The Viking had to take a step backward as the weight of two Alma hit the spears, but as one the men shoved forward, spears taking the beasts in the chest and forcing them back into their brethren, spreading the flames even further.
One large beast, almost fully aflame, threw itself forward in a leap, trying to jump beyond the iron points of the spears. Tor bent and thrust upwards with the sword, using the Alma’s own momentum to let the sword slice from its chest to its groin. Ropy entrails hissed and burned even as they sprayed the defenders with spatters of hot blood.
The Alma crashed against a roundhouse wall. Even now it was not yet dead. Its guts hung in a pile on the snow beneath it and flame ran over the length of its body. Yet still it raged. It tried to push itself to its feet and opened its mouth to roar, but only smoke and flame came out of the mouth, and even before Tor could deal a killing blow it finally fell, dead on its face.
The other Alma were now a burning mass of fury and rage, throwing themselves every which way in wild attempts to escape the growing flames. The Viking stood firm and their spears did terrible damage to the flaming bodies, thrusting forward again and again, forcing the beasts to chose between the flame and the iron spears.
Most tried to attack the Viking, and when four attempted to escape at the same time the men had to take a step back; heat forcing them to retreat ahead of the beasts. From on high Skald could see that if they retreated any further the line would be weakened irrevocably, and the Alma would be able to break free from the cordon.
But Tor had planned for that eventuality.
Tor lifted a barrel and threw it into the melee, raising a plume of thick smoke and fresh sparks from the straw. Flame lapped around the barrel.
The Viking had to take another step back as Alma pushed, taking spears into their bodies but ignoring that pain as they tried to escape the greater torture of the fire.
Tor was too late. They will get free.
The oil exploded with a soft whump and five Alma fell in the blast of heat and flame. Even up on the cliff high above Skald felt the waft of hot air on his face.
Given some respite from the relentless attack the defenders were able to press forward again. Viking spears did their job and quickly dispatched the remaining beasts that were now little more than squirming blackened flesh.
Soon only one Alma remained standing, smoking and charred. The flames had eaten at it so much that all its fur was burned away. Its eyes had boiled from their sockets, leaving only black smoking holes. It waved charred ruins of what had once been hands in the air, swatting at flames that had long since been snuffed out. It mewled, a naked piteous thing that wailed like a teething child.
Kill it, Skald whispered. For pity’s sake, kill it.
Tor sent it to its death with one swift sword stroke to the heart. He stood among the bodies of the fallen Alma, flames burning all around him, and stared straight at the large male out on the shore.
With one stroke he took off the Alma’s head. Sword in one hand and the smoking head in the other, he raised his arms above his head and roared his defiance.
Out on the shore the big Alma watched, impassive as Tor drew back his arm and threw the head out of the stockade. It bounced and rolled before stopping, face up, black, smoking eye sockets facing almost straight at Skald. The lips had been burnt off and moonlight showed a yellow-white grin amid the burnt ruin of the head
The big male looked at it, then back at Tor. It whoofed twice, then turned, and walked into the forest. The rest of the Alma followed silently.
Within seconds the shore was empty, the only sound the crack and spatter of burning wood.
The Viking cheered. They surrounded Tor, clapping him on the back. Skald was the only one to see Kai and his henchmen standing quiet and sullen in the background. A chant went up, echoing around the stockade.
Tor, Tor, Tor.
Skald made to leave the cave and head down to join the others.
Baren held him back, forcibly, shook a finger in his face, then pointed at the forest.
Her meaning was plain.
It is not over.
21
Tor allowed himself a moment to bask in the congratulations of the men. He watched the last of the Alma fade like ghosts into the dark forest, and stood for long seconds to make sure a surprise attack was not going to be forthcoming.
We have won.
The men around him seemed sure of it, and indeed, the bragging about their exploits had already begun. By the time they returned to the Great Hall in Ormsdale the beasts would be twelve feet tall, with two heads and breathing fire.
He smiled. He could not begrudge them their moment of victory. But in his heart he knew that was all it would be -- a moment. Finally defeating these beasts would not be that easy. The big male had not looked like a creature that was beaten, and for Tor to assume otherwise would be a grievous mistake. He allowed the men a further minute of backslapping then brought them back to reality.
“Close the gates,” Tor shouted. “And douse those fires. We cannot have the walls weakened any further. We may still need their strength this night.”
The men moved to comply, all save Kai and his henchmen, who stood to one side, watching Tor’s every move.
I shall need to be careful of those, he thought. For I may get a knife in my back even while watching out for teeth in my throat.
Once the fires were doused, and even while the wall still steamed, Bjorn came down from the walkway and strode back to Tor’s side.
“There is no sign of the beasts on the shore. Have we routed them do you think?”
Tor shook his head.
“We have merely bought ourselves some time. They will be back. And they will have a new strategy. We had best make ready.”
Kai stepped forward.
“And how do we do that? You have used up all the oil. Such a trick cannot be done again. The next attack will surely be the end of us. We should all leave now and make for the safety of the cave. Now that they are gone, we have a chance.”
