Read Ronan the Barbarian for Free Online

hepatitis, doing that."
    Nekros lifted his ice-cold eyes and studied the Smith with interest. "You fight well for a mere peasant, blacksmith," he hissed. "Such bravery could I use."
    "Side with you? Ha!" The Smith laughed in the amused manner of someone who has just had a scorpion dropped down their neck. "I'd rather die!"
    "That's rather what I had in mind."
    "So be it. But I shall take you with me to the very bowels of hell!" The Smith paused, aware that he was sounding a bit pompous. "So stick your sword up your ass and swivel on it, katimo !" he added.
    In his doorway Ronan gaped in amazement. He had never heard his father use such a rude word before. He watched wide-eyed as his father and Nekros warily circled each other, but before either could move there was a commotion off to one side of the square. The door of a hut flew open and Prior Onion popped out like a weasel out of a burrow. He was followed by one of the riders, who was waving a sword and grinning.
    "Nekros!" called the rider. "There's more gold in this one hut than in the whole of the rest of this stinking village!"
    "That is the Lord's gold!" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, you could see that the Prior was regretting them. Then, as he had only one card in his hand, he decided he might as well play it. He held up his leather-bound Holy Book, and started on his sacred spiel. "Hear ye the words of Saint Tim....."
    Nekros drew a dagger from his belt, and raised it so that it was pointing directly at the Prior, who suddenly found that his voice box had gone on strike. A beam of red light stabbed out from Nekros's hand straight at the Holy Book, and the dagger flew along the beam as though shot from a gun, smashing through the Book to lodge in the Prior's forehead. His eyes rolled up to stare in horror at this unfamiliar object protruding from his skull, and he had just enough breath to gasp "You bastard" before breathing became a thing of the past and he slumped to the ground.
    The Smith tensed himself to attack, but then a restraining hand was laid on his arm and Brenno Goat-bane stepped past him. The Shaman's eyes were glowing red, and his mouth was twisting and writhing with a life of its own. He looked like a psychotic scarecrow. Raising a clawed hand, he began to chant an incoherent incantation, and little runnels of white light began to eddy about his finger-tips and chase up and down his scrawny arms.
    The Smith stared in amazement. He'd never seen Brenno get it quite this right before. It was almost as though for the past two years the Shaman had been hoarding his powers for one spell that was way beyond his usual ability. He paused dramatically and then stabbed his hand towards Nekros, and the light coalesced into a glowing ball that hurtled from his fingertips towards the dark warrior. But as it hit him, the golden torque at Nekros's throat seemed to flash with fire, and the ball of light rebounded and fizzed straight back at its creator. Brenno screamed, and then there was a rather squelchy explosion and the horrified villagers were showered with small sticky fragments of Shaman.
    The Smith stared in horror at a gobbet of gently steaming flesh that clung to his forearm, and then he was suddenly aware of a huge gleaming sword arcing towards his face. Desperately he flung up his hammer to ward off the blow, but Nekros's sword sliced through the hammer's head as though it were some form of delicate pastry. There was a loud crunching sound, and the last sensation the Smith was aware of was the agonizing pain as the iron blade smashed through the bridge of his nose and deep into his skull.
    In the hut doorway, Ronan stared in disbelief as his father's lifeless body slumped at Nekros's feet, his head almost sliced in half. For a moment he felt as though he was going to pass out, but then a red mist of hatred seemed to grab hold of him, and jamming on the helm he flung down his teddy-bear and charged forward, sword upraised. It was as he reached