The War Hound and the World's Pain Read Free Page B

father. I had sworn to myself long since that I should only return to Bek if I heard that he was dying or dead. I wished him to think of me as a noble Christian soldier serving the cause of the religion he loved.
    On the night before I planned to leave I began to get some sense of a stirring in the castle, as if the place itself were coming to life.
    To quell my own slight terrors I took a lamp and explored the castle once more, from end to end, from top to bottom, and found nothing strange. However, I became even more determined to leave on the following morning.
    As usual, I rose at sunrise and took my horse from the stable. He was in considerably better condition than when we had arrived. I had raised the portcullis and was packing food into my saddlebags when I heard a sound from outside, a kind of creaking and shuffling.
    Going to the gates, I was astonished by the sight below. A procession was advancing up the hill towards me. At first I thought this was the castle’s owner returning. It had not struck me before that he might not be a temporal prince at all, but a high-ranking churchman.
    The procession had something of the nature of a monastery on the move.
    First came six well-armed horsemen, with pikes at the slope in stirrup holsters, their faces hidden in helmets of black iron; then behind them were some twoscore monks in dark habits and cowls, hauling upon ropes attached to the kind of carriage which would normally be drawn by horses. About another dozen monks walked at the back of the coach, and these were followed by six more horsemen, identical in appearance to those at the front.
    The coach was of cloudy, unpainted wood which glittered a little in the light. It had curtained windows, but bore no crest, not even a cross.
    The regalia of the riders looked popish to me, so I knew I would have to be wary in my responses, if I were to avoid conflict.
    I wasted no time. I mounted and rode down the hill towards them. I wished that the sides of the hill were not so steep here, or I should not have had to take the road at all. I could not, as it happened, make my departure without passing them, but I felt happier being free of the castle, with a chance at least of escape should these warriors and monks prove belligerent.
    As I came closer I began to smell them. They stank of corruption. They carried the odour of rotting flesh with them. I thought that the coach contained perhaps some dead cardinal.
    Then I realized that all these creatures were the same. The flesh appeared to be falling from their faces and limbs. Their eyes were the eyes of corpses. When they saw me they came to a sudden stop.
    The horsemen prepared their pikes.
    I made no movement towards my own weapons, for fear of exciting them. Nonetheless, I readied myself to charge through them if it should prove necessary.
    One of the riders spoke sluggishly and yet with horrifying authority, as if he were Death Himself and that pike in his hand the Reaper’s scythe:
    “You trespass, fellow.
    “You trespass.
    “Understand you not that this land is forbidden to you?”
    The words came as a series of clipped phrases, with a long pause between each, as if the speaker had to recall the notion of language.
    “I saw no signs,” said I. “I heard no word. How could I when your land is absolutely free of population?”
    In all my experience of horror I had witnessed nothing to compare with this talking corpse. I felt unnerving fear and was hard put to control it.
    He spoke again:
    “It is understood -
    “By all. It seems.
    “Save you.”
    “I am a stranger,” I declared, “and sought the hospitality of this castle’s lord. I did not expect the place to be empty. I apologize for my ignorance. I have done no damage.”
    I made ready to spur my horse.
    Another of the riders turned his iron head on me.
    Cold eyes, full of old blood, stared into mine.
    My stomach regretted that I had broken its fast so recently.
    He said:
    “How were you able to come and