Once more Tor shook his head.
“That big one has cunning. He will still be there, just inside the trees. Even now he is watching us, looking for a weakness.”
“You cannot know that,” Kai said. “I demand that we send someone out to try.”
Tor spat at his feet.
“I will not send out any man I can spare,” he said. “But you can try, any time you like.”
“I am Captain here,” Kai said, but the petulant whine was back.
Tor turned his back on the man, knowing full well that he was safe for now. He’d heard it in the whine of Kai’s voice. The man was afraid, afraid to stand and be Viking -- afraid of Tor.
I will waste no more time on him.
He spoke to Bjorn.
“Get the men back up on the wall,” he said. “The beasts will return. And this time, I suspect they will try to surprise us.”
Kai laughed.
“They are mere beasts. They cannot surprise us.”
Tor turned back to him and smiled grimly.
“They have already shown they have more guile than you,” he said. “And they are fighting beasts. They will not walk away.”
Kai looked like he was about to reply, but he would not look Tor in the eye. He lowered his head and walked away. His henchmen followed.
Tor shouted after them.
“Do not go far Kai,” he said. “I shall have need of you.”
Bjorn took Tor by the arm.
“Your father would have been proud of you lad,” he said. “Without you we might all be dead already.”
Tor laughed bitterly.
“Do not thank me too much old man,” he said. “The night is not yet over.”
For the next hour all was quiet, and Tor began to wonder if he had been wrong about the beasts. But when the attack came, it was sudden, and as surprising as he expected it might be.
Three large Alma came out of the forest at a run, moving straight for the gate i
n a lope, coming fast despite the snow on the ground. Tor sent a spear through the chest of the lead one, but his aim was slightly off and instead of cleaving the heart the spear tore into the muscle at the Alma’s shoulder. The beast pulled the weapon out with no more than a flick of its hand and barely slowed, hitting the door full on. The whole stockade shook, then again as the other two arrived and battered into it.
When the door didn’t give they started to tear at the timber with their hands and nails. Tor had once seen a beaver at work on the base of a tree, and these showed some of the same frenzied approach to the job. Sawdust flew in a cloud. Tor threw another spear that went through the shoulder of one of them at the neck and out the back in a welter of gore. The beast wailed, but kept working on the door with the others.
And we have used up all of the oil.
“More spears,” Tor called. “Fetch spears. We have only moments before they break through.”
Tor had turned slightly away, so almost did not notice the white flash as another Alma came out of the forest and ran, not towards the defenders, but to one of the outer huts. Even as Tor registered its presence it leaped onto the roundhouse roof and, in one bound, jumped across the space to the stockade wall, a distance of ten yards and more in a single leap. For a second it seemed to hang in the air, arms outstretched for balance above its head, steam streaming behind it like wisps of gauze, pale eyes staring, almost bulging out of their sockets.
It hit the top of the wall with a thud that shook the whole structure, and almost fell backwards, but it caught the top with a huge hand and had enough strength to grab at the wood and pull itself up and over. It jumped down inside the stockade before any Viking had a chance to move.
“They have learned a new trick,” Bjorn said.
“Aye,” Tor replied. “And now others will try the same. Have spears at the ready. We cannot allow any more to succeed.”
Screams from below them told Tor that the beast was already wreaking havoc among the men. He took a brand in one hand, his sword in another, and leaped off the wall to confront it.
The Alma had its back to him, but from the screams he knew it had already been busy.
He had hoped to take it by surprise, but while he was still five yards from the beast it turned towards him. It held a dripping leg in its hand. The limb had been roughly torn from a body at the hip and the broken bleeding body of a Viking lay screaming on the ground.
The Alma looked down at the screaming man and clamped its free hand to its ear, as if the noise pained it. The man wailed, louder. With one stomp of its right foot the beast caved in the man’s chest, bones bursting thorough flesh and clothing as the foot went all the way through and broke his spine with a crack. The screams were suddenly cut off as blood spurted in a fountain from his mouth then the Viking thankfully lay still.
“You shall pay for that,” Tor said softly.
The beast pulled back its lips and smiled, showing a broken yellow tooth in the upper row.
Snaggletooth. We have met before.
It raised the Viking’s bloody leg to its mouth and bit off a chunk of flesh bigger than Tor’s clenched fist. Blood smeared all over the lower half of its face as it chewed, then swallowed.
It smiled again, and threw the rest of the leg like a hammer, straight at Tor. He swatted it aside with the sword, feeling the blow reverberate all the way up his arm where he hit exposed bone.
The beast had red marks on the fur from the wounds that had been inflicted on it earlier, but neither seemed to be slowing it down as it roared in his face and came forward.
Tor stood his ground.
He waved the blazing firebrand in its face, but if this one was afraid of the flame it didn’t show it. It swatted the firebrand to one side with the back of its left hand and reached for Tor with the right. The brand fell to the ground and went out.
