Adalwulf: The Two Swords (Tales of Germania Book 1) (10 page)

More so than most women,
I thought. But she had made a mistake, and Cerunnos was dead. She was also a human, and feared death.

And now, she was in a mortal danger.

I wasn’t afraid any longer.

“I’ll fight well for you. And Hulderic,” I told her bravely. “No matter how many there are. Perhaps you are right. Woden will give me strength to kill and rout them.”

She smiled, and there was some strange sentiment in her eyes, which she pushed away, though I was sure it was guilt. She placed a hand on mine, and squeezed. “I’m sorry I dragged you here. Thank you. That’s why the gods showed me a vision of you, Adalwulf.” She stuttered, and placed a hand on my face. “I wish I had met you year ago.”

“You are welcome,” I said, and then we all heard the rumble of horses. There were dozen, perhaps more, and they stopped in the yard. I turned to face the main doorway. Gisil pushed past Bellows to rush to the side door, one we could not see beyond the sleeping quarters, and to help the men and servants there, but we, five of us, stayed to guard the main doorway. There was a silence for a long time, then some horses neighed with agitation, and we heard men gathering, for shields were banging together. And then, the familiar voice of the man I had heard in the hall, Raganthar, called out.

“The sword,” he yelled with a manic pitch. “That’s all we want. Throw it out!”

Gisil shook her head, terrified, but gathered herself and called out. “I’m a völva. I’ll beg for the gods to curse you thieves, if you do not go away. There will be a feud, you dog-faced cowards, and you shall pay, if you—”

“Shut your mouth, or we fill it with a spear, woman,” the voice called out harshly. “I fear no goddesses. We fear no evil spirits. I’m one myself. We have a job to do. Spare us your shit-talking, and come out. Come out already.”

“You know we won’t give the sword away easily, murdering sell-spear of Bero, so you might as well stop asking. You’ll have to come and get it,” I yelled, and that paused them. Finally, the voice called out again.

“Who’s this? The young pup in the hall at the harbor?” it called out, and then we saw how the door moved a bit. Someone was testing its sturdiness.

“Yes, the pup you tried to kill,” I growled. ‘Now it’s not so dark inside here, and I have my back covered.” I looked at Gisil, who smiled at me bravely. “Come and face me!” I felt surprisingly brave, but then, I had a door to guard me still.

There was hollow laughter outside, the sort that chilled your backbone to its core. “I am Raganthar,” the man laughed. “I’ve not been beaten by seasoned, armored champions, and you would? You would beat the Black Shield? Bah! There are twenty men here. There are but a few in there, isn’t that so? Your young lord’s head in in my bag. Yes, we shall come, and fetch the sword. We’ll not burn you out, but eat you raw. Kill them!”

The door shuddered with heavy strikes. Axes cut to the well-crafted timber, one hit after another. A plank cracked. “Get ready!” Gunther said, and we moved to surround the doorway. More planks groaned, one flew in and clattered past us, and a flicker of shadows showed in the light of torches outside.

A face, hairy and scowling looked inside, and the rage I had felt since they arrived in the yard burst out in action. I was fast, quick as a snake on a cool rock, and the spear flickered forth. The eyes of the face shot open with panic, the mouth opened up with surprise, and then he shrieked, as his lips and teeth met the iron, and the man fell away, howling. I felt elated by the brief success, but then the strikes on the doorway intensified, it shuddered terribly, and two more planks cracked. One fell in near the bar.

Hands groped inside, trying to lift the bar, men pushed it up and we charged the door. Spears flickered, punched in to the holes, and the groping arms, backed out, punched again at the limbs. Some spears were grabbed, and a terrible pulling and pushing match ensued. At least one man was hurt outside, as Gunter pushed his spear in a chest of a shadow that had held on to a spear point for too long.

Gisil was next to me, pale and shivering in the animal like brawl, and I feared the men would hurt her. That thought made me rage twice as hard. I thrust the spear to the hole, again and again, and felt it puncture through flesh, meat, and skin. The howls of the men outside the door were more animal than human in pitch and intensity.

Then, a guttural command, and the hands disappeared.

We bunched together, not sure what to expect.

Arrows flicked through the holes, dark as birds, and deadly fast.

Gunter screamed, and so did another man, who fell on his face, holding his groin. The balding warrior had a shaft in his chest, and he dropped his shield to roll on his back with horrible pain, until the shaft broke, and Gunter was nearly still, panting, bleeding profusely. The other man was a hideous sight as he rolled on his back, the broad bladed arrow having punctured his lower belly, and blood was spurting in a wide ach. “Get the men from the side, if they can be spared!” I told Gisil desperately. “And then, hide yourself!”

“I can’t—”

“Go!” I roared, and prepared my spear as the arms again appeared in the cracks. The bar was lifted as we hesitated too long. The few men and I pushed into the hole again, drawing blood, but this time, a thick, muscled arm had pushed the bar all the way up, and the door exploded in.

Men appeared, hunched and savage, dark-dressed in leather and hides, furry-haired men who slept in the woods. They were the same unkempt lot I had seen, smelly, dangerous looking, fast, and ferocious as wolves, as two of our men fell under their speed and weight, the enemy feet thrumming the boards as cudgels and axes beat down. I threw my spear with desperation, and one man fell back, holding his chest, an astonished look on his darkened face.

More men appeared, one pointed his spear at me, and I was sure I saw the huge shield of Raganthar looming outside.

I’d die, and my boasts would be in vain.

Then Woden whispered to me. It was the first time the terrible rage was kindled in my head. Perhaps it was the presence of the old blade that did it, magical and odd, or just the desperate need for a savage, merciless fighter with no fear, or, simply, the wicked gods wanted to give me a chance, but I received what I needed.

