Michael Moorcock - Von Bek 1 - The War Hound and the World's

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This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of

the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or

persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

For Doctor A. C. Papadakis,

Valerie, Amanda, Charles Plan

and ail those others who, with Jill, helped create the

circumstances that led to the writing of this book

POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc. 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, N.Y.

10020

Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 81-9030

whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, N.Y.

10020

ISBN: 0-671-60409-0

First Timescape Books paperback printing November, 1982

10 98765432

POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

Printed in the U.S.A.

Being the true testimony of the Graf Ulrich von Bek, lately Commander of Infantry, written down in

the Year of Our Lord 2680 by Brother Olivier of the Monastery at Renschel during the months of May

and June as the said nobleman lay upon his sickbed.

(This manuscript had, until now, remained sealed within the wall of the monastery's crypt. It came

to light during work being carried out to restore the structure, which had sustained considerable

damage during the Second World War. It came into the hands of the present editor via family

sources and appears here for the first time in a modern translation. Almost all the initial

translating work was that of Prinz Lob-kowitz; this English text is largely the work of Michael

Moorcock.)

Chapter I

IT WAS IN that year when the fashion in cruelty demanded not only the crucifixion of peasant

children, but a similar fate for their pets, that I first met Lucifer and was .transported into

Hell; for the Prince of Darkness wished to strike a bargain with me.

Until May of 16311 had commanded a troop of irregular infantry, mainly Poles, Swedes and Scots. We

had taken part in the destruction and looting of the city of Magdeburg, having somehow found

ourselves in the army of the Catholic forces under Count Johann Tzerclaes Tilly. Wind-borne

gunpowder had turned the city into one huge keg and she had gone up all of a piece, driving us out

with tittle booty to show for our hard work.

Disappointed and belligerent, wearied by the business of rapine and slaughter, quarrelling over

what pathetic bits of goods they had managed to pull from the blazing houses, my men elected to

split away from Tilly's forces. His had been a singularly ill-fed and badly equipped army, victim

to the pride of bickering allies. It was a relief to leave it behind us.

We struck south into the foothills of the Hartz Mountains, intending to rest. However, it soon

became evident to

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The War Hound and the World's Pain

me that some of my men had contracted the Plague, and I deemed it wise, therefore, to saddle my

horse quietly one night and, taking what food there was, continue my journey alone.

Having deserted my men, I was not free from the presence of death or desolation. The world was in

agony and shrieked its pain.

By noon I had passed seven gallows on which men and women had been hanged and four wheels on which

three men and one boy had been broken. I passed the remains of a stake at which some poor wretch

(witch or heretic) had been burned: whitened bone peering through charred wood and flesh.

No field was untouched by fire; the very forests stank of decay. Soot lay deep upon the road,

borne by the black smoke which spread and spread from innumerable burning bodies, from sacked

villages, from castles ruined by cannonade and siege; and at night my passage was often lit by

fires from burning monasteries and abbeys. Day was black and grey, whether the sun shone or no;

night was red as blood and white from a moon pale as a cadaver. All was dead or dying; all was

despair.

Life was leaving Germany and perhaps the whole world; I saw nothing but corpses. Once I observed a

ragged creature stirring on the road ahead of me, fluttering and flopping like a wounded crow, but

the old woman had expired before I reached her.

Even the ravens of the battlegrounds had fallen dead upon the remains of their carrion, bits of

rotting flesh still in their beaks, their bodies stiff, their eyes dull as they stared into the

meaningless void, neither Heaven, Hell nor yet Limbo (where there is, after all, still a little

hope).

I began to believe that ray horse and myself were the only creatures allowed, by some whim of Our

Lord, to remain as witnesses to the doom of His Creation.

If it were God's intention to destroy His world, as it seemed, then I had lent myself most

willingly to His purpose.

I had trained myself to kill with ease, with skill, with a cunning efficiency and lack of

ambiguity. My treacheries were always swift and decisive. I had learned the art of passionless

torture in pursuit of wealth and information. I knew how to

The War Hound and the World's Pain 13

terrify in order to gain my ends, whether they be the needs of the flesh or in the cause of

strategy.

I knew how to soothe a victim as gently as any butcher soothes a lamb. I had become a splendid

thief of grain and cattle so that my soldiers should be fed and remain as loyal as possible to me.

