parade of filthy； cannibalistic peasants。 Their captives were not the feral brood’s only spoils； they had
hastily ransacked the larder of Morr’s Rest； filling sacks with cheese and bread； meat and wineskins。
Corpses had been mutilated and dismembered； and several of the sacks were now soaked through with
blood； stuffed with human body parts。
They kept off the roads； hauled along paths overgrown with thorn…bushes and rushes。 Occasionally
they were forced into the open； scurrying across muddy fields filled with rotten crops； watched over by
the silhouettes of scarecrows。 Sometimes they could see lights in the distance； but their captors seemed
keen to avoid areas of habitation； and veered away from them。
They trudged knee…deep through vast tracts of swampland； beset by great clouds of stinging midges。
They climbed from this stinking morass as the ground rose； and their pace picked up again as they ran
through an abandoned village that had been left to rot。 The peasants seemed more at ease here； speaking
amongst themselves in their low； ugly tongue。 Calard was poked and prodded by peasants whose eyes
gleamed with hunger。
Feet slapped loudly on the roadway； which rose steadily； winding its way through the dead village。
Soon they were in the countryside again； leaving the decrepit houses behind them； but their progress
continued upwards； the muddy roadway clinging to the steep sides of a hill。 A crumbling； six foot wall ran
alongside the high side of the road。
They turned through a decaying stone gateway overrun with thorn…bushes and ivy。 An ancient gate
hung on rusted hinges； and the procession of peasants passed through。 Calard noted the hourglass carved
atop the archway as he was bustled through beneath it。
‘A Garden of Morr；’ he said。
They rose above the cloying blanket of ever…present fog and Calard was afforded a clearer view of
their surroundings。 The graveyard reared up before them； clinging to a hilltop riddled with tombs and
mausoleums。 It was massive and sprawling； a veritable city of the dead； tens of thousands were likely
buried here。 The graves lowest on the hill were packed in tight and marked with cracked headstones and
slabs worn smooth by the passage of time。 Many had clearly been desecrated and dug up。 Winged；
skeletal statues being slowly strangled by ivy stood over some； while in other areas mass pit graves were
commemorated with little more than crude epitaphs scratched into stone slabs。 Large family mausoleums
protruded from the hillside as they climbed higher； the richer tombs carved deep into the rock cliffs。
Black roses grew in abundance； their petals soft and velveteen； their deadly thorns curved and shining
silver。 They exuded a heady； sickly…sweet aroma。
Ravens perched in leafless； twisted trees clinging to the hillside； staring down at the procession
passing below。 Images of death were everywhere； from carved hourglasses and black roses on tombs
and opulent facades to extravagant sculptures depicting the god of the underworld； Morr； in his various
guises
The peasants became more animated； cavorting and leaping； grinning and guffawing。 More of the
depraved creatures joined their group； though Calard had no idea where they had appeared from。 Within
the tombs themselves； perhaps。
Feeling eyes upon him； he looked up to see a child clinging to the base of a cracked； moss…covered
statue。 The child – he could not tell if it was a boy or a girl – was clearly starving； little more than a
skeleton encased in skin； its head too big for its frail body。 It stared at him with red…rimmed eyes and its
flesh was covered in open sores。 Something about the child’s intense gaze made his skin crawl。 It hissed
at him； baring small； pointed teeth。
Calard grimaced as his captors yanked at the noose around his neck； jerking him onward。
Ever higher they climbed； then down into the yawning mouth of one of the larger crypts。 They passed
under a lintel carved in the likeness of Morr； arms outspread as if in welcome。 In was cold and dank in
the low…ceilinged burial chamber； and it smelt of wet earth and things long dead。 Roots hung through
rough…hewn roof； like grasping； skeletal arms。
A massive sculptured sarcophagus dominated the tomb。 The heavy lid； carved to represent a
serenely posed knight with arms crossed over his chest； lay cracked and discarded on the floor。
‘What is this？’ said Calard through clenched teeth as he was dragged towards the casket。
‘Get in；’ hissed one of the peasants。
He strained against his captors； fighting against them as they tried to haul him towards the open
casket。 Had they dragged him all this way just to bury him alive？ He was far bigger than any of them； and
they struggled to make him move； but his face began to turn purple as the noose around his neck
tightened。
‘Enough；’ hissed one of them； breaking the deadlock by kicking Calard hard in the small of his back。
He staggered forwards into the casket； and looked down into it； gasping for breath。
Bones and rotting cloth had been pushed roughly aside； and he saw that a hole had been smashed in
the bottom of the sarcophagus。 He could feel a slight breeze coming up through the hole； bringing with it a
foetid stench of decay。
One of the peasants crawled in； like a spider； and disappeared down the hole。
‘Bring them；’ came its voice； from the darkness。
‘Lady； protect your servant；’ breathed Calard。
THE ENTIRE HILL was riddled with tunnels； and they were dragged deep into the labyrinth。 Chewed bones
were strewn across the floor of these tunnels； and the way was lit by stinking candles burning in carved
niches。
