Winner of the 3rd place in the 2012 Literature Competition

His Lady sad to see his sore constraint,
Cride out, Now now Sir knight, shwe what ye bee,
Add faith vnto your force, and be not faint:

- Edmund Spenser, The Faerie Queene, Book 1, Canto 1, stanza 19

He was dying. Of that, Reynard de Germaine, Grail Knight and defender of the Grail Chapel Du Hoc, was certain. The final vampire knight had cut deep into his side. Damn but he should have kept his guard up. One did not live to the age of seventy in the service of the Lady by making mistakes, though in his own defense, he killed five accursed vampire knights and a host of ghouls by the time he engaged his last foe. There was no point in chastising himself for the mistake now. There was no time.

As his lifeblood leaked from the rent in his flesh, Reynard focused on his goal. It hurt him to breath, yet the Grail Knight was sucking down air as he staggered through the thick darkness of the forest. The light of his burning Grail Chapel, his home for the last decade, had finally faded in the distance. The Lady was with him it seemed. When he tipped the holy flame onto the last of his attackers, he had hoped that the fire would leave the undead puzzled as to whether or not he survived. Reynard doubted they would be fooled for long. Even while he fought its minions, he could sense the looming intelligence behind the attack. The destruction of his Grail Chapel was only the first step in a much darker ambush that would leave hundreds of young knights dead in their beds.

If he maintained this pace, he would reach the mustering grounds at Bergronde in time to warn them of the coming evil. They had to know. He must reach them, wound or no. The Germaine family motto, Duty Unto Death, had never been more applicable than in this final test of strength and devotion. For the last week, he had blessed the Knights Errant mustering at Bergronde to go join the Errantry War, watching as they road solemnly into the clearing around his Grail Chapel to seek the Lady's blessing before heading to war. Though they treated him with the respect, he knew that they viewed him as an old relic. He had been a Knight Errant once. He remembered. He... stumbled and fell on an oversized tree root. The ground slammed into his wounded side and Reynard gasped aloud at the awful pain as the dark forest earth welcomed him into unconsciousness.

* * * * * * *

Reynard de Germaine, Knight Errant, looked over the field at the howling greenskin horde. The Duc du Anscillone had finally lured Grognak the Gutter into an open battle, and young Reynard was to have his first taste of real war. His steed Halifax, sensing his nervousness, whinnied softly. The lance felt heavy in his gauntleted hand and his mouth was dry. No matter what his tutors said, this was nothing like the practice arena. Reynard felt the ground shake as the greenskins stomped their feet and banged their weapons together. Reynard's left hand trembled slightly and he gripped the reigns of Halifax tighter. He was sure it was just the shaking of the earth.

"Quite the uncivilized lot, eh?" The jovial voice of Sir Bors du Cardonne snapped Reynard out of his revelry. "Clearly, their mothers did not teach them manners with the same strictness imparted on us."

Reynard snorted and cracked a grin. Bors was always the jester, even in the face of such an overwhelming experience. Reynard knew that this was Bors' first battle as well. The stout Knight Errant had been his companion since childhood and the two chose to fight together, trusting their combined strength to overcome any martial challenges.

"Perhaps if they see that excuse for a mustache you're sporting Bors, they'll be so shocked you can lance them as they stand gawking." Reynald teased his friend, who raised a gauntleted hand defensively to the fuzz of hair coating his upper lip.

"I think it makes me look distinguished Reynard old boy." A horn sounded in the distance. One blast, the signal to begin trot. Bors lowered his visor, making his voice sound tinny and hollow. "Here it goes then! May the Lady be with you Reynard!"

"And with you Bors," Reynard lowered his own visor as the regiment of Knights Errant began to trot forward at an increasing pace, "let's see how they handle the combined martial skills of Bors and Reynard, heroes of the realm!"

Bors nodded his helmed head. "As your family says Reynald old boy, duty unto death!" Together, the two picked up pace as the greenskin horde drew closer and closer...

