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underside　of　a　further　trapdoor　was　positioned　directly　overhead；　leading　to　the　upper　levels　of　the
palace。
It　was　through　these　trapdoors　that　the　palace’s　stores　were　replenished。　Branches　of　the　Grismarie
had　been　redirected　beneath　the　palace　in　centuries　past；　and　in　times　gone　by；　barges　laden　with
produce　were　poled　up　the　wide　tunnels　from　upriver。　Casks　of　wines；　pallets　stacked　with　meats　and　all
manner　of　goods　and　foodstuffs　from　all　across　Bretonnia　and　beyond　would　have　once　been　hauled
directly　into　the　palace　from　the　canals　below　without　the　Mousillon　nobility　ever　being　forced　to　witness
their　arrival。
Chlod　turned　around　on　the　spot；　eyes　darting　around　frantically　for　a　way　to　release　the　trapdoor；
before　his　eyes　settled　on　a　rusted　lever　set　in　the　wall。　A　spider　the　size　of　his　hand　had　constructed　an
intricate　web　between　the　lever　and　the　stone　wall；　and　it　turned　towards　him；　a　myriad　of　eyes　glinting　in
the　darkness。　He　slapped　it　away；　and　took　hold　of　the　lever’s　handle。
The　lever　was　ancient　and　rusted；　and　had　clearly　not　been　used　for　decades。　It　resisted　him；　and　he
closed　his　eyes　as　he　strained　to　move　it。　He　planted　one　foot　against　the　wall　and　bent　his　back　against
it；　groaning　with　the　exertion。　It　did　not　budge。
The　guards　closed　towards　him　unerringly；　hefting　their　heavy　swords。　They　were　less　than　ten　yards
away。
‘Come　on！’　shouted　Chlod；　tugging　frantically　on　the　lever。
With　a　horrendous　screeching　of　metal；　the　lever　gave　way　and　Chlod　fell　to　the　ground。　There　was　a
grinding　of　gears　and　the　two　halves　of　the　trapdoor　swung　downwards；　like　the　floor　beneath　a　hangman
’s　noose。　They　struck　the　walls　of　the　vertical　shaft　with　a　resounding　boom；　and　at　the　same　moment；　the
chain　from　the　crane　began　to　unspool。　The　heavy　hook　rocketed　down　into　the　darkness；　and　the　sound
of　the　chain　unravelling　was　deafening。
A　cloud　of　bats　erupted　from　below；　screeching　and　clawing。　In　their　midst；　eyes　tinged　red　and　their
flesh　covered　in　open　sores　and　filth；　the　most　devolved　of　Grandfather　Mortis’s　children　burst　from　the
darkness。　A　narrow　staircase　descended　around　the　edge　of　the　vertical　shaft　leading　down　to　the　canal
fifty　feet　below；　and　dozens　of　wild…eyed；　emaciated　figures　appeared；　crawling　over　each　other　in　their
haste。
One　of　them　was　cut　almost　in　two　by　a　black…armoured　guard；　the　heavy　blow　splitting　him
diagonally　from　shoulder　to　hip。　Then　the　two　armoured　figures　disappeared　beneath　the　feral　tide；　borne
to　the　ground　with　a　crash。
The　chain　had　come　to　a　shuddering　halt；　and　after　a　pause；　it　began　to　reverse；　hauled　back　up　by
toothed　cogs　and　immense　counter…weights　hidden　behind　the　stone　wall。
Chlod　lay　still；　breathing　heavily；　as　he　watched　the　demise　of　the　two　guards。　Rocks　pounded　their
helmets　until　the　metal　buckled　inwards；　and　knives　were　slid　between　gaps　in　their　plate。　Finally；　the　two
armoured　figures　were　still。　One　of　their　visors　had　been　wrenched　completely　out　of　shape　and　torn