I was the epitome of a good mercenary captain; a soldier-of-fortune envied and emulated; a

survivor of every form of danger, be it battle, Plague or pox, for I had long since accepted

things as they were and had ceased either to question or to complain.

I was Captain Ulrich von Bek and I was thought to be lucky.

The steel I wore, helmet, breastplate, greaves and gloves, was of the very best, as was the sweat-

soaked silk of my shirt, the leather of my boots and breeches. My weapons had been selected from

the richest of those I had killed and were all, pistols, sword, daggers and musket, by the finest

smiths. My horse was large and hardy and excellently furnished.

I had no wounds upon my face, no marks of disease, and, if my bearing was a little stiff, it gave

me, I was told, an air of dignified authority, even when I conducted the most hideous destruction.

Men found me a good commander and were glad to serve with me. I had grown to some fame and had a

nickname, occasionally used: Krieghund.

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They said I had been born for War. I found such opinions amusing.

My birthplace was in Bek. I was the son of a pious nobleman who was loved for his good works. My

father had protected and cared for his tenants and his estates. He had respected God and his

betters. He had been learned, after the standards of this time, if not after the standards of the

Greeks and Romans, and had come to the Lutheran religion through inner debate, through

intellectual investigation, through discourse with others. Even amongst Catholics he was known for

his kindness and had once been seen to save a Jew from stoning in the town square. He had a

tolerance for almost every creature.

When my mother died, quite young, having given birth to the last of my sisters (I was the only

son), he prayed for her

The War Hound and the Wortd's P«In

soul and waited patiently until he should join her in Heaven. In the meantime he followed God's

Purpose, as he saw it, and looked after the poor and weak, discouraged them in certain aspirations

which could only lead the ignorant souls into the ways of the Devil, and made certain that 1

acquired the best possible education from both clergymen and lay tutors.

I learned music and dancing, fencing and riding, as well as Latin and Greek. I was knowledgeable

in the Scriptures and their commentaries. I was considered handsome, manly, God-fearing, and was

loved by all in Bek.

Until 1625 I had been an earnest scholar and a devout Protestant, taking little interest (save to

pray for our cause) in the various wars and battles of the North.

Gradually, however, as the canvas grew larger and the issues seemed to become more crucial, I

determined to obey God and my conscience as best I could.

In the pursuit of my Faith, I had raised a company of infantry and gone off to serve hi the army

of King Christian of Denmark, who proposed, in turn, to aid the Protestant Bohemians.

Since King Christian's defeat, I bad served a variety of masters and causes, not all of them, by

any means, Protestant and a good many of them in no wise Christian by even the broadest

description. I had also seen a deal of France, Sweden, Bohemia, Austria, Poland, Muscovy, Moravia,

the Low Countries, Spain and, of course, most of the German provinces.

I had learned a deep distrust of idealism, had developed a contempt for any kind of unthinking

Faith, and had discovered a number of strong arguments for the inherent malice, deviousness and

hypocrisy of my fellow men, whether they be Popes, princes, prophets or peasants.

I had been brought up to the belief that a word given meant an appropriate action taken. I had

swiftly lost my innocence, for I am not a stupid man at all.

By 1626 I had learned to lie as fluently and as easily as any of the major participants of that

War, who compounded deceit upon deceit in order to achieve ends which had begun to seem

meaningless even to them; for those who compromise others also compromise themselves and are thus

robbed of the capacity to place value on anything or anyone. For my own part I placed value upon

my own life and trusted only myself to maintain it.

The War Hound and UK World's Pain

Magdeburg, if nothing else, would have proven those views of mine:

By the time we had left the city we had destroyed most of its thirty thousand inhabitants. The

five thousand survivors had nearly all been women and their fate was the obvious one.

Tilly, indecisive, appalled by what he had in his desperation engineered, allowed Catholic priests

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to make some attempt to marry the women to the men who had taken them, but the priests were jeered

at for their pains.

The food we had hoped to gain had been burned in the city. All that had been rescued had been

wine, so our men poured the contents of the barrels into their empty bellies.

The work which they had begun sober, they completed drunk. Magdeburg became a tormented ghost to

haunt those few, unlike myself, who still possessed a conscience.

A rumor amongst our troops was that the fanatical Protestant, Falkenburg, had deliberately fired

the city rather than have it captured by Catholics, but it made no odds to those who died or

suffered. In years to come Catholic troops who begged for quarter from Protestants would be

offered "Magdeburg mercy" and would be killed on the spot. Those who believed Falkenburg the

instigator of the fire often celebrated him, catling Magdeburg "the Protestant Lucre-tia," self-

murdered to protect her honour. AH this was madness to me and best forgotten.