Woden was there.

I heard him encouraging me, or thought I did, because the gods did not truly speak to us, not in ways we’d remember or understand, but his message was clear as careless fury filled my limbs. He wanted me to fight with all my heart, and bring death to our enemy. I saw, in my mind’s eye, a figure of war, shadowed, dancing ferociously, and I joined him in the dance. I looked around, saw the splendid hammer of Teutorigos, and grabbed it. Its balance was perfect, the weight deadly, and the shaft fit my hand. I lifted my shield, braced my legs, and held the heavy hammer high. I turned back to see the last Celt getting stabbed by three fur-clad spearmen over a bench, and charged.

I held the heavy weapon overhanded, and tore into the enemy mercenaries with wild abandon. Their faces looked nearly comical as they lifted their weapons from the butchery, but they were too slow, and the hammer came down in an arch. I was fast as a weasel, powerful as a young bear, and the heavy bit of round metal chopped through a forehead as if it was an egg, swiped past a man’s nose, so close it drew blood, and buried itself in a skull of the third. I pulled the weapon out effortlessly, bone bits flying, smearing my face with blood and brains, and the last, nose-bleeding man, strong as an ox, tried to tackle me, dropping his spear. I let him, pushed back with my feet and shield, stopped him in his tracks, and hammered the shaft down on the hairy neck, breaking it, and his head lolled to the side crazily as he rolled away.

I forgot about him, like I would discard the entrails of a deer after a successful hunt, and turned to look at the doorway. Five men were there, gazing at me with hate, rage, and even fear, and I laughed at them, sure I’d die, but I’d die very well, indeed. “Crawl to the bosom of the gods you believe in, thieving rats, because I’ll open the door for you!” I screamed as I hurtled for them.

I remembered little of that fight.

I was hit by an ax blade, but for some reason, I found no wound later. A club struck my leg, and the pain was intense, but not enough to stop me. I was in midst of them, the hammer coming down with such brutal power, it broke bones, cracked weapons, and bruised flesh, even breaking a floorboard. I ripped it across my vision at the enemy again and again, throwing it around me in the close battle, and slapped down man after man.

Some tried to get back up, two crawled out, terribly hurt, and I recall stepping on a neck of a blood-soaked man, breaking it. More men surged in, some fell, and how a berserker could kill and maim so many men in such a short time, I didn’t know. Maybe it was not a short amount of time, after all, but took a long while. I lost all sense of time, and the floors and the walls were red with gore, bits of bone, and bodies littered the floor.

“Lord of the Hall, Lord of the Hall!” I screamed again and again hysterically, tearing the weapon around and around, tirelessly.

Then I saw the huge man enter, fast as an otter, and he bashed his huge shield in my face, and his dark reddish hair flailed around with the strength of his next move, as his weapon, the crude sword slashed down from the side. I blocked it with my shield, and our strength seemed equal. Raganthar’s face was dark with fury, bestial and inhuman as he roared, and spat, and pushed his shield in me.

I jumped back, bashed my shield in his, and hammered at him from above. His huge shield blocked my attack effortlessly, he pushed again at me, lighting fast, and the rim of my shield struck my own face. I fell back, dazed, but ground my legs on the boards, felt his sword hit the rim of my shield. I pushed at him, and he stopped and we stood thus, like young boars, grinding at each other.

His face looked bony, hairy, as he struggled against my strength. We pushed, grunted, and I struck across the rim with the hammer, but the shield was so large, he merely moved it up to block the hit. His sword came at me, and the shield shuddered, about to break. I spat at his face, and he pushed me against a pillar. There, we exchanged strikes, all of which our shields blocked, until he heaved with a roar. His sword came in, my shield broke, and I let go of it. He kept me against the pillar, but cursed, because his sword was stuck on the remains of my shield.

I had only a moment to live.

I roared with desperation, and fell to the side. He crashed against the pillar, turned, tossing my shield’s frame from the blade, kicked at me, and he slipped in a pool blood. He fell on his knee, then his back, cursing, holding on to his sword and shield. There was a groan from his men, and I slipped as well, regained my balance. With such joy of battle I had never imagined possible, I brought the hammer down, crushing his shield against his chest, and he howled with pain. The sword came at me, weakly, but I kicked if across the floor. Spear flew past me from outside. An arrow crashed in the pillar. I stood there, uncaring, the mighty weapon hovering above Raganthar’s face. There was a flicker of fear in the beastly visage, finally. I exploded with happiness, and saw the horror in the faces outside the hall as well, as their lord was about to die.

And then, a voice screamed behind me.

It was one of anguish, of soul-wrenching agony. I was Gisil. Someone got to her. I began to turn.

I felt a stabbing pain in my back.

I fell, trying to catch my breath amidst the throbs of pain, knew I was badly hurt, and hit my face on the planks. I got to my elbows, but saw a fist coming my way, and Raganthar’s powerful punch made me see black. He grabbed me and threw me across the floor to the corner, where I gagged, squirming with the pain of the wound on my back. There was a framea there in my flesh, at least the head of it. I pulled it away and that pain was too much. I was losing the fight, and could not fight any longer.

Raganthar was screaming. “So many dead! This is Bero’s fault. We didn’t need this shit. Did you know
what
he was?”

A hand pressed on my neck. It was cold, and I tried not to move. It hesitated, and then went away.

“Dead? I asked, did you know
what
he was?” Raganthar roared. “A berserker!”

I didn’t hear the answer.

I passed out.

“They call me Bait.”

Bait to Adalwulf