The Red Duke Read online

  One other reacted to the Red Duke’s words. The peasant necromancer Renar. The thin man grimaced as he listened to the vampire address the grisly host assembled in the crumbling courtyard of Crac de Sang.

  “Your grace,” the necromancer said, coughing as a fit of nervousness held him. “Mehmed-bey was killed five hundred years…”

  The vampire spun about, glaring at Renar. The Red Duke blinked in confusion as he continued to stare at the man. It took a moment before he remembered who the peasant was, another moment to recognize the spectral figure of Jacquetta and the bony husk of Sir Corbinian. His face twisted in a pained snarl, his clenched fist smacking against Renar’s jaw, knocking the necromancer to the ground.

  “Do not be impudent, peasant,” the Red Duke hissed. “I know who I march against. Du Maisne will pay for his sins… and those of his fathers.” The vampire gestured at the decaying undead mustered in the courtyard. “It is a poor general who does not inspire the hearts of his men with a few stirring words. If those words are drawn from the past, of what consequence is it to soldiers such as these?”

  Renar dabbed at his split lip with the cuff of his coat, nodding his head in servile agreement. The necromancer, however, was anything but reassured.

  If the Red Duke noted Renar’s misgivings, he gave no sign. The vampire swept his cloak about his powerful frame and stalked through the shattered gates of his fortress.

  “We march upon the Chateau du Maisne!” the vampire growled.

  The night ride from Ceren Field to Castle Aquitaine was one that would have daunted even the best horseman in all Bretonnia. Sir Leuthere could only credit the grace of the Lady and the enormous import of his errand for keeping him in the saddle and not lying beside the road with a broken neck. The knight did not feel much concern over the danger of his reckless ride, only the danger that he would be unable to warn Duke Gilon made his heart tremble with fear. A hideous evil had been set loose upon Aquitaine. It was vital that Duke Gilon be made aware of the threat so that he could muster the knights of Aquitaine to stop the monster Earl Gaubert d’Elbiq had unleashed from its tomb. If they acted quickly, there might still be time to stop the Red Duke before the vampire had the chance to regather his terrible strength.

  Sir Leuthere reached Castle Aquitaine sagging against the neck of a shuddering steed, its muzzle flecked with foam. The knight nearly fell from his saddle when grooms and servants came to attend the nocturnal visitor who had so dramatically and alarmingly raced across the castle’s drawbridge. In any other dukedom, Sir Leuthere’s feat would have been impossible, for the other provinces of Bretonnia were tinder constant threat from orcs, beastmen and marauders from the sea. But Aquitaine was a largely peaceful land south of the River Morceaux and its lords, secure in their sense of safety, often left the gates of their castles lowered and unbarred at night.

  Leuthere gave praise to this uniquely Aquitainian custom, thankful for the time it saved him. With each passing moment, he felt a growing anxiety that his warning would be given too late, that already the Red Duke was calling a new army to him, an army resurrected from restless graves.

  The risks he had taken and the mounting sense of urgency he felt made the interminable delays that followed tortuous to Leuthere. In spite of his insistence, none of the castle servants would awaken their lord at such an unseemly hour, and as Leuthere’s pleas became more demanding the night steward threatened to have the knight confined. Leuthere subsided, contenting himself to wait in a draughty parlour until he was allowed an audience with Duke Gilon.

  It was well into the morning, after Duke Gilon’s ablutions and breakfast, before the frustrated young knight was presented to the ruler of Aquitaine.

  Duke Gilon sat at the head of a long table in the castle’s dining hall, his closest advisors, retainers and relations flanking him along the table’s wings. An empty seat to Duke Gilon’s right denoted the continued absence of his son Sir Richemont, but otherwise the hall was filled to capacity. It was the duke’s habit to confer with his advisors after breakfast and many of the courtiers resented the interruption of this meeting by a brash young knight, the dust of the road still soiling his armour, the stink of horse still clinging to his clothes.

  Duke Gilon turned a stern eye towards Leuthere, studying the man as he was conducted into the hall. He remembered Leuthere as the knight who had acted as second to Sir Girars d’Elbiq. The memory of that ugly event was not one to leave a favourable impression.

