[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
."This time the message was in the simple words, and came through clearly.Open-mouthed, the two gnomes sat there looking numbly back at Bran.On the bench beside Hal, Baldur seemed not to know whether to laugh or takealarm.Hal was very far from laughing.His brain was working rapidly, trying tocalculate the chance of summoning a Valkyrie before someone got killed.He couldsee no chance of any other kind of help.There would be no use trying to reachthe sergeant, who was almost certainly busy attending the god.The music had long since faltered to a halt.Standing up, Hal called Bran'sname, sending the one word clearly into an aching silence.The big man's headturned.Hal told him in a flat voice: "The little one you challenge would not be herebothering you, were it not for me.So bring to me any complaint that you mighthave."When Bran said nothing, but only continued to stare at him, Hal added: "You saidyou admired my honored helmet? Take it, and welcome.A gift." That was the bestdistraction Hal could think of.He pulled the helmet off and tossed it acrossthe width of the two tables, so it bounced on the table where Bran was sitting,and then onto the floor.He might have spared himself the effort.Bran's gaze did not turn to follow theclanging, bounding thing at all.Without another word Bran, moving slowly and steadily, got to his feet.He stoodmuch taller than Hal, though as Hal had already noted, there was not that muchdifference in length of arm.Hal wanted to try more soothing words, but he could find none, and suddenlythere was no time.Bran was standing on the table at which he had been sitting.From Hal's position he looked about twelve feet tall; and when Bran pulled theshort sword from its scabbard at his side, that made him look no smaller.Without a pause he charged across the tabletops at Hal, sword raised and howlinglike a winter wind out of the north.When a man came leaping through the air at you, the traditional effectivecounter was to get out of his way by stepping sideways.Hal's first concern wasgetting his feet and legs clear of tables and benches.Bran's weight splintered a bench when he came down on it.By that time, Hal wasout of reach, axe in one hand, knife in the other, trying to find some openspace.Bran came bounding after him, quick as a bouncing ball.This time Hal steppedinto the rush, blocked sword with axe, feinted one way and thrust another,feeling his dagger go deep into the big man's side, sliding through tough cloth,digging on into meat.The cut would have brought down any normal man, but it hadlittle immediate effect on a berserker's strength or energy.Hal had to break away.The next rush forced him backward, and in the swiftexchange that followed he neatly broke Bran's sword-blade, catching it in theangle between the head and the tough handle of the war-hatchet.But to berserker Bran a broken sword meant nothing.He still came after Hal, inone hand the stump of his snapped blade, the other armed with a yard-long woodensplinter, snatched up from a broken bench.Men were yelling, scrambling desperately right and left and backward, falling toget out of the way.The howling Berserk kept on coming, too fast for Hal to makea conscious plan.He parried, and struck, and struck again.It seemed like twoswords coming at him, not one broken one.His forehand swing with the axe wasblocked with Bran's forearm on the shaft, the impact feeling as if he'd hit apiece of wood.But then, backhanding with the blunt end, Hal got home solidly onflesh and bone.A broken leg was not going to stop death attacking, but perhaps would slow itdown a bit.Now Hal could see a jagged end of white bone, sticking right outthrough skin and cloth above Bran's knee.Blood from a wounded arm spouted atHal, and he realized that Bran was spraying him with Bran's own blood, trying toblind his vision.Fine dishes, goblets, crashed and clattered underfoot, scattering theircontents.In the background, Hal saw another fight had broken out, a skirmishanyway.Baldur, his sword drawn, seemed to be holding off Blackie—and anotherman was down, not moving.Hal's foot slipped, whether in spilled soup or blood it mattered not, and in ahelpless instant he went down hard on his back.Death leaped upon him, stillspraying blood but never weakening, grappling with inhuman strength.The face ofdeath was inches from Hal's own.Teeth tore at Hal's collar, trying to reach histhroat.With an all-out surge of effort, Hal got his hickory axe-handle wedgedinto the open mouth.In his paroxysm, Bran had screwed one of his eyes shut, as if in unconsciousimitation of Wodan's one-eyed glare.Bran's wounded arms still clutched andtore.He howled no longer, but his breath sobbed like a great wind.Somewhere inside Hal, his own berserker fury had come alive.Enough of it,perhaps.Slowly, slowly his arms straightened, gripping the axe-handle near bothends, forcing the frenzied killer up and back, throwing him violently off so Halcould move again.His own breath sobbing, Hal staggered and scrambled to his feet.Bran came upright after Hal, almost with him, still quick on his broken leg.Hal could see it, looking into the one open eye: Bran was dead but he would notfall.Baldur, you stupid sod, now is the time to hit him from behind with all you'vegot [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]