Tales of the Old World by Marc Gascoigne, Christian Dunn (ed) - (ebook by Undead) Read Free Book Online Page A

give him as much comfort as he expected it
would. People would die and the ringleader of this revolution would be hanged.
    Speaking of the ringleaders, he saw Carlomax, the charismatic Herrimault who
appeared to be the self-appointed leader of this revolt walking towards him, a
longbow clutched in one hand, while his other hand gripped the hilt of his
sword.
    “Mind if I walk with you?” asked Carlomax.
    “Do I have a choice?” asked Leofric.
    “This is Derrevin Libre,” smiled Carlomax. “Everyone has a choice.”
    “Did the local lord have a choice before your little revolution killed him?”
    Carlomax’s lips pursed and Leofric saw him bite back a retort before his easy
composure reasserted itself. “You are angry with me, yet I have done nothing to
you, sir knight.”
    “You are a revolutionary, that is enough to make me angry.”
    “A revolutionary?” said Carlomax. “Yes, I suppose I am. But if I am, then I
fight for honour and justice, that is the true revolution here.”
    “Honour and justice now includes murder does it?” spat Leofric.
    Again Carlomax struggled to stay calm, and said, “If you’ll allow me to show
you something, I think you might change your mind.”
    “Show me what?”
    “Come,” said Carlomax, indicating that Leofric should follow him. “It’s
easier if you see it first.”
     
    The ice room of the former lord of Derrevin Libre was dug deep into the
earth, far below ground level, and as Leofric descended the stairs he relished
the drop in temperature after the heat of the day. A compact room of rough-hewn
stone blocks, there was, of course, no ice left, but it was still nevertheless
pleasantly cool though the shelves were empty of meat and vegetables as he might
have expected.
    In fact the room was empty save for the bloated shape of the corpse concealed
beneath a large blanket. Despite the cool air, the stench was appalling and
Leofric was forced to cover his nose and mouth to keep it at bay.
    “You kept the body?” said Leofric, aghast. “Why?”
    “You’ll see,” promised Carlomax. “Take a look.”
    Against his better judgement Leofric approached the covered body, keeping one
hand pressed over his mouth as Carlomax took hold of the blanket and pulled it
back to reveal the dead body beneath.
    Leofric dropped to his knees at the horror that was revealed, his stomach
turning in loops as he fought to prevent himself from vomiting. The body was
that of a man, but a man so bloated and repellent that Leofric could barely
believe such a thing was human. Sagging folds of flab hung slackly from the
man’s frame, his skin discoloured and ruptured in numerous places, each long
gash encrusted with filth and dried pustules. The man had clearly been diseased
and he backed away lest some contagion remained in the rotted flesh.
    “You need to burn this,” said Leofric. “It has become rank with corruption.”
    “No,” said Carlomax. “The body has not changed since we killed him.”
    Leofric looked back at the repulsive corpse and said, “Impossible. The body
has rotted from within.”
    “I swear to you, Leofric, that this is exactly how this… thing was put here.
Look at his arms, he was a worshipper of the Dark Gods.”
    Leofric was loath to look again at the horrendous sight, but bent once again
to the body. His eyes roamed the purulent, flabby arms, at last seeing what
Carlomax was referring to. All along the length of the man’s arms were a regular
series of blisters, each formed in a triangular pattern of three adjoining
circles. Each cluster was arranged in the same pattern.
    “I have seen this before,” said Leofric.
    “You have? Where?”
    “I fought alongside the king at the great battle against the northern tribes
at the foot of the Ulricsberg. I saw this symbol painted on the banners and
carved into the flesh of the warriors who worshipped the Dark God of pestilence
and decay.”
    Carlomax made the sign the protective horns as Leofric