Adalwulf: The Two Swords (Tales of Germania Book 1) (36 page)

“Jupiter’s ashen balls! I’ll strip you of meat, and feed the bones to Cerebros!” Decimus bellowed, pushing at Gaius, but then I was up. The two centurions were still on their knees, desperately pushing up, and so I had a chance.

“Woden!” I screamed, and he heard me as the hammer pumped down. It struck Gaius, whose armored chest took the hit. He screamed like a child, because a bone broke audibly. I lifted the weapon, and the bastard grabbed Decimus, pulling him on top of him. I didn’t care, but kept pummeling. I had seen slaves soften meat like that, striking it again and again with a round rock, making it sweet and tender, and so I killed Decimus, the bastard who had caused so much sorrow to so many people. His eyes betrayed his fear, then terror, and finally the highest tiers of pain, as blood flew. A rib, then another was broken. Then a flailing arm, along with the spear shaft. I was breathing hard, but I was determined to strike him through the floor all the way to his Hades. From the corner of my eye, I saw Leuthard, panting, grappling with a pair of Romans. He was bleeding from wounds, especially on in his chest, where the mail had saved his life. He roared, reached out, and rammed his blade across a man’s throat. The other Roman sobbed, charged him, and clawed to get over him for the door, but Leuthard casually pulled him around, and rammed a sword through his ring mail. The man gasped, breathless and dying, and Leuthard pulled and sawed the sword inside him, looking at me.

I saw Gaius was still alive. He held his bloody hand up in the air, hoping to stave off his fate. “Wait, we can—”

I stepped on his face. “What can we?” I asked him gutturally.

“Wait!” he gasped. “We can make a deal.”

“Sure,” I laughed. “When will they attack Tiberius?”

He gasped. “Tonight. Now!”

I looked at Leuthard. He was bloodied, pale and tired, but still ready. We’d have to move. “Go, and make a deal with your god, Gaius,” I said, and rammed the hammer into his face.

I wiped blood off my face. Leuthard was smiling at me with a ferocious grin. “I think our fight will be very interesting, eh? Let’s go. We are close to ending this. And then, soon, we shall dance together.”

“If you see Gisil, do not touch her!” I panted.

“I won’t,” he said darkly. “I won’t.”

O
n the top of the hill, something strange was happening. We were climbing as fast as we could, Leuthard’s brooding presence near me as I limped along. “How exactly are you going to do this without getting us both killed?”

“How?” I laughed darkly. “I don’t know. Like I did it in Sparrow’s Joy. Went in, and trusted in luck.”

“Luck. Gods amuse themselves by throwing some around when they are bored. But they get bored with giving it to only one man,” he spat, and tapped his chest that was bleeding. “The Romans knew how to fight.”

“You killed some in the dark?” I asked.

“They died,” he said needlessly. “They didn’t have time to fight.”

“You didn’t seem too bad off when you came to the hut,” I told him, squinting up the hill.

“I barely touched them,” he panted. “Barely at all.” He smiled at me. “You sent some poor fools to find Raganthar?”

“They failed,” I growled.

“Yes,” he laughed.

I gazed at him, and wondered at the smug smile on his face.

I put a hand on his chest and crouched. Up ahead, the guard tower rose to heights, and inside the gates, there was a bustle. I stared at the men rushing about, heard the clank of shield and armor, rattle of spear, and saw glinting of blade. A commanding voice demanded to know what was going on. It spoke Celtic, then Latin, and we looked at each other, wondering what in Hel’s name was going on. The voice was thin, young, and scared. “Gaius said he has an optio, some kind of a officer into this shitty treachery.”

“Optio’s a centurion in training,” Leuthard said. “There.”

The soldier’s kit kept on clinking and clanking, and then they formed at their gate. Ten to fifteen men filed out, and some were dressed in pristine armor. A younger man with a long staff was screaming orders. Leuthard grunted. “There are some that don’t look local. The guards of Tiberius? Few of them. They are leaving the tower. I bet that Gaius has sent most of his men on all sort of patrols for this night. There is nowhere near a century there. More like twenty men left after that lot leaves.” His eyes scourged the darkness. “And this is when Raganthar will try to finish his contract.”

“They mustn’t leave the place,” I growled as I saw an optio appear in front of the troops, pointing a gladius down hill. The Romans began to jog in the dark, some slipping unceremoniously in the grass, and their hobnails clanked on the road they had built, tripping others. Some sturdy guards closed the gates.

“They’d never believe us, and we don’t speak Latin,” Leuthard growled. “That optio will stop us. Let them go.”

