Thor threw out his palms. "It's one of the magical mysteries, like the go-faster stripes and the sides of the wheel being painted white. But Garm says that he likes to travel by chariot. Loki asked me to give you your sword back."
He handed the weapon over. "Now, do we attack Surt?"
Frey nodded. "I never really believed it, when Ratatosk brought us word. But my father trusts him."
Loki came trotting out of the smoke. "Frey, I want you to take the east flank. Öku-Thor will take the west. And I am going to meet them in the middle. That's where they'll least expect me. And brace yourselves. We're going to be fighting in the rain."
"Rain?"
"Our Thor is a thunder-god. He can do rain if he wants to. He's drawing it now from the west. It would be better from the north, but it's too cold up there."
Loki turned to Emmitt. "Give Frey the slow count to thirty and sound the advance."
"I don't know how to play that," said Emmitt uncertainly.
Loki grinned. "The horn does. And you're a better player than Gold-teeth."
Frey turned his boar-drawn chariot. Thor looked at the mess on the thin snow. "He needs better emission control on that thing."
Among the Vanir, horns sounded. And then Emmitt raised Gjallarhorn and blew.
Even the smoke seemed to shiver.
Öku-Thor urged Tanngnjóst and Tanngrisnir into a trot and then into a gallop. Emmitt saw how he drew his hammer and gripped it in one metal-gauntleted hand while he handled the chariot with the other. All of a sudden, he didn't look at all like a fat recovering alcoholic. He looked like . . .
Well. Thor. The Thor. He was really pretty scary.
Lightning cracked and the thunder roared and echoed. Ahead, like a huge red wall, were the fire giants out of Muspellheim. Their swords flamed.
And hissed and spluttered a lot, as the rain suddenly came in from behind them.
"Hold tight and keep blowing!" bellowed Thor.
Emmitt would remember the next half an hour vividly for the rest of his life. Partly he would remember it as total confusion, and thunder, and blowing the great horn, but mostly for the vivid little snatches of Thor, radiating lightning, and smashing giant heads like watermelons. There were a lot of giant heads, but without their fire they were fairly feeble swordsmen.
Still, there seemed an endless supply of them. And even through the rain Emmitt caught glimpses of occasional fires. Something was still burning.
Burning hot.
Chapter 40
The task of finding Odin was temporarily delayed by two things. The first was the need to avoid the rising water. The second was that the heavens seemed to have opened. In the rain it was hard to find their own way, let alone locate anyone else.
They fought their way uphill. There was lightning about, but it all seemed to be to the east somewhere. "Papa," said Thrúd proudly. "Look at that!"
Sheets of lightning lit up the sky. "I feel almost sorry for the fire giants," she added, not sounding sorry at all.
The rain did seem to be slackening off by the time they got up the rise. They could see a short distance now, far enough to see that the Gjallar river had already filled its gorge and was spilling out onto the fenlands next to the wall.
"Well, at least I know where we are now," said Thrúd. "Odin's Valhöll lies over that ridge."
"He's not likely to be there, though," said Jörmungand, peering through the rain.
"Two of the life-sources from outside this Ur-world have penetrated your walls," said the Krim device. "And you need to intervene in the battle on the plain. It goes badly for Surt."
"I am Lord of Battles, Thing. Don't try to tell me what to do." Odin had long since banished the Krim persona and taken complete charge of himself. "Even if Surt falls, the walls of Asgard cannot be taken by frost or mountain giants. They are stuck outside."
"Except that two of your enemies are inside, I told you."
"Mortals?"
That was what Odin termed life-sources. "Yes."
Odin took Gungnir and stood up. "Thjalfi, bring those retainers of yours. You've got some of your own kind to deal with."
Odin-Krim did not seem to understand. What had been done so far, raising the old altars, reenacting the old myths with believers had reanimated this Mythworld. It would inevitably start to slowly fade without non-Ur-Mythworld believers importing energy into the system. Such a construct was energy expensive. It might be stable enough for a few hundred years, but real stability, the kind the Krim liked, took far more energy. A lot more belief and a lot more lives, both within and from outside.
