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a　look　of　disgust　on　his　face；　and　slid　his　blade　free。
The　Sword　of　Garamont　was　glowing　with　an　aura　of　white　light；　and　Calard　looked　upon　it　in
wonder。　Bertelis’s　blood　spattered　off　it；　leaving　the　blade　spotless。　The　shimmering　radiance　felt　like
sunlight　on　Calard’s　face；　and　despite　the　mayhem　surrounding　him；　he　felt　a　sense　of　calm　and　assurance
envelop　him。
Bertelis　fell　to　his　knees；　blood　pooling　beneath　him。　His　flesh　continued　to　shrink　upon　his　skull；　until
he　looked　barely　human　at　all。　His　hands　had　withered　to　little　more　than　talons；　and　their　veins；　purple
and　blue；　stood　out　sharply。　He　glared　up　at　Calard　then。　Hatred　and　fury　burnt　in　his　eyes；　but　also　fear。

He　hissed　like　a　cornered　animal；　teeth　bared；　as　if　he　were　devolving　before　Calard’s　eyes。
The　luminosity　of　the　sword　in　Calard’s　hands　intensified；　glowing　hot　and　pure；　and　Bertelis’s　skin
began　to　blacken　and　blister　beneath　its　glare。　He　held　his　hands　up；　shielding　his　eyes；　and　they　too
began　to　burn。　A　pitiful　wail　emitted　from　his　throat。
‘Lady；　give　him　peace；’　murmured　Calard；　clasping　his　sword　in　both　hands。　Without　pause；　he
stepped　forwards　and　beheaded　the　creature　that　had　once　been　Bertelis。
Raben　was　lying　on　the　ground　nearby；　clutching　at　his　stomach；　and　he　smiled　wryly　as　his　gaze　met
Calard’s。
‘Thank　you；’　said　Calard。
Raben　grunted。　‘That　was　your　brother？’　he　said；　indicating　towards　Bertelis’s　corpse　with　his　chin。
‘No；’　said　Calard。　‘My　brother　died　a　long　time　ago。’
A　roar　of　pain　and　fury　dragged　Calard’s　attention　up　towards　the　raised　dais。　The　immense；
loathsome　beast　that　Bertelis　had　called　a　varghulf　was　down；　blood　pooling　beneath　it。　Its　flesh　was
slashed　and　torn；　hanging　from　it　in　bloody　tatters。
Duke　Merovech　stood　before　it；　sword　in　hand。　He　too　was　injured。　One　of　his　pauldrons　had　been
ripped　away；　exposing　his　shoulder；　which　was　covered　in　blood。　Four　bloody　rents　were　carved
through　his　breastplate。　Nevertheless；　Duke　Merovech　stood　victorious；　and　Calard　shook　his　head　in
wonderment。　Could　nothing　kill　him？
The　varghulf’s　powerful　legs　bunched　for　one　final　spring；　but　it　was　never　given　the　chance。　Duke
Merovech　hurled　his　sword　aside　and　leapt　towards　his　enemy　with　a　blood…curdling　battle　cry；　hands
extended　like　claws。　He　grabbed　the　immense　creature　by　the　head；　grappling　with　it；　and　with　a　roar　of
effort；　he　wrenched　it　upwards；　exposing　its　neck。
Merovech’s　fangs　flashed；　and　he　tore　into　the　varghulf’s　neck。　The　creature　fought　against　him；　but
its　strength　was　gone。　For　long　moments　Merovech　drank；　glutting　himself　before　pulling　away。　His
mouth　and　chin　were　caked　in　blood。
Duke　Merovech　dragged　the　immense　weight　of　the　varghulf　across　the　dais　floor；　until　he　reached
the　altar。　With　one　hand；　he　grabbed　the　chalice　from　altar’s　tabernacle。　He　glanced　heavenward。　The
green　moon　of　Morrslieb　was　eclipsing　Mannslieb　now；　like　a　repulsive；　burning　pupil　in　a　silver　iris。
Apparently　satisfied；　Merovech　forced　the　varghulf’s　neck　back；　and　lowered　his　mouth　to　its　neck　once
more。　This　time　he　did　not　feed；　but　rather　tore。　He　ripped　open　its　throat；　and　the　last　of　its　blood　began
to　gush　forth。
GRANDFATHER　MORTIS　CLUTCHED　unsteadily　at　the　railing　of　the　balcony　as　he　watched　his　beloved
lord　and　master　slain。　His　children　were　being　butchered　down　below；　their　will　to　fight　evaporating　as
they　too　registered　that　their　master　was　no　more。
He　staggered　back；　casting　his　eyes　from　the　sickening　sight　of　his　master’s　body　defiled。　A　took　a
deep；　shuddering　breath；　and　turned　away。
A　heavy　spiked　cudgel　smashed　one　of　his　kneecaps　to　splinters；　and　he　fell　to　the　ground　with　a　cry
of　pain　and　shock。
Chlod　stood　over　him；　and　the　old　man　gaped　up　at　him。
‘Fifteen　years　I　was　your　slave；　one　of　your　cursed　children；’　said　Chlod。　‘I’ll　not　be　that　again。’
The　hunchbacked　peasant　spat　in　Mortis’s　face；　making　the　old　man　flinch。　That　merely　enraged
Chlod　more；　and　he　slammed　his　spiked　cudgel　into　Mortis’s　side。　Ribs　snapped　like　dry　twigs。