Soon Magdeburg and my men were days behind me. The smell of smoke and the Plague remained in my

nostrils, however, until well after I had turned out of the mountains and entered the oak groves

of the northern fringes of the great Thuringian Forest.

Here, there was a certain peace. It was spring and the leaves were green and their scent gradually

drove the stench of slaughter away.

The images of death and confusion remained in my mind, nonetheless. The tranquillity of the forest

seemed to me artificial. I suspected traps.

1 could not relax for thinking that the trees hid robbers or that the vety ground could disguise a

secret pit. Few birds sang here; I saw no animals.

The atmosphere suggested that God's Doom had been visited on this place as freely as it had been

visited elsewhere. Yet I was grateful for any kind of calm, and after two days

16 The WIT Hound and the World's Fata

without danger presenting itself I found that I could steep quite easily for several hours and

could eat with a degree of leisure, drinking from sweet brook water made strange to me because it

did not taste of the corpses which clogged, for instance, the Elbe from bank to bank.

It was remarkable to me that the deeper into the forest I moved, the less life I discovered.

The stillness began to oppress me; I became grateful for the sound of my own movements, the tread

of the horse's hooves on the turf, the occasional breeze which swept the leaves of the trees,

animating them and making them seem less like frozen giants observing my passage with a

passionless sense of the danger lying ahead of me.

It was warm and I had an impulse more than once to remove my helmet and breastplate, but I kept

them firmly on, sleeping in my armour as was my habit, a naked sword ready by my hand.

I came to believe that this was not, after all, a Paradise, but the borderland between Earth and

Hell.

I was never a superstitious man, and shared the rational view of the universe with our modern

alchemists, anatomists, physicians and astrologers; I did not explain my fears in terms of ghosts,

demons, Jews or witches; but I could discover no explanation for this absence of life.

No army was nearby, to drive game before it. No large beasts stalked here. There were not even

huntsmen. I had discovered not a single sign of human habitation.

The forest seemed unspoiled and untouched since the beginning of Time. Nothing was poisoned, i had

eaten berries and drunk water. The undergrowth was lush and healthy, as were the trees and shrubs.

I had eaten mushrooms and truffles; my horse nourished on the good grass.

Through the treetops I saw clear blue sky, and sunlight wanned the glades. But no insects danced

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in the beams; no bees crawled upon the leaves of the wild flowers; not even an earthworm twisted

about the roots, though the soil was dark and smelted fertile.

It came to me that perhaps this was a part of the globe as yet unpopulated by God, some forgotten

corner which had been overlooked during the latter days of the Creation. Was I a wandering Adam

come to find his Eve and start the race again? Had God, feeling hopeless at humanity's incapacity

to maintain even a clear idea of His Purpose, decided to

The War Bound and the World's Pain

expunge His first attempts? But I could only conclude that some natural catastrophe had driven the

animal kingdom away, be it through famine or disease, and that it had not yet returned.

You can imagine that this state of reason became more difficult to maintain when, breaking out of

the forest proper one afternoon, I saw before me a green, flowery hill which was crowned by the

most beautiful castle I had ever beheld: a thing of delicate stonework, of spires and ornamental

battlements, all soft, pale browns, whites and yellows, and this castle seemed to me to be at the

centre of the silence, casting its influence for miles around, protecting itself as a nun might

protect herself, with cold purity and insouciant confidence. Yet it was mad to think such a thing,

I knew.

How could a building demand calm, to the degree that not even a mosquito would dare disturb it?

It was my first impulse to avoid the castle, but my pride overcame me.

I refused to believe that there was anything genuinely mysterious.

A broad, stony path wound up the hillside between banks of flowers and sweet-smelling bushes which

gradually became shaped into terraced gardens with balustrades, statuary and formally arranged

flower beds.

This was a peaceful place, built for civilised tastes and reflecting nothing of the War. From time

to time as I rode slowly up the path I called out a greeting, asking for shelter and stating my

name, according to accepted tradition; but there was no reply. Windows filled with stained glass

glittered like the eyes of benign lizards, but I saw no human eye, heard no voice.

Eventually I reached the open gates of the castle's outer wall and rode beneath a portcullis into

a pleasant courtyard full of old trees, climbing plants and, at the centre, a well. Around this

courtyard were the apartments and appointments of those who would normally reside here, but it was

plain to me that not a soul occupied them.

