[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
"If
we're being tested, though, how long is the trial to go on? I've been here a
year, and all who were here when I arrived are dead now. All of those who
tried
to escape are dead, and so are many who did not. What kind of a test is
that?"
Blackie looked round, as if seeking an answer to his question, and his gaze
fell
on the unusual visitors. "What's this? Who invited in these bloody dwarfs?
Why
are they eating our food?"
Hal looked over at him. "I gave it to them, Corporal."
There was a sudden tension in the room, to which the gnomes seemed utterly
oblivious. Ivaldr, usually silent, raised a plaintive voice to complain that
someone had taken away their essential gold. Without it they could not
complete
their work, and until their work was finished they could not leave.
He concluded: "We tried to explain all this to Wodan, but he just walked past
us
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as if we did not exist."
Andvari chimed in, shaking his head unhappily. "And all the great god said to
us
was: 'You are always complaining about something of the kind.' "
Ivaldr was nodding. "I don't know about calling him 'the great god.' Wodan
did
not look healthy."
That got Bran's attention back. "Careful what you say about the All-Highest,"
he
rumbled.
The Earthdwellers must haye heard the words, but they seemed deaf to tone,
insensitive to tension. They were busy gulping mead and belching.
"But what can you expect," Andvari concluded, speaking to the room at large,
"from a god of crazy berserkers?" The little man threw the word out very
casually, as if he had no idea of what it really meant.
Hal held his breath. From the corner of his eye he had seen Bran's head turn
round. Suddenly Bran had started breathing deeply and heavily, and when he
spoke
again his voice had changed. It was as if a different man now looked out of
his
scarred face.
"You have blasphemed my god. And for that you must die, small man."
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 take
alarm.
Hal was very far from laughing. His brain was working rapidly, trying to
calculate the chance of summoning a Valkyrie before someone got killed. He
could
see no chance of any other kind of help. There would be no use trying to
reach
the sergeant, who was almost certainly busy attending the god.
The music had long since faltered to a halt. Standing up, Hal called Bran's
name, sending the one word clearly into an aching silence. The big man's head
Page 169
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turned.
Hal told him in a flat voice: "The little one you challenge would not be here
bothering you, were it not for me. So bring to me any complaint that you
might
have."
When Bran said nothing, but only continued to stare at him, Hal added: "You
said
you admired my honored helmet? Take it, and welcome. A gift." That was the
best
distraction Hal could think of. He pulled the helmet off and tossed it across
the 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
the
clanging, bounding thing at all.
Without another word Bran, moving slowly and steadily, got to his feet. He
stood
much taller than Hal, though as Hal had already noted, there was not that
much
difference in length of arm.
Hal wanted to try more soothing words, but he could find none, and suddenly
there 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
the
short 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
howling
like a winter wind out of the north.
When a man came leaping through the air at you, the traditional effective
counter was to get out of his way by stepping sideways. Hal's first concern
was
getting 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
was
Page 170
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
out of reach, axe in one hand, knife in the other, trying to find some open
space.
Bran came bounding after him, quick as a bouncing ball. This time Hal stepped
into 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
had
little immediate effect on a berserker's strength or energy.
Hal had to break away. The next rush forced him backward, and in the swift
exchange that followed he neatly broke Bran's sword-blade, catching it in the
angle 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,
in
one hand the stump of his snapped blade, the other armed with a yard-long
wooden
splinter, snatched up from a broken bench.
Men were yelling, scrambling desperately right and left and backward, falling
to
get out of the way. The howling Berserk kept on coming, too fast for Hal to
make
a conscious plan. He parried, and struck, and struck again. It seemed like
two
swords coming at him, not one broken one. His forehand swing with the axe was
blocked with Bran's forearm on the shaft, the impact feeling as if he'd hit a
piece of wood. But then, backhanding with the blunt end, Hal got home solidly
on
flesh and bone.
A broken leg was not going to stop death attacking, but perhaps would slow it
down a bit. Now Hal could see a jagged end of white bone, sticking right out
through skin and cloth above Bran's knee. Blood from a wounded arm spouted at
Hal, and he realized that Bran was spraying him with Bran's own blood, trying
to
blind his vision.
