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

matter and skull fragments splattered onto the wet
sand. His landing, while graceful, was not nearly as nimble as it would have
been ten years before. His agility, like the hair in his salt and pepper mane,
lessened with the passing of each winter. Rogan spun on his heels, wheeling to
face his next shuffling opponent.
    Before he could renew his attack, several arrows sprouted from
the chests and throats of the living dead. The shafts were not of the type
Javan had been using. Rogan ducked, warned by some primal, battle-honed
instinct, as more missiles flew from the forest. The arrows found homes in the
monsters, but had no effect.
    Several women stepped out of the shadowed woods, and silently
reloaded their bows. Each sported flowing, shiny black hair; but none was of
the Kennebeck tribe, nor of the ginger skinned Olmek-Tikalize from the southern
continents. These tan women stood much taller, and their eyes were drawn up at
the sides, almost like those from the distant Eastern lands that Rogan had
raided as a teen.
    “I grow weary of this,” Rogan muttered, ducking the clumsy swing
of a zombie. “Tonight, I merely wished to sit, drink and eat, and warm my bones
beside the fire—and perhaps explore between the legs of one of these
red-skinned or tan-skinned women, deformed or no. Now, instead, I slay those
already dead.”
    The zombie’s reply was a gurgled moan.
    “To Hades with you all,” Rogan roared and hacked the legs out
from under it. “How many times must I kill your lot before you stay dead?”
    The pathetic undead were not much of a fighting force. Still,
they swarmed him with their numbers. More of the foul creatures poured from the
sea. The female archers fell back, lest their hail of arrows strike Rogan.
Pulling his sword, Javan sprang forth.
    Rogan sliced another zombie in two at the belly. Undaunted, the
corpse’s lower half walked on. Its upper portion flopped into the water, and
then pulled itself back across the sand. Rogan’s sword fell once, twice,
severing the arms. Then he cut the disembodied walking legs in half, dividing
the hips. Something grasped his boot. He glanced down, shuddering in revulsion
as the decaying hands trailed across his feet, dragging the severed arms behind
them.
    Javan brought down another slow moving corpse. A severed hand
crawled up his back like a spider and clutched at his throat. Shuddering, he
yanked the thing off and flung it into the ocean.
    “Uncle,” he shouted, “this is madness! There is no way to kill
them. Each limb we hack off becomes yet another opponent.”
    “Tell that Kennebeck wizard that this is his kind of fight, not
ours.”
    Javan confessed, “I can’t.”
    “What do you mean you can’t? Do as I say, boy.”
    “Akibeel isn’t responding. He sits cross legged at the fire,
ignoring my pleas. That is why I joined the battle late.”
    “What? The fool. He picks a poor time to rest!”
    “I think he’s in some sort of trance, sire.”
    Rogan spat onto the sand. “I hate wizards almost as much as I
hate zombies.”
    The zombies encircled the two exhausted men. Javan and Rogan
stood back-to-back, swords held ready. The undead moved closer. Javan winced at
the stench. Rogan blinked sweat from his eyes. The corpses raised their
weapons.
    “WODANNNNNN!” Rogan roared, preparing himself for the onslaught.
    Then, as abruptly as they’d emerged, the creatures fell limp and
tottered into the surf.
    Rogan prodded one of the corpses with his sword, but it did not
move.
    “This time, let us hope they stay dead.”
    “Indeed, sire.”
    The bodies began washing back out to sea with the next crashing
wave.
    Akibeel rose, opening his eyes and shouting into the heavens.
Rogan followed his gaze, and noticed that the strange emerald light on the
mountaintop had vanished as well.
    Javan relayed, “Akibeel says that he placed himself in a spell
and entreated his gods for a blessing. The blessing came.”
    “Well, Wodan bless my ass. How can I fight one