Read Online Of Saints and Shadows (1994) by Christopher Golden - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Christopher Golden
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was working. In a blur of motion he moved from the dagger’s path, grabbed the hand that held it, and pulled, removing the arm at the shoulder. The man’s throat erupted in bellows of pain as his fresh wound spurted gouts of blood into the air. Karl pulled him close, driving the silver dagger into the man’s belly with such strength that its tip exited the back and Karl’s hand was buried in his guts. With the claws of his other hand he dug into the man’s face and pulled, tearing away much of the skin, leaving bone and muscle visible beneath.
Von Reinman grabbed the dead man’s neck and crotch, lifting him easily above his head, and heaving the corpse at the one with the ax and his companion, who still stood idly by.
And then he realized what it was, the other smell that the bloodlust had blocked from reaching his brain: it was fire.
His house. His house was burning down. Those assholes around the back hadn’t attacked him yet because they’d been busy setting his house on fire so he couldn’t get back in, torching a century’s worth of treasures and the corpse of Una along with it.
Now he was really angry.
The two who had ignited the house now rushed at him from the back and he spun to face them, worried about turning his back on the mart with the ax. These two didn’t look like much, he thought, and was ready to disregard them when one stopped still and, lightning quick, threw another silver dagger straight for his heart. He was so taken off guard that he barely moved in time and the knife plunged into his chest only millimeters from his heart . . . and he screamed.
Lord, it hurt! The blade seared his flesh as he removed it, all the while inwardly cursing himself. It did not hurt, he told himself yet he wondered. Octavian had never mentioned silver. Was that, too, a part of the brainwashing his people had undergone, a deadly hallucination? He was getting confused now, his concentration slipping. What was real and what was not?
I do not believe, his mind chanted, and finally the pain began to fade. Far too late, though, as the four men converged on him.
Worried about the shiny ax blade that might have been silver, Karl lashed out instinctively with the dagger, slicing deeply into a neck. The ax man’s head rocked back on its stalk, then spilled over, hanging from the spinal cord as the decapitated priest stumbled a few steps and then finally fell over.
He struggled with the three remaining clergymen, noting that the men. looked strangely alike. Ah, these must be the Montesi brothers, he realized, the pups of the late sorcerer Vincent Montesi. Karl fought on, hut he was confused, distracted, a little scared perhaps. Surely the destruction of the heart would be a logical way to destroy his kind, but the silver had hurt so badly. Perhaps that was true, and if so, what of the spikes of pain being driven into him now by the sun? What was real?
The man on his left was reaching into his coat, and Karl refused to allow another dagger to be brought into play. But it was a distraction, as the man on his right brought a large silver crucifix up in front of his face. A thousand questions stampeded through his brain, but before any of the answers could come, the cross was laid against his forehead and he was screaming.
It burned. Burned so that he could smell it over the smoke from the pyre his home had become, the pyre they’d been dragging him toward. He could smell his own flesh cm fire from the cross, and he stumbled and fell, dragging the priests down with him, on top of him. A dagger was plunged into his back at the precise moment that he gathered all his immortal strength and. tossed them away. He leaped to his feet, disoriented, and looked up at the sun. He howled as his face blistered and smoked. His clothes began to burn and his eyes withered and blackened in their sockets. His hair and face were aflame as well.
In a blast of heat and ash, Karl Von Reinman exploded, leaving nothing but burning shards of
Von Reinman grabbed the dead man’s neck and crotch, lifting him easily above his head, and heaving the corpse at the one with the ax and his companion, who still stood idly by.
And then he realized what it was, the other smell that the bloodlust had blocked from reaching his brain: it was fire.
His house. His house was burning down. Those assholes around the back hadn’t attacked him yet because they’d been busy setting his house on fire so he couldn’t get back in, torching a century’s worth of treasures and the corpse of Una along with it.
Now he was really angry.
The two who had ignited the house now rushed at him from the back and he spun to face them, worried about turning his back on the mart with the ax. These two didn’t look like much, he thought, and was ready to disregard them when one stopped still and, lightning quick, threw another silver dagger straight for his heart. He was so taken off guard that he barely moved in time and the knife plunged into his chest only millimeters from his heart . . . and he screamed.
Lord, it hurt! The blade seared his flesh as he removed it, all the while inwardly cursing himself. It did not hurt, he told himself yet he wondered. Octavian had never mentioned silver. Was that, too, a part of the brainwashing his people had undergone, a deadly hallucination? He was getting confused now, his concentration slipping. What was real and what was not?
I do not believe, his mind chanted, and finally the pain began to fade. Far too late, though, as the four men converged on him.
Worried about the shiny ax blade that might have been silver, Karl lashed out instinctively with the dagger, slicing deeply into a neck. The ax man’s head rocked back on its stalk, then spilled over, hanging from the spinal cord as the decapitated priest stumbled a few steps and then finally fell over.
He struggled with the three remaining clergymen, noting that the men. looked strangely alike. Ah, these must be the Montesi brothers, he realized, the pups of the late sorcerer Vincent Montesi. Karl fought on, hut he was confused, distracted, a little scared perhaps. Surely the destruction of the heart would be a logical way to destroy his kind, but the silver had hurt so badly. Perhaps that was true, and if so, what of the spikes of pain being driven into him now by the sun? What was real?
The man on his left was reaching into his coat, and Karl refused to allow another dagger to be brought into play. But it was a distraction, as the man on his right brought a large silver crucifix up in front of his face. A thousand questions stampeded through his brain, but before any of the answers could come, the cross was laid against his forehead and he was screaming.
It burned. Burned so that he could smell it over the smoke from the pyre his home had become, the pyre they’d been dragging him toward. He could smell his own flesh cm fire from the cross, and he stumbled and fell, dragging the priests down with him, on top of him. A dagger was plunged into his back at the precise moment that he gathered all his immortal strength and. tossed them away. He leaped to his feet, disoriented, and looked up at the sun. He howled as his face blistered and smoked. His clothes began to burn and his eyes withered and blackened in their sockets. His hair and face were aflame as well.
In a blast of heat and ash, Karl Von Reinman exploded, leaving nothing but burning shards of
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