Stryker and the Angels of Death (Ebook) Read Online Free Page B

gleaming pate. He indicated the man seated to his right. ‘This is Herr Sammer, my driver.’ He waited while Stryker and the driver exchanged a quick nod. ‘He speaks no English.’
    Stryker let his gaze drift beyond the men. ‘What’s in the cart?’
    ‘Palinka,’ Matthias explained, his tone full of disapproval. He looked down to brush flecks of dust from his fine blue doublet. ‘Strong drink. Like fire. Union agents in Berlin arranged it as my cover.’ He shrugged. ‘I am a merchant, bringing my fine wares to the north.’
    ‘I am honoured to see you through this final step of your mission, sir.’ Stryker stepped aside, indicating for the driver to continue. He ordered his musketeers to flank the vehicle as it juddered into life behind the palfreys, a trail of steaming manure dropping in their wake. ‘And I’d thank you not to mention your precious cargo to the men,’ he called up as loudly as he dared risk. ‘For I fear it would be our undoing.’
    Matthias laughed, finally seeming more relaxed. ‘Quite so, Lieutenant Stryker. Quite so!’
    Innocent Stryker strode out ahead. He could see a dozen men at the ford, and the rest of the company clustered on the far bank. They watched as their mission came to a successful conclusion, aided by one young lieutenant who had taken his chance and now led a highly important spy back to the safety of Pomerania. It was only when he heard the shout at his back that he noticed the thrum at his feet. It vibrated, gently at first, but gathering strength all the while, tracing a path up his tall boots. Unmistakable, unavoidable, impossible. Even as he turned he could feel his bowels turn to water and bile singe his throat.
    It was the beat of hooves.
     
    Stryker stared down the road. It was empty, but the vibration at his feet told him of an approaching storm. He peered into the green abyss at the road’s flanks. The forest was dense, an impenetrable blanket of shadowy emerald, interspersed only by the dark colonnade of ancient, soaring trunks.
    He turned to the corporal at his side.  ‘Fetch the captain, Braggs.’
    ‘What is it, sir?’
    Stryker looked back at the forest. The vibrations were stronger now, reaching his hips. ‘Cavalry.’ He drew his sword, finding the weight reassuring in his grip. ‘Get back to the ford!’ he barked at the men behind, screwing up his face to squint along the length of the road. The woods were too thick for mounted men to negotiate, so whatever loomed on their horizon did so on the dried mud of the thoroughfare.
     
    ‘Report,’ Captain Ferdinand Loveless grunted when his second-in-command had reached the river.
    In answer, Stryker stretched out an arm, finger extended in line with the narrow road. There, pouring along the pine-flanked funnel like a wave rolling up a valley, were the first of the horsemen. But this was no ordinary troop of cavalry. Stryker stared in wonder at the galloping tide, even as his men hurriedly began to coax the twitchy palfreys on to the first rocks of the ford. The locals said this forest was haunted; perhaps they were right.
    ‘Christ’s blood,’ someone whispered to his left. ‘What are they?’
    At first it seemed as though they were not human at all, but fantastical creatures from some unearthly realm: half man, half beast. The horses were real enough; massive and snorting and white-eyed. But the ghouls mounted behind were something from a nightmare. They perched on saddles swathed in animal pelts, their bodies encased from head to toe in gleaming armour. But it was the wings that seemed to steal the breath from Stryker’s lungs. Thick rows of feathers sprouted from their metallic spines. Huge and pristine, white as snow, the wings were vast, stretching two or three feet above the head of each man, rising and falling in time with the movement of his horse, flapping in every rider’s wake making the air rush like so many giant bellows.
    ‘When Lucifer fell from heaven,’ Stryker heard