Metahumans vs the Undead: A Superhero vs Zombie Anthology Read Online Free PDF Page B

two with staves, one with a mace, and one with a sword. The latter, who alone among them wore a helmet, was obviously their leader, and it was he who spoke.
    “Last week you carried a full load of pottery from the abbey to the market fair, and now you return empty except for that strongbox. I’m thinking it’s full of coin from the selling of all that pottery.”
    “And if it is?”
    “Then we will be taking it.”
    “You would steal from the Church?” Old Jack made it half a question, half an accusation.
    “Without hesitation or remorse,” came the reply, which was obviously the motto of the little band.
    Old Jack looked each of the men in the eye, and each grinned and nodded his agreement.
    “On your heads be it, then,” Old Jack said with a sigh as he pushed the strongbox sideways off the seat of the cart. In that moment, as all eyes followed its descent, he reached up and pulled the front edge of his cowl down over his face until it touched his chin, and immediately let it go.
    The transformation was nearly instantaneous. Old Jack thrilled to the sensation as the years dropped away like a discarded garment, the aches and pains of old age replaced by the strength and energy of youth.
    His external appearance changed as well. His cowl disappeared. In its place was a great helm, a steel cylinder with a flat top that covered his entire head, with slits for vision and breathing. His tunic was gone as well, replaced by a white surcoat blazoned with a red cross. Beneath the surcoat were a hauberk and chausses of mail, and gauntlets protected his hands.
    Reaching under the seat of his cart, he pulled a sword and a dagger from the secret compartment beneath the floorboards. The compartment also held a kite-shaped shield, but he decided that for this fight he was better off without it. Then he leaped forward off the cart, landing on the back of the courser. The cart poles fell away as harness became saddle and bridle, and he seized the reins in his left hand as his feet found the stirrups.
    “It’s the Crusader,” cried the leader of the outlaw band. “At him, lads!”
    The Crusader rode him down. As the man fell screaming beneath the courser’s hooves, the Crusader took a backhanded swing at the outlaw with the mace, who fell with a mortal wound where neck met shoulder.
    Wheeling his horse, he lined up the two men armed with quarterstaves , aiming his horse slightly to the left of the first man. He in turn ran at the Crusader, holding his staff as if it was a lance. The Crusader parried the staff away easily with his sword, and his riposte nearly took off the man’s head.
    The fourth opponent moved to his right, to the Crusader’s off hand, and holding his staff near the end, took a two-handed swing at the mounted warrior’s back. Without conscious thought, the Crusader shifted his sword into his left hand and blocked the blow. Seizing the end of the staff in his right hand, he tucked it under his left arm and wheeled his horse to the left, ripping the staff from his opponent’s grip. Then he shifted his grip on the staff, drew it back, and threw it like a spear. It found its mark, striking the bandit squarely between the eyes.
    The Crusader looked around for the last man, seeing him just as he loosed an arrow from his bow. The shaft struck the Crusader squarely at the center of the cross on his surcoat . It failed to penetrate his mail, and ended up hanging from the surcoat with the arrowhead inside. Seeing this, the bowman wheeled and ran toward the woods, where a man on a horse would have difficulty following. The Crusader took up his dagger and let it fly. It struck the fleeing man between his shoulder blades and he fell forward, clawing at his back with both hands but unable to reach the dagger with either.
    The Crusader dismounted and walked to where the bowman had fallen. He reached down and pulled the dagger from the wretch’s back. He took a moment to assess the wound; judging it mortal, he walked back