* * * * * * *

"BORS!" Reynard de Germaine, Grail Knight, awoke from unconsciousness with a sudden cry. "Bors, I need your help!" Reynard shook his head to clear his thoughts and looked around. The horde of Grognak the Gutter was nowhere to be seen. Only dark woods surround him. And Bors... Bors was dead, his head split open like a piece of fruit by an Orc chieftain. Reynard had earned his spurs when he lanced that very same Orc chieftain through its howling maw. At the time, he had done it to avenge the death of his beloved friend, not for glory.

He pushed himself upright, trying to ignore the pool of blood that had formed around his side. Judging by the size of the puddle, he had not been unconscious long. He began hustling forward again. He must reach the mustering grounds. There would be no Bors to answer his call for aid this time. But something had heard his cry in the night.

The ghoul came out of the darkness, hurling itself at Reynard before the old Grail Knight could even raise his blade. Its weight bowled him over and the two fell struggling to the ground. The monster's grimy claws scratched at the knight's breastplate and bearded face. The Grail Knight staved the creature off with one arm and desperately scrabbled for his fallen sword with the other. He could feel its fetid breath on his face, the stink like a charnel house almost overwhelming his senses. Its beady yellow eyes rolled in their sockets as it hissed at him, raking and kicking. Reynard could not get a grasp on his sword. He could not die here. Not like this. Not when so many lives depended on him. Duty unto death.

Reynard went with the only option available as the hot breath of the ghoul touched his vulnerable neck. He brought his gauntleted fist around in a right hook that smacked into the ghoul's temple with a sickening thud. The creature reeled and Reynard gave it no chance to recover. Like some feral beast, the old Grail Knight pounced on the disoriented monstrosity and drove a gauntleted fist into its face, feeling cartilage and bone crack under the blow. He pounded another punch into its snarling features, and another, and another. The ghoul swung its claws feebly as the blows reigned down, but the Lady was with Reynald and he would not relent. He pistoned his fists into the creature's face until finally it stopped twitching in death.

Heaving in exhaustion. Reynald rolled off the corpse of the ghoul and got to his feet. An unclean kill, he thought as he picked up his sword, the most desperate and unclean kill of his life. Hopefully, the Lady would forgive him for it. The Grail Knight staggered onwards again. The presence of the ghoul could only mean one thing: his pursuers were much closer than he had thought.

Reynard tried to double his painful pace through the tangled undergrowth. He did not know if some spell had been placed upon the ghoul he had brutalized, but there was little doubt the vampire or one of its minions would soon deduce his whereabouts.

That unwanted lapse into unconsciousness had cost him dearly. So had the desperate struggle with the ghoul. His exertions had opened up the wound in his side even wider and it continued to bleed freely, turning the left side of his tunic into a sopping mess. But for the strength of the Lady that infused him, Reynard would have been long dead. He knew sooner rather than later that the blood loss would lead to... his momentum was nearly arrested when he caught a shimmering glimmer of movement ahead of him in the woods.

For a second, he thought it was the Lady, come to claim him, but his duty was not done yet. An entire contingent of the Errantry War rested on... he saw the shimmer again. It was Caroline, his beloved wife. Beautiful, graceful, witty, a raven-haired young maiden who had won the heart of Reynard de Germaine not long after he had won his spurs. She had given him a son. She had given him love. How he missed her. She... She was long dead. She could not be standing before him.

He blinked to clear the mirage, leaving only darkness where the radiant figure of Caroline de Germaine had stood scant minutes ago. The blood loss was clearly starting to affect his mind.

He shook his head again, trying to focus his thoughts as his vision swam. The world started to spin and he felt the ground roll under his feet. Desperately, he flung out an arm to steady himself against a nearby tree as his vision continued to whirl. Not now, Lady help me not...

* * * * * * * *

"Not another second. The Lady calls and I must answer." Reynard de Germaine, Knight of the Realm, soon to be Knight of the Quest, sat atop his charger, Halifax, in the courtyard of his keep. The Lady had come to him in a vision and ordered him to seek the Grail and now, he was mounted and ready to begin his Quest. His wife, her raven-black hair hanging loose in the chill morning air, looked up at him with sadness in her eyes.

"I know you must go but... I will miss you. Our son will ask of his father..."