Page 171 [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl fopke.keep.pl
"If
we're being tested, though, how long is the trial to go on? I've been here a
year, and all who were here when I arrived are dead now. All of those who
tried
to escape are dead, and so are many who did not. What kind of a test is
that?"
Blackie looked round, as if seeking an answer to his question, and his gaze
fell
on the unusual visitors. "What's this? Who invited in these bloody dwarfs?
Why
are they eating our food?"
Hal looked over at him. "I gave it to them, Corporal."
There was a sudden tension in the room, to which the gnomes seemed utterly
oblivious. Ivaldr, usually silent, raised a plaintive voice to complain that
someone had taken away their essential gold. Without it they could not
complete
their work, and until their work was finished they could not leave.
He concluded: "We tried to explain all this to Wodan, but he just walked past
us
Page 168
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
as if we did not exist."
Andvari chimed in, shaking his head unhappily. "And all the great god said to
us
was: 'You are always complaining about something of the kind.' "
Ivaldr was nodding. "I don't know about calling him 'the great god.' Wodan
did
not look healthy."
That got Bran's attention back. "Careful what you say about the All-Highest,"
he
rumbled.
The Earthdwellers must haye heard the words, but they seemed deaf to tone,
insensitive to tension. They were busy gulping mead and belching.
"But what can you expect," Andvari concluded, speaking to the room at large,
"from a god of crazy berserkers?" The little man threw the word out very
casually, as if he had no idea of what it really meant.
Hal held his breath. From the corner of his eye he had seen Bran's head turn
round. Suddenly Bran had started breathing deeply and heavily, and when he
spoke
again his voice had changed. It was as if a different man now looked out of
his
scarred face.
"You have blasphemed my god. And for that you must die, small man."
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 take
alarm.
Hal was very far from laughing. His brain was working rapidly, trying to
calculate the chance of summoning a Valkyrie before someone got killed. He
could
see no chance of any other kind of help. There would be no use trying to
reach
the sergeant, who was almost certainly busy attending the god.
The music had long since faltered to a halt. Standing up, Hal called Bran's
name, sending the one word clearly into an aching silence. The big man's head
Page 169
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
turned.
Hal told him in a flat voice: "The little one you challenge would not be here
bothering you, were it not for me. So bring to me any complaint that you
might
have."
When Bran said nothing, but only continued to stare at him, Hal added: "You
said
you admired my honored helmet? Take it, and welcome. A gift." That was the
best
distraction Hal could think of. He pulled the helmet off and tossed it across
the 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
the
clanging, bounding thing at all.
Without another word Bran, moving slowly and steadily, got to his feet. He
stood
much taller than Hal, though as Hal had already noted, there was not that
much
difference in length of arm.
Hal wanted to try more soothing words, but he could find none, and suddenly
there 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
the
short 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
howling
like a winter wind out of the north.
When a man came leaping through the air at you, the traditional effective
counter was to get out of his way by stepping sideways. Hal's first concern
was
getting 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
was
Page 170
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
out of reach, axe in one hand, knife in the other, trying to find some open
space.
Bran came bounding after him, quick as a bouncing ball. This time Hal stepped
into 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
had
little immediate effect on a berserker's strength or energy.
Hal had to break away. The next rush forced him backward, and in the swift
exchange that followed he neatly broke Bran's sword-blade, catching it in the
angle 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,
in
one hand the stump of his snapped blade, the other armed with a yard-long
wooden
splinter, snatched up from a broken bench.
Men were yelling, scrambling desperately right and left and backward, falling
to
get out of the way. The howling Berserk kept on coming, too fast for Hal to
make
a conscious plan. He parried, and struck, and struck again. It seemed like
two
swords coming at him, not one broken one. His forehand swing with the axe was
blocked with Bran's forearm on the shaft, the impact feeling as if he'd hit a
piece of wood. But then, backhanding with the blunt end, Hal got home solidly
on
flesh and bone.
A broken leg was not going to stop death attacking, but perhaps would slow it
down a bit. Now Hal could see a jagged end of white bone, sticking right out
through skin and cloth above Bran's knee. Blood from a wounded arm spouted at
Hal, and he realized that Bran was spraying him with Bran's own blood, trying
to
blind his vision.
Page 171 [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]