Read Online King of the Bastards by Brian Keene, Steven L. Shrewsbury - Free Book Online Page A

dark
mountaintop. “Akibeel can tell that from here, can he?”
    “Apparently, sire.”
    The Kennebeck people quickly dispersed, fleeing towards the
safety of the forest.
    Rogan scowled. “Why do they run away?”
    “They fear Amazarak’s magic. Croatoan is hungry.”
    “Does he eat people?”
    “I am not certain.”
    Akibeel gestured at the mountain. An emerald light now emanated
from it.
    “Wodan’s sack,” Rogan breathed. “Look at that! Sorcery if I’ve
ever seen it.”
    “He says again to be cautious,” Javan warned.
    “For what?”
    As if he’d understood the warrior king, Akibeel raised one
trembling, gnarled finger and pointed at the ocean. Rogan and Javan turned,
staring at the surf as something dark emerged from the water.
    “Be wary of the dead.” Javan gulped.
    The clouds parted, and the moonlight revealed the true state of
their enemy. A line of black corpses rose up from the waves. Saltwater dripped
from their bloated flesh as they padded onto the sand. One of them still wore a
necklace of tiger’s teeth; the chain embedded in its swollen flesh. Another
clutched a curved blade in its leathery fingers, yet in the top of his head
gaped a hole. Seaweed and saltwater filled the space where his brain should
have been. The creatures shambled toward them, their faint, soulless cries
drifting across the beach.
    Rogan recognized them immediately, despite their putrescence.
These were the bodies of the corsairs they’d slain, Karza’s warriors, animated
and seeking revenge, even beyond death.
    “Zombies,” Rogan muttered. “Wodan’s balls, I hate zombies.”
    One’s bloated stomach hung horribly swollen, as if it were
pregnant with child. Another missed a leg below the knee. It hopped on one
foot, collapsing every few yards. All of the corpses were in bad shape with
shark-frayed ribbons of flesh hung from their frames. Broken bones poked
through their mottled, parchment-thin skin, and shredded lips pulled back
against shattered teeth. Their stench was horrific.
    With a cry, a seagull darted down out of the night sky and pecked
at one of the creature’s ears, hoping to dislodge the morsel. The zombie
reached up, grasped the bird in its fist, and squeezed. Then it flung the
lifeless gull to the sand and continued approaching.
    The sixth zombie to clamber across the beach was absent much of
his skin, exposing muscles and veins. A sea-worm tunneled through its neck and
another burrowed through its shoulder. One of the creature’s eyes was missing,
and a small hermit crab scuttled in the empty cavity. Seawater ran from the
ghoul’s gaping mouth. One of its arms was also gone. The hand on the other arm
clutched a curved sword. The creature raised the weapon and pointed it at Rogan
in recognition.
    Sighing, Rogan turned his head, listening to his joints pop. “Is
there no end to this madness? I have killed them once. Must I kill them a
second time?”
    Without waiting for a reply, he charged forward to meet his
opponents, counting seven of the creatures on the beach, plus seven more
heaving themselves from the water. He exploded into their midst, broadsword
whistling through the air, cleaving rancid flesh, slicing through decaying
muscle and tissue.
    One of the zombies parried his follow-up attack, and their swords
clanged together. Rogan turned his head away. The stench wafting off the corpse
made him gag. Blocking the curved blade’s descent, Rogan grasped the undead
warrior’s arm and tried to pull him forward onto the point of his broadsword.
Instead, the creature’s skin slipped off, revealing bone. Rogan stared in
horror as the thing
smiled
. Its face had been half-eaten by fish, and
the fleshless cheek swarmed with larvae. A seashell jutted from the raw wound
where its nose had been.
    “Wodan take you, dead man,” Rogan whispered.
    The old king leaped into the air and lashed out with his leg,
kicking the zombie in the head. His boot sank into the soft flesh. Rogan
laughed as bits of brain