The Alma roared again and stretched for Tor. He sliced down hard with the sword, cutting deep into the beast’s arm. It didn’t slow, and swiped its other arm towards Tor’s head. He only just ducked in time, and was off balance as he thrust for the Alma’s belly. The sword tip barely penetrated the skin as the beast backed off.
They circled each other, the beast more wary now. Once more it clenched and unclenched its hands, muscles bunching under the skin. On a Viking Tor would be able to gauge in the eyes when an attack was coming, but the pale glassy stare of the Alma gave nothing away.
It threw itself at him with no warning. Tor rolled aside just in time as razor sharp nails reached for his face. He came back up holding the brand again. There was no flame left in it.
But there is still heat.
He stepped inside another swing of the massive palm and thrust his sword deep into the Alma’s side.
It roared in his face. He shifted the brand in his grip so that he was holding it near the still smouldering tip, and thrust forward, stabbing it into the beast’s right eye.
The eye popped and thick bloody fluid ran down the cheek. Fur seared and the rank smell of burning hair stung in Tor’s nasal passages. He stepped back and sliced at it backhand with the sword, opening the muscles across the stomach. Its guts poked out from a gaping wound, yet still it came on, roaring and wailing, huge hands swinging like clubs, trying to find Tor.
If any one blow hit, Tor knew he would be dead in seconds. He bobbed and weaved -- always keeping just out of reach. Blood poured from the beast’s wounds, and Tor knew that if he only kept moving he could wear it down.
The beast seemed to sense the same thing. It stopped and stood still, staring at him. It bent on its haunches and roared then launched itself forward with all the strength it had left. But it was already tired and slow. Another sliced backhand blow took a bloody chunk out of the right hand side of its face. Blind in both eyes now it blundered, raging and screaming. Tor thrust almost the full length of the sword into the small of its back.
It was finally brought it to its knees.
Tor brought the sword down and cleaved its skull in two.
It fell, face down, steaming on the stockade floor.
Tor put a foot on the body and screamed his victory to the cold night sky.
22
Skald remembered to breathe.
He’d watched the whole thing from on high, held back from leaping down to help by four of the small people.
Tor now stood over the body of the beast he’d slain, sword raised above his head. Bjorn and the men on the walkway managed to drive the attacking beasts from the gate by using spears and dropping firebrands to the ground below. Two other Alma tried to leap from the outer huts, but they were despatched by Viking spears before they reached the stockade wall.
They have repelled another attack. Surely the beasts will retreat.
But the large male still stood on the shore, watching.
He raised his hands to his lips and hooted again, long and high like a horn calling in fog.
As one, the remaining Alma, twenty or more, ran forward in long loping strides. At first Skald thought this was the mindless attack that the Viking had expected the first time. But the beasts had another plan in mind.
They clambered atop the huts, and launched themselves through the air at the stockade, white ghosts flying silently in the night, too many for the Viking to stop.
Spears took five, six, seven down, but the rest hit the top of the wall and clambered over.
The Viking fell back into the stockade in disarray. Skald knew with a sinking heart that singly, hand to hand, the beasts would be more than a match for any one Viking.
Except for Tor.
They will be slaughtered.
He felt something rise inside him, a red wave that threatened to wash through and take him away. He pushed it down.
I need to stay in control. If the berserker takes me, I have no way of knowing whom I might hurt.
He dragged himself away from the small people, forcibly.
“Go away,” he shouted. “Please. I do not want to hurt you.”
He drew his long knife, grabbed his staff tightly, and was ready to head for the cliff path. Before he had gone a step Baren tugged at him.
“Please,” he said softly, aware that the rage was close now. “Let me go. They need me.”
Even as he said it, he realised that it wasn’t true.
I need to do it. For me, not for them.
He pushed past Baren. She did not try to stop him. She grabbed the knife and took it from him. She put something else in his hand, something heavy.
Looking down, he saw a stone hammer, with a long thick wooden shaft and a leather strap as a support for the wrist. The stone at the end was the size of two large clenched fists and had been worked such that it could be used as a hammer on either side. The weight of it felt reassuring in his hand.
Better than that, it felt natural.
It felt Viking.
Baren once more did her impression of an Alma. Then she rapped him on the forehead with her knuckles, between the eyes, pointed at the hammer, then down to the scene below. Following her finger, Skald saw she pointed directly at the large male who stood on the shore.
The best place to hit him. And the hammer is the best weapon, for me at least.
Skald nodded, then turned away. He left the ledge and headed down the slope as fast as he could manage, throwing caution to the wind as wild screams rose from within the stockade.
23
“To me,” Tor called as the beasts jumped down from the wall into the stockade. “Viking, to me. Form a circle.”
Bjorn was first to comply, bringing two burning firebrands with him and handing one of them to Tor. The rest of the Viking, even Kai and his henchmen, were quick to follow. They packed themselves as tight as they dared in a circle near the gate, yet still giving each other room to swing a sword arm.
Berserker Page 10
