Post by trescuinge on Mar 20, 2016 14:08:30 GMT -5
The mound was overgrown with a tangle of briers and stunted bushes. The two diggers were rangy and weather-beaten and wore the clothes of down-on-their-luck farmers.
"I don't like this, Brill." one said, resting momentarily on his spade.
"I'm telling you," the other said, digging feverishly. "The stories must be true! Inside this howe is a chamber full of gold and silver!"
"This mound is cursed." the first tomb-robber said. "It scares me! Sometimes it shines on moonless nights, animals that graze here sicken and die."
"Superstition!" Brill said. "Nonsense spread by the builders of the howe to scare away the feeble-minded!"
Just then his shovel scraped against something harder than the sandy soil. The two shared a look of excited expectation then fell to with renewed vigor. They soon bared a section of wall made from massive wooden planks. Dropping their spades they attacked the barrier with axes and quickly broke through to an empty space beyond. A gust of foul air flooded out of the dark hole in the wall. The two tomb- robbers gagged as they worked eagerly to enlarge the breech in the wall of the ancient sepulcher. Then, trembling, they lit torches and crawled through the opening they had made.
Inside their wildest dreams were fulfilled. In the front of the chamber a four-wheeled wagon was collapsed under the weight of a pile of gold goblets and bowls. Stacks of antique armor and weapons were piled against the walls. Moldering tapestries and fur rugs lay over dusty heaps of strange coins and outlandish bracelets, rings and neck torcs. Laughing, the two tomb robbers cast themselves down and burrowed into the heaps of coins and ornaments. They threw handfuls of gold and jewels at each other. They mimed drinking from silver goblets and eating from figured platters. They kicked their legs in the air and laughed till their belly muscles ached.
In their excitement they did not see the ornate bronze bed in the shadowed corner. Nor did they notice the form that stirred slowly as the fresh night wind swept into every corner of the chamber. Their cries of joy masked the sound of long-still limbs unnaturally stirring once again.
Brill was the first to see the giant form advancing from the shadows. Slowly, he set aside the massy, gold diadem that he had been holding to his brow. He tried desperately to call a warning but no sound issued from his writhing lips. Frantically he clutched at his fellow and turned him to see the unholy monster that loomed up out of the dimness of the burial chamber.
It was huge. The creature's flesh was so swollen that its blueish skin bulged in rolls from around its verdigrised bronze armor. The stylized bull horns on its helmet scraped the ceiling of the chamber. Its eyes burned redly in its awful face.
Was it the original occupant of the tomb, or was it some evil spirit that had cast out the moldering bones of a dead king and then appropriated the mound and its treasures? The robbers would never know for the unclean creature descended upon them and their dreams of wealth turned to living nightmares of horror.
***
The village of Arus was awakened after midnight by an unearthly screeching. The carls and their wives rushed to their doors and beheld a gibbering figure moaning and whimpering as it shambled down the settlement's one muddy street.
"It was inside the mound!" he shrieked. "We never thought! We never imagined"
The villagers recognized the man as a small farmer from the district. Some of them crept cautiously forward.
The hysterical man collapsed in the street and went into convulsions as he continued to scream, "It tore Brill's arms right off his body! Right off his body! There was blood all over the treasure!"
One of the villagers came forward hesitantly and tried to raise the madman from the mud but the lunatic grabbed his arm in a deathlike grip and babbled into his face, "It is strong as ten men! Its skin is hard as horn! Who can possibly stop that thing? No one! No one!"
-----
Wulfhere the Skullsplitter ran a hand through his thin hair. Briefly he recalled when that hair had been thick and red but he shook off the morose thought and took a pull from the aurochs horn in his big fist.
"Ah! That's good ale!" he said.
The hall was small but snug, the carven walls tastefully painted in black, red and green. It was the perfect place to down a few flagons of mead with one's shield-mates and swap stories of abominable temples and royal rescues.