Dripping wet, Marie led her Valkyrie troop into Bilskríner, Thor's home.
Nobody was at home, except for the stable thrall, Lodin. He swallowed hard at the sight of her.
"The master is away." Lodin rose hastily from in front of a fire he probably wasn't supposed to be sitting at, looked at her guiltily and put down a foaming horn. "It was so cold and wet, and with even the goats gone, and Ragnarok here I thought . . ."
Marie waved him to sit. "We've brought three hundred and eleven horses for you to look after. And I reckon you deserve a raise and some decent living quarters. And we're all starving. Any food in the place?" The truth was, she wasn't starving. But maybe food would help her with the light-headedness.
"Lots of smoked salmon. And some flattbrød."
"Excellent," said Marie, vaguely wondering what flattbrød was. "Let's get the horses in and eat. Brynhild will organize food and some more fires. Lodin, drink up and come and open the stables, and you can tell me where that husband of mine has got to."
The ravens were up, flying across a rain-drenched Asgard, and Odin was riding Sleipnir followed by a pack of Einherjar. Trailing behind them were Thjalfi-Harkness and Bott and Stephens, struggling to ride.
The sun broke through as they crested a ridge . . . and stopped. Relieved, Agent Bott managed to catch up, in time to see the entire group staring out across a lovely lake. It was a pretty sight, even if you could see the mirrored reflection of two dragons in it.
"Loki!" screamed Odin. "Curse you, trickster!" He turned on his Einherjar. "Get down there and unblock it!"
Bott looked at the lake, lapping against the wall. Must be some sort of drain that was blocked. It looked quite deep.
A raven dropped onto Jerry's shoulder. "Odin is looking for you," said Hugin. "Got any jelly beans?"
Jerry didn't. But Thrúd did. "Where is he?"
"Back along that trail," said the raven. "Good war going on down there. Plenty of fresh corpses. Waste of time to be flying around here."
"Why don't you go and fly there and tell Loki we're in and the Gjallar river is blocked and rising."
"Has he got more jelly beans?"
Thrúd nodded. "And lots of dead fire giants. I think you'll like them."
Hugin took flight and the party of four took the trail that the raven had pointed a wing at. It was narrow and steep, leading up a spur, and hard going for Jörmungand.
"I wonder if we wouldn't be wise to wait in ambush," said Jerry.
"Too late," said Sigyn.
Sure enough, there was Odin on the neck of the trail. He couldn't have chosen a better spot for self-defense either. There were a series of steep curving rock steps zigging into the little gully and then zagging out again, so that if they came up to attack him they could be neatly speared from above. It was also such a narrow gully that Jörmungand would have to skirt around rather than go up it.
Behind Odin were the traitorous Bott and Stephens and Thor's man Thjalfi. Odin started to lower his spear and then spotted Jörmungand. "Einherjar!" he bellowed.
Odin didn't have Thor's voice, but he obviously thought he had backup coming.
Jerry studied the situation, and didn't like what he saw. If the Einherjar came up behind them, they could attack Jörmungand before she could turn. And if she did turn, then Odin, on horseback and with a spear, would surely kill some of them. Sigyn had a knife and Jerry a sword he really didn't know how to u
se, and a net that he could see no way to use at all. Thrúd could certainly use her battle-axe, but one-eyed Odin was the lord of battles, for all his faults. He probably was the second most powerful warrior of all the Æsir, and he had cunning on his side.
Cunning that led him to turn to Thjalfi. "Go down."
Thjalfi paled, and turned to his foot-soldiers. "Get them."
Nervously, they began to advance.
Jörmungand spat venom at them. It fell short, but where it landed, it actually ate into the rock, hissing.
The two PSA agents stopped. Both began unlimbering what looked suspiciously like crossbows.
Jerry decided to try to beat Odin at his own game. He concentrated on speaking English. He had no idea if his words were being translated or not.
"Why are you doing this? I'm a fellow American!" he shouted.
