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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。　‘It　is　time　for　vengeance。’
CALARD　SAW　THE　thrill　of　anticipation　on　Bertelis’s　ungodly　pale　face；　mirroring　the　expression　of　every
onlooker。　His　brother　grinned；　exposing　needle…sharp　canines。
‘Blessed　Lady　of　mercy；’　Calard　breathed。
As　if　hearing　his　words；　Bertelis’s　head　snapped　around。　For　a　second　his　eyes　darted　from　face　to
face；　searching　for　who　had　spoken；　but　then　they　settled　on　Calard。　His　grin　widened；　and　he　began　to
chuckle。　With　slow；　unhurried　movements　he　drew　his　sword　and　began　walking　towards　Calard。　The
knights　and　ladies　around　the　questing　knight　drew　back　away　from　him；　leaving　him　isolated　and
exposed。
‘Hello；　Calard；’　said　Bertelis。　‘What　a　pleasant　surprise　this　is。’
‘What　has　he　done　to　you；　my　brother？’　said　Calard；　standing　alone。
‘Nothing　that　I　did　not　wish　for；’　said　Bertelis　with　a　grin；　loosening　the　muscles　of　his　neck　and
shoulders　languorously；　like　a　cat　stretching。　‘And　it　feels　fantastic。’
‘Finish　it　quic