Read Online Berserker (Omnibus) by Robert Holdstock - Free Book Online
Authors: Robert Holdstock
Tags: Historical, Fantasy
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song, entrancing me, inviting me. But I shook my head and poked her with my singing life-taker, my blooded sword!’
At this great cheers and the thunder of the oak table being solidly pounded by bronzed and brawny fists.
Harald grinned and swayed, reached for the jug of ale, glancing at his father as he did so. The old man winked and laughed, and Harald felt a greatsurge of pleasure; amid the din there was the sound of thunder, a scream, perhaps of laughter, perhaps of something else …
And then:
With a crash the door of the hall flew open. Bitter wind blew suddenly across the table, sending the warmth and smoke swirling before it. The night, the winter darkness, sent fingers of ice running around the gathered hold.
For a moment Harald thought the sound, the noise of thunder, was just the antics of the guests; but when the fire dimmed, and the atmosphere of contentment and pleasure drained away to leave a haunting silence, grey shapes and staring, frightened eyes, he knew that the festivities were ended.
Lurching upright, feeling the ale’s heady drug make a fool of his body and vision, he stared at the door, across the turned heads of his fellow village folk.
Walking slowly into the hall, swaying as great bears sway when they walk towards some panicking deer, the Berserks came.
Led by the huge, red-haired man who had seemed to Harald to be the leader of the group of killers, they stopped inside the hall and stared at Erik Bluetooth. Grotesque to look at, their smell was worse – the stench of blood and excrement soaking their furs and seal-skin leggings. Around the bull neck of the leader hung a necklace of flashing, fire-trimmed bear-teeth. All six wore, on their metal helms, the skull of a bear, canines reaching down across the forehead to point to the narrow, deep-set eyes of the warriors of Odin who carried these trophies.
Swords slithered from sheaths, waved threateningly in the fire glow, flashing and glittering as the six Berserks moved in towards the table. The giant who led them was grinning and his gaze seemed fixed on Harald.
‘A burning for us all, is it?’ he muttered loudly, menacingly. ‘Then come and try us, young farmer whore-slit. Come and hack the heads off our shoulders and see how long your tripes remain unspilled.’
There was sudden panic in the hall; the benches were overturned as men, old and young alike, fled from the Berserks’ approach, ran for cover, or in rare instances darted for weapons stacked against the wall.
Harald wielded his sword, manifestly unafraid, secretly petrified. The great Bear Tooth himself came towards him, preceded by his fecal stench, the eyes that watched the young Viking filled with hatred and shot through with red and black.
Smoke choked Harald as the fire billowed and guttered, torn before the icy gale blowing from the yard.
A man screamed, his body arching as a Berserker’s sword split his head through to the jaw, spilling brains and blood in a pink and grey mess.
At once there was frenzy.
The smell of blood, the sight of it, sent the Berserks into that frighteningrage of animal frenzy, of sword-wielding, invulnerable offensiveness, that was so useful in battle and so terrifying in any other place.
Harald had seen it before, the wheeling, whirling, screaming action, as singing blades took off scalps, heads, arms and feet, the Berserks crouching and jumping as they spat and screamed, thrusting, lunging and slashing everything including themselves.
Men fell like pigs at a midwinter fertility feast, stuck through and split open, guts and brains washing the earthen floor and draining through into the valleys of the mid world. Harald fled from the hall, driving one Berserker before him, dodging the frenzied shape as its screams deafened him and its blade sang close to his ears, narrowly missing cutting him down for once and for good.
In this state, he knew, there was no personal motivation, no desire for revenge; there was only the need for killing
At this great cheers and the thunder of the oak table being solidly pounded by bronzed and brawny fists.
Harald grinned and swayed, reached for the jug of ale, glancing at his father as he did so. The old man winked and laughed, and Harald felt a greatsurge of pleasure; amid the din there was the sound of thunder, a scream, perhaps of laughter, perhaps of something else …
And then:
With a crash the door of the hall flew open. Bitter wind blew suddenly across the table, sending the warmth and smoke swirling before it. The night, the winter darkness, sent fingers of ice running around the gathered hold.
For a moment Harald thought the sound, the noise of thunder, was just the antics of the guests; but when the fire dimmed, and the atmosphere of contentment and pleasure drained away to leave a haunting silence, grey shapes and staring, frightened eyes, he knew that the festivities were ended.
Lurching upright, feeling the ale’s heady drug make a fool of his body and vision, he stared at the door, across the turned heads of his fellow village folk.
Walking slowly into the hall, swaying as great bears sway when they walk towards some panicking deer, the Berserks came.
Led by the huge, red-haired man who had seemed to Harald to be the leader of the group of killers, they stopped inside the hall and stared at Erik Bluetooth. Grotesque to look at, their smell was worse – the stench of blood and excrement soaking their furs and seal-skin leggings. Around the bull neck of the leader hung a necklace of flashing, fire-trimmed bear-teeth. All six wore, on their metal helms, the skull of a bear, canines reaching down across the forehead to point to the narrow, deep-set eyes of the warriors of Odin who carried these trophies.
Swords slithered from sheaths, waved threateningly in the fire glow, flashing and glittering as the six Berserks moved in towards the table. The giant who led them was grinning and his gaze seemed fixed on Harald.
‘A burning for us all, is it?’ he muttered loudly, menacingly. ‘Then come and try us, young farmer whore-slit. Come and hack the heads off our shoulders and see how long your tripes remain unspilled.’
There was sudden panic in the hall; the benches were overturned as men, old and young alike, fled from the Berserks’ approach, ran for cover, or in rare instances darted for weapons stacked against the wall.
Harald wielded his sword, manifestly unafraid, secretly petrified. The great Bear Tooth himself came towards him, preceded by his fecal stench, the eyes that watched the young Viking filled with hatred and shot through with red and black.
Smoke choked Harald as the fire billowed and guttered, torn before the icy gale blowing from the yard.
A man screamed, his body arching as a Berserker’s sword split his head through to the jaw, spilling brains and blood in a pink and grey mess.
At once there was frenzy.
The smell of blood, the sight of it, sent the Berserks into that frighteningrage of animal frenzy, of sword-wielding, invulnerable offensiveness, that was so useful in battle and so terrifying in any other place.
Harald had seen it before, the wheeling, whirling, screaming action, as singing blades took off scalps, heads, arms and feet, the Berserks crouching and jumping as they spat and screamed, thrusting, lunging and slashing everything including themselves.
Men fell like pigs at a midwinter fertility feast, stuck through and split open, guts and brains washing the earthen floor and draining through into the valleys of the mid world. Harald fled from the hall, driving one Berserker before him, dodging the frenzied shape as its screams deafened him and its blade sang close to his ears, narrowly missing cutting him down for once and for good.
In this state, he knew, there was no personal motivation, no desire for revenge; there was only the need for killing
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