"And you will tell him of the noble knight who won your heart and now goes to win the Grail. Fear not my love, I will return to you."

Caroline smiled wanly and tears began to well up in her eyes. "Duty unto death, husband. I love you," she said, her voice trembling with emotion.

Reynard leaned down from his charger and kissed her deeply. "I know," he whispered as he rose back up to sit full in the saddle. "Run Halifax! Run!" The clatter of hooves shook the courtyard as Reynard rode out the open gate into the misty morning. His wife waved forlornly as he disapp...

* * * * * * * *

Crackling bracken and the tread of booted feet woke him out of his dream. It was the last time he had seen Caroline alive. She died of a fever while he was on the Quest. He had not been there for her in the end.

With a grimace, he cleared his mind and focused on the situation at hand. Those wandering thoughts would only get him and a whole host of Knights Errant killed. He drew upon a lifetime's worth of combat skills and listened attentively.

Heavy wheezing breaths, shambling uncoordinated feet, the clink and clatter of armor against the haft of a pole-arm. He estimated five zombies or, more probably, near zombie-like retainers approaching his hiding place. With a tingle of annoyance, he noticed that his wound had dripped a trail of blood that would surely lead them right to him. The only chance he had was to take them now, before they followed the blood, with the element of surprise still to his advantage.

He tightened the grip on his longsword and felt the strength of the Lady suffusing his veins. He heard an exclamation as one of his pursuers found the blood trail. It was now or never. The wound on his side throbbed with pain but he paid it no mind as he rolled around the side of the tree and silently charged into his foes.

There were five of them, he'd been correct. Five famished-looking men with gaunt, sunken faces and wide bleary eyes. They were garbed in desiccated leather armor that smelled faintly of grave rot and they all carried a variety of rusty pole-arms with worm-eaten wooden hafts. Slightly scattered, the thralls were just coming back together around the blood trail when Reynard hit them like a thunderbolt from clear skies.

He swung low on the first of them, shearing through the thrall's thighs as he ducked the ill-timed swing of its halberd. A whirling upstroke of his longsword followed the low blow, snapping a spear shaft in half and destroying the ribcage of its flailing owner. Reynard deftly sidestepped the spear thrust of the third thrall and brought his blade hammering down, smashing a rusted pot helmet and the head it contained.

Still a whirling ball of violent energy, Sir Simon caught the halberd blade of the fourth thrall on his sword and kicked an armored boot in its vulnerable knee, which gave out with a sharp crack. As it collapsed to the ground, he slammed his sword into its gaunt face and was rewarded with a welter of gore.

The final thrall was more ready than its fellows and threw itself at the knight without hesitation. Reynald grunted in pain as the butt of the thrall's halberd slammed into his wounded side. Undaunted, with the strength of the Lady coursing through his veins, Reynald grasped the shaft of the halberd with his left hand and pulled the thrall off balance. It stumbled forward and Reynald hammered his sword up into its vulnerable chest. The blade pierced the leather armor like it was paper and stabbed into the thing's black heart with a satisfying squelch. The thrall, its blurry eyes wide with shock, gurgled up some brackish blood then slid off the blade and collapsed to the ground.

Covered in blood, Reynard nearly collapsed himself. The agonizing pain of his wound replaced the adrenaline rush he had just experienced. Wheezing, he spit up blood, staining his grey beard yet another shade of crimson. Time and energy were running out.

As he moved onwards, he tried to stop his vision from blurring through sheer willpower. Had he not slain Varkrom Ironbound, one of the Chaos champions from the Northern Wastes? Had he not then supped from the Grail and felt the electrifying touch of the Lady's hand? He would overcome this challenge. After a pain-filled eternity of stumbling through the darkness, he finally made out the faint glimmer of light from the torches that marked the edge of the forest and the start of the mustering ground.

So close, Reynald thought, so very close. He pushed himself harder but his progress was suddenly halted. His legs gave out from under him and he tumbled to the ground. He nearly roared with frustration but stopped, not knowing how close his pursuers were. He dug his gauntleted fingers into the loamy earth and began dragging himself bodily forward, inch by bloody inch. He must make it. He had to do his duty. He had to save the Knights Errant. They need...

