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continuing。　‘He　looked　as　though　he　was　sleeping。　His　eyes　were　closed；　but　there　was　so　much　blood。。。
The　baron　was　there　too。　He　died　with　a　sword　in　his　hand；　blind　as　he　was；　the　brave　old　fool。　I　ran　to
my　room；　and　barricaded　the　door。　I　stayed　there　until　I　smelled　smoke。　The　floor　started　to　get　hot。
When　the　heat　became　unbearable　I　leapt　from　my　window。’
‘The　knight　you　saw；’　said　Calard。　‘Did　you　see　his　heraldry？’
‘No；’　said　Josephine。　‘But　the　devil　was　garbed　in　white。’
‘Dressed　in　white。。。’　breathed　Calard。　The　vision　that　had　been　plaguing　him　for　months　sprang
unbidden　into　his　mind。　The　images　were　confusing；　their　meaning　unclear；　but　he　recalled　again　a　shield
of　white　lying　discarded　on　the　ground；　splattered　with　blood。　Bones　and　a　skull；　bleached　white　in　the
sun；　were　visible　in　the　dead　grass。　A　breeze　picked　up　and　black　petals　filled　the　air。　Several　flowers
settled　on　the　shield　face；　and　only　now　did　Calard　recognise　them　for　what　they　were。

‘This　knight。　His　shield　bore　a　black　fleur…de…lys；　didn’t　it？’
‘It　is　possible；’　said　Josephine；　frowning；　‘but　I　could　not　be　sure。’
‘I　am　certain；’　said　Calard。　‘The　Lady　sent　me　a　vision　of　black　lilies　falling　upon　a　shield　of　white。
She　was　telling　me　who　did　this。’
The　lily　was　sacred　to　the　Lady；　and　had　been　since　the　founding　of　Bretonnia。　The　tri…petalled
symbol　of　the　fleur…de…lys　was　a　stylistic　representation　of　the　sacred　flower；　and　while　it　had　always
been　a　sign　of　purity；　the　symbol　had　also　been　traditionally　worn　by　the　nobles　of　a　house　that　was　once
proud　and　honourable；　but　had　long　fallen　to　darkness。
‘The　goddess　has　shown　me　who　has　brought　this　ruination　on　my　house　that　I　might　seek
vengeance；’　said　Calard；　his　eyes　gleaming　with　conviction。
‘If　you　say　so；’　said　Maloric；　putting　his　arm　around　his　wife’s　shoulders。
‘My　path　is　clear；’　said　Calard；　standing。　‘I　must　leave。’
‘Leave？’　said　Josephine；　half…rising。　‘What　are　you　talking　about？’
‘If　he　wishes　to　chase　foolish　dreams；　let　him　go；’　said　Maloric；　placing　a　hand　on　his　wife’s　arm。
‘But　go　where？’
‘The　knight　that　you　saw；’　said　Calard。　‘I　know　who　he　is。’
‘Who？’　said　Josephine。
‘A　black　fleur…de…lys　against　a　white　field。　That　is　the　heraldry　of　Merovech　of　Arlons。’
‘The　knight　that　defeated　your　brother　at　the　tournament　in　Lyonesse；’　said　Maloric。　‘Am　I　right？’
‘You　are。’
‘Arlons？’　said　Josephine。　‘Where　is　that？　I　am　not　familiar　with　the　name。’
‘I　am　not　surprised；’　said　Maloric；　‘for　it　is　a　cursed　place。　It　lies　within　the　borders　of　Mousillon。’
‘Mousillon；’　breathed　Josephine；　her　eyes　widening　in　horror。
‘And　that　is　where　I　go；’　said　Calard。
III
MOUSILLON　；　REALM　OF　the　Damned。
Chlod　stared　ahead　with　wide；　unblinking　eyes　as　the　barge　made　steady　progress　across　the　black
waters　of　the　River　Grismarie。　His　gaze　was　locked　in　the　near　distance；　where　a　solid　wall　of　fog　rose
up；　linking　the　icy　black　water　with　the　overcast　sky；　concealing　the　shores　of　Mousillon。　The　peasant
shivered。
‘It　is　like　the　edge　of　the　world；’　said　Chlod。　‘And　we　are　sailing　straight　towards　it。’
‘Nonsense；’　said　Calard。　‘It　is　fog；　nothing　more。’
He　was　turning　a　sword　over　in　his　hands；　marvelling　at　its　workmanship。　The　blade　was　flawless；
gleaming　silver　and　the　pommel　was　beautifully　crafted　into　the　shape　of　a　fleur…de…lys。
The　Sword　of　Garamont　was　a　priceless　heirloom；　and　it　had　been　in　the　family　for　generations。　Said
to　have　been　blessed　by　the　kiss　of　the　Lady　herself；　Calard　had　presented　it　to　his　nephew　Orlando
when　he　had　taken　up　his　quest。　He　had　feared　it　lost；　stolen　or　destroyed　when　his　castle　was　sacked；
but　such　fears　had　been　proven　unfounded。　Before　he　had　left　Sangasse　three　weeks　earlier；　Maloric　had
brought　it　to　him；　wrapped　in　velvet。
‘My　men　found　it　in　the　ruins；’　the　Earl　of　Sangasse　had　said。　‘I　thought　it　best　not　to　leave　it　for