  “My steward tells me you have ridden all night to bear me news of dire importance to my domain,” Duke Gilon said.

  Leuthere wisely decided not to mention the many hours he had awaited Duke Gilon’s convenience. “That is so, your grace,” the knight said, bowing before his lord. “I have come from the cemetery at Ceren Field. I bring horrendous news. The Red Duke has risen from his grave. He has returned to once more ravage Aquitaine!”

  Gasps of alarm spread through the hall as the councillors and retainers reacted to Leuthere’s words. The emotional response quickly collapsed into incredulous sneers as the assembled noblemen considered the likelihood of Leuthere’s claim.

  “King Louis the Righteous slew the vampire almost live hundred years ago,” one balding councillor objected.

  “The Red Duke was destroyed at the Battle of Ceren Field,” grizzled old Sir Roget, captain of the Castle Guard, declared. “It can’t have risen from its grave, because it was never given one!”

  “That’s right!” chimed in a third retainer. “They burned the vampire to ash along with his army! If he’s come back as anything, it is as soil for our vineyards!”

  Leuthere’s face turned crimson as he listened to the jeers of the retainers. They had quite overcome their initial horror at the suggestion that the Red Duke had returned. Now they found the subject a thing of absurdity to be mocked and scoffed at.

  Only Duke Gilon remained objective. He lifted his silver flagon and brought its base cracking against the tabletop, the loud report of metal against wood ringing through the hall. The councillors grew quiet as their lord motioned them to silence. The duke’s gaze was piercing as he focused on Leuthere.

  “It is a bold claim you bring before me,” Duke Gilon stated. “Some might go so far as to call it audacious.”

  “On my honour, what I have told you is the truth,” Leuthere replied. “The Red Duke has returned.”

  “You have seen him?” Duke Gilon asked.

  Leuthere shook his head. “No, but I have seen the Red Duke’s sign. A coven of witches violated Ceren Field and through their dark arts restored the vampire to the world of the living.” The knight hesitated, unwilling even now to admit the shameful truth behind the cult’s actions. “My uncle, Earl Gaubert d’Elbiq, learned of what the witches intended. He… tried to stop them, but it was too late. The witches succeeded in their profane purpose. My uncle was slain by the Red Duke, his body impaled upon the crusader monument overlooking Ceren Field. Through the foulest sorcery, the illusion of life was returned to Earl Gaubert’s corpse. When I found him, my uncle’s body was writhing like a bug stuck upon a pin.”

  This elaboration upon his report made more than a few of the retainers reconsider their mockery. There was a hideous veracity about Leuthere’s words.

  Again, Duke Gilon remained unemotional, weighing the young knight’s account against the history handed down by tradition and the songs of the troubadours. Was it possible the Red Duke’s body had somehow escaped destruction at Ceren Field? Was it really possible the vampire lived again? The possibility was too dire to dismiss out of hand. At the same time, it was too calamitous to accept blindly.

  “Did the Red Duke remain at Ceren Field?” Duke Gilon asked.

  “No, your grace,” Leuthere answered. “It was evident that the vampire had left sometime before I discovered my uncle’s body.”

  “Then where do you think he has gone?” the duke’s words were spoken in a strangely soft voice.

  “I do not know,” Leuthere confessed. “S
omeplace to gather his strength and marshal his forces. But I think I know where he will strike first when he does start his attack.”

  “And where would that be?” Duke Gilon wore a thin smile as he thrust the question at Leuthere.

  The knight was oblivious to the baiting words. “I think the Red Duke will attack the Chateau du Maisne.”

  Duke Gilon’s face grew red with anger. “If he does, then I swear by the Lady that the d’Elbiq’s will be stripped of title and lands! Does Earl Gaubert honestly believe I am such a fool that I would accept this nonsense! He plots a massed attack against the du Maisnes to avenge the death of his last son. Then he concocts this absurd story about the Red Duke rising from his grave in an attempt to cover the dastardly massacre he intends!”

  Leuthere could not hold the duke’s gaze, his suspicions uncomfortably close to the truth of what Earl Gaubert had planned to do. The knight could only hang his head in shame as he considered the dishonourable wickedness his uncle had sanctioned in the name of feud.