I dismounted from my horse, drew a bucket from the well so that he might drink, tethered him

lightly and walked up the steps to the main doors which I opened by means of a large iron handle.

Within, it was cool and sweet.

There was nothing sinister about the shadows as I

18 The V*»r Houod and the World's Pain

climbed more steps and entered a room furnished with old chests and tapestries. Beyond this were

the usual living quarters of a wealthy nobleman of taste. I made a complete round of the rooms on

all three stories.

There was nothing in disorder. The books and manuscripts in the library were in perfect condition.

There were preserved meats, fruits and vegetables in the pantries, barrets of beer and jars of

wine in the cellars.

It seemed that the castle had been left with a view to its inhabitants' early return. There was no

decay at all. But what was remarkable to me was that there were, as in the forest, no signs of the

small animals, such as rats and mice, which might normally be discovered.

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A little cautiously I sampled the castle's larder and found it excellent. I would wait, however,

for a while before I made a meal, to see how my stomach behaved,

I glanced through the windows, which on this side were glazed with clear, green glass, and saw

that my horse was content. He had not been poisoned by the well water.

I climbed to the top of one of the towers and pushed open a little wooden door to let myself onto

the battlements.

Here, too, flowers and vegetables and herbs grew in tubs and added to the sweetness of the air.

Below me, the treetops were like the soft waves of a green and frozen sea. Able to observe the

land for many miles distant and see no sign of danger, I became relieved.

I went to stable my horse and then explored some of the chests to see if I could discover the name

of the castle's owner. Normally one would have come upon family histories, crests and the like.

There were none.

The linen bore no mottoes or insignia, the clothing (of which quantities existed to dress most

ages and both sexes) was of good quality, but anonymous. I returned to the kitchens, lit a fire

and began to heat water so that I might bathe and avail myself of some of the softer apparel in

the chests.

I had decided that this was probably the summer retreat of some rich Catholic prince who now did

not wish to risk the journey from his capital, or who had no time for rest.

I congratulated myself on my good fortune. I toyed with the idea of audaciously making the castle

my own, of finding servants for it, perhaps a woman or two to keep me company and share one of the

large and comfortable beds I had already

The WM- Hound and the World's Pain

sampled. Yet how, short of robbery, would I maintain the place?

There were evidently no farms, no mills, no villages nearby; therefore no rents, no supplies. The

age of the castle was difficult to judge, and I saw no clear roads leading to it.

Perhaps its owner had first discovered the tranquil wood and had had the castle built secretly. A

very rich aristocrat who required considerable privacy might find it possible to achieve. I could

imagine that I might myself consider such a plan. But I was not rich. The castle was therefore an

excellent base from which to make raids. It could be defended, even if it were discovered.

It seemed to me that it could also have been built by some ancient brigandry baron in the days

when almost all the German provinces were maintained by petty warlords preying upon one another

and upon the surrounding populace.

That evening I lit many candles and sat in the library wearing fresh linen and drinking good wine

while I read a treatise on astronomy by a student of Kepler's and reflected on my increasing

disagreement with Luther, who had judged reason to be the chief enemy of Faith, of the purity of

his beliefs. He had considered reason a harlot, willing to turn to anyone's needs, but this merely

displayed his own suspicion of logic. I have come to believe him the madman Catholics described

him as. Most mad people see logic as a threat to the dream in which they would rather live, a

threat to their attempts to make the dream reality (usually through force, through threat, through

manipulation and through bloodshed). It is why men of reason are so often the first to be killed

or exiled by tyrants.

He who would analyse the world, rather than impose upon it a set of attributes, is always most in

danger from his fellows, though he prove the most passive and tolerant of men. It has often seemed

to me that if one wishes to find consolation in this world one must also be prepared to accept at

least one or two large lies. A confessor requires considerable Faith before he will help you.

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I went early to bed, having fed my horse with oats from the granary, and slept peacefully, for I

had taken the precaution of lowering the portcullis, knowing that I should wake if anyone should

try to enter the castle in the night.

My steep was dreamless, and yet when I awoke in the morning I had an impression of gold and white,

of lands

The War Hound and the World's Pain

without horizon, without sun or moon. It was another warm, clear day. All I wished for to complete

my peace of mind was a little birdsong, but I whistled to myself as I descended to the kitchens to

breakfast on preserved herring and cheese, washing this down with some watered beer.

