Free Berserker (Omnibus) by Robert Holdstock Page B

seeking its prey, seeking the soft flesh of a mortal in order to pass its madness on.
    For a moment the bear weaved from side to side as its eye regarded Harald and its voice deafened him with its soul-destroying roar; and for a moment there was inner peace, despite the noise and stench, as if man and god were reflecting on the events to come, as if the god were wondering whether it was worth stealing the soul of this insignificant mortal.
    The bear’s muzzle closed, the great paws hesitated in their destroying motions.
    Beyond the palisade, across the blood-stained northlands, a wolf howled, high, loud, frightening. The sound reached Harald’s ears, and the Bear god too turned its head a fraction as the frightening sound of the mountain killer struck a note of discomfort into its being.
    The bear and the wolf, the two great enemies of the north …
    At Ragnarok, when Harald’s pale-featured corpse would join with all the others, with Bjorn and Gotthelm, with Elena and the beastly shapes of the Celtish sword-whores – they would all stand behind the Bear god, the unpredictable and frightening ruler of warrior destiny. They would fight the great grey wolf of the north, and wrestle with the eternal snake of earth and sea, the glistening body and grey fur combining to create a force of evil as strong as if not stronger than the immortal gods. The great test would result either in a desert world of wolf and snake, or a peaceful land where summer reigned always, and the wolf was locked in the dark recesses of the dead from which there would be no release.
    The wolf, now, seemed to Harald a greater friend than he had ever known, despite the fact that it had dogged his trail and haunted him for weeks. Its howl, its cry of anger, was music to his ears, and yet after a few minutes the wolf had gone. Only the shuffling, towering bear remained, crashing through the hold’s defences and reaching a great clawed fist towards the Innocent.
    Sword-like nails stabbed at him, and he struck at them with his singing life-taker, deflected them, strove to preserve his life for a few more seconds. But the stench of the beast’s breath was driving him to unconsciousness, and the power of the beast was so great compared to his own mortal weakness.
    He thrust his life-taker deep into the flesh of the reaching paw, and was rewarded only with the unmistakable sound of a human laugh, reverberating from the widening muzzle of the beast-god. Withdrawing the blade, screaming his own war cry, an insignificant sound against the supernatural thunder, he backed off from the spectre and began to run.
    The bear drove itself through the palisade, sending great wooden spars and splinters scattering across the halls and huts of the settlement.
    His mind on nothing but survival, Harald darted between the buildings,never daring to glance back at the pursuing giant as it stalked and crashed across the settlement.
    And he ran straight into the trap that the Berserks had laid for him.
    From darkness he emerged into the sudden brilliance of a torch waved above him. He stopped, crouched and ready to fight, and the sword was struck from his hand by a blow from behind.
    He whirled, whirled again, round and round, dancing like the dead had danced to the cruel instructions of the Valkyries. The Berserks were all around him, closing in, huge and foul-smelling beast-men, their ursine muzzles open in almost human grins, their hands clutching blood-encrusted blades, still sharp, still well able to take his life as swiftly or as agonisingly as the whim of the killer demanded.
    The tallest of them all, Beartooth himself, laughed loudly as he saw that Harald at last realised the hopelessness of his position.
    ‘As you burned the head of our brother, so we shall burn yours whilst you still live … but not yet, not for a long while. First Odin has a joke to play, a mighty whim to act out. Odin! Show! Fetch us to your great hall!’
    As this final shout carried away into the sky,