01 - Empire in Chaos Read Free Page B

covering his skin. His head hung low, and his lank dark hair fell down over his
face.
    “Father,” she said once again, tears welling in her eyes. Days ago she had
resigned herself to his passing.
    He turned his face towards her. She had a glimpse of blue-tinged lips, and
saw that her father’s eyes were closed. His skin was grey and ashen, and she
could see blue veins criss-crossing within.
    Her father’s cold blue lips curled into a sickly grin that made her skin
crawl, and she felt revulsion and horror run through her for a moment. Then he
began to convulse, his wasted muscles tensing as his entire body went into
uncontrollable spasms. He fell to his back, and sickly, yellow froth bubbled at
the corners of his still grinning lips. Annaliese cried out, not knowing what to
do. She grasped her father’s head tightly in her arms, holding him to her bosom
in an effort to stop him smashing his head against the floorboards in his
seizure.
    It was over in a moment, and he went completely limp. Breathing heavily with
the shock, Annaliese carefully laid her father’s head back down against the
floor. She could not hear him breathing, and she felt for a pulse on his wasted,
scrawny neck. There was none.
    Closing her eyes, Annaliese allowed exhaustion and despair to wash over her.
She couldn’t remember when last she had slept, and her entire body heaved with
sobs from the shock of her father’s dying fit.
    She opened her eyes to see a cold pair of eyes regarding her.
    Blue flames flickered within the sunken sockets of her father’s face, and
Annaliese felt the edges of her sanity begin to fray.
    She screamed involuntarily and scrambled backwards across the floor. The
thing that had once been her father pushed itself onto its stomach, and began to
claw its way across the floorboards towards her, fingernails digging into the
floorboards. Its movements were jerky and stilted, as if it were some twisted
marionette and someone was plucking at its strings.
    Its face was still locked in a hideous grinning rictus, a manic
death-grimace, and eyes of blue fire blazed coldly.

 
 
CHAPTER TWO
     
     
    Udo removed his wide-brimmed black hat, and ran a gloved hand across his
shaven head. If there had been hair growing there it would have had grey in it,
as there was in his moustache and the salt-and-pepper stubble that covered his
thick jaw. You are getting old, he thought to himself. His legs were sore, and
he cursed again the bastards who had stolen his horse.
    He had been returning to the tall, black stallion after relieving himself up
against a tree when he came upon them. There had been three of them, rough men
that had the look of deserters about them, and they were struggling to keep the
stallion from bucking.
    So intent were they on the powerful steed that they didn’t notice the
appearance of Grunwald until he calmly killed the first with a bolt through the
back of the neck.
    The would-be thief was killed instantly and the reins fell from his limp
hand. The powerful stallion lashed out with its hooves, slamming another of the
men to the ground. Grunwald had stalked forwards then, his dark coat billowing
out behind him, dropping his heavy crossbow to the ground. He hefted a heavy,
flanged mace in one hand and with the other he drew an ornate, gold-worked
pistol—one of the weapons of his former master. The brigand struck by the
horse struggled to his feet, and the pistol boomed deafeningly. The lead shot
slammed into his head, sending a mist of blood out behind him as he fell.
    The third man, a small, weasely individual, leapt into the saddle of the
bucking horse, the reins held tightly in his hands.
    “It will be better for you if you get off my horse now,” said Grunwald. The
outlaw spat in response, and kicked the stallion into a gallop.
    It had not been hard to follow his trail across the destitute lands of
Stirland.
    The three were part of a larger group that were preying on the weakened