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calm； his utter stillness was deeply unsettling。 It set him apart from those around him； perhaps even more
so than his alabaster countenance； making him appear inhuman and alien。
Calard’s gaze never wavered。 Cold fury burned in his eyes。 He was only yards away now； only
seconds from attaining his vengeance。 His whole being became utterly focused； his senses heightened to
unsurpassed levels in anticipation of this final confrontation。
He could smell the sickly fragrance of the scented perfumes and oils worn by the courtiers； which did
little to mask the excited sweat exuded by those watching the brutal contest below。 He could taste the
metallic tang of blood in the air。 He could hear every grunt and grimace of the two duelling knights； the
scrape of their boots upon the grooved floor of the killing circle； and the sharp clang of metal on metal。
He could feel the reassuring weight of the Sword of Garamont beneath his grasp。
Calard stood directly behind the duke now。 All he had to do was draw his blade and run the fiend
through。 No one； not Merovech nor any of his gathered knights would be able to stop him。 He started
drawing the Sword of Garamont before he regained control of himself。
Cutting an enemy down from behind； even a monster like Merovech； was an honourless； dog act；
and one that would lessen him in his own eyes and the eyes of the Lady。 And besides； Merovech was
only one half of the murderous pair that had butchered his nephew and laid waste to his castle。 Before
Merovech died； he was honour bound to discover the identity of the second fiend； so that he too could
be brought to justice。
The duel came to a sudden； brutal end。 It was a shockingly one…sided affair； with one knight clearly
toying with the other。 Finally tiring of the game； he struck his opponent a vicious blow to the neck。 The
knight dropped to one knee； sword clattering from his grip。
Calard saw all this only dimly； the action taking place in his peripheral vision； his gaze still locked on
Merovech。
The crowd hollered and stomped their feet； and Calard heard the fallen knight begging for mercy。
The other knight turned his back on him； lifting his sword high into the air； accepting the roar of the
crowd。 The beaten warrior lowered his hand； and his head dropped in defeat。 There was a lot of blood；
but the wound was not fatal。
With inhuman speed and savagery； the victorious knight swung around suddenly； sword blade
flashing。 The defenceless knight was decapitated； and a fountain of blood erupted from the stump of his
neck。 The head bounced and rolled across the floor； coming to a halt against the lowest curved step of
the killing circle。 A surprised expression was etched upon its ashen face。 For a second the headless
corpse remained upright； blood spraying forth in rhythmic spurts； before it toppled forwards and was still。
Blood continued to gush from the body； running into the spiralling grooves carved in the floor。 The crowd
cheered their approval。
The speed and savagery of the dishonourable blow dragged Calard’s attention briefly away from his
foe。
He looked upon the face of the duel’s victor； and his blood ran cold。
It was his brother； Bertelis。
XII
CALARD’S EYES WIDENED in horror。
Bertelis stood alone in the circle； splattered in blood。 His face bore an unhealthy pallor； and a cruel
half…smile ghosted across his blue…tinged lips。 He dropped to his knees before Duke Merovech。
‘For your honour； my lord；’ said Bertelis in a voice that made the hairs on the back of Calard’s neck
stand on end。 It was at once his brother’s voice； and it wasn’t； tinged with bitterness and cruelty。
Merovech laid his hand upon the back of Bertelis’s head as if in some dark benediction。 They held
the pose for a moment； then Merovech spoke。
‘Rise；’ he said； his voice cold and dispassionate。
Calard was frozen in place； staring at his brother。
The duke loosened one of his exquisite； tight…fitting leather gloves and pulled it free； exposing a hand
as pale as virgin snow。 He drew a slender dagger from his hip and placed it across his naked hand。 His
fingers closed tightly around the blade； and with a smooth； slow movement； he slid the dagger free。 His
blood shone brightly upon the blade。
Sheathing the knife； Merovech clicked his fingers and a goblet of wine was handed to him。 He lifted
his pale hand above the goblet； still clenched in a fist； and let his blood drip steadily into the wine。 When
the flow ceased； he handed the goblet to Bertelis； who accepted it with a look of hunger。
‘All of Mousillon salutes you； Bertelis； champion of champions；’ said Merovech。