I hesitated. We went flat on our bellies, smelling wet grass, pressing our faces in the turf as the Roman troop jogged past, their faces worried. “What then?” I hissed at Leuthard. “At least they closed the gates.”

“Hold, I heard something,” Leuthard whispered. Then he lifted his head. “There!”

Two men were rushing for the gates. A guard in the tower shrieked a warning. The men were dressed as Romans, with shields and chain, carrying Roman weapons. Yet, they were tall, wide, and different somehow. “They are not Romans,” I whispered.

Leuthard shook his head. “I bet that centurion arranged for that armor.”

“They’ll know the passwords as well, won’t they?” I whispered.

They did. The men reached the gate, and were screaming urgently. In Latin, even. They were well prepared.

The gate opened up, and we saw the tower’s yard held some ten Roman soldiers, with a grizzly centurion holding a wine stick, arm length used to disciplining soldiers. Behind them, by a door to the tower, there was a rotund man, nervous looking, wearing a strange, voluminous robe. “Toga,” Leuthard said. “That’s Tiberius, I guess.” Two olive-skinned archers wearing chain mail stepped out behind him, looking dubious.

“Doesn’t look very heroic to me,” I said, while sweating with fear. “Like a mouse standing upright.”

“Does Bero look heroic to you?” Leuthard snorted. “Yet he is rich and knows how to rule.”

And then, Raganthar attacked.

His Brethren came rushing from the darkness. They were dark, furry-caped bastards, loping along, Hati’s mad followers, Fenfir’s spawn, Lok’s grandchildren they thought themselves, and all crazy. There were twenty of them. In front of them, the Head Taker glittered in the moonlight, as the big, evil lord of the enemy led them on behind his dark shield. I didn’t see Gisil with them, but she would be close. I pushed her out of my thoughts, and took a deep, scared breath.

Leuthard pulled me around. “You took my sword.”

“I did,” I hissed. “I also saved it. We have no time—”

He looked closely at me, his eyes glittering. “It’s
my
turn.”

He moved away from me. I prepared, but he wasn’t going to attack me. “Where did you send Ear?” I asked him with a growl. “He’s here, right?”

He looked at me calmly, smiling. “Ear?” he asked me. “Well done, Adalwulf. Yes, he’s around.”

“And what did you tell him to do?”

“You’ll see,” he smiled. “Let’s get that sword. And settle our scores.”

“Hurt the girl, and I’ll—” I said, but he moved off. He was changing the deal. And it was too late.

I growled as Woden’s anger called for me. It was distant, I was wounded and tired, but it was still there, the demand for a good battle, the uncaring anger. I stumbled after the man. The Roman guards were yelling, the official looking man was taking steps inside the tower. The gate guards charged for the gates, throwing their weight against them, but the two fake Romans turned on the guards, their swords flashing, wounding one guard, slaying another with steel through the throat. The archers reacted, and pila fell at the two Brethren, killing both, but the bastards fell between the gates, and the men who tried to push them closed, failed.

The evil group of Brethren tore inside the compound. Arrows felled two more, but then the roaring enemy closed with the Romans.

We charged in right on their heels. There was a great confusion, and I forgot about Leuthard and his plans.

The Romans fought well.

They had their shields out, some lobbed pila at the Brethren, felling several on their faces, but the Hati worshipping bastards ripped right into their enemy, axes and clubs flailing. Men fell right and left in a savage press. The archers were cursing and yelling up to the tower, where some men rushed down to join the fray. The pudgy toga wearing man was shivering inside the doorway, yelling something at the Centurion. Raganthar saw that, his shield taking hits. He was near the Centurion, fighting two bloodied legionnaires, but his eyes never left the Centurion. Some civilians, scribes, other non-combatants, and slaves blocked me. They were running out, but when I had pushed through them, I saw the pudgy Roman lord pulled a gladius, his face pale, his many chins flubbing with fear. Again, he yelled at the Centurion, and pointed a sword at him.

A Roman fell under Raganthar’s attack, then the another. A tall Brethren was impaled by a pilum, and another got his face lopped off by a gladius, but then the Romans were nearly beaten. One was wrestling with a Brethren, a ragged, fur-cloaked attacker was pulling off another’s shield, and I charged at that one’s back. The hammer hummed in the air, and a man yelped as his shoulder was destroyed.

Another turned to eye me, and I charged him, pushed him past Raganthar, and into the sword of the Centurion. The Centurion hesitated at the sight of me, and I thought there was something odd about him. He was a sturdy, middle-age man with wide chin and hard face, but his eyes were odd. They were the sort that belonged to a man who had lived for centuries, seen the evil of the worlds and suffered for it in the past.

