The Blood Knight - J. Gregory Keyes [214]
With a roar of impotent rage, Neil slammed his shield into the man in front of him and beat at his head once, twice, thrice. The third time the shield dropped, and Battlehound slammed into his helm so hard that blood sprayed from his nose.
He pointed his sword at the giant and raised his voice above the din.
“Weihander! Thein athei was goth at mein piken!” he roared.
The result was remarkable: The giant’s face, already red, went perfectly livid. He charged toward Neil, disrupting the shield line he was supposed to be defending.
“What did you say?” Sir Edhmon shouted, panting heavily.
“I’ll tell you when you’re old enough,” Neil shot back. “But saints forgive me for insulting a woman I’ve never met.”
Before the Weihander could reach him, a new man filled the line in front of him and let his shield drop a little, perhaps as a ruse. Neil jerked his own shield up and then quickly chopped back down so that the pointed bottom of the board caught on the top of his foe’s guard and brought him down on one knee. Neil then clubbed the back of his head with Battlehound’s hilt.
Howling, the warrior charged into him, and they both went sliding down the rocky slope made by the fall of the waerd wall. Neil hit him again but couldn’t get the leverage he needed for a lethal blow; his arms and legs felt as if they’d been poured of lead.
He dropped his sword and felt for the dagger at his waist. He found it but discovered his foe had had the same idea a moment earlier as he felt the point of a dirk scrabble against his breastplate. Cursing, he fought his weapon free, but the moment had been enough; his breath went cold as steel slid through the joint on his side and between his ribs.
Choking back his scream, Neil plunged his knife under the back lip of the man’s helmet and into the base of his skull. His foe made a sound like a short laugh, jerked, then stopped moving.
Grunting, Neil pushed the limp corpse off him and tried to stand, but he hadn’t managed that when the giant reached him. He got his shield up in time to catch a blow from the fellow’s huge sword. It struck like thunder, and something in the shield cracked.
The giant cocked his weapon for another try, and Neil straightened and struck him under the chin with what remained of his shield. The Weihand stumbled back and fell.
Unfortunately, so did Neil.
Gasping, he threw off the board and retrieved Battlehound. A few kingsyards away, the Weihand rose to meet him.
Neil glanced back at the gap and saw Edhmon and four others still standing; the waerd defenders seemed to have all fallen. Sir Edhmon was starting down the slope toward the giant.
“No!” Neil shouted. “Stay together; find the siege engines. They’ll be lightly guarded. Stay together; make sure you get at least one of them! Then move on.”
The Weihand glanced at Edhmon and the others, then grinned fiercely at Neil.
“What’s your name?” he asked the giant.
His enemy paused. “Slautwulf Thvairheison.”
“Slautwulf, I apologize twice. Once for what I said about your mother, the second for killing you.”
“Just the first will do,” Slautwulf said, hefting his sword. “Silly bugger. You can hardly lift your weapon.”
Neil pressed his left hand over the hole in his side, but he knew there wasn’t any point; he couldn’t stop the blood.
Slautwulf charged then, his greatsword arcing out to cut Neil in half. Neil intended to outdistance the blow by a hairsbreadth, then rush in during the backswing, but he stumbled in the retreat, almost losing his footing entirely. The stroke missed by a decent margin, though, and the Weihand came again.
This time Neil narrowly avoided the stroke, then charged in as he’d planned. Slautwulf, however, anticipated that. Rather than trying to swing the blade again when he didn’t have time, he brought the hilt down on Neil’s helm. Neil let his legs go and collapsed, bending with the blow as much as he could, tumbling forward and thrusting Battlehound upward with all his might. He lay on his back with