Questing Knight(科幻战争)-第11章

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ground。
Calard　turned　and　helped　Raben　out；　then　looked　back　down　into　the　darkness。
‘Hurry；　peasant；’　he　said。　‘We　have　not　got　much　time。’
Down　at　bottom　of　the　rusted　ladder；　unseen　by　Calard；　Grandfather　Mortis　had　a　tight　hold　of
Chlod　and　was　speaking　to　him　in　a　low；　threatening　voice。　The　hunchbacked　peasant’s　face　was　pale。
‘Do　this　one　thing　and　your　past　crimes　will　be　forgotten；’　hissed　Mortis。
Chlod　nodded　vigorously；　and　Mortis　released　him。　Straightening；　he　stepped　backwards　and　was
swallowed　by　the　darkness。
‘Do　not　fail　me；’　came　his　deep；　hollow　voice。
Shaking；　Chlod　climbed　up　towards　street　level。　Calard　grabbed　him　by　the　shirt　front　and　lifted　him
up　the　last　few　feet。
Calard　had　not　wished　to　take　the　peasant　with　him；　but　Mortis　had　been　insistent。
‘He　is　no　longer　yours　to　command；’　the　old　man　had　said。　‘He　is　mine；　and　mine　alone；　but　he
accompanies　you　to　the　palace。’
The　idea　of　being　abandoned　beneath　the　city　had　not　been　an　appealing　one；　for　he　doubted　that　he
would　have　ever　gotten　out；　and　he　had　reluctantly　agreed。
The　sewer　grate　was　dragged　back　into　place；　and　Calard　pulled　his　hood　down　low　over　his　face。
‘Let’s　end　this；’　he　said。
NEVER　HAD　CALARD　walked　the　streets　of　a　city　more　wretched；　threatening　or　foul。
Every　building　was　dark　and　oppressive；　and　so　twisted　beyond　its　original　construction　that　it
looked　as　though　it　was　contorted　in　silent　agony。　Timbers　were　warped　and　swollen　with　moisture；　and
brickwork　was　bulging　and　uneven。　The　foundations　of　some　had　sunk；　while　others　had　seemingly　given
up　completely　and　collapsed　in　upon　themselves。
The　smell　of　rot　was　heavy　in　the　air　and　mould　covered　every　surface。　A　foetid　yellow　fog　filled　the
streets；　reducing　visibility　to　little　more　than　a　dozen　yards；　deadening　all　sound。　The　ground　was　rutted

and　undulating；　and　refuse　and　filth　was　piled　up　high　against　the　walls。
They　were　not　alone　in　this　city　of　the　damned。
Everywhere　they　walked　they　saw　hundreds　of　downtrodden；　desperate　people；　filthy　and　dressed　in
rags。　From　shuttered　windows　and　dark　alleyways；　the　inhabitants　of　Mousillon　city　watched　their
progress　through　the　district　of　Old　City。　Lepers　and　crippled　beggars　clutched　at　them；　holding　out
wooden　bowls。　Miserable；　malformed　street…sellers　sat　alongside　carts　filled　with　rotten　produce；　while
others　offered　them　such　tempting　treats　as　twitching　toads　on　sticks　and　greasy　bags　of　slugs。
Wasted　children　clutching　butcher’s　knives　ran　by　them；　giggling　as　they　chased　a　terrified；　scabby
dog。　Muscled　brutes　wearing　leather　masks　were　throwing　fresh　corpses　onto　a　wagon　piled　high　with
the　dead。　Whores　with　bruises　and　open　sores　on　their　faces　called　out　to　them　from　doorways。　Sickly
smoke　rose　from　shadowy　dens　where　a　man　could　lose　himself　if　he　had　the　coin　and　inclination。
Footpads；　pickpockets　and　bruisers　lurked　in　the　shadows；　but　Calard　and　his　companions　were　left
well　alone。　It　seemed　that　Mortis　was　as　good　as　his　word。　The　cadaverous　old　bastard　had　told　them
that　they　would　be　untouched；　claiming　that　his　word　was　law　in　the　poorer　districts　of　Mousillon。　Calard
had　thought　this　boast　just　to　be　bluster；　but　he　saw　now　that　he　had　been　mistaken。　He　had　had　no
doubt　in　his　mind　that　their　throats　would　have　already　been　slit　and　their　bodies　dumped　in　a　back　alley
