The swords clanged and crashed as the daemon and Sir Simon whirled round one another in an attempt to find an opening, Sir Simon grunted as he took a cut to the leg. The pain was nearly unbearable. Again the pommel stone glowed, and the soul-wasting nature of the wound subsided. Simon slashed in quickly and the daemon yowled as the sword sliced into its forearm. Though his blade was strong and his skill well-honed, Simon knew that he could not hold out forever. He was just a man, but this daemon had limitless strength and was never going to tire. Simon stepped into the creature’s swing, deflected the evil blade it wielded, and struck hard with his own. It staggered back, lashing out with a kick of its clawed leg. The questing knight felt the wind being knocked out of him as he stumbled backwards over the corpses of the bandits that littered the caverns blood-slick floor. With a cry, he slipped and fell to the ground. Roaring in delight, the blood-letter of Khorne hurtled forward, slicing down one of Otto’s mercenaries who tried to leap in and protect the prone knight as he struggled to stand. As the monster rushed forward, raising its blade for a massive killing stroke, Sir Simon’s hazy vision cleared and, as if guided by the Lady herself, he saw the opportunity he was looking for. The greatsword came up in a thrust off the ground, stabbing at the monstrous daemon’s unprotected chest. Ready to deliver the killing blow, the daemon never saw the attack coming until it was too late. Piercing through its chest, then through its dark heart, the sword’s tip emerged from the back of the daemon with a wicked hiss of burning blood. The daemon howled as its black blood spurted from the wound. Only three droplets flickered onto the side of Sir Simon’s face and yet he cried out as the boiling liquid burned him.

“NOOOOOO! NOOOOO!” Screaming, the daemon seemed to collapse on itself. The blessed blade of the family Montforte had pierced its heart and banished its essence from the mortal plane. Sir Simon rose to his feet, ignoring the pain of his wounds and yanking the sword out of the howling daemon’s chest. 

“In the name of the Lady and for the glory of all Bretonnia, I expunge your vile presence daemon! May you never curse the face of this land with your blighted feet again!” The sword swung, the daemon’s head flew and the corpse collapsed to begin fading on the ground. Sir Simon turned as he heard a pained cry from across the cavern.

 ************ 

Otto Spiegel had fought many battles and had proven his martial prowess time and again. And yet, despite his skill, he was unable to stand the onslaught of the vicious bandit leader. Perhaps his age was finally starting to catch up with him, or Sigmar was not with him this day. Whatever it was, Otto was fighting a losing battle and he knew it. His hammer and sword were simply not strong enough to hold off the relentless axe of Jean One Eye. 

“Die! Die! Die! Die!” One Eye was almost chanting, swinging his howling daemon axe relentlessly. He had not even noticed the fall of the blood-letter and would not have cared. The mercenary captain was in his grasp and he would not disappoint his Lord now! These intruders and fools must be punished. They had invaded the sanctity of his lair, killed his bandits, and now threatened to desecrate his sacred cavern. The madness of the bloodlust was upon him and there was no stopping. As Otto’s borrowed sword rose to block the axe, its blade failed and snapped. The axe’s swing continued, biting into the mercenary’s side and taking a deep drink of the old man’s blood. Otto staggered, stumbled, and then dropped to the floor, his broken-handled hammer and shattered sword falling next to him. Jean Blood-Eye roared in victory and his axe howled with him. Stepping forward, he raised the vicious weapon to finish off the wounded mercenary leader. With this one dead and the knight battling the daemon, there was no way he would lose. He would become mighty and he would kill many knights in the name of his Lord. Those foolish nobles, who would have ordered his death at a moments notice, they would now know what it felt like to be faced with a master stronger then they. Laughing maniacally at the thought of his former lord being forced to bow down to him in fealty, One Eye raised the axe over his head for the killing stroke. 

That was when Sir Simon hurtled into him. The knight was heavy in his armor, not to mention strong, and he struck the bandit leader at full tilt, knocking him backwards and off balance. The next blow would have killed the bandit had he not stumbled over a corpse. Simon’s sword stroke went wide and Jean managed to regain his balance, swinging his daemonic axe overhanded into the knight’s guard. Blocking the blow with his sword’s hilt, Simon lashed out with the mighty blade. But, Sir Simon was weakened from the fight with the daemon he had only just vanquished. He could not truly match the bandit leader’s ferocity, especially now that the man had been imbued with some wicked blessing from the daemonic presence in the cavern. Jean lashed out with a low kick, slamming his boot into Sir Simon’s leg wound with an awesome strength. Gasping in pain, the knight dropped to one knee. Jean One Eye smiled wide and laughed. He flicked out his axe, sending the blade of the Montfortes skittering across the floor of the cavern. 

“You will die knight, but you should feel pleased. You are the first to kneel before me. Soon, others shall follow you and they shall die just the same.” Laughing, Jean One Eye kicked the wounded knight again, knocking him onto his back. “I don’t need that daemon to kill you! You could never have defeated Jean Blood-Eye, the greatest bandit in the Old World!” The axe rose to the highest it could go. One Eye wanted the blow to be brutal and strong. That would please his Lord even more. He roared and his axe screeched as he prepared for the final swing. Sir Simon groped desperately for the dagger at his waist but he knew it was too late. The Lady had declared it his time.