I parried an enemy charging with a spear, roaring, and the Roman punched his sword through the man’s side. I spun to fight next to him. The Brethren were coming for us now, ten of them, when some more Roman guards charged out of the tower. I didn’t see Leuthard anywhere, and I cursed him to Hel’s bosom. I yelled my hate at the enemy faces, and bowled over two of the Brethren, wounding one with a weak chop of the hammer, and searched for Raganthar.

I heard a scream behind me.

He was there. He had just pummeled the sword’s hilt on a face of the Centurion, and the man was on his knees, half-conscious. Raganthar’s huge shield was matted with blood.

“Come, dog-humping, pig raping shit-eater,” I screamed at him. He gazed at me briefly, and danced mockingly before him, but he didn’t take the bait, and turned to slay the centurion.

The Centurion rolled away, and Raganthar’s attack struck dirt.

I rushed Raganthar, and he spun away with a curse, his murderous intentions thwarted. And arrow flew by his face, and he crouched behind his shield.

I attacked him with wild abandon.

His stolen sword was fast, much faster than my hammer. The blade was heavy, and still very fast and it made me nervous. It struck down, and sparks flew as I parried. My knees buckled. I pushed the weapon aside, and tried to turn Raganthar to have his back to the archers, whom I saw from the corner of my eyes. He danced back instead. I charged him, cursing his ever present shield, and decided I had no time for finesse. It was then, it was there.

I jumped on his shield, and felt him chopping from the side. I knew the blade would hit, the dreaded blade of Hulderic. I felt there was indeed something sentient and evil about the ancient sword, and thought Bero didn’t fear it for nothing. I hit his shield with my body, my hammer missed his face, and the Head Taker banged on his shield’s rim, but some of the blade cleaved to my side.

It was cold pain as he staggered back, and slammed me down. I fell on his side, grasped his leg, and pulled with all my might, but the man was as enraged as I was. He stood, staggering, his feral eyes going from the Roman Centurion to me. His blade came up, and I would have died there, had it not been for Gisil.

“No,” she screamed. I felt more than saw her appear, and there was an ax on her petite hand. She struck it at Raganthar’s back, and while the blow was feeble, worth nothing, really, she managed to distract my enemy as he staggered off me. A Brethren died near, and Raganthar’s eyes flinched as his eyes scourged her.

“Are you
mad
? You know
what
this will cost you?” he roared.

Gisil was hovering near me. “I already hurt him once because of you! You promised me you’d bring him back!”

“I will! There is no time for this!” he yelled, and turned back to me.

I panted, got up, and pounded at Raganthar. He was ready. His sword cut at me savagely fast, but I dodged it. There was a stabbing, terrible pain on my side, but in the red haze, I saw him before me. Gisil was striking at him as well. He hesitated, I staggered to a stop before him. My hand grasped his face, feeling his beard, and I whipped the hammer into the red blur that was he.

It connected with his chest, and he howled, falling back, and then I fell on my face.

I heard Leuthard roar, saw men fall. There was a tall and wide, scruffy man with him, holding a hugely tall spear. I guessed that was Ear. That one rammed the spear in a throat of a Roman, and flinched as an arrow struck his chest. Leuthard pointed a finger, and Ear turned rapidly. I saw he was aiming for Gisil, who flinched with fear.

The man cackled, speared a Brethren, and Leuthard rushed forward, kneeled before me, and lifted up my face. “My sword. For Gisil. My sword for her. And then, we’ll dance. Fuck your deals, you shit.” He got up, and pulled at Ear, who had grasped Gisil. The tall cousin of Leuthard lifted her and sprung to the night. All around me the Brethren hesitated. Two men were pulling at Raganthar, and the rest threw spears at the remaining Romans. The archers were firing sagitta at the scruffy men.

I do not know where I got the strength. I panted, slipped in my own blood, staggered after them, and felt the blood flow to my legs and ankles. I pulled myself forward. Raganthar and the sword were being pulled away, past the gates to the night. I ignored him. I wanted to spot Ear and Leuthard. I grasped a pilum from the ground, and looked down hill.

There they were. One, Ear, was struggling with Gisil. The other one, Leuthard, had butchered a Brethren.

Below, some of the Romans the optio had led away were running up the hill, and I saw the two evil shadows look at them with surprise. Leuthard was pointing a finger at Ear, and Ear was nodding and heading for the river, while Leuthard hesitated and slinked to the shadows.