Fred Saberhagen The Book of the Gods 05 Gods of Fire and Thunder

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Hal
and Baldur, as they had expected, were told that they were going out to
drill.
Nosam had their names down on a roster. "Couple of new ones for you,
Blackie."
Blackie, in his slyly indifferent way, gave Hal and Baldur what he said was
the
same warning he gave all new recruits, that there was no use trying to get
away.
There were only a couple of dozen live heroes on hand anyway, and the
Valkyries
ruthlessly pursued and brought back any who tried to get away except for
those
who died in the trackless mountains, trying to find their way out.
Hal and Baldur exchanged a look. When it came to planning an escape, they
were
conscious of having a special advantage shared by none of the other men in
the
barracks they had not been carried here on Horseback, but had walked into
Valhalla on their own two feet, and therefore they knew the path that could
carry them out. It seemed that no one but Alvit knew of their advantage.
The joking man from two bunks down, whose name was Baedeker, now seemed to
have
taken to his bed more or less permanently. The sergeant had excused him from
all
duty, and he did not look at all well. In fact the more Hal studied him, the
worse he looked, and Hal soon decided that the fellow might well be dying.
The
victim did not appear feverish, and so Hal thought there was probably little
risk of contagion. But to be on the safe side, he avoided getting too close,
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anyway.
During their first morning drill session, Hall and Baldur took part in the
scene
they had earlier witnessed from a distance: the daily combat drill, including
the charade of dueling, in which breathing Heroes were pitted against
wraiths.
Hal sparred very cautiously at first, guarding and striking as if he were in
a
fight against solid metal and solid muscle. He had to begin by assuming that
the
wraiths, with their fierce aspect, had some real power to inflict harm. But
this
proved not to be the case.
Fairly often during drill and marching these disobeyed the sergeant's orders,
or
rather simply ignored them, as if they were listening to commands from
someone
else. The result was that he gave them specific orders rarely; there was
after
all no way to punish them, by whipping, confinement, or deprivation of pay or
rations. The noncoms had long ago given up trying to shout them into
obedience.
On the positive side, several veterans assured Hal that these seemed to have
no
power to do serious harm. If you saw them from a distance, or squinted at
them
with your eyes nearly closed, they did lend a great air of military bustle
and
purpose to the establishment. When Hal was matched against them in the
practice
drills, he soon realized that their weapons were as insubstantial as their
bodies, and only stung and did not wound, when employed against live flesh
and
blood.
"Doesn't seem that they would be of much help in a real battle," he remarked
while getting back his breath.
"They do a great job of rounding up deserters," Corporal Blackie assured him
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with a smile.
"How do they manage that?"
"You felt the sting just now. Their swords and spears carry power and pain
enough to harry and drive men of solid flesh back up the trail. Though one or
two have chosen suicidal leaps instead."
Some other Hero demonstrated the essential harmlessness of their
wraith-opponents by allowing one of them to strike him several times. But
such
playful negligence seemed to be against orders. When Bran and Blackie
bellowed
at the offender, he went back to treating his opponents seriously.
The only one who never seemed to slack off during the drills was Bran, though
sometimes he would fake a withdrawal. Then with a yell he'd spin around and
rout
his insubstantial assailant with a powerful blow.
Panting with the effort, he smiled at Hal. "Hit a wraith a real good lick and
he
disappears for good. Just like a real man in that respect. Like most men,
that
is."
"If you keep exterminating ghosts, don't they all get used up after a while?"
"Wodan has a device that produces more." Apparently the answer was meant to
be
taken seriously.
Gradually Baldur was forced to the understanding Hal had already reached that
Wodan's fabled honor guard contained less than a score of living men in all,
and
most of those were in poor physical shape, hardly able to do more than go
through the motions of drilling and practicing at arms.
There were a few exceptions, most notably Corporal Bran, a great physical
specimen who seemed to genuinely feel a tremendous devotion to the god.
Fighting, even against ghosts, seemed to awaken something deep and terrible
in
the man's nature. When the drill was over, he seemed to be awakening from a
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trance. This man seemed to take a liking to Hal, and suggested that the two
of
them spar sometime with dulled blades.
"Don't think I want to dull my axe."
"That would truly be a shame. By the way, I like that helmet that you wear."
Hal thought that there was something lacking in Bran's eyes, as if he were
already dead. Outside of that, nothing in the man's appearance or behavior
made
him seem particularly threatening at all, at least at first glance, though he
was physically formidable enough. Several inches taller than Hal, with sandy
hair and beard, he owned sloping shoulders and powerful arms. He walked with
a
kind of eager, energetic shuffle and carried nothing extraordinary in the way
of
arms or armor. He was usually smiling, in a way that could easily be taken
for
mockery. But Hal soon decided that the man really had no thought of mocking
anyone.
Minute followed minute in this strange new existence, hour followed hour, a
full
day went by, and then another, and still Hal had heard nothing about stolen
gold. He kept making up imaginative scenarios to explain to himself what
seemed
a remarkable stroke of good fortune. The most optimistic of these said that [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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