Bertelis lifted the goblet high； then threw his head back and gulped back its contents。 He shuddered
in rapture； his eyes half…closed as he lowered the drinking vessel from his lips。
Calard groaned in horror as he watched his brother drink the wine infused with blood； shocked to
the core of his being。 Bertelis wiped a ruby drip from the corner of his mouth； and Duke Merovech
stepped down into the centre of the duelling ring。 He moved with a lion’s grace。
Bertelis had always been tall； standing half a head clear of Calard himself； but Merovech towered
over him。 He turned around on the spot； eyeing the gathered knights。 His white features contrasted
sharply with the black of his armour； and his red…tinged eyes glinted in the torchlight； like those of a wolf。
All conversation had ceased in the chamber； and now all were gathered close in around the duelling pit to
hear their master’s words。
‘Tonight is an auspicious night； my brothers；’ said Merovech； his voice booming out to fill the
expansive hall。 He began to stalk around the perimeter of the circle； like a caged beast。 ‘Tonight is the
dawning of a new era in Mousillon’s history。 Once； our realm was the most powerful in all Bretonnia。
Now we have a chance to reclaim that glory； you and I。’
Calard found himself captivated by Merovech； unable to tear his eyes away from him。
‘For seven hundred years I slumbered；’ said Merovech。 ‘I awoke to find Mousillon a pale shadow of
its glorious past； overrun with vermin； its lands annexed by its neighbours； its very name a by…word for
despair and failure。 But now； I have returned。 Now； Mousillon will rise again。 And you； my brothers； will
rise with it。’
Merovech had returned to the centre of the circle and now he stopped his restless pacing。 Calard
could feel the excitement building amongst the onlookers。
‘Each of you has proven yourself worthy；’ said Merovech； ‘and so； I will grant you the greatest gift
that you shall ever receive。 Tonight； you become as gods among men； and together we shall take back
what is rightfully ours。 All of Bretonnia shall kneel before us； and the lands shall run red with blood。’
As if on cue； there came a grinding of gears and the turning of ancient mechanisms； and the domed
ceiling overhead began to open； unfurling like the petals of a black rose under the midnight sky。 The
clouds were parting overhead； and the silver light of Mannslieb shone down into the expansive chamber。
There were gasps from the crowd of onlookers； but it was not for this mechanical wonder； or the sight of
the silver moon。 No； those intakes of air were for the appearance of the second moon： Morrslieb；
glowing malignant and green； that stared down at them like a baleful eye。
Merovech was standing with his arms raised to the heavens； bathing in Morrslieb’s sinister emerald
glow。
‘It is time！’ bellowed the duke。 ‘Bring forth the prisoner！’
BOUND IN HEAVY； ensorcelled chains and surrounded by armed guards； the prisoner was dragged up
through the palace halls from the oubliette that had held it； far below。 It bellowed its fury； the sound
echoing deafeningly through the lower levels。 Its massive body was a patchwork of burns； savage cuts
and mottled bruises courtesy of the duke’s finest torturers。 More than a score of muscle…bound wardens
hauled upon the thick chains； straining and heaving to keep the prisoner moving。 They wore black leather
hoods over their heads； and were accompanied by an entourage of palace guards； silent； long…dead
warriors enclosed in black plate armour。
The ambush hit them hard and fast。 The battle took place halfway up a wide marble staircase； with
the attackers striking simultaneously from above and below。 The fight was brutal and bloody； and over
within thirty heartbeats。 The prisoner itself tore apart half a dozen of its gaolers； ripping them limb from
limb in a gory explosion of rage and savagery。
Grandfather Mortis approached the prisoner warily； hands raised； as one might approach a wounded
bear。 His eyes were full of pity as he looked upon his lord’s tortured flesh。
Murmuring calming words； he laid a hand gently upon one of the prisoner’s immensely muscled
shoulders。 Its heavy head came up sharply； snarling； and Mortis jerked back。 Its snarl descended into a
low； warning rumble deep in its chest； and Mortis placed his hand back upon its shoulder。 This time it
accepted his touch。
‘It’s over；’ said Grandfather Mortis in a soothing voice。 ‘It’s over。’
‘No；’ growled the prisoner； forming the words with some difficulty。 Its mouth was built for tearing
and ripping； not for speech