Suddenly, in what seemed to only be a split-second, One Eye's head exploded as a thrown hammer slammed into his skull. The decapitated corpse flew back across the cavern and the demonic axe clattered to the ground, not far from Sir Simon du Montforte. Captain Otto Spiegel hefted himself up against one of the caverns walls and smiled. He had never missed with a hammer, not since the day he had been taught to throw by his father. 

“I save you now knight. We are even ja?” The old man laughed, then coughed. Blood stained his white beard. “I tell you knight, I tell you I split his bastard head like fruit.” The old man leaned back against the wall and slid down into a sitting position, his blood leaving a trail on the cavern wall behind him. His two remaining men rushed to their dying Captain’s side, for it was clear that Otto Spiegel would not survive. Sir Simon stood up, wincing as pressure was put on his wounded leg, picked up his sword, and limped over to Otto. 

“This was very brave and honorable thing you did, Captain Spiegel. Troubadours will sing tales of your courage. ‘Twas not the behavior of a mercenary of the Empire. Perhaps I was wrong in my judgement of you. Go to your rest with the blessing of the Lady, for you have helped do her work this day.” Otto Spiegel laughed, then coughed again.

“Your Lady is a comfort to you ja? Ach well. Thank you friend knight. I get my vengeance did I not? I sleep well with Sigmar. Perhaps I see your Lady too.” Otto Spiegel’s eyelids fluttered, he sighed, and then he fell limp in the arms of one of his mercenaries. Sir Simon stood slowly and then he heard the shrieking wail. The axe that Jean One Eye had been using was screeching and keening in a desperate thirst for blood. Simon limped to his blade and hefted it. He stumped towards the daemonic crying axe.

As soon as he got close, the whispering started. It was subtle, not overly-intrusive, but very appealing and convincing. Come knight, wield me... I will grant you power. I will give you fame. You will kill hundreds and men will sing tales of your greatness. Your family’s lands, I will help you reclaim them. Your uncle, his death I can... Sir Simon shook his head and stared at the pulsating axe. The Lady was the only strength that he needed in this world. He scowled in disgust and removed his helm to reveal his sweat-stained face.

“Daemon’s blade. Killer of good men. You are fit for no one to carry.” The sword of the Montfortes rose and fell, smashing the axe with its purity and strength. A great wailing filled the cavern as the spirit trapped within the blade shrieked in torment. It had been released from its prison, but not in the way it had expected. The essence of its being was sucked back into the reeling winds of Chaos and magic, sent back to the dark place were it had originated. Sir Simon hefted his sword again and turned back to the prisoners, some of whom had been freed by one of Spiegel’s remaining mercenaries. The young lady amongst them rose and came towards the knight who stood in the center of the cavern. 

“That was a valiant fight sir knight. Thank you for rescuing us. I had almost lost all hope.” She shuddered at the memory of One Eye’s filthy touch. Sir Simon placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. The Lady Giselle smiled. “What is your name, so that I might tell of this tale to those I meet? I, Lady Giselle, shall guarantee that all will know of this bravery.” 

Sir Simon shook his head and smiled. “ My name is Sir Simon Du Montforte, knight of the Quest and of the Lady. I am glad you are safe mademoiselle. These mercenaries and I will see you back safely to the edge of the woods, where the local men at arms should have assembled. I was not alone in this fight. Do not let that be forgotten. Please guarantee that the man there,” Sir Simon pointed to Otto Spiegel’s corpse, “receives a proper burial. I trust you with this my lady.” 

Sir Simon escorted both Lady Giselle and the other prisoners back to the main road, where they were met by the local lord. Otto Spiegel’s body was placed on a carriage with those of his men who had died in the fighting to be returned to the local castle for a proper burial. Sir Simon, in speaking with the local captain of the men-at-arms, guaranteed that the caravan and its heroic guards, who had reached the nearest castle already, would be guaranteed safe passage back to a route to the Empire.

Once the prisoners had left, Sir Simon, using his sword’s protective aura, destroyed the now powerless altar of Khorne, and then burned the inside of the cavern clean of bodies and debris. He took special care to behead and burn Jean-One Eye’s accursed mutant corpse, now nothing more than a shriveled husk of flesh drained after the magical energy had been sucked from the cave. Of Josef Brugel’s corpse, nothing was left but a bloody stain upon the floor. Such is the fate of all wizards, Sir Simon thought as he rode out of the cave. Alas Josef Brugel. May whatever god you worship bring you to some sort of peace. So much for such strange allies. Sir Simon sighed. Such was the temporal nature of companions while on the quest. It was time to deal with other matters. He knew a proper destruction of the cursed site would take place as soon as word reached the local sorceress, who would no doubt scour the clearing and search for any remaining bandits. 

The leader of the local men-at-arms urged Sir Simon to accompany them to the local castle for rest and celebration, but he flatly refused. It was not yet time for him to once again show his face in the court of a fellow noble. That much was guaranteed by his disenfranchised state. 

Not only that, but he heard the Grail calling again and he could not ignore its tugging pull. The quest would carry him ever onwards. Such was the burden that he chose to bear when he offered himself to the Lady and the Grail. Sir Simon, guaranteeing that the Lady Giselle was in safe hands, turned Marcelles and rode off into the night with the sight of the Grail on the horizon. 

Thus ends the first story of Sir Simon ladies and gentlesirs. Fear not though, for the quest of Sir Simon was full of many adventures in far off lands before its end. Those tales, however, must wait for another day to be told.