‘Fifteen　years　I　stole　and　murdered　for　you；　you　old　bastard；’　said　Chlod。　‘Fifteen　years　you　starved
me。　How　many　times　did　I　feel　the　touch　of　your　switch；　hmm？　How　many　bones　did　you　break？　How
many　scars　did　you　leave？’
He　made　to　strike　Mortis　again；　and　the　old　man　recoiled；　his　face　twisted　in　agony。
‘Who　has　the　power　now？’　said　Chlod。
‘I　took　you　in；　you　wretched　ingrate；’　hissed　Mortis　between　clenched　teeth。　‘I　fed　you！　I　clothed
you！　I！　Without　me　you’d　be　dead！　You’d　be　nothing！　I　made　you　what　you　are！’
‘You　did　at　that；’　said　Chlod。　‘Do　you　like　what　you　see？’
Chlod　brought　his　spiked　cudgel　down　again　and　again；　and　as　loud　as　Mortis’s　screams　were；　no
one　came　to　his　aid。　He　continued　his　brutal　attack　even　after　Mortis　had　ceased　screaming；　even　after　he
was　far　beyond　recognisable。
Finally；　Chlod　stopped　his　relentless　assault。　He　was　breathing　heavily；　and　tears　were　running　down
his　face。　He　was　completely　covered　in　blood；　and　chunks　of　skin　and　hair　clung　to　the　spikes　of　his　club。
He　spat　down　on　the　thing　that　had　once　been　Grandfather　Mortis；　and　then　turned　away。
CALARD　KNELT　BY　Raben；　and　gently　drew　back　the　outcast’s　arm　to　see　the　extent　of　his　injuries。
‘How’s　it　look？’　said　Raben。　His　face　was　pale。
‘It’s　a　scratch；’　said　Calard。　‘You’ll　be　whoring　again　in　a　week；　mark　my　words。’
‘Liar；’　said　Raben；　with　a　sardonic　smile。
‘You’ll　survive；’　said　Calard；　more　seriously。　‘Though　you’ll　have　one　hell　of　a　scar　to　match　that
one；’　he　said；　indicating　the　jagged　old　wound　that　crossed　Raben’s　throat。
‘Ladies　don’t　like　a　man　that’s　too　pretty；’　said　Raben。
‘Well；　you　certainly　aren’t　that；’　said　Calard；　casting　a　wary　eye　around　them。
There　were　few　left　standing；　in　truth。　It　seemed　that　both　sides　had　practically　annihilated　the　other；
though　from　the　looks　of　things；　there　were　far　more　of　Mortis’s　people　dead　than　Merovech’s。
Looking　back　up　towards　the　dais；　he　saw　that　Merovech　had　filled　the　chalice　with　the　varghulf’s
blood。　Now　he　stood；　letting　the　massive　creature’s　head　drop　to　the　floor；　dead。　The　vampire　duke
moved　towards　the　first　of　the　throned　statues。　He　raised　the　chalice　above　its　head；　and　tipped　it　slightly；
allowing　a　trickle　of　frothing　blood　to　drip　onto　the　statue’s　head。　Red　rivulets　ran　down　over　its　face；
removing　centuries　of　dust　and　grime。　Calard’s　heart　skipped　a　beat　as　the　statue　moved。
It　turned　its　face　up　towards　the　stream　of　blood；　its　mouth　opening　wide；　showing　off　impressively
elongated　canines。　Its　tongue　lapped　at　the　flow；　and　Calard　saw　its　throat　moving　as　it　swallowed。
‘That’s　not　good；’　said　Raben。
Merovech　righted　the　chalice；　and　the　enthroned　creature　returned　to　its　former　position。　The　duke
moved　on　to　the　next　in　line；　but　Calard’s　gaze　was　locked　on　the　first。　Its　eyes　snapped　open；　and　it
smiled。
Calard　took　a　few　steps　towards　the　steps　of　the　dais；　knowing　that　he　stood　little　chance　against
Merovech　alone；　even　without　with　his　newly　awoken　allies。　Nevertheless；　he　had　sworn　an　oath；　and
would　see　Merovech　dead　or　die　in　the　attempt。
‘Calard；’　called　Raben；　and　he　looked　back。　‘Don’t　throw　your　life　away。’
‘This　is　something　I　have　to　do；’　Calard　said。　He　swung　back　around。　His　step　faltered　as　the　holy
light　radiating　from　the　Sword　of　Garamont　dimmed；　then　died　altogether。　He　halted；　looking　down　at　it。
What　did　it　mean？　Did　the　Lady　disapprove　of　his　actions？　But　how　could　she？　Was　it　not　she　who
had　led　him　here？

Three　of　the　‘statues’　had　come　awake　now；　and　were　on　their　feet；　blinking　and　stretching　their
necks　like　men　awakening　from　a　deep　slumber。　Each　was　as　tall　as　Merovech　himself；　and　all　of　them
were　garbed　in　similar；　barbed　armour。
Calard　stood　stock　still；　indecision　plaguing　him。
‘Lady；　give　me　a　sign；’　he　whispered。　‘Show　me　what　it　is　you　wish　of　me。’
A　blinding　flash　exploded　in　Calard’s　mind；　sending　him　crashing　to　his　knees；　his　eyes　tightly　closed。
He　gasped　at　the　searing　pain　in　his　temples；　clutching　his　head　in　his　hands。
A　bewildering　flash　of