  Duke Gilon took Leuthere’s silence for an admission of guilt. “Sir Roget, remove this lying cur from my sight,” the duke rapped at the captain of his guards.

  The grizzled Roget rose from the table, marching solemnly towards Leuthere. One of the old knight’s hands was coiled around the hilt of the dagger hanging from his belt. From the expression on Roget’s gruff face, it seemed he wanted nothing more than an excuse to draw his weapon.

  “I have told you the truth,” Leuthere insisted, but his words sounded feeble even to himself. “The Red Duke is free! He has returned!”

  Roget’s fist cracked against Leuthere’s chin, sending the knight staggering back. “Hold your lying tongue or I’ll cut it out and feed it to the hogs!” the old warrior snarled. He nodded his head and a pair of men-at-arms seized Leuthere by the shoulders, dragging him from the hall.

  “Next time Earl Gaubert wants to try something, tell the varlet to think up a better lie!” Sir Roget warned as the doors closed behind Leuthere’s departure.

  The afternoon sun found a disconsolate Sir Leuthere sitting beneath a cherry tree a league from the outskirts of the village surrounding Castle Aquitaine. The warmth of the sun did nothing to ease the cold, deathly dread that coursed through Leuthere’s veins. He could only think of the awful doom that threatened the dukedom, the horror his own uncle had unleashed upon the land. Sir Maraulf had entrusted him with the duty of warning Duke Gilon and mobilising the knights of Aquitaine against the Red Duke before the vampire grew too powerful to stop.

  Shame at his abject failure to convince Duke Gilon that the warning he had brought was genuine stung Leuthere like the burning kiss of a viper. The insane, generations-old feud between d’Elbiq and du Maisne had done more than twist the minds and souls of the two families. Like a pestilent infection, it had polluted the attitudes of everyone in Aquitaine, making them believe the two houses had no thought beyond perpetuating their ancient hate. It was a burden every d’Elbiq and du Maisne carried with him, whether he was aware of it or not. Leuthere had seen today a dramatic example of the prejudice hundreds of years of strife and hate had left behind. Even Duke Gilon saw only treachery and feud when a d’Elbiq spoke of a du Maisne.

  What would he do now? Leuthere agonized over this question. He could ride back to the Chateau d’Elbiq, marshal the knights of his house and ride for the Chateau du Maisne. He smiled sadly at the image. No, he was even more likely to be greeted with hostility by Count Ergon than Duke Gilon. Count Ergon would never believe him if he claimed he had gathered an army in order to protect the lands of his ancient enemies. There would be fighting, and whichever side prevailed they would be easy pickings for the vampire when he came.

  Perhaps he should seek out Sir Maraulf, try to use the strange hermit-knight to track the Red Duke to whatever lair the vampire had hidden himself? Leuthere was under no delusion that such an effort had any great chance of success, but if he died in such an attempt, at least he could die with honour, trying to atone for the evil his uncle’s madness had loosed upon the world.

  Leuthere stirred from his repose beneath the tree, watching a lone rider galloping down the road to Aquitaine Village. The knight recognized the dappled pony and the cloaked rider. Vigor had tried to match Leuthere’s pace during the night, but neither peasant nor steed were equal to the knight’s determination. Somewhere along the way, Vigor had fallen behind. Now, it seemed, the peasant was desperately trying to rejoin the knight.

  At almost the same moment that Leuthere saw him, Vigor turned in his saddle and waved at the knight. With a sharp pull on the reins, he turned his pony towards the cherry tree.

  “Your loyalty is appreciated,” Leuthere greeted Vigor, “but I fear your effort has been wasted. Duke Gilon will not listen to me. No one in the court will believe the Red Duke has returned.”

  Strangely, the peasant only gave the slightest of nods when he heard Leuthere’s dire news. “She said that they would not listen,” Vigor said, his voice solemn and not without a trace of awe.

  Leuthere stared hard at Vigor, puzzled by the peasant’s tone and demeanour. “Who told you they would not listen?”

