05 - Warrior Priest by Darius Hinks - (ebook by Undead) Read Free Book Online

encountered, its stockade was breached and burned, and
several of the houses had been levelled. Unlike some of the others, however, it
still boasted a few signs of life. As the trio arrived at the ruined gate, they
saw a crowd gathered in the village square.
    Ratboy gasped in dismay as he saw what they were doing.
    Several dozen villagers were on their knees, thrashing their naked torsos
with barbed strips and chanting frantically as blood poured from their scarred
flesh. As the rest of the crowd looked on, the penitents were gradually whipping
themselves to death. It was not just this that made Ratboy gasp; it was also the
man who was the focus of their prayers. They seemed to be worshipping a corpse.
A skeletal body was strapped to a broken gatepost with a sign hung around its
neck. Its pale, naked flesh was lacerated all over with countless knife wounds,
many of which were in the shape of a hammer. Scrawled on the sign, in dark,
bloody letters, was a single word: REPENT.
    Ratboy realised that slurred, feeble words were coming from the body’s
cracked mouth. He looked up at Wolff in horror. “Is that some kind of revenant?”
    Wolff scowled back at him as he dismounted. “Don’t mention such things, boy.
These are Sigmar’s children.”
    Anna had already tied her horse to a fence and rushed over to one of the
spectators. It was a ruddy-faced old woodcutter with a chinstrap beard. As she
approached him, the man waved her away furiously. “Stay back, healer. We don’t
need your meddling hands here. The flagellants will save us from further
attacks.” He gestured to the emaciated figure that was leading the prayers.
“Raphael has foretold it. But only if they sacrifice themselves in our place.”
He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her close. “It’s what Sigmar demands!
There’s nothing you can do for them now.”
    Ratboy noticed several of the villagers blanched at the woodcutter’s words.
They looked anxiously at Anna as their friends and family spilled themselves
across the dusty ground; but none of them seemed brave enough to contradict him.
As the priestess looked to them for support, they turned away, blushing with
shame at the horror being perpetrated on their behalf.
    “‘He that cleaves his flesh in my name, abideth in me’,” quoted the man
strapped to the post, raising his voice to regain the crowd’s attention and
rolling his bloodshot eyes at the heavens.
    Ratboy stepped a little closer to the gruesome display and realised the man
was repeating the same words over and over again: “He that cleaves his flesh in
my name, abideth in me.” He couldn’t understand how such a skeletal wretch could
still breathe, never mind drive dozens of normal people to such a sickening
death.
    “Wait,” cried a deep powerful voice, and Ratboy saw that Wolff had strode up
to the front of the group.
    The skeletal man faltered, stumbling over his words as he tried to focus on
Wolff’s thick claret robes and ornate, burnished armour. As the man’s words
slowed, so did the frantic, jerking movements of the crowd. They lowered their
whips and looked up expectantly at Wolff from beneath sweaty, matted hair.
    The priest unclasped a small leather-bound book from a strap on his forearm.
A confused silence descended over the square, as Wolff began to leaf through the
text, frowning as he searched for the right passage. Finally, he paused, and
smiled to himself, before looking out over the panting, bleeding congregation
and addressing them in a voice that boomed around the square. “The quote is from
the Book of Eberlinus ,” he cried. “It reads thus: ‘He that cleaves flesh
and blood in my name, abideth in me, and I in him’.”
    The crowd looked at him open mouthed, uncomprehending.
    Wolff nodded, willing them to understand. “Your faith is a glorious gesture.
A gesture of defiance. I heard tales of your devotion as far away as Haundorf.
It’s a wonder to behold such belief in the