Questing Knight(科幻战争)-第6章

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‘You　know　him？’　said　Calard。
The　innkeeper　nodded。
‘Them’s　his　knights　back　there；’　he　said；　gesturing　through　the　crowd。　‘Bastards’ll　ruin　me；　drinking
me　dry　and　not　paying　a　copper；　but　what　can　I　do？’
Nodding　his　thanks；　Calard　found　a　secluded　table　in　a　dark　corner　and　sat　with　his　back　against　the
wall。　A　bowl　of　gristly　stew　was　brought　to　him　along　with　a　goblet　of　cheap　wine；　and　he　had　some
bread　and　water　sent　out　to　Chlod。　He　didn’t　touch　his　food；　and　made　only　a　pretence　of　drinking　his
wine；　eyes　locked　on　the　knights　that　the　innkeeper　had　identified。
There　were　six　of　them；　drinking　heavily；　and　their　table　was　piled　high　with　empty　dishes　and
goblets。　Calard　saw　that　one　of　their　number　was　the　cold…eyed　knight　he　had　bumped　into　at　the　bar；
though　he　sat　apart　from　the　others；　distancing　himself　from　their　drunken　excesses。　These　other　five　were
being　loud；　obnoxious　and　aggressive；　shouting　and　pounding　their　goblets　on　the　table　as　they　watched　a
puppet　show　under　way　upon　the　small　stage　at　the　back　of　the　inn。
Creepy…looking　marionettes　were　re…enacting　various　events　from　history；　and　Calard’s　attention　was
drawn　to　the　performance　as　something　caught　his　eye。　He　saw　a　puppet　knight　dressed　in　a　white
tabard；　and　his　eyes　narrowed。　The　puppet’s　heraldry　was　unmistakable：　a　black　fleur…de…lys　on　a　white
field。　The　knight’s　face　was　white；　as　was　his　hair；　and　he　wore　a　crown　of　rulership　upon　his　head。
‘The　duke　invited　all　the　nobles　in　Bretonnia　to　Mousillon；　to　celebrate　his　great　victory！’　screeched
the　voice　of　the　story’s　narrator　from　behind　the　puppeteers’　screen。　‘The　king　himself　came；　and　the
Duke　of　Mousillon　was　proclaimed　saviour　of　Bretonnia！’
A　cheer　erupted　from　the　watching　crowd　as　puppets　representing　the　dukes　of　Bretonnia　lifted　the
puppet　of　Duke　Merovech　high　into　the　air。
‘However；　the　king　was　jealous　of　our　beloved　duke’s　achievements；’　continued　the　narrator；　‘and

he　knew　that　Duke　Merovech　would　make　a　far　better　king　than　himself。　He　began　plotting　our　duke’s
downfall。’
The　crowd　booed　as　the　puppet　of　the　king；　carved　to　look　like　a　drunken　buffoon；　rubbed　its　hands
together　in　an　evil；　conspiratorial　manner。　Calard　frowned。　He　knew　this　tale；　but　its　telling　was　unlike　any
he　had　heard　before：　its　perspective　was　skewed；　its　heroes　and　villains　flipped。
The　true　tale　was　from　a　dark　period　in　the　history　of　Bretonnia；　hundreds　of　years　earlier；　and　it　told
the　story　of　the　last　Duke　of　Mousillon；　who　was；　by　all　reports；　a　butcher　and　murderer；　a　drinker　of
blood　and　an　eater　of　children。　However；　in　the　puppet　show　being　performed　here；　the　sadistic　duke
was　portrayed　as　a　living　saint；　while　the　king　and　his　loyal　dukes　were　little　more　than　jealous　inbreds；
conspiring　against　him。
The　crowd　cheered　as　the　Duke　of　Mousillon　uncovered　the　conspiracy　against　him；　and　thumped
their　tables　as　the　puppets　of　their　duke　and　the　king　drew　swords　against　one　another。　The　marionettes
duelled；　the　skilled　puppeteers　making　them　fight　with　surprising　believability；　and　the　inn　resounded　to
the　sound　of　swords　clashing。
Cheers　and　laughter　erupted　as　the　king’s　head　was　lopped　from　its　shoulders；　and　those　in　the　front
row　were　sprayed　with　pig’s　blood　pumped　up　through　the　puppet’s　severed　neck。　The　marionette　of　the