without　Mortis’s　patronage。
It　took　them　the　better　part　of　an　hour　to　wind　their　way　through　the　slums。　At　last　they　came　to　a
wide　bridge　lined　with　crumbling　statues　that　crossed　the　River　Grismarie。　The　smell　of　brine　was　strong；
for　the　river　opened　up　to　the　sea　less　than　five　miles　to　the　west。
The　river　was　wide　and　slow　here；　and　it　bisected　the　city；　dividing　it　into　two　halves。　To　the　south
were　the　poorer　and　more　populated　districts；　along　with　the　sprawling　docklands。　On　the　north　side　was
the　old　temple　district；　and　beyond　that；　the　ducal　palace　itself。
IT　WAS　SAID　that　Mousillon　had　once　been　the　pride　of　Bretonnia；　its　most　bustling；　wealthy　and
beautiful　city。　It　had　been　home　to　Landuin；　the　finest　knight　to　have　ever　lived；　and　was　said　to　have
been　a　place　of　beauty；　culture　and　learning。　How　things　changed；　thought　Calard。
Thousands　of　downward…pointing　spikes　protruded　from　the　high　walls　lining　the　river；　set　several
feet　above　the　high…tide　mark。　Similar　spikes　adorned　the　legs　of　the　mile…long　bridge　itself。　Calard
frowned。
‘They　stop　the　city　from　being　overrun；’　said　Raben。　‘Look　there。’
Following　where　the　outcast　pointed；　Calard　squinted　through　the　gloom。　A　number　of　corpses　were
impaled　on　the　rusting　spikes。　With　a　shudder；　he　saw　that　most　of　them　were　moving。
‘Come；’　said　Raben。　‘This　is　our　gate。’
A　fortified　gate　barred　entry　to　the　north　side　of　the　city；　and　as　they　walked　towards　it；　Calard　saw
armoured　figures　waiting　for　them。　If　Raben　was　going　to　betray　him；　this　was　his　moment。
‘Just　so　we　are　clear；　you’re　on　your　own　once　we’re　inside；’　said　Raben　under　his　breath；　as　if　on
cue。
‘Fine；’　said　Calard。
‘And　if　by　some　miracle　you　succeed；　I　want　full　patronage。　A　title。　And　land。　A　castle　by　the　sea
would　be　nice。’
‘What？’　said　Calard。
‘A　little　something　to　ensure　that　I　don’t　accidentally　let　the　cat　out　of　the　bag；’　said　Raben。
‘For　a　moment；　I　was　starting　to　think　you　risked　showing　something　approaching　honour；’　Calard
snarled。

‘No　fear　of　that；’　said　Raben。　Calard　began　to　answer；　but　Raben　interjected。　‘Careful　now；　they’re
watching；’　he　said。　‘You　want　to　get　near　the　duke；　don’t　you？　One　word　from　me；　and　your　quest　is
over。’
They　drew　closer　to　the　checkpoint；　and　Calard　saw　that　there　were　more　than　twenty　soldiers
stationed　here；　armed　with　crossbows　and　halberds。　The　gates　were　closed　and　barred。
‘If　we　get　through　this；　and　you　somehow　prove　to　me　that　I　would　not　regret　it；　I’ll　see　you　are
rewarded；’　said　Calard。　‘I　will　offer　you　no　more　than　that；　but　you　have　my　word。’
‘Just　keep　silent　then；’　said　Raben　as　they　came　to　a　halt　in　front　of　the　gate。　He　flashed　a　sardonic
smile　at　Calard。　‘Trust　me。’
‘YOU　I　KNOW；　sir；　but　who　are　these；　then？’　said　the　captain　of　the　guard；　eyeing　Calard　and　Chlod
suspiciously。
‘My　second　in　command；’　said　Raben；　‘and　my　servant。　Let　us　through；　captain。　I　don’t　want　to　be
any　later　than　we　already　are。’
‘What’s　his　name？’　said　the　captain；　indicating　Calard。　‘I　don’t　recognise　him；　and　I’ve　a　gift　for
faces。’
Calard　opened　his　mouth　to　speak；　but　Raben　interceded。
‘Valacar；’　said　Raben。　‘His　name　is　Valacar。’
‘Why　don’t　he　speak　for　himself？’　said　the　captain。
‘He’s　mute；’　said　Raben　in　a　deadpan　voice；　ignoring　Calard’s　stare。
‘He’s　not　on　my　list；’　said　the　captain。　‘And　neither　is　your　servant。　My　orders　are　strict。　Ain't　no　one
