Questing Knight(科幻战争)- 第1部分

　　　


　　　
《Questing　Knight（科幻战争）》
作者：＇英＇Anthony　Reynolds【完结】



Synopsis　（英文书籍文案）

The　Knights　of　Bretonnia　are　defined　by　skill；　bravery　and　honour　as　they　fight　against　evil。　Having　fought　to　defend　his　homeland；　Calard　takes　the　vow　of　the　Questing　　Knight　to　seek　out　the　forces　of　Chaos　and　destroy　them。　However　he　must　face　an　array　of　deadly　foes　that　will　not　olny　test　his　mettle　in　battle；　but　also　the　strenght　of　his　vows　to　the　Lady　

Calard　had　travelled　the　Old　World　and　beyond　seeking　the　Lady　of　the　Lake；　patron　goddess　of
Bretonnia。　Never　in　all　that　time　had　he　spent　more　than　a　single　night　in　one　place；　as　per　the　decree　of
his　oath；　lest　the　Lady　find　him　wanting。
Seeking　the　Lady’s　divine　favour；　he　had　bested　creatures　foul　and　murderous　in　the　forests　of　the
Empire；　championed　the　oppressed　in　the　burning　lands　of　Araby　far　to　the　south；　and　battled　alongside
dwarf　thanes　against　screaming　hordes　of　greenskins　far　beneath　the　Worlds　Edge　Mountains。






THE　SILVER　MOON　of　Mannslieb　resembled　a　sickle　blade　hanging　low　in　clear　night　sky。　Patches　of　snow
shone　brightly　beneath　it；　and　while　it　was　almost　a　month　into　spring；　the　wind　whipping　across　the　fields
still　held　a　touch　of　winter’s　bite。　Hunched　against　the　icy　gale；　two　riders　were　making　their　weary
progress　along　a　muddy　road；　passing　fields；　abandoned　hovels　and　isolated　clumps　of　woodland。
They　travelled　in　silence；　one　behind　the　other；　offering　no　conversation。　The　only　sound
accompanying　them　was　the　steady　clomping　of　hooves；　the　jingle　of　tack　and　the　ghostly　whispering　of
the　wind。
The　lead　rider　drew　his　travel…stained　cloak　tighter　around　his　shoulders　as　the　wind　picked　up。　His
features　were　completely　hidden　in　the　deep　shadow　of　his　hood；　yet　his　eyes　glinted　in　the　moonlight。　He
rode　a　massive　warhorse；　over　sixteen　hands　high　at　the　shoulder；　and　had　a　large　sword　strapped　across
his　back。　In　stark　contrast　to　his　companion；　he　rode　in　the　languid　manner　of　one　who　had　spent　most　of
his　life　in　the　saddle。
The　second　rider　looked　decidedly　awkward；　slumped　in　the　saddle　of　a　mange…ridden　mule。　The
plodding　beast　was　a　picture　of　misery；　head　hanging　almost　to　the　ground　as　it　trudged　through　the　mud；
laden　with　heavy　packs　and　chests。　This　rider　was　shivering；　for　while　he　too　wore　a　cloak；　it　was
threadbare　and　moth…eaten。　His　head　was　nodding　towards　his　chest。　Losing　the　battle　to　keep　his　eyes
open；　he　pitched　sidewards。　He　came　awake　with　a　muffled　yelp；　and　after　a　brief；　inelegant　struggle；　he
hauled　himself　back　upright。
‘I　will　not　wait　for　you　if　you　fall　off　again；　Chlod；’　said　the　lead　rider　without　turning。　Chlod’s　hood
had　fallen　back；　exposing　his　brutish　head。　His　hair　was　shaved　short　in　a　vain　attempt　to　rid　him　of　lice；
and　his　eyes　were　piggish　and　uneven。　He　had　only　one　ear；　the　other　having　been　hacked　off　by　a
Norscan　shaman　years　earlier；　and　his　jutting　jaw　and　heavy　brow　made　him　look　like　a　simpleton。　He
glared　at　his　master’s　back；　and　pulled　a　grotesque　face。
‘Make　that　face　again；　Chlod；　and　I　will　cut　off　your　thumbs；’　said　his　master。
‘Sorry；　my　lord；’　said　Chlod；　knowing　that　it　was　not　some　idle　threat。
They　continued　along　in　silence　once　more。　Chlod　blinked　the　sleep　out　of　his　eyes　and　concentrated
on　his　surroundings。　He　thought　they　looked　vaguely　familiar；　but　it　was　hard　to　say　under　the　cover　of
darkness；　and　besides；　it　had　been　many　years　since　last　he　had　set　foot　in　Bretonnia。
‘Where　are　we；　my　lord？’　he　said　at　last。
‘Home；’　came　the　reply。
IT　FELT　STRANGE　to　say　the　word；　thought　Calard。　Home。
Six　long　and　difficult　years　had　passed　since　he　had　left　Castle　Garamont。　It　felt　like　a　lifetime。　Six
years　ago　he　had　taken　up　the　grail　quest；　setting　aside　his　lance　and　handing　over　the　running　of　his　castle
and　lands　to　his　young　cousin；　Orlando；　under　the　watchful　eye　of　Baron　Montcadas。　Orlando　had　been
just　a　boy　when　he　had　left；　and　by　now　he　would　be　all　but　unrecognisable；　on　the　cusp　of　becoming　a
man。

