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doorway. They would slaughter the drunken rebels as they tried to escape. The
Old House s cause, here beneath the brooding, glacier-clawed northern slopes
of the Kratchnodian Mountains, would revive at the eleventh hour.
That was Mad Ragnar s plan. It was as bold and ferocious a stroke as ever
plotted by the Wolf.
It should have worked.
But Hjarlma was expecting them.
It was a great slaughter anyway. Hjarlma had gotten his warning only seconds
before the blow fell. His people were still confused, still trying to shake
the mead and find their weapons.
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Fire whipped through axed-in windows.
 Stay put! Ragnar growled at Bragi.  To me! he thundered at the others.
 Yai! It s Ragnar! one of Hjarlma s men wailed.
The blond giant attacked with sword in one hand, axe in the other. Not for
nothing was he called Mad Ragnar. He went into insane killing rages, became an
unstoppable killing machine. It was whispered that his wife, the witch Helga,
had spelled him invincible.
Three, four, five of the drunkards fell for each of Ragnar s men. And still
he could not win. The odds were too terrible.
The fire had become a liability. Without it driving them to save their
families, Hjarlma s men might have surrendered.
Bragi went looking for Haaken.
Haaken s thoughts paralleled his own. He had secured a sword already. They
had not been allowed to bring their own. Ragnar had not wanted them getting
dangerous ideas.
 What now? Haaken asked.
 Father won t run. Not yet.
 How did they know?
 A traitor. Hjarlma must have bought somebody from Draukenbring. Here!
A rebel, nearly disemboweled, crawled toward them.  Cover me while I get his
sword.
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They did what had to be done. And felt ghastly afterward.
 Who sold out?
 I don t know. Or how. But we ll find out.
Then they became too busy to speculate. Several rebels, who had crawled out a
window no longer held against them, stumbled their way.
The longhouse burned briskly. Women, children and slaves screamed inside.
Ragnar s men fell back before the weight of their panic.
In a brief exchange, from ambush, Bragi and Haaken slew three men and sent a
fourth fleeing into the pines. They received their own first man-wounds.
 Half of us are down, Bragi observed, after studying the main action.  Bors.
Rafnir. Tor. Tryggva. Both Haralds. Where s Bjorn?
Ragnar, roaring and laughing, stood out of the fray like a cave bear beset by
hounds. Bodies lay heaped around him.
 We ve got to help.
 How? Haaken was no thinker. He was a follower and doer. A strong-backed,
stolid, steadfast lad.
Bragi had all of his mother s intellect and a little of his father s crazy
courage. But the situation had rattled him. He did not know what to do. He
wanted to run. He did not. With a bellow imitative of Ragnar s, he charged.
Fate had made his decision for him.
He had discovered what had become of Bjorn. Ragnar s lieutenant was charging
him from behind.
No warning could reach Ragnar s blood-drugged brain. All Bragi could do was
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race Bjorn to his prey.
He lost the footrace, but prevented the traitor s blow from being fatal.
Bjorn s deflected blade entered Ragnar s back kidney high. Ragnar howled and
whirled. A wild blow from the haft of his axe bowled Bjorn into a snowdrift.
Then the Wolf s knees buckled.
The rebels whooped, attacking with renewed ferocity. Bragi and Haaken became
too busy to avenge their father.
Then twenty rebels wailed.
Ragnar surged to his feet. He roared like one of the great trolls of the high
Kratchnodians.
There was a lull as the combatants eyed one another.
The pain had opened the veil across Ragnar s sanity.  A crown has been lost
here tonight, he muttered.  Treason always begets more treason. There s
nothing more we can do. Gather the wounded.
For a while the rebels licked their wounds and fought the fire. But the
raiders, burdened with wounded, gained only a few miles head start.
Nils Stromberg went down and could not get up again. His sons, Thorkel and
Olaf, refused to leave him behind. Ragnar bellowed at all three, and lost the
argument. They stayed, their faces turned toward the glow of the burning
longhouse. No man could deny another his choice of deaths.
Lank Lars Greyhame went next. Then Thake One Hand. Six miles south of
Hjarlma s stead, Anders Miklasson slipped down an icy bank into the creek they
were following. He went under the ice and drowned before the others could chop
through.
He would have frozen anyway. It was that cold, and the others dared not pause
to light a fire.
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 One by one, Ragnar growled as they piled stones in a crude cairn.  Soon
there won t be enough of us left to drive off the wolves.
He did not mean Hjarlma s men. A pack was trailing them. The leader already
had made a sally at Jarl Kinson, who kept lagging.
Bragi was exhausted. His wounds, though minor, nagged him like the agonies of
a flensing knife in the hand of a master executioner. But he kept silent. He
could do no less than his father, whose injury was much greater.
Bragi, Haaken, Ragnar and five more lived to see the dawn. They evaded
Hjarlma and drove the wolves off. Ragnar went to ground in a cave. He sent
Bragi and Haaken to scout the nearby forest. The searchers passed near the
boys, but without slowing.
Bragi watched them go, Bjorn, the Thane and fifteen healthy, angry warriors.
They were not searching. They were talking about waiting for Ragnar at
Draukenbring.
 Hjarlma s not stupid, Ragnar said when he received the news.  Why chase the
Wolf all over the woods when you know he has to return to his lair?
 Mother 
 She ll be all right. Hjarlma s scared to death of her. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]