The entry hall of the palace was cavernous； the arched ceiling a hundred feet high。 Statues of past
dukes of Mousillon were arrayed on pedestals； each standing in heroic poses and dressed for war。
Pre…eminent was a dramatic sculpture of Merovech himself； five times life size； carved from a block of
faultless white marble。 He stood gazing into the distance； hair flowing in a frozen wind； one foot upon the
chest of a headless enemy。 The expression he wore was one of noble arrogance。
Standing as still as any of the statues； dozens of guards stood arrayed around the grand foyer；
blocking access to closed doors and sweeping staircases that rose up to higher levels。 The doors to the
west wing had been thrown wide； and it was through here that Calard and Raben marched； following the
other late arrivals。
Oil paintings lined the hallway； some of them almost twenty feet in height。 Their frames were opulent
and heavy； though many were fading and crumbling。 Gaunt； unfriendly faces stared down at them from
dark and somewhat disturbing portraits。 Eyes seemed to follow them as they hurried by。
Turning a corner； Calard instinctively reached for his sword as they were suddenly surrounded by a
swarm of pale； aristocratic courtiers； richly dressed as if for a masquerade ball。 The ladies wore
extravagant ball gowns and seemed to barely touch the ground as they glided across the floor upon the
arms of their partners； who were garbed in strange； archaic fashion。 All asks；
complete with devilish horns； jagged teeth and long； pointed noses。 An icy chill seemed to penetrate
Calard’s bones as the courtiers passed them in silence； and he released his grasp on his sword hilt。
They moved deeper into the palace and could soon hear the ring of clashing swords。 The harsh
sound echoed through the cold halls； and as it got steadily louder； they could also make out polite
clapping and the dull murmur of conversation。
Rounding a final corner； they approached a large； domed chamber。 Hundreds of knights were
gathered within； clustered in small groups and drinking wine。
‘Where is Chlod？’ said Calard suddenly； coming to a halt as they approached the entrance to the
large room。 Raben looked behind them。 The peasant was nowhere to be seen。 The outcast shrugged。
The clash of swords echoed loudly； and there was an enthusiastic cheer。
‘No matter；’ said Calard； and they moved within； slipping effortlessly into the crowd。
The chamber was even larger than it had at first appeared； and Calard guessed that there must have
been in the realms of three hundred nobles gathered within。 Massive pillars propped up the exquisitely
painted domed ceiling； and dozens of alcoves and side…chambers were set off the main expanse。
A raised dais was positioned against the western wall； dominating the room。 The statues of five
ancient warriors were seated in high…backed thrones there； covered in a thick layer of dust and cobwebs。
They sat side by side beneath an immense window of stained glass that depicted them as they had been
in life。 The window was backlit with candles； and Calard frowned up at the scenes of depravity and
wanton barbarism depicted there。 They showed the warriors slaughtering men； women and children；
cutting their hearts out and drinking their blood。
A covered altar lit with candles was positioned centrally upon the dais in front of the old statues。 A
large chalice of silver and ebony was housed within this tabernacle； its shape formed in the likeness of
serpentine wyrms twisting around one another。
Raben took a delicate crystal glass of claret from a tray； smiling and nodding to those he knew。
Calard scanned the room； his gaze darting from face to face。
‘Take a drink；’ said Raben under his breath。 ‘And try not to look quite so out of place。’
Calard saw the sense in Raben’s words and made a conscious effort to relax。 They slipped through
the crowd； angling towards the raised dais； and he nodded to several knights who turned to coldly regard
him。 They nodded in return and turned away in disinterest。
They approached the centre of the room； where the revellers were gathered most tightly。 A circle
some thirty feet in diameter was sunk into the centre of the chamber； positioned directly below the
domed ceiling。 Three circles of steps descended down to this sunken floor； which was carved with
intricate spiralling designs。
Two knights were duelling in this combat circle； while more gathered knights and their ladies watched
on； politely clapping and cheering when either knight scored a palpable hit。 Calard hardly glanced at the
two combatants as he pushed through the crowd； his gaze locking on a figure on the opposite side of the
circle。
Merovech stood engrossed in the contest； arms folded across his chest。 A full head taller than any
other knight in the room； he was armoured in archaic； fluted armour of such dark metal it was virtually
black； its edges serrated。 His face was handsome and cruel； and as white as the palest marble。 He
appeared not to have aged at all from the last time Calard had seen him； six years earlier。 His pure white