Calard　had　travelled　the　Old　World　and　beyond　seeking　the　Lady　of　the　Lake；　patron　goddess　of
Bretonnia。　Never　in　all　that　time　had　he　spent　more　than　a　single　night　in　one　place；　as　per　the　decree　of
his　oath；　lest　the　Lady　find　him　wanting。
Seeking　the　Lady’s　divine　favour；　he　had　bested　creatures　foul　and　murderous　in　the　forests　of　the
Empire；　championed　the　oppressed　in　the　burning　lands　of　Araby　far　to　the　south；　and　battled　alongside
dwarf　thanes　against　screaming　hordes　of　greenskins　far　beneath　the　Worlds　Edge　Mountains。　He　had
fought　in　a　dozen　duels　of　honour；　one　against　a　monstrous　ogre　tyrant。　He　had　battled　trolls　upon　the
frozen　oblast　of　Kislev；　rescued　a　nobleman’s　daughter　from　sacrifice　at　the　hands　of　a　band　of　cultists
beneath　Altdorf；　and　emerged　victorious　from　the　famed　Dance　of　Blades　in　the　cutthroat　city　of　Sartosa；
off　the　coast　of　Estalia。　Always；　he　chased　the　elusive　presence　of　the　goddess；　yet　always　she　led　him
further　on。　Now；　she　had　brought　him　back　to　his　homeland。
For　months；　Calard’s　dreams　had　been　haunted　by　a　recurring　vision。　Though　he　could　not　discern　its
full　meaning；　one　thing　was　certain　beyond　any　doubt；　the　goddess　wished　for　him　to　return　to　Castle
Garamont。
Calard　reined　his　destrier　in　as　he　topped　a　tussocked　rise。　He　drew　his　hood　back。　Gone　was　any
hint　of　softness　in　his　appearance；　the　years　on　the　road　having　hardened　his　body　and　his　mind。　His　eyes
were　dark　and　stern；　and　his　cheeks　rough　with　stubble。　His　hair　was　unwashed　and　hung　past　his
shoulders；　and　his　face　was　tanned。　As　alert　and　lean　as　a　hunting　wolf；　he　stared　over　the　fields　into　the
distance。　His　eyes　narrowed。
‘Master？’　said　Chlod；　after　a　minute。　‘What　is　it？　I　see　nothing。’
‘Exactly；’　said　Calard。　‘Where　are　the　lights　of　Castle　Garamont？　We　should　be　able　to　see　them　on
the　horizon　from　here。’
The　mighty　fortress　dominated　the　landscape　for　miles　around；　and　its　men…at…arms　always　kept　its
beacon　fires　burning　through　the　hours　of　darkness。　Nevertheless；　the　western　horizon　was　ominously
dark。
‘Perhaps　someone　forgot　to　light　them？’　offered　Chlod；　but　Calard　shook　his　head。
‘There　is　something　wrong　here；’　he　said；　his　eyes　glinting　fiercely　in　the　moonlight。　‘I’ll　move　quicker
alone。　Follow　after　me；　and　keep　to　the　road。　Do　not　tarry。’　Chlod　nodded。
With　a　flick　of　the　reins　Calard　urged　his　destrier　into　a　canter　and　began　riding　towards　the　distant
silhouette　of　Castle　Garamont。
Mannslieb　was　just　touching　the　horizon　by　the　time　he　drew　close。　Dark　and　ominous；　his　family
castle　loomed　above　him。　He　circled　around　it　in　a　wide　arc；　scouting　for　danger；　but　saw　no　sign　of　life
other　than　a　startled　fox　and　a　mated　pair　of　ghost…owls　hunting　for　prey。　Calard’s　expression　was　grim。
The　scent　of　ash　filled　the　air；　and　several　of　the　castle’s　towers　had　collapsed。　There　were　no　sentries
upon　the　walls；　and　no　light　in　any　of　its　windows。　By　all　appearances；　it　was　utterly　abandoned；　and　had
been　left　to　ruin。
Nevertheless；　Calard’s　experience　had　taught　him　to　be　cautious；　and　he　completed　his　wide　circuit
around　the　castle　before　he　began　his　approach　from　the　south；　angling　towards　Garamont’s　main
gatehouse。　Out　of　habit；　he　ensured　that　the　wind　was　always　in　his　face；　so　as　to　mask　his　scent　from
anything　ahead。
The　drawbridge　was　lowered　and　in　a　state　of　disrepair；　and　the　rusted　portcullis　was　up。　Calard
rode　through　the　gatehouse　into　the　courtyard　beyond；　staring　around　him　at　the　ruin　of　his　once　great
castle。
The　keep　was　a　burnt…out　shell；　its　pale　stone　blackened　with　soot；　and　the　wind　howled　mournfully
through　its　empty　halls。　The　stables　were　completely　gone；　with　nothing　but　a　few　charred　stumps　and
charcoal　marking　where　they　had　stood。　The　north…east　wall　had　partially　collapsed；　the　debris　scattered

