02 - Taint of Evil Read Online Free Page B

the words held no comfort at
all.

 
 
CHAPTER TWO
Rough Justice
     
     
    For some reason, Stefan Kumansky found he was not, after all, very hungry.
They had been on the road for weeks, travelling through the northern marches of
Ostermark, the barren wilderness that straddled the borders of the Empire and
Kislev. Much of that time, living off what little could be taken from the land,
he had sustained himself with dreams of feasts to come once they returned to
what passed for civilisation round these lonely parts. Now, seated at their
table in the tiny inn, he and Bruno finally had hot food in front of them, and
Stefan found he wanted none of it. It might have been the wretched food itself—though there had been times on the trail when he’d have eaten just about
anything. More likely it was the nagging ache of disappointment in his gut that
had dulled his appetite.
    Stefan took another spoonful of the thin, oily gruel and spat a knot of
gristly meat back onto the table. Save for a few other drinkers—a group of
labourers making a poor job of pretending not to stare at the two swordsmen—the inn was deserted. From the ramshackle look of the place, it hardly ever saw
any custom. With food like this, it was hardly surprising. Stefan slid the bowl towards his companion.
    “Here,” he said to Bruno. “You have it if you want.”
    Bruno Haussmann gave his comrade the briefest of glances and then took the
offered bowl, his own being already empty. “If you insist,” he said, and set
about spooning the contents hungrily into his mouth.
    Stefan looked kindly upon his friend as he ate. Their ages were practically
identical—both men had known twenty-four summers—but in other ways they were
quite different: Bruno being the shorter and fairer of the two, and—despite
the lean weeks on the road—still noticeably the stockier. And likely to stay
that way, Stefan reflected. Bruno, always true, always dependable. Solid by look
and solid by nature. And himself? Listless, forever searching. A traveller on a
journey with no certain end.
    Stefan leaned forward, resting his head upon his cupped hands, his expression
exactly mirroring his poor humour.
    “Cheer up,” Bruno said at last. “We’ll find him, Stefan, sooner or later.”
    Stefan took a measured sip of his beer. It was stale and slightly sour, but he
drank nonetheless, to wash away the film of grease coating his mouth. He sat,
pondering his friend’s words. It was a familiar routine by now, each taking turn
to encourage the other whenever their spirits fell low. He didn’t know whether
Bruno was right, but he took some comfort from his optimism.
    “The world is large,” he replied at length. “In truth, he could be anywhere.”
    “We’ll pick up the trail again,” Bruno said, firmly. “There’ll be clues,
somewhere. He can’t hide from us, not forever.”
    Stefan Kumansky leant back eyes closed, and tugged fingers through hair that
had grown long and matted over weeks of travel. There would be clues, there had
already been clues. Too many clues, that was the problem. Too many trails, like
this one that had carried them east from Kislev back into the Empire. Too many
trails leading nowhere, going cold.
    Across the border in Kislev they had fought a war—he, Bruno and the
countless others who had taken arms against the dark armies of Chaos. Erengrad
had been saved, the forces of light had prevailed over the darkness. That should
have been the end, but fate had offered an unexpected and unwelcome twist to the
tail of their adventure. Alexei Zucharov had been amongst the bravest and
strongest of their comrades at Erengrad. One of the first to lead the line, and
the last to quit the battle. Zucharov had left the field alive, but not
unscathed. Greed had found a weakness, a way to harm him where his enemies could
not. The golden band upon the body of the Chaos knight had been too much to
resist. Alexei had stripped it from the body as a