I had decided to spend as much time as I could in the castle, to recollect myself, to rest and

then continue my journey until I found some likely master who would employ me in the trade I had

made my own. I had long since learned to be content with my own company and so did not feel the

loneliness which others might experience.

It was in the evening, as I exercised upon the battlements, that I detected the signs of conflict

some miles distant, close to the horizon. There, the forest was burning; or perhaps it was a

settlement which burned. The fire spread even as I watched, but no wind carried the smoke towards

me.

As the sun set I saw a faint red glow, but was able to go to bed and sleep soundly again, for no

rider could have reached the castle by the morning.

I rose shortly after sunrise and went immediately to the battlements.

The fire was dying, it seemed. I ate and read until noon.

Another visit to the battlements showed me that the fire had grown again, indicating that a good-

sized army was on the move towards me. It would take me less than an hour to be ready to leave,

and I had learned the trick of responding to nothing but actual and immediate danger. There was

always the chance that the army would turn away well before it sighted the castle.

For three days I watched as the army came nearer and nearer until it was possible to see it

through a break in the trees created by a wide river.

It had settled on both banks, and I knew enough of such armies to note that it was constituted of

the usual proportions: at least five camp-followers to every soldier.

Women and children and male servants of various sorts went about the business of administering to

the warriors. These were people who, for one reason or another, had lost their own homes and found

greater security with the army than they would find elsewhere, preferring to identify with the

aggressor rather than be his victims.

There were about a hundred horses, bat the majority of

The War Hound and the VtorWs Pain

the men were infantry, clad in the costumes and uniforms of a score of countries and princes. It

was impossible to say which cause, if any, it served, and would therefore be best avoided,

particularly since it had an air of recent defeat about it.

The next day I saw outriders approach the castle and then almost immediately turn their horses

back, without debate. Judging by their costume and their weapons, the riders were native Germans,

and I formed the impression that they knew of the castle and were anxious to avoid it.

If some local superstition kept them away and thus preserved my peace, I would be more than

content to let them indulge their fears. I planned to watch carefully, however, until 1 became

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certain that I would not be disturbed.

In the meanwhile I continued my explorations of the castle.

I had been made even more curious by the fearful response of those riders. Nonetheless, no effort

of mine could reveal the castle's owner, nor even the name of the family which had built it. That

they were wealthy was evident from the quantity of rich silk and woollen hangings everywhere, the

pictures and the tapestries, the gold and the silver, the illuminated windows.

I sought out vaults where ancestors might be buried and discovered none.

I concluded that my original opinion was the most likely to be true: this was a rich prince's

retreat. Possibly a private retreat, where he did not wish to be known by his given name. If the

owner kept mysteries about him as to his identity, then it was also possible that his power was

held to be great and possibly supernatural in these parts and that that was why the castle went

untouched. I thought of the legend of Johannes Faust and other mythical maguses of the previous,

uncertain, century.

In two days the army had gone on its slow way and I was alone again.

I was quickly growing bored, having read most of what interested me in the library and beginning

to long for fresh meat and bread, as well as the company of some jolly peasant woman, such as

those I had seen with the army. But I stayed there for the best part of another week, sleeping a

good deal and restoring my strength of body, as well as my strength of judgement.

The War Hound and the World's Pain

All I had to look forward to was a long journey, the business of recruiting another company and

then seeking a fresh master for my services.

I considered tn£ idea of returning to Bek, but I knew that I was no longer suited for the kind of

life still lived there. I would be a disappointment to my father. I had sworn to myself long since

that I should only return to Bek if I heard that he was dying or dead. I wished him to think of me

as a noble Christian soldier serving the cause of the religion he loved.

On the night before I planned to leave I began to get some sense of a stirring in the castle, as

if the place itself were coming to life.

To quell my own slight terrors I took a lamp and explored the castle once more, from end to end,

from top to bottom, and found nothing strange. However, I became even more determined to leave on

the following morning.

As usual, I rose at sunrise and took my horse from the stable. He was in considerably better

condition than when we had arrived. I had raised the portcullis and was packing food into my

saddlebags when I heard a sound from outside, a kind of creaking and shuffling.

Going to the gates, I was astonished by the sight below. A procession was advancing up the hill

towards me. At first I thought this was the castle's owner returning. It had not struck me before

that he might not be a temporal prince at all, but a high-ranking churchman.