"Save some for when your son comes home." his daughter-in-law said.
"Now Hildur," the old Viking said settling more comfortably into his chair. "Kormak may not be back for weeks if the raiding is good in Gaul."
"Freya's tears, I hope not!" the woman said brushing an auburn lock back from her forehead and absently rubbing her swollen belly. "He promised me he would be back before the baby was born and I am getting close."
"If it comes to that I'll be here in his stead." the aged giant said, quaffing ale and trying to be helpful.
"That's not a great comfort to me." the woman said.
"I should have taken the dragon ship south. Then Kormak could have stayed here with you."
"You're too old to go a viking!" Hildur said.
"Too old!" he exclaimed and crushed the drinking horn in his giant fist. "I'm as good a man as I ever was!"
"Good! A message came from the village of Arus. There's some kind of trouble down there and they need help. Would you go take care of it?"
"I'm always happy to be of assistance." the old Viking said.
"Just don't destroy the village like you did last time!"
"At least half of that village was still standing after I drove off that Wend raiding party!" the Skullsplitter said. "What kind of trouble are they having at Arus?"
"They are being plagued by an undead monster."
Wulfhere stood and stretched his mighty frame. "Don't you worry! I eat monsters for breakfast!"
"Have a nice meal." his daughter-in-law said sweetly.
***
The village was a quick run south by boat. With the wind at his back and rain and spindrift in his face Wulfhere navigated skillfully amongst the islands and sand-spits that straggled along the coast. Herds grazed on some of the islands and here and there seals played in the surf. A quick squall drenched the old Viking but Wulfhere reveled in the clean bite of wind and spray as his small, open boat road the waves and the noisy gulls wheeled above his head. He was once more in his element. To his ears the swelling sea beneath his keel made music better even than the clamor of battle.
Hnaef, the boy who had brought the news from Arus, was happily handling the sheets of the woolen sail. The boy had been talking constantly since he brought word of the village's affliction, mainly about his burning desire to prove himself as a warrior.
"I'd like to fight the Romans." the boy said. They say the legions conquered half the world!"
"You're too late." Wulfhere said. "Alaric sacked Rome eighty years ago, or a hundred and ten, I can never remember which. There are no more legions to fight."
"The Huns then!" the boy said. "I'd like to fight the Huns."
"Too late again." Wulfhere laughed. "Attila died fifty years ago. The days of Hun power are long gone!"
"Who is left for a Dane to fight then?" he asked.
Wulfhere judged wind and distance and put the tiller over. "Tacking." he said. They ducked as the boom swung over. "Well ... there's always the Norse, Jutes, Saxons, Franks, Sorbs, Chudes, Scots, Picts ..."
"Who are the Picts?" the boy asked.
"The last of the Men of Flint. Nasty customers! I've seen a pack of them hack an armored Viking right to pieces with their little barbed swords. But I think we should concentrate on fighting this draugr that is bedeviling your village."
"A draugr? What's that?" the boy asked.
"An animated corpse. The undead remnant of a man so evil and depraved in life that he cannot enter Odin's halls but must lie uneasily in a barrow till the world is unmade."
"I think I'd rather fight the Picts!" the boy said and then pointed. "There's Arus, straight ahead."
A delegation of the village's leading citizens met them at the shore. Wulfhere stayed just long enough to learn what they knew. Evidently the creature had been roaming the countryside, killing livestock and terrorizing the inhabitants. Anyone who attacked the monster had died a horrible death.
As the sun sank into the west Hnaef led Wulfhere, followed at a safe distance by the entire village, to the howe where the beast still dwelt. Twilight fell as they entered the deserted pasture before the barrow. In the gloom, the mound shone with a pearly, unnatural light. Wulfhere unslung his sturdy linden shield and uncased his axe. This was not the long, two-handed weapon of the later huscarl, but was still a heavy-headed shield-wrecker that could split a man from head to chine in a single blow.
