben。’
‘I　see；’　said　Mortis。　He　looked　at　Raben　for　moment；　then　turned　away。　He　stretched　his　skeletal
arms　theatrically　wide；　fingers　unfurling。　‘And　these；’　he　said；　‘these　are　my　children。　My　loving；
trustworthy　children。’　He　looked　pointedly　at　Chlod；　who　shrank　under　his　gaze。
‘Your　children；’　said　Calard；　‘are　cannibalistic　inbreds。’
‘In　lean　times；　needs　must；　and　so　forth　and　so　on；’　said　Mortis　with　a　shrug。
‘To　eat　the　flesh　of　one’s　fellow　man　is　an　abomination；’　said　Calard。　‘These　peasants　would　be
better　off　dead。’
‘Keep　your　moral　outrage；　it　means　nothing　here；’　said　Mortis。　‘My　children　live；　and　that　is　itself　a
triumph　in　this　gods…forsaken　land。’
‘This　is　no　life；’　said　Calard；　looking　around　him。　‘I’d　sooner　die　that　live　like　this。’
‘That　is　a　most　interesting　notion；’　said　Mortis。　‘There’s　good　meat　on　your　bones。’
‘Are　you　going　to　kill　us？’　said　Chlod；　tears　still　running　down　his　face。

‘Kill　you？’　said　Mortis；　reaching　out　a　hand　to　stroke　Chlod’s　face。　‘These　others；　maybe。　But　you？
Of　course　not；　child！　This　is　where　you　belong。　All　your　sins　will　be　forgiven；　in　time。　You　will　be
punished；　of　course；　but　you　are　home；　and　that　is　what　matters。’
At　the　mention　of　punishment；　Chlod　paled。　Turning　from　him；　Mortis　jabbed　a　finger　towards
Raben。
‘This　is　one　of　the　duke’s　knights；’　he　said。　‘Why　is　it　not　dead？’
‘This　knight　is　under　my　protection；’　said　Calard。　‘He　is　not　to　be　harmed。’
‘Is　that　so？’　said　Mortis。　‘What　are　you　doing　here　in　Mousillon；　Calard　of　Garamont？　What　brings
you　to　our　cursed　realm？’
‘The　Lady　herself　has　led　me　here。’
‘Why？’
‘What　does　it　matter？’　said　Calard。
‘Curiosity；’　said　Mortis。　‘Indulge　an　old　man。’
‘I　came　to　find　someone；’　said　Calard。　‘And　when　I　do；　I　intend　to　kill　him。’
Raben　smirked　at　that。
‘You　came　here　to　kill　him？’　he　said。　‘You　are　more　of　a　fool　than　I　thought！　He　cannot　be　killed；　not
by　one　such　as　you。’
‘Any　man　can　be　killed；’　said　Calard。
‘Merovech　is　no　man；’　said　Raben。
‘Man；　fiend；　devil；　I　care　not；’　said　Calard。　‘I　will　kill　him。’
Mortis　lashed　out；　grabbing　Calard　around　the　throat。　His　nails　bit　deep　into　his　flesh；　drawing　blood。
‘Merovech？’　Mortis　said；　enunciating　the　name　clearly　so　there　could　be　no　misunderstanding。　‘You
came　here　to　kill　Duke　Merovech？’
Before　anyone　could　react；　Calard’s　hands　were　free；　the　tough　cord　falling　away　from　his　wrists。　No
one　had　noticed　him　cutting　his　bindings；　and　in　the　blink　of　an　eye　he　had　the　razor…sharp　bone　shard　he
had　retrieved　from　the　ground　pressed　to　Mortis’s　neck。
The　old　man　released　him；　and　held　up　both　hands　in　a　sign　of　submission。　The　cavern　erupted　in
shouts　and　hisses。　Hands　tightened　the　noose　around　his　neck；　but　Calard　increased　the　pressure　on　the
bone　held　to　Mortis’s　throat。
‘Call　them　off；　or　you　die；’　hissed　Calard。
The　old　man　made　a　sound　like　he　was　clearing　his　throat；　and　the　peasants　drew　back；　tense　and
uneasy。
‘I　am　no　friend　of　Duke　Merovech’s；　Calard　of　Garamont；’　said　Mortis　with　a　deathly　grin。　‘And　the
enemy　of　one’s　enemy　is　one’s　friend；　no？’
‘MEROVECH　THE　MAD；’　said　Mortis。　‘The　fool　is　obsessed　with　regaining　Mousillon’s　lost　prestige；　and
in　doing　so；　eradicating　all　he　sees　as　vermin。　Namely　my　children　and　I。　You　don’t　mind　if　I　sit？’
Calard　had　the　Sword　of　Garamont　in　his　hand；　its　point　levelled　at　Mortis’s　skeletal　chest。　At　Calard
’s　order；　Chlod　had　released　Raben　from　his　bonds；　and　retrieved　their　weapons。　His　shield　and　bastard
