The Scourge (Kindle Serial) Read Free Page B

in pain from inside. I
can see Tristan’s shoulders shaking with laughter.
    “Are you finished?”
Morgan asks. His voice is pitched high with tension. “You done having sport?” His
sword trembles, but I know Morgan is no coward. All soldiers tremble before a battle.
    I call back to the
peasant. “Why didn’t you tell us he was a giant?”
    “I weren’t sure it
would help my cause,” the man says.
    “Bloody right it
wouldn’t,” Morgan says. “That’s a troll in there, it is.”
    The door shakes. I
exhale and nod to Tristan. “At your leisure, Sir Tristan.”
    Tristan opens the
door. The monster stoops under the doorframe and runs toward me, his shoulders
dipping and swinging wildly. I get one slash, but his movements are so erratic
that I miss. My blade carves a red moustache over his lip instead of opening
his throat. I feel the tip scrape bone, then the vast bulk of him hits me. We
fall to the ground and his weight makes me gasp. The collar of my breastplate stabs
my throat. The noises that come from the plaguer are those of an animal. Growls
and shrieks. There is no reason. There is no humanity. I can feel his teeth
scraping at the bevor upon my neck. His hands shove at my helmet. I see three
red circles above his thumb. I shove at him, but he has latched on to me, with
one arm under my head. He pulls me toward his mouth like a hungry lover, and I
scream. Not in fear but in anger. His weight is too much to move. Bloody
spittle drips from his mouth. I thank God that the air perforations are on the
opposite side of my helmet.
    Sir Tristan and Sir
Morgan take one foot each and pull the man backward, but the plaguer has such a
grip on me that they end up dragging both of us. I shove the man’s face away
from me. He grabs my hand and gnaws on my gauntlet. The gauntlet slips forward.
Cool air strokes my wrist. The man works his teeth lower and lower along my
hand. I scream. It is fear this time.
    Sir Morgan batters the
man’s head with his gauntlets. Tristan drags me another three feet. I imagine
they don’t want to use their swords in case they hit me. Battle often drives
logic from the minds of men. “Use your swords!” My voice cracks as I scream.
    As one they pick up
their swords and begin their dissection of the man trying to eat me. Their
blades clatter against my armor a few times but I don’t care. They can hack off
one of my legs if it will help remove this Goliath. Blood leaks into my helmet
visor. I feel the heat as it trickles up my cheek. I close my eyes. I have
heard stories of blood spreading the plague.
    The giant is
deadweight. More deadweight than you would find in an entire cemetery. I shove
the carcass off me with a roar and rise to my feet. I hop from foot to foot,
groaning as I throw off my helmet and gauntlets. I wipe the blood from my face
with sweat-lathered hands.
     Our peasant runs from
the village. He holds a two-foot silver crucifix in his arms. I point at him.
“There goes our farmer.”
    Tristan and Morgan
remove their helmets and watch the peasant run.
    “And without his sweet
Allison,” Tristan says.
    “Where is he going?”
Morgan asks. “What’s he holding?”
    “I saw him run into
the cottage while we were playing with the giant,” Tristan says.
    I think about the
three black circles tattooed on the peasant’s hand. I look down at the bloody giant,
at the three red circles tattooed on his hand.  “Thieves.” I work it out
quickly. “Their loot was in the house. The big man got afflicted and our
peasant couldn’t get to the hoard.”
    Tristan shakes his
head. “Sir Edward.” He points toward the dwindling peasant and imitates Sir
Morgan. “ That man is a farmer. See the fields? He’s spent his entire life
working a three-crop rotation. He’s never stolen anything in his life .”
    Sir Morgan walks
toward the horses and slips their reins off the oak branch that tethers them.
    “Sir Morgan,” Tristan
calls, “does the Word of Our Lord mention