hair was long and straight； hanging halfway down his back。
‘This is where I leave you；’ said Raben under his breath。 ‘I wish you luck。’
Calard ignored him； completely focused on the duke。 Raben backed away into the crowd； and was
gone。
Moving slowly； like a man stalking a wolf； Calard closed the distance with his prey。
CHLOD RAN AROUND the corner； breathing hard； and leaned back against the wall。 His heart was
thumping loudly； and he closed his eyes for a moment； trying to control his breathing。 From beneath his
shirt he pulled a rat skull attached to a string。 Lifting it to his lips； he kissed it； whispering a prayer to
Ranald； before tucking it back into place。
Glancing back around the corner； Chlod saw a pair of guards marching down the hallway towards
him； their movements unhurried and perfectly synchronous。 Each held a large double…handed sword； and
was armoured head to toe in black plate armour。
Cursing under his breath； Chlod broke into an awkward run； moving as quickly as his ragged breath
and uneven legs would allow。 He ducked into a side…passage； and loped through a storage room packed
to the ceiling with dusty casks and wooden pallets。
He was five levels below the ground。 The nobility clearly rarely came down this low in the palace； for
the passages were narrow； cluttered and bereft of the opulent ornamentation of the upper levels。 This
was the domain of the duke’s servants； though he had seen far fewer of them down here than he had
imagined were needed to service the daily running of the palace。
Rounding a corner； he came upon the kitchens； which were utterly deserted。 Rats and spiders
scuttled across the floor； and everything was covered in a thick layer of dust。 Chlod judged that no one
had used them for decades。 There were four kitchens all in all； connected by low arches； and there were
enough ovens to feed an army。
Hearing the clomp of armoured feet behind him； Chlod bolted； running through the kitchens and
passing through a host of empty walkthrough pantries。
A pair of closed double doors loomed ahead of him。 A rotten chair and a desk were tucked into an
alcove alongside them。 A skeleton was slumped in the chair； a quill pen still clasped in its hand。 Chlod
could see what looked like a ledger upon on the sloped desk； its paper yellow with age。 Neat
handwriting could still be discerned on the pages。 Evidently； this was the post of the larder…master； whose
job it was to keep a tally of all goods taken in and out。 Chlod had worked for a time in a middling…sized
castle in Carcassonne； and he had made an art out of deceiving the larder…master there。 It had been a
good life； that； and he had not felt a moment’s remorse when the man had been hanged for the
irregularities in this ledger。
A dark shadow seemed to hover around the skeleton slumped in the larder…master’s chair； and it
coalesced into a roughly man…like shape as Chlod drew near。 It solidified as he got closer； turning from
an indistinguishable vague shape to that of a portly man with huge sideburns。
It opened its mouth to speak； but no words came out。 It seemed angry； gesturing insistently at Chlod
with its ghost quill； and it radiated a deadly chill。 He had no wish to pass near this restless spirit； but he
could already hear the sound of armoured boots closing in behind him。
Taking a deep breath； his blood running to ice in his veins； Chlod hurried to the double doors。 The
spirit became more agitated； shouting soundlessly at him and pointing at its ledger。 The doors would not
give； and he rattled them as he struggled to turn the rusted handles。 He glanced over his shoulder and saw
the two black…armoured guards marching towards him。
The shade of the larder…master was incandescent with rage； bellowing at him silently。 It came out
from behind its desk； separating completely from its skeleton； and hovered towards him。 Chlod quaked；
fighting with the double doors vigorously as panic set in。
The ghost reached for him。 Chlod recoiled from its touch； but there was nowhere to go； and he was
backed up against the closed doors。 The shadowy form touched his face； and he screamed。 It felt as
though needles of ice were penetrating his skin； and the left side of his face went numb。 He saw the
ethereal shade of the larder…master smile。
The doors gave way behind him suddenly； ripping free of their hinges； and Chlod crashed through。
Weevils and rot…worms writhed in the splintered chunks of rotten wood； and he scrambled backwards
through the debris。
The shade stared down at him from the open doorway。 Its image wavered； like a mirage； as the two
black…armoured guards marched through it。
Chlod clambered to his feet and ran。 He staggered through storerooms stacked with empty shelves
and others hanging with meat hooks； until he came to the very back of the larder。 Here； a heavy wooden
crane was positioned above a large wooden trapdoor in the floor。 A thick； corroded chain was spooled
around the crane’s mechanism； and a massive hook hung at head height from the end of its length。 The
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