  “After I lost all hope of catching up to you, I set my pony to a less gruelling pace,” Vigor explained. “I saw no purpose in breaking the animal’s leg or my neck, so I just walked along the road, thinking to join you once the sun was up and I could see where I was going. It was thirsty work walking a pony all through the night, so when dawn came, I went looking for a stream.” The peasant’s expression became even graver and he repressed a slight shudder. “What I found was a little pond of the clearest, bluest water I have ever seen. As I knelt down and cupped my hand to draw water from the pond, I became aware of another reflection beside my own gazing up at me from the pool.”

  A thrill of wonder coursed through Leuthere’s body. “You don’t mean to say… You don’t mean you… A simple peasant… You’re telling me you’ve seen… the Lady!”

  Vigor shook his head. “At first I thought she was the Lady, my lord, for she was so young and beautiful and wondrous. But as I grovelled in the mud and apologised to her for setting my common eyes upon her face, the vision in the water told me to rise. She said that she was not the Lady, merely one who served the Lady. She knew the errand you had set yourself, my lord, and she said that it would be for naught. She said that Duke Gilon would not believe you.”

  Leuthere felt the religious fervour drain from his heart when Vigor confessed that the vision had not been the Lady herself, though he knew he should feel honoured that one of the Lady’s servants had shown interest in his quest. “What else did she say to you?” the knight asked.

  “She said I was to find you and bring you back to the pond as quickly as I could,” Vigor said.

  Leuthere nodded. The knight walked to where his horse grazed and pulled himself into the saddle. “Let us be off then,” he said. “Perhaps there is still hope that we can undo this evil before it grows too strong to stop.”

  Sir Leuthere did not need Vigor to tell him when they reached the pond. The knight could feel the change in the air, the tingle of magic flowing against his skin, prickling the hairs on the back of his neck. For the first time since he’d brought the body of his cousin back to Earl Gaubert, a sense of peace filled him. Despite Vigor’s insistence that the vision he’d encountered wasn’t the goddess, Leuthere found a thrill of expectation surge through him. Would the Lady reveal her true self before a mere peasant? No, she would not. That was an honour reserved only for the knights who devoted their lives to defending the realm.

  As they dismounted and walked their horses towards the pond, Leuthere found the sense of tranquillity grow, dulling the immediacy of his fears, clearing his thoughts of the doubt and guilt that tormented him. No longer did he agonize over what he could have done to stop his uncle from conceiving such a dastardly plot. No longer did he torture himself with the question of how he, alone, could stop the monster who had nearly destroyed all of Aquita
ine. It was enough that he was here, now, in the presence of the divine.

  The little pond was just as Vigor had described it—clear and pure, unmarred by reeds and slimy growths. Gazing upon the surface of the pond was like staring at a silver mirror. No natural water could possess such purity. Leuthere felt his pulse quicken. He turned, motioning for Vigor to stay back, resentful that he should share this experience with a mere peasant, the treacherous rat who had helped Earl Gaubert dishonour himself.

  Vigor kept his distance, holding the reins of the horses while his master walked to the edge of the pond.

  Leuthere leaned over the water, staring down at his own reflection. He was at once reminded of the placid waters of Lake Tranquil, though he could not say exactly why. Perhaps all places touched by the presence of the Lady shared a certain kinship to one another.

  A moment more, and the memory of Lake Tranquil was thrust even more forcefully into the knight’s mind. Another reflection appeared in the water beside Leuthere. It was the image of a beautiful young woman dressed in a rich gown of sapphire, her golden tresses wound inside a casque of silvery wire. With a start, Leuthere realized he recognized the woman. Though he had never seen her so close, he knew he gazed upon the image of the Prophetess Iselda, Guardian of the Tower of Wizardry.

  “Do not be saddened that I am not the Lady,” the image in the water told Leuthere, guessing immediately the thoughts churning within the knight’s head. “It is her power which flows through me, her magic which allows me to speak with you. Your cause is known to me and I have made it my own. Through me, you may know that the Lady favours your quest.”

  Leuthere bowed his head in contrition. “Forgive my audacity, prophetess. It was not my intention to offend one of the Lady’s grail damsels.”