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

face of the countless evils that
assail us.” He gestured towards the surrounding forest. “Your very survival
hinges on it. So many have fallen by the wayside, but you, my pious children of
Sigmar have survived everything, simply by the virtue of your faith.” He closed
the little book with a snap and when he spoke again, his voice trembled
with emotion. “If I had an army of men with hearts like yours, the war would
over by nightfall.”
    The flagellants began to nod and smile at each other, revelling in the
priest’s praise. A few of them climbed unsteadily to their feet, wiping the
blood from their eyes, and trying to calm their breathing enough to speak.
“Priest,” gasped a middle-aged woman, with tears welling in her eyes. “I don’t
understand. What you said about the quote—are we doing wrong?”
    Wolff shook his head. “You’re not doing wrong, child, far from it. This man…”
He turned to the skeletal figure slumped behind him.
    The man’s eyes bulged in their sunken sockets and he trembled in awe as Wolff
addressed him. “Raphael,” he whispered.
    “Raphael,” repeated Wolff, “has filled you with the light of Sigmar, and none
of you will ever be the same again.”
    The congregation gasped and moaned with delight. Several of them crawled
forwards and pawed at the hem of Wolff’s robes, sobbing in ecstasy and pressing
their faces into the embroidered cloth.
    Ratboy and Anna watched in amazement at how quickly Wolff had entranced the
crowd. Even the spectators began to fall to their knees, muttering prayers of
thanks and crossing their chests with the sign of the hammer.
    “No,” continued Wolff, “you’re very far from doing wrong, my children.” Wolff
paused and strapped the book back onto his arm. “However…” he allowed the word
to echo around the square, “if you have the strength for the task, I would ask a
favour of you.”
    Raphael strained to free himself from the post. “Anything, father,” he
gasped, pulling at his bonds until fresh streams of blood erupted from his
wounds. “Let us serve you, I beg.”
    “Aye,” cried the middle-aged woman, rushing over to Wolff and falling at his
feet. “Let us serve you, lord. What would you ask?” She waved a trembling,
bleeding arm at the assembled crowd. “We’ve tried to be penitent.” She grabbed a
knife from her belt and held it to her own throat. “Should we try harder?”
    Wolff placed a hand on her arm and lowered the blade. “Wait, daughter of
Sigmar. Eberlinus’ words were not ‘He that cleaves his flesh in my
name,’ they were ‘He that cleaves flesh in my name.’ The difference is
subtle, but important.”
    The woman frowned. “Then whose flesh should we cleave?”
    “The enemy’s,” gasped Raphael, finally freeing himself and tumbling to the
ground at Wolff’s feet. “You wish us to march with you.”
    Wolff gave Raphael a paternal smile.

 
 
CHAPTER FOUR
BLOOD SPORTS
     
     
    Music was drifting across the ruined landscape. As a merciful dusk fell over
the crumbling farms and villages, chords echoed through the smoking wreckage and
as the three riders steered their mounts north, ghostly harmonies drifted out of
the dark to meet them.
    Wolff rode up the side of a hill to find the source of the strange noise.
“Hired swords,” he said, beckoning to Anna and Ratboy to come and see. They rode
up beside him and saw a merry trail of lights snaking through the hills towards
them. Several regiments of soldiers were travelling north. Proud, armoured
knights on barded mounts. Over their heads fluttered banners bearing a symbol
Ratboy didn’t recognise: a pair of bright yellow swords, emblazoned on a black
background. The men wore the most incredible uniforms Ratboy had ever seen.
Huge, plumed hats and elaborately frilled collars, all dyed with a yellow
pigment so bright that even the chill gloom of an Ostland evening failed to
dampen its cheeriness.
    “Who are they?” he asked, turning to