Duke　of　Mousillon　lifted　up　a　tiny　goblet　to　catch　the　rain　of　blood；　which　it　then　drank　down　in　one　gulp；
which　was　met　with　further　cheers。
The　curtain　fell；　and　the　narrator　continued。
‘The　traitor　king　was　dead；　but　the　jealous　dukes　turned　against　Mousillon。’
The　curtain　lifted　again；　showing　the　Duke　of　Mousillon　and　his　knights　battling　against　the　other
dukes。
‘Led　by　the　treacherous　Duke　of　Lyonesse；’　said　the　narrator；　eliciting　derisive　hisses　from　the
crowd；　‘they　besieged　Mousillon。　Yet　even　heavily　outnumbered；　our　lord　could　not　be　bested；　not　with
his　five　trusted　lieutenants　beside　him。　Finally；　the　Duke　of　Lyonesse　resorted　to　treachery。’
Boos　and　hisses　greeted　the　appearance　of　a　cloaked　and　hooded　marionette　that　reared　up　behind
the　Duke　of　Mousillon　and　stabbed　him　to　death。　The　deed　done；　the　puppet　threw　off　its　disguise；
revealing　its　identity　as　none　other　than　the　Duke　of　Lyonesse。　The　lights　dimmed　and　the　curtain　fell。
The　crowd　booed　loudly；　but　they　hushed　as　the　curtain　rose　one　more　time。　The　stage　was　unlit　and
bare　but　for　a　puppet　reclined　in　death；　wrapped　in　a　shroud。
‘But　before　he　died；　our　beloved　duke　swore　an　oath。　He　swore　that　he　would　return　from　beyond
the　grave　and　seek　vengeance！　He　swore　that　Mousillon　would　be　returned　to　its　former　glory；　and　that
the　rest　of　Bretonnia　would　pay　for　its　betrayal！’
The　death　shroud　was　suddenly　whisked　away　from　the　puppet…corpse　and　the　figure　of　the　Duke　of
Mousillon　leapt　up；　a　sword　held　in　each　hand。
‘Long　live　Duke　Merovech！’　screeched　the　narrator；　and　the　curtain　fell　for　the　last　time。
Calard　shook　his　head　as　the　crowd　cheered　and　banged　their　tables。　His　gaze　settled　on　the　knight
that　he　had　bumped　into　at　the　bar。
Perhaps　sensing　someone　watching　him；　the　knight　looked　up；　but　by　the　time　he　did；　Calard　had
already　gone。
VI
AN　HOUR　LATER；　the　knight　made　his　way　up　the　narrow　staircase　to　his　room。　He　unlocked　the　door；

which　opened　with　a　drawn…out　creak。　It　was　dark　within；　and　he　cursed。　He　had　left　a　lamp　burning　low
on　the　table　within；　but　a　draught　must　have　blown　it　out。　Leaving　the　door　ajar　so　that　he　could　see　by
the　light　in　the　hallway；　he　moved　towards　the　table。
The　door　clicked　shut　abruptly；　and　darkness　swallowed　him。　He　spun　around　on　his　heel；　reaching
for　his　blade。　It　was　half…drawn　when　the　tip　of　a　sword　touched　his　throat；　and　he　froze。
‘Sheathe　it；’　said　a　voice　from　the　darkness。　The　gaunt…featured　knight　scowled　but　did　as　he　was
bid。　The　shutters　of　a　lamp　were　opened；　and　the　knight　squinted　against　the　glare。
‘Sit；’　said　Calard。　He　forced　the　knight　back　with　the　point　of　his　sword；　making　him　sink　into　a
moth…eaten　chair。　To　his　credit；　the　dishonoured　knight　showed　no　fear。　‘Put　your　hands　behind　your
head；’　Calard　said。　The　knight　gave　Calard　a　long　look。
‘You　are　making　a　mistake；’　the　knight　said；　placing　his　hands　casually　behind　his　head。　His　voice
was　coarse；　little　more　than　a　growl。　Calard　lifted　the　man’s　chin　with　the　point　of　his　blade；　exposing　a
jagged　scar　that　reached　across　his　throat　from　ear　to　ear。
‘Nice　scar；’　said　Calard。
‘I’m　alive；’　growled　the　knight。　‘The　same　cannot　be　said　for　the　whoreson　who　gave　it　to　me。’
‘What　is　your　name？’
‘Raben；’　said　the　knight。　‘Who　the　hell　are　you？’
‘You　are　going　to　anse；　Raben。’
‘You’re　the　one　with　the　sword。’
‘You　are　one　of　Merovech’s　knights？’