Faces crowded around to look upon these newcomers； from tiny children to ancient crones； and
Calard realised that there must have been many hundreds of peasants eking out a horrid existence down
here beneath the earth。 What better place for them to call home than a graveyard； he thought darkly。
All of the inhabitants were starving。 Their eyes were dull and lifeless； as if any hope that had ever
dwelt there had long faded。 Tiny； shrunken babes； too weak even to cry； were held to the bony chests of
mothers unable to produce milk to feed them。 Most of the peasants were stooped and hunched； their
bodies and faces malformed and ugly from generations of inbreeding and malnutrition。 Many were
missing limbs； and more than a few bore evidence of leprosy and the wasting sickness。 They were a
pitiful bunch； and even Calard； who was generally inured to the fate of those of low birth； found himself
disturbed。 Hands covered in dirt reached for him as he was dragged deeper beneath the ground； touching
his face and clothes in wonder。
The procession gathered a sizeable entourage as Calard； Raben and Chlod were led into the depths
beneath the Garden of Morr。 They crowded after the captives； straining to see。 Every side…passage was
filled with staring faces。 Children ran behind them。 As they descended further； the catacombs carved by
the hands of men gave way to naturally formed caves； their walls slick with moisture。
At last they came to a rocky cavern at the dark heart of the hill。 Hundreds of stubby candles lit the
area with a flickering orange glow。 It was cold and moist； and an acrid stink hung in the air。 Looking up；
Calard could see that the roof was a seething mass of furred shapes： bats。
Rock formations jutted up from the floor and hung from the ceiling。 In places these had had come
together； forming slick…sided columns。 Drips fell from the ceiling like rain； causing ripples in milky pools of
water that gathered in hollows。
Dozens of natural windows looked down into the chamber； each crowded with the graveyard’s
inhabitants； who bustled for the best vantages。
Calard and Raben were dragged towards a natural stone platform in the centre of the cavern。 An
empty throne was carved into the rock at the centre of this platform。 Hundreds of human skulls were
piled up around it。
Seated on the roughly hewn steps below the throne was a figure that Calard at first mistook for a
dusty corpse。
Almost imperceptibly； the skeletal figure raised its head to regard their approach。 Thick matted
clumps of grey hair hung down over an overly long； ashen face。 That face was ancient； so deep were its
lines that they looked as though they had been carved with a chisel。 Clouded eyes glinted in deep
sockets。
Calard and Raben were forced to their knees。 Their weapons were tossed to the floor nearby； and
the clatter they made reverberated sharply off the cavern walls。 Chlod tried to hang back； his head low；
but he was shoved forwards to stand alongside his master。
‘What have you been keeping from me； you little toad？’ said Calard out of the corner of his mouth。 It
was the first chance that he had to speak to Chlod since their capture。 The hunchbacked manservant
made no answer。
‘Quiet；’ said a voice； and Calard was cuffed across the side of the head。
‘How is it you are known here？’ hissed Calard。 ‘Answer me！’
Still Chlod offered no explanation； and again Calard was struck； harder this time； knocking him to the
ground。
A bone shard； as sharp as a dagger and three inches long； lay on the cavern floor just inches from his
nose。 He turned onto his side； wriggling； and as he was hauled back to his knees； he picked up the bone
shard and secreted it in his clasped hands。
A hush descended over the cavern； broken only by the steady dripping of water。 The figure on the
steps regarded them in silence； his gaze inscrutable。 Calard lifted his head high； eyes blazing。
‘I demand that I be released；’ he said in a low voice。
The grey man’s eyes bored into Calard； but he remained silent。
‘My purpose in this cursed land lies not with you； or your。。。 people；’ said Calard。 ‘Release me。’
The ashen…faced figure continued to regard him silently for a moment； then stood； his movements
slow and deliberate。 He looked as though he was unfolding as he rose to his feet； his limbs looking too
long and too thin； like the legs on an insect。 His matted hair hung past his thin waist。 He wore a
threadbare robe of faded majesty； something that might have been worn by a noble lord in a bygone era。
Delicate； moth…eaten lace hung from the cuffs of his sleeves like dusty spider webs。
With regal grace he moved in front of the two kneeling knights and the quaking figure of Chlod。
His hands were long and slender； his fingers like ivory needles。 He gestured for the two knights to
rise； and they were hauled roughly to their feet。 Calard stood with his head held high； refusing to be
cowed before this pauper king and his tattered court。
The grey man was frail and corpse…thin； and his back was slightly stooped； yet even so he towered
over Calard。 He walked around the three of them； appraising them。
He came to a halt in front of Chlod。 The hunch…backed manservant flinched as the grey man reached
out towards him。 Thin fingers lifted Chlod’s chin until he was looking up into the ancient face。 Tears ran
down his face。
The skeletally gaunt figure began to laugh。 The sound was deep and hollow。
‘It has been a long time；’ said the grey man； still chuckling。 ‘Welcome home； Chlod。’
‘Home？’ hissed Calard； glancing sidewards at his manservant。 All colour had drained from Chlod’s
face。
‘Allo