on　the　ground　like　grave　markers。
Dismounting；　Calard　tied　his　warhorse　to　a　fire…blackened　post　before　climbing　the　stairs　towards　the
keep。　One　of　its　doors　was　gone；　while　the　other　hung　forlornly　on　one　hinge；　creaking　in　the　breeze。
Drawing　his　sword；　he　moved　into　the　keep’s　dark　interior。
He　passed　through　its　empty　halls；　his　expression　betraying　none　of　his　surging　emotions。　The　inside
of　the　keep　was　now　open　to　the　sky；　the　upper　floors　completely　gone；　and　the　stars　were　visible　high
overhead。　A　few　thick　supporting　beams　remained　intact；　but　even　these　were　charred　and　looked　as
though　they　might　fall　at　any　moment。　The　grand　stone　staircase　that　rose　from　the　main　entrance　hall　still
stood；　rendered　pointless　now　that　it　climbed　nowhere；　and　its　steps　were　thick　with　ash。
Bones　and　scraps　of　armour　protruded　from　the　debris　in　one　hall；　and　these　Calard　inspected
carefully；　turning　them　over　in　his　hands　in　an　attempt　to　discern　what　tragedy　had　befallen　his　home。
Chipped　bone　showed　evidence　of　heavy　sword　blows；　and　as　he　prowled　deeper　into　the　ruin；　he　found
more　evidence　that　a　great　battle　had　taken　place　here　some　years　earlier。
Without　conscious　thought；　Calard　found　himself　in　a　small　annex　off　the　western　wing；　where　the
castle’s　shrine　to　the　Lady　was　located。　No　divine　power　had　protected　it　from　the　fire　that　had　clearly
ravaged　the　keep；　and　only　a　few　jagged　shards　remained　of　its　once　beautiful　stained…glass　windows。
Something　caught　his　eye；　and　Calard　sheathed　his　sword　and　knelt　before　the　fire…blackened　altar。
Half…buried　amongst　the　rubble；　a　small　statue　of　the　Lady　remained　intact；　lying　on　its　side。　It　was
covered　in　soot　and　chipped；　but　Calard　picked　it　up　and　placed　it　reverently　upon　the　altar。　Closing　his
eyes；　he　began　to　pray。
There　was　noise　outside　and　Calard　was　instantly　on　his　feet；　sword　drawn。　Moving　silently　and
keeping　to　the　shadows；　he　ghosted　back　through　the　ruined　hall。
‘Master？’　called　a　voice。
‘Silence；　fool；’　Calard　hissed；　stepping　from　the　concealing　darkness　of　the　ruined　keep。
‘What　happened　here；　master？’　said　Chlod。　He　half…climbed；　half…fell　from　the　saddle；　and　tied　his
mule　to　the　post　alongside　Calard’s　steed。
Calard’s　eyes　were　locked　on　the　ground　at　the　peasant’s　feet。
‘Stand　still；’　he　ordered。
‘What？’　said　Chlod；　turning　in　Calard’s　direction。
‘Be　still！　Stop　moving；’　said　Calard；　and　the　peasant　froze。　Calard　moved　forward；　studying　the
ground　intently。　There　were　prints　in　the　mud　that　he　had　not　noticed　earlier。　‘Back　away　over　there；’　he
said；　gesturing。
‘Shall　I　prepare　you　some　food；　master？’　said　Chlod；　doing　as　he　was　bid。
‘Fine；　but　no　fire；’　said　Calard；　not　looking　up。　‘It　would　be　seen　for　miles　around。’
Careful　not　disturb　the　tracks；　Calard　crouched　and　studied　them　intently。　They　were　difficult　to　read；
for　the　prints　were　old　and　crossed　over　themselves　time　and　again。　Nevertheless；　after　several　minutes
Calard　had　identified　the　tracks　of　nine　separate　individuals　and　their　steeds。　He　judged　that　they　had
made　camp　here　a　week　ago；　perhaps　two。
His　eyes　narrowed　when　he　came　across　one　particularly　clear　hoof…print。　The　depth　of　the　track
indicated　a　horse　heavily　burdened；　and　the　mark　of　its　shoe　was　clear。　In　the　centre　of　the　i