sword　were　strapped　to　his　back；　and　behind　him　stood　Raben；　blade　drawn；　eyeing　the　hostile　peasants
warily。　Chlod　stood　nearby；　wringing　his　hands。
Mortis　lowered　himself　onto　the　stone　steps　below　the　throne　with　a　sigh。　At　a　guess；　Calard　judged

the　old　man　to　be　perhaps　ninety　years　of　age。　Still；　as　frail　as　the　old　man　appeared；　Calard　was　not
about　to　underestimate　him。　His　mind　was　clearly　still　as　sharp　as　a　razor；　and　he　had　but　to　speak　the
word　and　the　onlooking　peasants　would　tear　them　limb　from　limb。
‘Five　years　Merovech　has　waged　war　upon　us。　Always　in　that　time；　we　have　been　protected　by　our
lord；’　said　Mortis；　gesturing　towards　the　empty　throne。　‘But　he　is　gone　now；　captured　three　nights　past
on　the　Shadow…Moors。　Without　him；　we　are　lost。’
‘The　ancient　one　is　gone？’　gasped　Chlod。　Mortis　nodded　grimly。
‘You　would　be　doing　me　a　great　favour　if　you　succeeded　in　slaying　the　duke；’　said　Mortis；　his
skeletal　fingers　drumming　on　the　stone　steps。　‘Though　it　would　not　be　easily　achieved。’
‘The　Lady　is　with　me；’　said　Calard　grimly。　‘The　duke　will　die　by　my　blade；　you　have　my　oath　on　it。’
‘Let’s　just　get　out　of　here；’　said　Raben　over　his　shoulder。
Mortis’s　fingers　drummed　upon　the　dusty　stone　surface　of　the　steps。
‘Leave　that　one　with　us；’　he　said；　gesturing　towards　Raben；　‘and　you　are　free　to　leave。’
Raben　flashed　Calard　an　alarmed　look。
‘Take　me　with　you；’　said　Raben　swiftly。　‘I’ll　get　you　close　to　Merovech。　You　won’t　get　within　a
hundred　yards　of　him　without　me。’
Calard　considered　his　decision。
‘He　comes　with　me；’　he　said　finally。
‘He　is　one　of　the　duke’s　sworn　knights；’　said　Mortis。　‘You　think　you　can　trust　his　word？’
‘Not　for　a　moment；’　said　Calard。　‘He　is　an　outcast　and　has　no　honour；　but　he　may　prove　useful。’
The　sound　of　a　bell　tolling　in　the　distance　echoed　down　through　the　catacombs；　and　Mortis　looked
up。
The　bats　on　the　ceiling　erupted　into　flight；　the　beat　of　their　wings　and　their　high…pitched　cries
deafening。　They　swirled　around　the　cavern　in　a　dense　cloud；　like　a　school　of　shoaling　fish；　then　hurtled
through　an　opening　in　the　ceiling　and　were　gone。　The　doleful　bell　continued　to　sound。
‘What　is　it？’　said　Calard。
‘A　warning。　They　have　come　to　end　it；’　said　Mortis。　The　peasants　all　around　began　shouting　and
wailing；　hissing　and　gnashing　their　teeth。
‘I　don’t　like　this；’　said　Raben。　‘We　have　to　go！’
‘Merovech　marches　against　us；’　said　Mortis。　‘The　Warren　is　no　longer　a　safe　haven。’
‘He　is　here？’　said　Calard；　eyes　lighting　up。　‘Merovech　is　here？’
‘He　would　not　sully　his　hands　in　person；’　said　Mortis；　shaking　his　head。
‘How　can　you　be　sure？’　said　Calard。　‘This　could　end　now。’
‘He　is　not　here；’　said　Raben；　firmly。　‘He　waits　at　the　palace。　A　victory　banquet　has　been　prepared　to
welcome　back　his　captains　in　two　nights’　time。’
‘And　how　would　you　know　that？’　said　Calard。
‘I　was　invited；’　said　Raben　with　a　sardonic　smile。
‘Enough　talk。　We　leave　now；’　said　Mortis。
‘We？’　said　Calard。
‘I’ll　get　you　inside　the　city；’　said　Grandfather　Mortis。

VIII
‘GODS；　HAVE　YOU　ever　smelt　anything　fouler？’　growled　Raben。　Calard　had　to　admit　that　he　hadn’t。　Even
with　a　cloth　anointed　with　perfumed　oil　tied　around　his　mouth　and　nose；　he　could　barely　keep　from
gagging。
They　were　moving　single　file　through　a　narrow　sewer　tunnel；　choosing　their　steps　carefully。　Mortis’s
peasants　led　the　way；　picking　the　safest　and　most　direct　route。　Every　surface　was　slick　with　filth；　from　the