* * * * * * * *

"We need you father! I need you! You cannot leave your lands so soon after returning from the Quest. " Reynard de Germaine, Knight of the Grail, listened silently as his son, now a Knight of the Realm, urged him to reconsider his course of action.

In the few weeks he'd been back from his long quest, he had not connected with the boy he had never known who was now a man. His wife was dead and now that he had supped from the Grail, Reynald felt little desire to return to ruling. Instead, he wished to find a Grail Chapel and live a life of quiet contemplation with only the spirit of the Lady as his companion. When he had told his son of his wishes, the young man had been shocked.

Now they were arguing, or more accurately, his son was arguing, as Reynard made his way out toward the open castle gate. He dearly wished for Halifax, but the noble steed had died, impaled upon a spear, during the final climactic with Varkrom Ironbound.

"I cannot love you for this," his son continued passionately, "I cannot love you for abandoning these lands again."

Reynard remained stoic and calm. "My son, there is no choice. There are reasons beyond your understanding for my decision."

"You were not even here when mother died," his son sounded defeated, realizing that the steely Reynard would not be swayed, "You were not here for me when I needed you."

Reynard paused momentarily. "I am sorry, son. I am sorry, but I will not return."

His son stopped just inside the gate and watched Reynard's back as he set off into the wilds.

"Duty unto death, father?" the young man shouted, the sadness in his voice evident.

Without turning back, Reynard murmured, "duty unto...

* * * * * * * *

"... Death isn't it? Or some saying like that? The Germaine family motto if I'm not mistaken. I see you're taking it quite literally." The cold, mocking voice echoed around the clearing where Reynard lay and dragged him back into reality. He grunted at the throbbing pain in his side and looked up to see the twinkling light of the torches that marked the edge of the wood. He rolled over onto his back as he heard the creak of armor.

A predatory figure detached itself from the shadows of the night. Chalky white skin, high cheekbones, and dark eyes dominated Reynard's view. The vampire wore coal-black armor in the Bretonnian fashion but went helmetless, showing off its supernaturally handsome face and letting its dark hair hang loose. The vampire grinned as he saw Reynard try and rise off the ground, revealing glinting white fangs.

"Oh yes, you have put up such a fight, knight of the House Germaine. Quite a merry little chase you led us on as well." The vampire's tone was jocular. "It has been most exhilarating. Unfortunately though," the creature frowned like a petulant child, "I have been told to bring it to an end."

Reynard grunted and pushed himself up on to his knees, though the effort nearly caused him to black out again. He would not survive this.

The vampire stepped closer and languidly drew a vicious serrated blade. "My name is Sir Gerard, lieutenant of the Blood Dragon Gallette. You will not survive this. However, since you have so amused my master and I by trying to foil our little surprise, I may be tempted to keep you on as a pet." The vampire knight smiled sardonically, once more revealing his fangs.

The threat of undeath was all that was needed to drive Reynard off his knees. Never would he become a foul creature of the night like the thing that stood before him. By the Lady and her holy might, he would fight and overcome any foe, even this one. Sir Gerrard chuckled as the old Grail Knight rose unsteadily to his feet.

"Still some fight in the quarry yet? Good, it would have been so droll to merely execute you."

"Silence," the words rumbled out of Reynard's mouth as he drew his blade and rose to his full height, "with the Lady as my strength, I will expunge you from this land, you vile beast, and foil the plans of your thrice-accursed master. I am Reynard de Germaine, Knight of the Grail. Come and taste your final death on my blade!"

Reynard spit out a wad of bloody phlegm at his enemy as the vampire's eyes narrowed to predatory slits. "Fine then old tin knight, as you wish. Let me show you the joys of undeath!"

The two combatants met in a whirl of blades. Reynard knew almost immediately that he was overmatched. Even in his best form, this would have been a challenge. A normal man, even a normal knight, would most likely have been dead in the opening blows of the clash. Their swords clashed and clattered in the cold night air. With each blow, Reynard could feel his wounds ache at the effort he was exerting.

