Maroboodus: A Novel of Germania (The Goth Chronicles Book 1) (25 page)

Gasto and Eadwine were pulling axes and swords, grinning at me ferociously as Danr rushed to see to Maino. I did stay to see if he was alive, but sprinted off. There were yells, screams and warnings, as the Goths began the pursuit. They sounded like a happy hunting party, encouraging each other to kill the fleeing bear, and so perhaps most of the village would survive as they now had sight of their true prey. Eadwine, a younger man was sprinting in his heavy chainmail, flitting through the trees near me. Maino was screaming now, as furious as a downed god as he tried to reconcile himself with the loss of more face, and I heard him hollering like man with a bee-stung nut. ‘Get him to me! Drag him to me by his ankles! I’ll skin his legs and piss on them. And get her here as well! She is with him, surely! Get me another horse!’ I grinned at the small success, and then blanched as Eadwine jumped over a boulder right next to me, a happy, victorious smile on his bearded face as he reached for me.

He grabbed my hair and yanked, but cursed as he slipped on a wet stone and fell heavily. I pulled from his grasp, kicked him in the jaw and left him spitting blood and bits of teeth. I lost my spear and grabbed Hel’s Delight, but hesitated as he turned a ferocious look my way, and then I ran off. I spied higher ground to the southwest, noticed some women running that way and went after them, sliding in mud, ripping through ferns, begging Donor to protect Saxa and her Saxon escorts. Horns were blowing behind, screams could be heard, but now, one rose above the others. ‘Dusk! Gloom!’ the voice screamed, and I knew Gasto had more dogs to send after me, and I sobbed. ‘Fetch flesh!’ the man added. I hazarded a glance behind and saw tall men rushing forward in the pine woods, holding javelins, shields, spears; Bero’s Goth’s coming for me. Eadwine was with them, so was Danr, and finally, there was Maino as well, running unsteadily and without a horse, half his ear missing, and his leg apparently still hurt by our duel.

I did not see Gasto.

I had heard him, but I did not see him, and that made the situation much worse. The sounds of battle began to fade, but I heard my breath rasping as I surged on, hoping I’d find a sustainable rhythm, and nearly fell on a hidden root, cursing the gods foully for putting it there.

Then I glimpsed a speeding cur to the side.

It was sniffling the shrubs, the thing unaware of me and as I looked behind, I saw the Goths were all running a bit to the northwest, perhaps having mistaken some poor Svea fleeing the village for me. The dog kept on sniffing and I begged Frigg in her eternal mercy to keep it guessing. Gasto would be close, his other dogs as well, but for some reason I seemed to be doing well.

I picked up speed, little heeding the roots and mossy stones and rushed for green-covered craggy hillside, jumped over a muddy stream and scrambled up the unsteady side of a hill, and then the wind blew into my face and as I looked back I saw the dog stare right at me, all through the woods, shrubs, and shadows. It lifted its head and howled and the far shadows of the Goths turned abruptly, and I heard Gasto whistling. The wind had changed, or the evil beasts got help from some bastard wood spirit but they were onto me. I saw the dog yap, growl and then Gasto, his broad chest heaving with the exertion of the run appeared next to it and spied me pulling myself up the hard hill. He yelled, ‘Here! The rat’s climbing!’

A dozen Goths surged in unison and followed Gasto’s finger.

I cursed with despair and climbed on. ‘At least no horse will get up here, unless I missed some trail,’ I spoke to myself. I hoped the dogs wouldn’t make it up, either. I reached the top, stopped to retch from fear and fatigue, and looked down to see Eadwine, his face bloody, scrambling up, pulling himself up with such gusto that greenery was flying and I wondered if he would burrow his way through the dirt in his single-mindedness. The dogs were down there, looking for a way up and Gasto had picked up one, while starting to climb.

‘Shit, Woden, for once, help me and let them break their necks,’ I whispered, nearly vomiting as I tried to catch my breath.

‘Come down, Maroboodus!’ Danr yelled, hefting a thick spear. ‘We’ll make it easy on you. We won’t kill you, only take you back to be judged. I doubt Maino would dare to kill you for Hulderic would have feud, no?’

