guards, a horn of mead in his paw. He grinned knowingly…
Chapter Nine
Glam chewed his mustache and watched Ragnar worrying at a beef bone like one of his dogs, and bellowing in raucous laughter at a story told him by one of his warrior captains. Glam took a pull from his horn and wiped the foam from his face with the back of one hairy hand. Soon, you dirty bastard, soon. For two years, I have waited and done your dirty work and kissed your ass. But that is just about over now. Muted groans from the other side of the door brought his and the two guards' heads around. The guards merely looked somewhat confused and bored, but Glam knew. Deep in his heart, he knew what was now on the other side of that massive oaken door-death!
The slide bar moved an inch back and forth but it couldn't be opened except from this side and Glam knew that now was the time. Moving closer to the guards, he laughed out loud. Bellowing laughter as if he had just seen or thought of something terribly funny. He roared with mirth and lurched toward the guards. They grinned and began to laugh a little, not knowing why they laughed, but the giant's obvious good humor was contagious. Glam leaned a heavy arm on the shoulder of the nearest man. 'Jonash,' he addressed the smiling guard, 'you won't believe what's going to happen.' The laughter rolled forth from him again. 'You just won't believe it.' He wiped a tear from his eye with his free hand, the other holding the mead, almost spilling over.
Jonash couldn't keep back a chuckle. 'Why then, tell me, you great hairy old walrus. What wouldn't I believe?'
Glam almost fell over laughing. 'Why, that you're going to die, you fool, and soon.'
Confusion broke over the warrior's face; a touch of anger in his voice. He didn't like people making jokes at his expense. 'And just how do you know that?'
Glam leaned heavier on his shoulder, his hand gripping hard. 'Because, I'm going to kill you.'
The latch bar on the door rattled again. The other guard merely looked bored. They all knew that Glam had a penchant for practical jokes and as long as he wasn't involved, he really didn't give a damn.
Jonash was getting pissed. 'Knock off that crap, Glam. I don't like that kind of talk, even if you are joking.'
Glam roared with glee. 'But that's what's so funny, you little swine.' He straightened up and threw the half- filled horn of mead into the man's face. 'I'm not joking.' Before either one could move, the great axe was free of its strap and swinging up to slice off the side of the blinded man's head. Then, with a quick turning of the wrist, the axe, without being brought back up or down, was heading into the open mouth of the other guard. The thick blade broke teeth and bone on its way to reach the spinal cord in the back of the man's neck.
Neither one made a sound in their dying. What little sound there had been of their falling was covered by the noise of the revelers.
Glam moved one of the bodies out of the way of the door and put his hand on the latch that would release what he knew was waiting on the other side. He whispered at the door, 'Casca, it's me, Glam. I'm going to open up, so don't start swinging. There's a party going on, and the hall is filled.' The latch slid and the door swung open to the inside.
Standing there, lit by the glow of the torch, was Casca. Glam almost dropped his axe. His master looked more like a nightmare caricature of a man than the clean-shaven Roman he had fought beside so many times. Caked filth hung from his chest and body in clots, his hair and beard were wild and tangled, and he held a dripping axe in each hand. But the eyes were the worst. Deep-sunken, the gray blue in them was gone. They were as dark as the river Styx in which the fires of hell were ready to be set free. Words came out of the cracked lips, a dry whisper from the years of not speaking. Hoarse, the voice spoke: 'Glam, it's good you waited. We have work to do this night.'
Glam couldn't speak. Never in his worst dreams had he ever seen anything that looked like his master did now. He nodded his head in agreement and stepped back to let him enter. As a pebble tossed into a pond spreads an expanding ring of ripples over the surface, silence spread through the hall, as first one reveler, then another, saw the weird and fearful apparition step forward, moving slowly, feet shuffling, as if the beast were terribly weary and running out of strength. The creature came closer to the center of the table. The increasing silence finally reached the ears of Ragnar. He stopped in his feeding. A piece of unchewed meat dropped from his open mouth to land on the table.
Casca stood in the center of the Hall. His eyes, running over the faces of the feasters, stopped on the face of Lida. She was more beautiful than he had remembered. Her head was turned, she seemed to be listening to the silence. A look of wonder played across her features. He moved to lock his gaze on that of Ragnar. Ragnar may have been a cruel brute, but he was no coward. The thing of skin and protruding ribs that stood before him had at first startled him. The bloody axes said that it was dangerous, but no more than many he had faced and killed. And from the look of the creature, it couldn't have much strength in it. Maybe it was some kind of joke.
One of Ragnar's mastiffs moved out from under the table where it had been feeding on scraps. A brindle- colored, thick-necked animal, it moved stiff-leggedly closer to the man in the center of the hall. Its nose tasted the strange odor, and its muzzle curled back in a snarl to show yellow canines. There was something about this man that was wrong.
Casca watched the approach of the fighting dog, his eyes on the animal. His lips, too, drew back in a snarl. A low growl came from inside, never rising to much more than a barely audible level, but enough for the dog to understand and fear.
The beast turned its eyes away from Casca. Its tail going down between its legs, it began to back away. It smelled no fear on this man, only the taste of death. The dog's growls slowly changed to the thin whimpers of fear that it hadn't made since it was a pup and had been faced down by one of the older dogs. It knew it was no match for this man. The dog's body assumed the position of submission, its spine curved and its tail between the legs. It slowly backed away, continuing to make the puppy noises. It would have no part of this. It left the hall to find a place to hide outside.
This more than the filthy starved caricature himself brought a sense of caution to Ragnar. There was a strange feeling to the silent man in this Hall. Something he had never experienced before. An aura that one might find while walking through a field of ancient battles where warriors lay dead with their weapons beneath one's feet.
Ragnar spoke, no trace of humor in his voice now. 'And just what are you?' He turned his attention to his guests. 'Have some of you thought to play a joke on me?'
The creature interrupted him. His voice was a dry husky whisper that everyone in the room could clearly hear. 'What am I? I am the death that walks at every man's shoulder. I am the bearer of silence and the end to pain.' He raised the axe in his right hand and pointed the spiked end at Ragnar. 'I am Casca.'
Lida's lips let free a small cry at the name, but was quickly silenced by Ragnar with a back hand across her mouth. He growled low and dangerously. 'This is a poor joke, wretch. And I find it not to my liking. The Roman dog is long dead by my order.'
Casca laughed, a thin bitter sound that sent chills up the backs of the less hearty there. 'So you did order. But I live… And now, it is your turn to die.' He leaped forward, axes swinging. One would not have thought that he would have had enough strength in his thin knobby arms and wrists to lift even one of the heavy-bladed battle axes, but he did and more.
Two men died with their smashed heads laid open and their brains mingled with their dinner. Glam had moved behind the feasting table and was waiting for Casca's move. When it came he was ready.
Casca leaped upon the table, scattering bowls and flagons. Ragnar fell over on his back in his haste to get up, and the bony man was instantly on him. He had lost one axe when it stuck in the brain case of one of Ragnar's bodyguards. With the remaining one, he used the side and knocked Ragnar to his stomach, holding him there with the spiked point at the base of his neck. Glam had moved to cover him. The guests and their ladies did nothing. They knew that to move was to invite death.
Casca stood, sides heaving, over the object of his anger. 'You would starve me and blind your own daughter.' A beef bone, the size of a big man's forearm, fell from the table to rest beside Ragnar. There were still some chunks of meat on it. Even at this moment, the sight of the first food he had been near in two years was too much. Keeping the spike at the neck of Ragnar, he picked up the bone and began to gnaw on the large knuckled joint. The