not　on　my　list　getting　through　this　gate。’
‘Let　me　make　this　simple；’　Raben　said；　reaching　out　to　put　his　arm　around　the　captain’s　shoulders。　‘
The　Duke　Merovech　is　a　close　personal　friend　of　mine；　and　he　is　expecting　us　to　be　there　tonight。　We　are
already　late　as　it　is；　and　if　we　are　any　later；　I　will　make　certain　that　I　inform　the　duke　personally　exactly
who　it　was　that　detained　us。　It　is　Harol；　isn’t　it？　That　is　your　name；　if　I　am　not　mistaken？’
‘You　are　not；　sir；’　said　the　captain；　swallowing　heavily。
‘Are　we　done　here；　captain？’　said　Raben；　slapping　the　man　hard　on　the　shoulder。
‘We’re　done。　I’ll　have　a　coach　drop　you　at　the　palace　right　away；　sir。　Open　them　up！’
Raben　released　the　captain；　and　gave　Calard　a　wink　as　the　gates　yawned　open。
‘Oh；　and　sir？’
‘Yes；　captain？’　said　Raben。
‘Enjoy　the　celebration。’
‘Oh；　we　will；’　said　Raben　with　a　smile。
IX
THE　COACH　ROLLED　smoothly　to　a　halt　and　its　black　lacquered　doors　swung　open；　seemingly　of　their
own　accord。　A　small　set　of　steps　unfolded　with　a　clatter；　and　Calard　and　Raben　stepped　down　from　the
plush；　dark　velvet　interior。
Other　coaches　were　lined　up　around　the　curve　of　the　circular　roadway　inside　the　palace　gates。　Each
was　gleaming　black；　and　on　every　door　was　emblazoned　a　black　fleur…de…lys　upon　a　white　shield。
Hunched　coachmen　sat　up　front　of　each；　garbed　in　flowing　black　robes；　their　faces　hidden　by　dark
hoods。　Six　immense　horses　were　harnessed　to　each　coach；　their　coats　the　colour　of　the　midnight　sky；　and
immaculate　feathered　plumes　the　colour　of　congealed　blood　bobbed　above　their　heads。　Each　horse　stood
unnaturally　still；　like　statues。
Chlod　had　ridden　up　front　with　the　driver；　and　he　stood　waiting　for　them；　his　face　drained　of　colour
and　his　eyes　wide　and　unblinking。
Twelve…foot…high　fences　enclosed　the　palace；　tipped　with　wickedly　sharp　silver　points；　each　shaped
as　a　fleur…de…lys。　Calard　noted　that　there　was　a　heavy　guard　presence。　They　stood　at　regular　intervals
around　the　palace　exterior；　utterly　motionless；　their　features　hidden　in　fully　enclosed　black　plate　armour　of
ancient　design。
Grandiose　stairs　of　red…veined　black　marble　swept　up　before　them；　and　Calard’s　gaze　rose　towards
the　palace　itself。
It　was　breathtaking　in　its　scale　and　the　sheer　audacity　of　its　darkly　majestic　design。　It　was　oppressive
and　domineering；　yet　in　places　its　architecture　was　as　delicate　as　lace。　Dozens　of　spires　rose　like　needles
above　immense　lead…plated　domes；　linked　by　a　web　of　delicate　buttresses。　Hanging　arches　that　seemed
to　defy　all　the　laws　of　gravity　stretched　between　knife…edged　towers。　Slender　columns　reared　up　to
support　heavy　archways　that　concealed　grand　stained…glass　windows　in　their　shadows；　the　coloured　glass
glinting　in　the　fractured　moonlit　straining　to　penetrate　the　clouds。　Rainwater　dripped　from　the　gaping
mouths　of　fanged　gargoyles；　and　winged　statues　carved　of　black　granite　gazed　down　upon　them　in　mute
disdain。
Other　late　arrivals　were　hurrying　past　them　up　the　steps。　Flustered　ladies　garbed　in　velvet　and
adorned　with　precious　jewels　were　being　hastened　towards　the　palace　by　knights　wearing　freshly
laundered　tabards　over　battered　suits　of　armour。
Calard　and　Raben　climbed　briskly；　their　faces　grim；　while　Chlod　trotted　along　behind　them　in　silence。
The　entry　hall　of　the　palace　was　cavernous；　the　arched　ceiling　a　hundred　feet　high。