‘You　already　know　the　answer　to　that。’
‘Where　is　he；　then？’
‘You　honestly　don’t　know？’　said　Raben。
‘If　I　did；　I　wouldn’t　need　you；　outcast；’　said　Calard。
‘Outcast；　is　it？　Oh　that　hurts；’　said　Raben。
‘Where？’　said　Calard。　A　trickle　of　blood　ran　from　Raben’s　throat。
‘The　ducal　palace　of　Mousillon　city；’　he　said　in　his　gravelly　voice。　‘He　does　proclaim　himself　to　be
the　long　lost　ruler　of　this　realm；　after　all。’
‘The　mad　duke　was　killed　centuries　years　ago；’　hissed　Calard。
‘Who　am　I　to　dispute　his　claim？’　said　Raben。　‘I’m　just　an　outcast。’
‘Indeed。’
‘Is　that　it？’　said　Raben。　‘Are　we　done？’
Calard　lowered　his　sword；　and　the　dispossessed　knight　let　down　his　hands。　Without　warning；　Calard
slammed　the　heavy　pommel　of　his　sword　into　the　side　of　Raben’s　head。　He　fell　sidewards　from　his　chair
and　hit　the　floor；　unconscious。
‘We　are　done；’　said　Calard。
CHLOD　AWOKE　WITH　a　start；　his　heart　pounding。　It　took　him　a　moment　to　remember　where　he　was：　the
stable　of　Morr’s　Rest。　He　lay　there　in　the　rotting　hay；　breathing　hard。　The　sound　came　again　–　something
like　a　heavy　chunk　of　wood　being　dropped　to　the　ground。
A　shaft　of　torchlight　seeped　in　from　the　courtyard　outside　through　a　knothole　in　the　wall。　Chlod

squatted　alongside　it；　squinting　through　the　gap。
At　first　he　saw　nothing　untoward。　The　courtyard　of　the　inn　was　deserted。　His　eye　swept　the
compound；　and　at　last　settled　on　the　gatehouse。　He　frowned。
The　shadows　beneath　the　archway　were　dark；　but　even　so　he　could　see　that　the　gate　was　open。　The
heavy　locking　bars　were　on　the　ground。　Sealed；　nothing　short　of　a　battering　ram　would　be　able　to　breach
those　gates；　but　they　had　been　flung　wide；　an　open　invitation　to　the　creatures　beyond。
For　a　moment；　Chlod　half…considered　a　mad　dash　across　the　courtyard　to　lock　the　gates；　for　he
knew　well　the　horrors　that　lurked　outside。　However；　he　was　no　hero；　and　they　would　have　been　too
heavy　for　him　alone　anyway。　He　stayed　put；　rooted　in　fear；　staring　at　the　gate　in　silent　dread。
For　long　minutes　he　watched；　barely　daring　to　breathe。　After　what　seemed　an　eternity；　he　saw　a
shadow　appear；　and　the　hairs　on　the　back　of　his　neck　rose。
The　dark　shape　hugged　the　ground；　moving　low。　It　paused　at　the　edge　of　the　torchlight；　then　edged
forwards。　Chlod　saw　a　pallid　face　atop　a　scrawny；　malnourished　body。　Bones　were　starkly　visible
beneath　its　skin。　It　sniffed　the　air　like　an　animal；　then　hissed　over　its　shoulder。　Rising　from　the　ground　into
a　low　crouch；　the　starving　peasant　padded　warily　into　the　courtyard　of　Morr’s　Rest；　hands　twitching。
A　second　peasant　came　through　behind　the　first；　a　filthy　bearded　man　carrying　a　rusted　plough　blade。
More　followed。　Chlod’s　heart　was　hammering　loudly　in　his　chest；　but　he　could　not　tear　himself　away　from
his　spy…hole。
He　froze　as　one　of　the　peasants　came　within　feet　of　him；　separated　only　by　the　thin　overlapping
planks　of　the　barn　wall。　This　one　was　a　foul　creature；　barely　human　at　all。　It　came　to　a　halt　and　cocked　its
head　to　one　side；　nostrils　flaring。　Chlod　could　make　out　the　fine　web　of　blue　veins　beneath　its　skin；　and
could　smell　its　animal　stink。　It　turned　and　stared　straight　at　him。　Chlod’s　heart　skipped　a　beat　as　it　saw
him。　It　grinned；　exposing　stained；　jagged　teeth。
Chlod　fell　away　from　the　wall　with　a　gasp；　scrambling　backwards。　He　heard　footsteps　inside　the
stable；　and　the　horses　and　ponies　began　whinnying