As they watched a form appeared in the black hole that marked the breech in the wall of the barrow. In a moment the radiance of the mound revealed the draugr to their straining eyes. The creature was huge, its blueish flesh bulged out from the confines of its antique bronze breastplate and greaves. It dwarfed even Wulfhere who had seldom looked upwards at any man.
The creature shambled forward, its eyes glowed redly in the shadows of its helmet as Wulfhere stepped into the light from the mound. Without preliminaries the old Viking crouched behind his shield and rushed his grotesque opponent.
"Thor!" the Skull-splitter roared as he threw his weight behind his shield and barreled into the giant monster. He smashed into the creature with enough force to throw a bullock over onto its side. It was like crashing into a Roman wall. He rebounded from the jarring impact and slashed at the monster's flank with his heavy axe. The draugr seemed almost to smile, or perhaps it was just baring its yellowed teeth. Wulfhere's axe clove easily through the thing's brittle bronze corslet but the edge rebounded from its unnatural flesh. In return the creature smashed in the Dane's shield with one blow of its enormous fist.
Wulfhere roared in baffled fury and swung again, swiveling to get his considerable weight behind the blow. The axe connected with the monster's neck and should have sent its head spinning free from its body to land some yards away. Instead, the creature staggered two steps to the side before lumbering on and closing with the astonished Wulfhere.
The old Viking dropped his useless axe and shield and grappled with the beast. The draugr stank of mildew and corruption but its arms had the elemental strength of the earth. It squeezed Wulfhere till his ribs creaked and shifted in his chest. A black mist clouded the old Viking's eyes and his great heart hammered in his breast. For a moment the icy fingers of death reached out for him and he almost glimpsed the silver gates of Valhalla. Something elemental, some deeply seated quality of his barbaric nature preserved him. Grimly, he battled his way back to the world of living men.
Wulfhere growled, buried his face in the creature's rotting neck and grasped it round the waist in an iron grip. Exerting every ounce of his remaining strength he lifted the monster from the ground and threw it back into the howe. Its bulky form smashed into the wooden wall and the whole chamber shook.
"Thor!" the giant Dane roared, rushed into the barrow and leapt onto the creature's back.
He secured a grip on the draugr's neck and twisted till its hideous countenance faced straight backwards over its spine. Dropping free he watched the monster stagger blindly in circles, slamming carelessly into the walls and blundering about in pools of gleaming gold coins.
Wulfhere's ribs ached and his head was swimming. He cast about and saw a leaf-shaped, bronze sword lying on the floor. The old Viking hefted the antique weapon, it balanced strangely in his hand but had a reassuring weight and solidity.
WHACK! The first blow bounced harmlessly off the monster's neck. WHACK! A second blow bit deeply, severing the creature's spine. It dropped to its knees and Wulfhere stepped in. WHACK! The old blade sliced right through the draugr's neck and its swollen head fell to roll across the floor.
Wulfhere dropped the sword, he was gasping for breath and colored lights floated in front of his eyes. He shook himself, grabbed the creature's flailing ankles and dragged its body out into the night air where the villagers waited in an anxious knot.
"Here is the monster!" Wulfhere roared, tossing the twitching body into the pasture. "Burn it!"
He went back into the howe and searched till he found the draugr's head under a strangely figured silver table. He took it by one horn of its helmet and carried it outside. The head gnashed its teeth and tried to bite the old Viking's leg. There was already a blazing fire in the pasture and Wulfhere casually tossed the monster's head into the flames.
"When its ash, we'll cast it into the sea." Wulfhere said, brushing off his big hands.
"Should we close up the howe?" Hnaef asked. "Could there be more of those things in other chambers?"
"Good idea, we'll close it up nice and tight." Wulfhere said, clapping the boy on the shoulder.
Then he winked, "But first we'll divide the treasure. My share should be enough to buy and outfit a dragon ship. How would you like to ship out with me for the land of the Gaels. I think I'm going to look up an old friend!"