Lady help me, he thought, I shall not falter. Reynard caught a swipe on the hilt of his blade and slammed his body into Sir Gerrard, hoping to throw the monster off-balance. It was an old trick, and one that his opponent must have expected.

The vampire knight absorbed the charge and grabbed Reynard's pauldron with his free hand, using the Grail Knight's momentum and its own unnatural strength to send him stumbling off-balance. Sir Gerrard lashed out and the serrated blade cut a bloody gouge across Reynard's unprotected back.

The vampire followed up with a stunning downward strike that rattled off Reynard's pauldron and nearly knocked him to the ground. Instead of falling, the old knight turned into the blow and lashed out at the vampire with a rising swing. The creature brought its sword back up much faster than anticipated and Reynard cried out in shock as the serrated sword snapped his own blade in half. He swung the hilt half of his shattered sword at the vampire's face but Sir Gerrard flicked it out of his hands with contemptuous ease.

"It is over Grail Knight," the vampire said as it cannoned a fist into Reynard's wounded side, doubling him over with pain. "Let me reward you for your bravery." Sir Gerrard stepped forward and embraced the old knight in a death grip as it made to bite his throat.

"Where is your Lady now, old tin knight?" It mocked as it revealed its glittering fangs, "where is she..."

Sir Gerrard hissed in shock and staggered backwards, letting Reynard drop. The vampire's hands scrabbled at its side, desperately trying to grab hold of the concealed rondel dagger that Reynard had thrust under its armpit, straight into its black heart, when it had embraced him.

The old Grail Knight stood up and stumbled wearily towards the vampire knight. The beast collapsed to the ground hissing as it began to die its final death. Slowly, Reynard bent to pick up the hilt-half of his shattered blade.

He stood over the writhing vampire, blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth into his beard, and said through gritted teeth, "My name is Reynard de Germaine, knight of the Grail, and my Lady is always with me, beast." With a grunt, he slammed the broken half of his sword into Sir Gerrard's chest, piercing its black heart with another blade and pinning it to the ground. Flooded with adrenaline, Reynard staggered past the disintegrating vampire toward the light of the mustering ground.

The next few minutes were a haze as visions from his past danced in the twinkling light before his weary eyes. So addled was he that, without even realizing it, he emerged from the woods into the torchlight of the mustering ground, startling the men-at-arms acting as pickets for the camp. He pushed on for a few more steps and collapsed at the edge of the camp. The sentries came rushing and he heard them shouting.

"He's a Grail Knight! Fetch the count and a healer!" The cries rang out across the camp as the pickets scrambled to get help.

"Show him to me!" A helmeted knight, presumably the count, came into Reynard's field of sight The light from the torches seemed to get brighter, threatening to wash out Reynard's vision. He thought he heard Caroline calling his name but the count's voice drowned her out.

"By the Lady, what happened to you blessed one?" The count's strong arms supported the back of Reynard's head as he lay on the ground.

The dying Grail Knight spat out blood onto his beard and spoke, his voice soft and fading, "Blood Dragon... chapel burned... undead surprise attack... from woods... must rally..." he coughed up more blood and shuddered. His wounds were strangely numb now. In fact, he could feel little of his entire body. The light grew brighter and for a second, Reynard thought he saw his son cradling him, with his wife hovering over the young man's shoulder.

"Caroline, I... Maurice, I... am sorry I was not there... my Lady... Caroline..." the last words sighed out of the Grail Knight as the light overwhelmed his vision. He gave one more shuddering breath and fell still.

Count Maurice de Germaine looked down at the dirt and blood-caked features of the Grail Knight who had been his father. Maurice knew that the Lady had not found his father wanting in his final hours. The old knight must have come through hell itself to deliver his warning and in doing so, he had saved the life of all the Knights Errant encamped here and, unknowingly, the life of his estranged son, who was leading this particular contingent to join the Errantry War.

"You were here this time. Duty unto death, father," Maurice whispered as he gently closed the old knight's sightless eyes and rose to his feet. The count drew his sword and bellowed his family's war-cry as the camp rose to arms around him.

"Duty unto death!"

All across the mustering ground, the proud knights of Bretonnia answered his call with a roar of affirmation and made ready for war.