Rain lunged, grabbed her father’s wrist, and tried to free Myrrima. In the scuffle the baron’s knife caught Rain on the forearm. Blood gushed.
Some children cried out in alarm while Rain staggered back, put her hand over the gash, and tried to staunch the blood.
Sudden resolution shone in Baron Walkin’s eyes. He decided to kill Myrrima. He grabbed her chin and pulled her head back, exposing her throat.
At the sight, Sir Borenson’s eyes lost focus. His face darkened and contorted in feral rage.
With a snarl the giant lunged so quickly that Draken’s eyes could hardly register the attack. Big men weren’t supposed to be able to move that fast.
No, Draken realized, human beings can’t move that fast!
Borenson grabbed Walkin’s knife wrist. He twisted, as if to disarm the man, but perhaps misjudged his own strength. Walkin’s wrist snapped like a tree limb, a horrifying sound.
Borenson gripped Sir Walkin by the left shoulder and lifted him into the air. He shook the man like a rag doll, whipping him about so hard that it looked as if Walkin’s head might come off. For a full ten seconds Borenson roared, a deep terrifying sound more befitting a lion than a man.
The scene was totally riveting, and time seemed to slow. Borenson roared and roared, staring beyond the baron, while women shouted for him to stop.
The baron shrieked in pain and terror. His eyes grew impossibly wide. Borenson seemed beyond hearing, beyond all restraint. He dug his enormous thumbs into the Baron’s shoulders, plunging them through soft flesh like daggers, gripping the poor man so hard that blood blossomed red on the baron’s tunic.
Then Borenson bellowed and pulled his hands apart, ripping the baron in two.
Blood spattered everywhere, glittering like rubies in the sunlight, and Draken saw the blue-white bones of the baron’s ribs. Half a lung and some intestine spilled from the baron’s ribcage.
Borenson continued to roar as he shook the man, raising him overhead, and at last he hurled Baron Walkin sixty feet—over the cliff.
Walkin hit some rocks with a cracking sound; a second later he splashed into the water.
Borenson whirled on the rest of the Walkin clan, muscles straining, as he roared another challenge.
No one dared move. Borenson stood huffing and panting.
The giant had taken leave of his senses. He glared at the crowd, as if searching for another enemy to rend in two. Gore dripped from his hands.
Instinctively, Bane backed away, as did the other Walkins.
The children shrieked in terror and cringed, gibbering in fear. Rain just stood in shock—both at what her father had done and at Borenson’s response.
Even Draken feared what Borenson would do next.
Then, slowly, Borenson began to come to. He stood peering about at the crowd, his eyes jerking and refusing to focus. He raised his hands, peered at the gore dripping down his arms, and moaned.
Draken could not quite believe it. He could look back now and recognize the instant that his father had lost control. And Draken knew that his father had regained it. But in between, his father had been . . . gone, acting on pure instinct. He wasn’t even a spectator in the battle.
Owen’s wife Greta stood motionless, her face drained of blood. She gaped at Borenson as if she’d just wakened from one nightmare to a greater nightmare, and then in a small voice said, “Grab your things, children. We have to leave. We have to leave now!”
She was shaking, terrified. She dared not turn her back on the giant, for fear of an attack. So she glared at him as the children gathered around.
Borenson did not move to stop her.
Weeping and fearful glances came from the children. Bane’s wife berated him, commanding him to “Do something!” while another young woman muttered insults under her breath, calling the giant an “ugly arr,” and an “elephant’s ass.”
Rain stood for a moment, looking between her family and Draken, unsure which way to choose.
“Stay if you want,” Myrrima pleaded with Rain softly. Rain hesitated, turned to look at Myrrima with tears streaming down her cheeks. The horror of what had happened was too great for her to overcome. She turned and began to follow her clan.
Draken called, “Rain!”
Myrrima told him, “And you can go if you want.”
Draken stood, in the throes of a decision. He knew that he couldn’t follow. Rain and her family, they’d never accept him now. Besides, he wasn’t sure about them anymore. The baron had been willing to kill them all.
The entire Walkin clan scuttled away, grabbing their few bags of goods, fading off into the shadows thrown by the rocks.
Borenson grumbled, “There will be other women, son. Few are the men who fall in love only once in their lives.”
“She’s special,” Draken said.
Borenson shook his head, gave the boy a suffering look, and said, “Not that special.”
Draken whirled and growled at his father, “And you have the nerve to lecture me about discipline!” Draken stood, trembling, struggling to find the words that would unleash all of his anger, all of his frustration.
Borenson turned away, unable to face him.
Borenson said, “I am a berserker, bred for two hundred generations to fight the wyrmlings. They come at us with axes and harvester spikes stuck into their necks. I meet them with my rage.
“Even among those bred to be berserkers, only one in ten can do it— set aside all the pain of battle, all of the fear and hesitation, and go into that dark place where no soul ever returns unscathed. . . .”
Borenson watched the Walkins, shook his head, and said under his breath. “They’ll be back. We should leave here—soon.”
“They won’t be back,” Myrrima said. “They’re more afraid of you than you are of them.”
“Fear only makes a coward more dangerous,” Borenson intoned.
Borenson stood, trembling at the release from his rage. His whole body seemed poised for battle, every muscle rigid. Draken had seen well-bred hunting dogs act that way.
“I had no choice but to kill,” Borenson told Myrrima. “The man put you in danger.”
Myrrima shouted, “You roared at children! No one does that. I not only don’t know who you are anymore, I don’t know what you are.” She hesitated. “Aaath Ulber, that’s what they called you on that other world?”
“It means Berserker Prime, or Greatest of the Berserkers,” Borenson said.
“Aaath Ulber then,” Myrrima said in disgust. “I shall call you Aaath Ulber from now on.”
Draken could see in the giant’s expression that he knew what Myrrima was doing. By calling him a different name, she was distancing herself from him.
For a moment, all fell silent. Draken fixed the new name in his mind.
Pure grief washed across Aaath Ulber’s face, but he took Myrrima’s rebuke. “Right then, Aaath Ulber it is.”
Draken stood between the two, bewildered. Draken was afraid of Aaath Ulber, terrified by what he’d done. The violence had been so fast, so explosive.
“Walkin deserved his punishment,” Aaath Ulber said evenly. “If that man was still alive, I’d kill him again. He planned to kill me, and then he would have done you.”
“How can you be so sure?” Myrrima demanded.
“I saw it in his eyes,” Aaath Ulber said.
“So, you can read minds on your other world?” Myrrima asked.
“Only shallow ones.” Aaath Ulber smiled a feral smile. He tried to turn away Myrrima’s wrath with a joke. “Look at the good side of all of this,” he said. “We won’t be squabbling with the in-laws over who gets to eat the goose’s liver at every Hostenfest feast.”