‘Yes, he would. He tried already!’ I screamed back at them and ran off to the west. I ran and ran, blessedly getting into a rhythm I could hold, and weaved my way on the hillside, then down it, the decline being much gentler than the incline and jumped into a lazy river. I swam over, feeling the pull of an undercurrent, my shield helping me to stay afloat, and I made it across. I ran for an hour, shivering with cold, puffing desperately, hoping beyond hope to make it to some Svea village, but there were only huts that were empty, or the occupants hiding and so I’d have to make it to Snowlake, where there were no friends and where I was to hide. But if the dogs had my scent? I would not be able to.

I chortled to myself, snot flying. The dogs would catch me much before I made it anywhere near Gislin’s unwelcoming village. Perhaps the legendary dverger could show me a hole to their underworld? No holes presented themselves and so I began to accept I’d have to fight.

When running in a thicket full of spider webs, and what I thought would be midday, I heard a dog growl very near, the sort of a half-escaped sound one makes when pounding over stones and slippery surfaces. I didn’t think. I acted.

I pulled my sword, threw the shield over me and fell under the weight of a dog and just barely avoided the fangs that snapped closed before my eyes. I pushed my shield up, and the dog fell to the side, and I was damned afraid. A ferocious, killer dog is a thing to note. It’s fast, so fast, and relentlessly powerful. It knows how to rip flesh apart, how to make sure the prey doesn’t go anywhere, and like it would herd and savage a moose for Gasto, this one was doggedly determined to rip my legs to shreds. It lunged for my limb, and I was kicking at it frantically, but never fast enough because it was following every move with speed to match and I begged Woden for help. My sword swished at it, but it saw it coming and changed tactic. It jumped over my shied, the claws burrowing into it, had one leg on my face and turned to latch its fangs on my shoulder. I rolled away, avoided the bite, but fell to my belly, as the sword again struck weakly at the brown-gray mound of trouble, and the beast grabbed my forearm. I lost the sword, foolishly, but when such a foe has a hold on you and begins to shake its head, you will not be able to hold your weapon unless you are made of stone. The shield was stuck on my left arm, and I used its rim to pull myself up while the dog was biting down hard, and I screamed with pain.

Then another dog jumped on my back.

It tore into my side, tearing and jerking and pulling at my tunic and a bit of skin and I felt the blood flowing from my side as it pulled me over.

I managed to drop the shield. I latched my hand over the snout of the dog pulling at my arm. I pushed it, squeezed the furry face and all I managed were to make it look comical as its skin rolled over its eyes, but the fangs stayed in my arm, and it bit even harder, and I yelped and wept and then, I pushed my fingers through the wrinkled skin and into its eyes.

It was harder than one might think, but then the fingers slid into the slits, something popped and broke, and the creature shuddered with pain.

It let go.

It fell away, yelping piteously and rolled in the mud and grass, its legs twitching. It was making dreadful, terrified howls but I ignored it as I turned to the dog on my side. I grabbed the sword, fought with a desperate need to hack wildly, but I endured the dog’s bite as I calmly placed the blade on its neck and stabbed down. The dog twisted, its sleek muscles taut with pain as it bowled me over and I rolled with it as its paw was stuck in my tunic. It was barking loudly, clawing at me, biting weakly and I managed to pin it with my hand, and pressed the sword into its throat, twisting it around and then I pushed down. It made a meowing noise, its claws still scratching my belly, and it died.

I got up, panting, eyeing my wounds which seemed surprisingly small, when things turned even worse.

Gasto surged from the thicket, his red shield flashing.

He saw the dogs, my shocked face, and then he raged. ‘I’ll rip your head off and hide the body, boy! You took my prized bitches!’