curving　walls　to　the　narrow　shelf　beneath　their　boots。　Beside　them　was　a　foetid　flow；　barely　moving　and
stagnant。　Pale　things　wriggled　within；　making　Calard’s　stomach　heave。　They　passed　countless　floating
bodies；　their　flesh　rotting　and　bloated。
The　torches　they　carried　filled　the　narrow　tunnels　with　sickly　black　smoke。　Spider　webs　crackled　as
they　were　consumed　by　flame；　and　rats　the　size　of　small　dogs　scurried　into　the　darkness；　where　they
stopped　and　stared　back　at　these　interlopers　into　their　realm；　eyes　glittering　like　malignant　red　jewels。
They　were　beneath　the　walled　city　of　Mousillon；　drawing　ever　nearer　their　goal。　It　had　taken　them
almost　three　days　to　get　here。　Calard　longed　to　see　daylight　and　be　away　from　Mortis　and　his　repulsive
brood。
At　sluice　junctions；　places　where　the　water　flowed　more　swiftly；　they　encountered　peasants　fishing
out　bodies　and　floating　junk　with　long　poles。　They　clasped　their　muddy　hats　in　their　hands　and　bowed
their　heads　respectfully　as　Grandfather　Mortis　passed　by。
‘You　were　telling　me　of　L’Anguille；’　said　Calard。　Calard　was　certain　that　the　rebel　knight　was
omitting　many　facts；　but　even　so；　he　painted　a　bleak　picture　of　the　events　leading　to　his　becoming　an
outcast。
Raben　sighed。　‘I　slit　the　bastard’s　throat。　His　death　was　quicker　than　he　deserved。’
‘He　was　your　liege　lord；　whom　you　were　sworn　to　protect　and　serve；’　said　Calard。　They　turned　a
corner；　and　rats　scurried　away　from　their　light。
‘Earl　Barahir　was　a　debauched　fiend　and　a　murderer；’　said　Raben。　‘He　had　no　honour。　He　got　what
he　deserved。’
Calard　remained　silent。　In　truth；　he　could　not　say　that　he　would　have　done　differently　had　he　been　in
Raben’s　place。
‘I　was　stripped　of　my　land　and　titles　and　imprisoned。　I　did　not　resist；　assured　that　my　family　would　be
spared　if　I　gave　myself　in　willingly。　They　were　not；’　said　Raben；　bitterly。　‘My　wife　was　flogged　and
forced　into　the　fields　with　the　twins。　I　was　due　to　hang；　but　guilt　over　what　I　brought　upon　my　wife　and
daughters　consumed　me。　Bribing　my　gaoler；　I　escaped；　but　the　pox　had　already　done　its　work。　Perhaps　it
was　a　blessing　that　they　did　not　suffer　long。　My　daughters　would　have　been　on　the　cusp　of　womanhood
by　now；　had　they　lived。’
‘I’m　sorry；’　said　Calard。
In　the　gloom；　he　saw　Raben　shrug。
‘And　so　you　came　to　Mousillon？’　prompted　Calard。
‘And　so　I　came　to　Mousillon；’　said　Raben。　‘I　had　nothing　to　live　for；　but　not　the　courage　to　end　it。　I
was　hunted　as　an　outlaw；　but　my　pursuers　dropped　off　once　I　came　here。　That　was　nine　years　ago。’
They　continued　along　in　silence　for　some　time；　until　word　was　passed　back　along　the　line　that　they
were　nearing　to　their　destination。
‘Thank　the　Lady　for　small　mercies；’　said　Calard。　Raben　scoffed　at　his　piety；　and　Calard　glared　at
him。

‘What？’　said　Raben；　looking　back　at　Calard。　‘Worship　of　the　Lady　is　a　sham。　Just　because　one　of
our　forefathers　thought　he　saw　some　watery　tart　doesn’t　mean–’
The　outcast　knight’s　words　were　cut　short　as　he　slipped　in　an　overflow　of　effluent。　He　would　have
fallen　into　the　befouled　waters　had　not　Calard　grabbed　him　under　one　arm　and　hauled　him　back；　dumping
him　unceremoniously　on　the　ground。
Even　so；　one　of　Raben’s　boots　broke　the　surface　of　the　stinking　flow。　In　the　blink　of　an　eye；　a
decaying　corpse　floating　face　down　nearby　lurched　at　him。　Worms　writhed　in　its　throat　as　its　mouth
gaped　open；　and　fingers　that　had　rotted　down　to　the　bone　l