Berserker (Omnibus) by Robert Holdstock Read Free Book Online

low fire burned in a shallow pit. Several shapes hunched around the flame and watched Harald through red, reflecting eyes, but they turned away after a few moments and silently contemplated the conflagration before them. Harald felt a moment’s puzzlement, but then involved himself with helping Gotthelm from his horse.
    And his father emerged from the long hall and embraced him.
    ‘The gods told me you were alive,’ he said, hugging his son. ‘Some starlings’ entrails too. But I didn’t know when to expect you back.’
    An old man, with his hair long (long like Bjorn the Axe’s – the two men had fought together and adventured together – did his father know?) hanging lank and dirty white around his shoulders. He was still upright and strong, and his green cloth tunic, loose though it hung, could not conceal the power of the man beneath. There was a sparkle in old Eric Bluetooth’s eyes, a touch of a smile on his lips – pride, thought Harald. The old man is proud of me.
    Bluetooth slapped his son on the back and hugged him again. ‘You killed many Celtish dogspits. Many. I can see by your eyes, your scars.’
    He touched the double scar on Harald’s cheek. Harald drew up and grinned. ‘Not many,’ he confessed, ‘but enough. I fought beside Gudrack at least twice, and my battle cry would have made you wince to hear it, it was so full of anger and death.’
    ‘You must tell us all your adventures over a fine meal. We’re eating poor scrap at the moment, but we’ll soon have a goat on the spit.’ Bluetooth’s eyes flickered towards the leaning, silent Gotthelm. ‘You are …?’
    ‘This is my good friend Sigurd Gotthelm,’ said Harald. ‘A jarl from themountains south of Hringar, and a very fine warrior. He is honoured to be in the hold, but he brings honour by his sword and his spear.’
    ‘And mystery by his helmet,’ said Bluetooth, staring at the strange metallic skull that encased the old warrior’s cranium. ‘And death by his blood unless we get him tended.’
    They helped Gotthelm into the small hut that ran alongside the main hall; here there were beds, fine wooden benches covered with deep layers of bear fur and horse leather. Gotthelm lay and allowed a young bondmaiden to strip off his clothes, caressing his body as well as the wound. He winked at Harald and grinned, and Harald’s fear for the man’s life swiftly subsided.
    ‘She’s the daughter of a Saxon thrall, given to me in payment for hunting down the Saxon himself when he killed a
gestir
at Trollestad. If she aids his recovery I shall give her her freedom – if your friend doesn’t desire her.’
    Harald laughed. Such generosity was quite unlike his father, but his father’s pleasure at his return was probably very great.
    Something about old Bluetooth’s attitude, however, filled Harald with unease. The man, though obviously overwhelmed and happy, seemed to walk beneath a dark cloud; there were shadows on his face that were the shadows of fear and stress.
    And when he found out about Unsthof, and the slaughter of the people there, it might be even worse. Had they been attacked here by the same band of Berserkers?
    Sudden fear gripped Harald’s heart. Elena! Had she survived the rape of Unsthof only to find death during a later attack on Urlsgarde?
    ‘Elena …’ he said loudly, but his father, guessing at his son’s anxiety, said, ‘She’s well. Tomorrow we shall ride to Unsthof and bring bawdy old Bloodaxe and his talespinning wench to our hall.’
    ‘Bloodaxe is dead,’ said Harald quickly, hardly daring to watch his father’s face. He was relieved, as he spoke, relieved that Elena was safe. But he was terrified now, of what his father would do.
    In the event his father did nothing, merely stared. He said, ‘Dead? Bloodaxe? How can that be? We were only hunting together four days ago …’
    In the quiet of the hut, while in the main hall the voices grew louder and more excited as preparations for feasting