The procession had something of the nature of a monastery on the move.

First came six well-armed horsemen, with pikes at the slope in stirrup holsters, their faces

hidden in helmets of black iron; then behind them were some twoscore monks in dark habits and

cowls, hauling upon ropes attached to the kind of carriage which would normally be drawn by

horses. About another dozen monks walked at the back of the coach, and these were followed by six

more horsemen, identical in appearance to those at the front.

The coach was of cloudy, unpainted wood which glittered a little in the light. It had curtained

windows, but bore no crest, not even a cross.

The regalia of the riders looked popish to me, so I knew I would have to be wary in my responses,

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if I were to avoid conflict.

The War Hound aad the World's Pain

I wasted no time. 1 mounted and rode down the hill towards them. I wished that the sides of the

hill were not so steep here, or I should not have had to take the road at all. I could not, as it

happened, make my departure without passing them, but I felt happier being free of the castle,

with a chance at least of escape should these warriors and monks prove belligerent.

As I came closer I began to smell them. They stank of corruption. They carried the odour of

rotting flesh with them. I thought that the coach contained perhaps some dead cardinal.

Then I realised that all these creatures were the same. The flesh appeared to be falling from

their faces and limbs. Their eyes were the eyes of corpses. When they saw me they came to a sudden

stop.

The horsemen prepared their pikes.

I made no movement towards my own weapons, for fear of exciting them. Nonetheless, I readied

myself to charge through them if it should prove necessary.

One of the riders spoke sluggishly and yet with horrifying authority, as if he were Death Himself

and that pike in his hand the Reaper's scythe:

"You trespass, fellow.

"You trespass.

"Understand you not that this land is forbidden to you?"

The words came as a series of clipped phrases, with a long pause between each, as if the speaker

had to recall the notion of language.

"I saw no signs," said I. "I heard no word. How could I when your land is absolutely free of

population?"

In all my experience of horror 1 had witnessed nothing to compare with this talking corpse. I felt

unnerving fear and was hard put to control it.

He spoke again:

"It is understood—

"By alt. It seems.

"Save you."

"I am a stranger," I declared, "and sought the hospitality of this castle's lord. I did not expect

the place to be empty. I apologise for my ignorance. I have done no damage."

I made ready to spur my horse.

Another of the riders turned his iron head on me.

Cold eyes, full of old blood, stared into mine.

24 The War Hound and the World's Fain

My stomach regretted that I had broken its fast so recently.

He said:

"How were you able to come and go?

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file:///G|/rah/Michael%20Moorcock/Michael%20Moorcock%20-%20Vo...%201%20-%20The%20War%20Hound%20and%20the%20World's%20Pain.txt

"Have you made the bargain?"

I attempted to reply in a reasonable tone. "I came and went as you see, upon my horse. I have no

bond, if that is what you mean, with the master of this castle."

I addressed the coach, believing that the castle's owner must sit within:

"But again I say that I apologise for my unwitting trespass. I have done no harm, save eat a

little food, water my horse and read a book or two."

"No bargain," muttered one of the monks, as if puzzled.

"No bargain he is aware of," said a third horseman.

And they laughed amongst themselves. The sound was a disgusting one.

"I have never met your lord," said I. "It is unlikely that I know him."

"Doubtless he knows you."

Their mockery, their malicious enjoyment of some secret they believed they shared, was disturbing

my composure and making me impatient.

I said:

"If I may be allowed to approach and present myself, you will discover that I am of noble birth .

. ."

I had no real intention of talking with the occupant of the coach, but should I be able to advance

a little farther I would gain time and distance—and with some luck I might break free of them

without need of my sword.

"You may not approach," said the first rider.

"You must return with us."

I spoke with mock good manners:

"I have already sampled your hospitality too long. I'll impose upon it no further."

I smiled to myself. My spirits began to lift, as they always do when action is required of me. I

began to experience that cool good humour common to many professional soldiers when killing

becomes necessary.

"You have no choice," said the rider.

He lowered his pike: a threat.

I relaxed in my saddle, ensuring that my seat was firm.

The War Hound and the World's Pain

"I make my own choices, sir," I said.

My spurs touched my horse and he began to trot rapidly towards them.

They had not expected this.

They were used to inducing terror. They were not, I suspected, used to fighting.

I had broken through them in a matter of seconds. Barely grazed by a pike, I now attempted to ride

the monks down.

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