scavengers。’
Miraculously；　perhaps　protected　by　the　Lady’s　blessing；　the　blade　had　survived　the　fire　unscathed。
Calard　sheathed　the　sword；　and　buckled　it　around　his　waist。
They　were　approaching　the　midway　point　of　the　Grismarie；　and　the　river’s　black　water　was　flowing
fast　and　deep　beneath　them。　Squat　guard　towers　could　be　seen　along　the　river　bank　in　the　distance
behind　them；　on　the　Bastonne　side　of　the　Grismarie。　Similar　towers　were　positioned　all　along　the　many
hundreds　of　miles　of　Mousillon’s　borders。　Funded　by　the　king’s　coffers；　these　bastions　had　been　erected
almost　five　hundred　years　earlier；　and　they　stood　as　silent　sentinels；　ever　watchful　for　a　threat　from
Mousillon。　At　the　first　sign　of　trouble；　the　massive　pyres　atop　the　towers　would　be　lit；　one　after　another；
spreading　the　word　faster　than　an　eagle　could　fly。
Calard’s　horse　whinnied　and　shuffled　uneasily；　hooves　sounding　sharply　on　the　barge’s　deck。
Standing；　Calard　moved　back　to　where　the　destrier　was　tethered　and　spoke　to　her　in　soothing　tones；
stroking　her　neck。　Five　surly　boatmen　worked　the　barge　in　silence；　but　Calard　ignored　them。　Having
settled　his　warhorse；　he　made　his　way　towards　the　bow；　where　Chlod　sat　clutching　the　gunwale。　The
barge　rocked　gently　to　and　fro；　and　Calard；　unused　to　being　on　the　water；　kept　a　solid　grip　on　the　railing
as　he　moved　to　the　front　of　the　barge。
‘No　good　will　come　of　this；’　said　Chlod。　The　peasant　was　clearly　terrified。
The　fog　loomed　hundreds　of　feet　above　them；　like　the　sheer　walls　of　a　castle　marking　the　midway
point　across　the　Grismarie。　The　hunch…backed　peasant　closed　his　eyes　and　muttered　a　prayer　as　the
barge　entered　the　murk。
A　chill　descended　on　them；　its　touch　wet　and　cloying；　and　visibility　was　suddenly　reduced　to　less　than
a　few　feet。　The　mist　seemed　to　swallow　up　all　sound；　making　even　the　lapping　of　water　upon　the　hull　of
the　barge　sound　strangely　distant。　The　fog　seeped　in　under　Calard’s　armour；　making　his　skin　wet　and
clammy；　and　he　began　to　shiver。
Something　ground　against　the　underside　of　the　barge；　which　began　to　rock　back　and　forth　alarmingly。
‘What　was　that？’　squeaked　Chlod；　eyes　snapping　open；　fingernails　digging　into　the　wooden　gunwale。
‘Big　fish；’　said　one　of　the　grim…faced　boatmen。　Calard　was　unsure　if　the　man　was　joking　or　not。
Within　minutes；　Calard　was　soaked　to　the　skin；　his　hair　clinging　in　long　wet　strands　down　his　neck。
The　journey　through　the　fog　seemed　to　last　an　eternity。　Strange　noises　echoed　around　them：　creaks；
groans　and　distant　screams　that　Calard　guessed　were　seabirds　but　sounded　distinctly　human。　On　more
than　one　occasion　he　was　convinced　he　heard　whispering　voices　nearby；　but　saw　nothing。
Chlod　gave　a　yelp　at　one　point；　and　Calard　glared　at　him。
‘I　felt　someone　breathing　on　my　neck；’　said　Chlod；　his　voice　strained。
‘You　imagined　it；’　said　Calard。　‘Be　silent。’
Calard　was　starting　to　doubt　the　boatmen’s　ability　to　guide　the　barge　safely　through　the　fog　when　the
sound　of　gravel　scraping　against　the　hull　signalled　their　arrival　on　the　shores　of　Mousillon。
The　riverbank　appeared　like　a　mirage　through　the　fog　as　the　barge　came　to　a　grinding　halt　in　the
shallows。　The　land　was　rendered　in　shades　of　grey　and　hidden　in　mist；　but　a　narrow　strip　of　black　sand
soon　emerged　forming　a　beach　in　front　of　them。
Clearly　eager　to　be　away；　the　boatmen　unloaded　the　barge　hastily。　There　was　a　brief　struggle　to　get
Chlod’s　mule　off　the　deck。　The　obstinate　beast　was　reluctant　to　step　ashore；　and　the　struggle　only　ended
after　Calard　slapped　it　hard　on　the　flank。　His　own　steed　was　equally　uneasy；　but　did　as　it　was　bid　with
less　complaint；　stepping　off　the　front　of　the　vessel　and　splashing　into　the　shallow　black　water。　Without　a

word　of　farewell；　the　boatmen　poled　the　barge　off　the　river　bank　and　were　swallowed　by　the　fog。
It　was　as　dark　as　twilight；　though　it　couldn’t　have　been　an　hour　past　midday。　Looking　around　them；　it
seemed　to　Calard　as　if　all　colour　had　been　bleached　from　the　land。　The　sun　had　been　shining　through　the
clouds　on　the　other　side　of　the　river；　but　it　was　nowhere　to　be　seen　here。　The　grass　and　vegetation　was
shrivelled　and　dead。　A　lone　tree　stood　nearby；　its　trunk　twisted。　A　raven　the　size　of　a　small