He pulled a dark club, and ran for me, his chain jingling, his face red, eyes bulging with a rage that would not disappear by begging or surrender. He had loved the creatures and evil tongues around Marka often claimed he preferred them to his sons and daughters. I turned to face him, trembling with the shock of seeing the dangerous man charging. I was covered in blood, and I was sure I’d be covered with my brains in a bit as the club went up. I prayed to Woden, and as the enraged champion got close, I charged for his leg. The club sailed past my back, as I surged around the limb. We fell heavily, he lost his shield, but not the club as he swatted it down on my back, but it had little power as we rolled. He lifted the club again, and I bit down on his leg. His eyes widened in shock as I tore into the flesh and we rolled painfully down a small, mossy bank, and ended up in a muddy pond. He swatted me across my ears as I kept biting down, but finally struck my ear so hard I had to let go. I saw red dots as I tried to find my footing. Gasto backpedaled from me, but went deeper into the pond and nearly floundered as it turned deep very suddenly. I had lost the sword while we tumbled, but I grasped under the surface of the water, found a fist sized, jagged rock and as Gasto made his way up, now holding a dagger, I whipped the makeshift weapon into his face. He looked shocked, but strangely not so hurt. He was, in fact, but like a real champion of dozens of terrible fights, he thought of his honor instead of his wounds, and still lifted the dagger. He opened his mouth to spit, and teeth fell out, and while his pain was evident, his refusal to give up made me despair. I cursed and danced to his side, dodged a clumsy slash and struck down again, and the rock dug deep into his skull with a sickening crack. He fell on his side with a splash, his eyes staring like a dead fish’s, his hair floating in the cold water.

I panted, delirious, shaking, surprised by my survival as I looked down at the dead one. I had killed him. Like Ludovicus had been, he was a lord of war, a ring-giver and famous man with songs and poems and wealth. He had been a terror of a shieldwall, a Goth champion.

I staggered to the beach and grasped Hel’s Delight. Had Hulderic been right? Was I the bane of the worlds, at least, that of the Goths? I looked at Gasto, whose brains poured into the water, and that made me vomit. My belly heaved, I gagged, and I wept as I looked at the jagged hole in the skull of the man I had been allied with once, a man who had greeted me kindly when he met me and like Ludovicus, this one had not hated me before I had decided to defy Father. It had been my choice, and the Norn had woven the tapestry, and that weave had pulled hundreds into a headlong, desperate battle for their lives, and now, some life-strings had been cut. Gasto’s boys and daughters and their boys would be waging a feud against me until the end of the ages, and it would extend to Hulderic, as well. I wiped my mouth and took a deep breath. ‘Wyrd, mine and yours, eh?’ I asked the corpse, but it had nothing to say on the matter. It had been a nasty, terrible fight for my life. I hoped he would understand, even if his family never would. I spat his flesh and blood from my mouth. I staggered my way up the incline and took up the red shield.

Not too far, Maino burst from thick woods, with ten Goth warriors.

‘Give me a damned break, Woden!’ I cursed the god for his unfairness, but of course the Goths would be there, hot on Gasto’s heels. There was a surprised, brutal grin on my cousin’s face, but then one of puzzlement as he gazed at the familiar shield. ‘You looking for your lapdogs?’ I yelled and kicked a dog’s corpse and flashed my sword at him. ‘All three are here. Bury them together!’ I yelled and pointed at the dead Gasto. Their eyes followed my sword, and I could see the astonishment on their bearded faces. ‘Burn and bury him and let the poets sing of Maroboodus, the Blood Maw!’ I wiped the blood off my lips, laughed deliriously and ran off as they spread out, their incredulous looks changing into enraged ones.

‘Bring the bastard’s bloody maw to me, and I’ll bloody it properly!’ Maino screamed. The Goths took after me, and I thought them terribly predictable. I was in a fey, strange mood, and for some reason didn’t fear as much as I had. We raced through the woods and patches of old blueberries. My side was hurting, my head was aching and my arm was throbbing with festering pain. I prayed Saxa would survive even if I didn’t, and yea, the damned Saxons as well.

I stumbled on, hearing the Goths gaining ground on me. I heard a man yell with surprised anger, then pain as he fell, but the others came on, heedless of danger. In fact, there were many others out there, running through the Svea woods and hills, Maino’s men who had spread out and further on more as the Goth war bands were organizing, though most were far and I had a hunch Bero would not approve of Maino’s relentless chase. Horns blared, and I begged for the Svea to intercept as many of Bero’s men as possible. Eadwine and Danr were jogging, the latter holding a javelin, his eyes gauging when he might dare to throw it. Ten more men were apparently getting closer, not showing much fatigue under their hard looks. Their Suebi head knots were bobbling, beards swinging and all clutched their weapons with the certainty of seasoned warriors. I begged Woden for intervention, and then, miraculously, after an hour of exhausting, tortuous running, I received it.

I stumbled out into a field.