loose；　and　Chlod　hurriedly　looked　away　as　he　saw　what　was　contained　within。　If　ever　the　suit　of　armour
had　ever　been　worn　by　a　living　man；　that　time　was　long　past。
The　chain　continued　to　recoil；　clunking　loudly　as　each　link　was　reeled　in。　Finally；　the　massive　hook
reappeared。　Four　iron　rings　had　been　attached　to　it；　each　hooked　into　smaller　chains　that　were　orange
with　rust。　A　loading　pallet　was　hauled　into　view；　carrying　the　smiling　figure　of　Grandfather　Mortis；　who

was　standing　with　his　arms　raised　above　him　like　an　ascendant　god。
A　cluster　of　filthy　peasants　manhandled　the　crane；　swinging　it　away　from　the　gaping　trapdoor；　and　it
settled　to　the　floor　with　a　final　groan。
‘Excellent；　excellent；’　said　Mortis；　stepping　away　from　the　platform　and　rubbing　his　skeletal　hands
together。
He　moved　towards　Chlod；　still　lying　against　the　wall；　and　lifted　him　gently　to　his　feet。　He　stroked
Chlod’s　cheek　with　the　back　of　one　grey；　wrinkled　hand。　‘You　have　done　well；　my　child；’　he　said。　‘The
sins　of　the　past　are　forgiven。’
Grandfather　Mortis　continued　to　stroke　Chlod’s　cheek　for　a　moment；　then　he　grabbed　him　tightly
around　the　neck；　his　thumbs　pressing　hard　into　his　throat。　Chlod　gaped　like　a　landed　fish；　his　eyes
boggling。
‘But　don’t　even　think　about　leaving　us　again；’　said　Mortis。　‘You　belong　with　us；　and　I　will　not　tolerate
any　disobedience　from　you　again。’
From　somewhere　distant；　there　came　a　ferocious　roar；　booming　up　through　the　lower　levels　of　the
palace。　Mortis　released　Chlod；　a　look　of　rapture　upon　his　face；　and　Calard’s　manservant　fell　to　his
knees；　gasping　for　air。
‘Harken；　my　children！’　said　Mortis；　lifting　a　hand　to　his　ear。　‘Hear　the　call　of　our　beloved　lord！
XI
HIS　FACE　A　mask　of　grim　resolve；　Calard　slipped　through　the　braying　crowd。　His　gaze　did　not　waver
from　Merovech。　Calard　was　some　ten　people　back　from　the　edge　of　the　fighting　circle；　and　was　making
his　way　steadily　through　the　press；　closing　the　distance　to　the　albino　duke。　His　fist　was　clenched　tightly
around　the　hilt　of　the　Sword　of　Garamont；　sheathed　at　his　hip。
There　was　a　grunt　of　pain　and　a　splash　of　blood　in　the　fighting　circle　below；　and　the　crowd　roared　its
approval。　Merovech　alone　made　no　reaction；　his　expression　cold　and　detached。　Calard　ignored　the
glances　he　received　from　knights　and　ladies　as　he　pushed　his　way　through　the　onlookers；　drawing　ever
nearer　the　butcher　responsible　for　the　sacking　of　Castle　Garamont。
‘Kill　him！’　shouted　a　woman　wearing　a　spidery　lace　ruff　around　her　slender　neck。　Her　powdered
cheeks　were　flushed　and　her　pupils　dilated。　Her　cry　was　echoed　by　dozens　of　others；　all　crying　out　for
blood。
Calard　was　now　directly　behind　Merovech；　and　he　began　to　work　his　way　forwards；　shouldering
through　the　crowd。
The　duke　stood　alone；　aloof　and　distant　from　all　those　gathered　around　him。　No　one　came　within　arm
’s　distance　of　his　person；　possibly　out　of　respect；　or　perhaps　more　likely　out　of　fear。　Merovech　was　a
motionless　island　amidst　a　braying　sea　of　humanity；　yet　far　from　making　him　appear　unthreatening　or
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　o