"We've got a job to do. And we're as stuck here as you are!" That came from Stephens, putting a quarrel in the groove. He jerked his head at Thjalfi. "And we figure Mr. Harkness here is the boss, in this situation—and those are his orders."
"Think very carefully about what you are doing. We have found a way back. The sphinx and Bes and Cruz made it through. They've taken Ella and Ty and Tolly back. Cruz is coming with reenforcements and soon we should all be able to head home to America. That applies to you too, if you take that bastard down."
The agent stopped in the act of cocking the crossbow.
His fellow agent put a hand on Stephens' weapon, pushing it down. "We can go home," said Bott, with huge relief. "Stephens, we'll have succeeded in our mission. We've got Mister Harkness, after all." He, too, nodded at Thjalfi.
Suddenly, a lot of things made sense to Jerry. "Harkness is in his fifties and overweight and bald. I know. I was shown pictures at the debriefing. You must have seen pictures too. This guy is not Harkness. Anyway, I don't care who he is. Right now we have one Æsir against us. Help us, and we'll help you."
Stephens blinked. "But he knows all the codes . . ."
Bott blinked also. "He said he was magically disguised . . ."
"Apples of youth," snarled Thjalfi. "And I am telling you that it is in the national interest that you kill that man. He's anti-American."
"Do that and you lose all chance of going home," said Jerry with a confidence he didn't feel. "Odin—"
The wavering Bott turned, and at that moment, Thjalfi-Harkness cut him down from behind, with a vicious stroke through his spine and heart. Stephens, beginning to turn, realized that Odin's spear was leveled at him. His companion's body abruptly disappeared.
"You killed him," said Stephens incredulously.
"Shoot them," said Thjalfi-Harkness, his voice harsh. "I haven't got this far to be stopped by some longhaired university left-wing asshole. Get the dragon first."
Just then a bat-winged spiky shadow passed overhead.
"Down there! That's Jerry!" yelled Liz, looking at the scene.
"And that's our darling," said Bitar, almost throwing Liz off with his delighted wriggle. "Jörgy! Roses are red, and violets are blue, and they both stink compared to you!"
Lamont was also having to cling, desperately, as Smitar did an aerial dance for Jörmungand too. "My darling, how I hunger for your touch and your lunch, let's get a bunch to munch!" he caroled.
"Set us down before you drop us. And spare us any more Vogon poetry!" said Liz.
Hastily the dragons swooped down on the ridge, and Liz and Lamont bailed onto the rocks above the stand-off. It was a dangerous maneuver, but it beat more poetry.
Looking down, Liz could see Stephens raising his crossbow, and Jörmungand fluttering her eyelashes at her suitors.
"Stephens, I'll shove that thing up your ass sideways unless you drop it!" yelled Liz.
Lamont, ever practical, was lifting a large rock.
Jörmungand looked up at the aerial acrobatics. "Boys," she said, "I hear some knights coming to attack our rear. Could you . . . "
Marie had come out to get a bit of fresh air. The smell of food was appetizing, but maybe the cancer had advanced more rapidly than she'd expected or she'd been asleep longer than she realized. Lodin, poor thrall, had retreated from a house full of females too. He was about to run into the stables, when Marie looked up at the ridge. And screamed.
"What's wrong?"
"I know those two dragons! And I'll bet that's my husband! I can tell by the way he moves. Lodin, please—help me up onto one of these damn winged nags."
Marie Jackson had never ridden a horse on her own in her life before, let alone been in control of one with wings. But she wasn't going to let that stop her.
She nearly fell off as the horse reared aerially at the sound of a great roar . . . as the weight of the water burst through the wall of Asgard. But she kept her seat somehow, and forced the horse on to the drama unfolding below.
She heard yells behind her, and realized that the better part of her three-hundred-odd Valkyries were also following. They were much better riders. Her horse had gained more height than she'd intended—but that let her see Odin's Einherjar charging upward from the broken wall to answer their master's summons.
Somehow Marie had drawn the sword Gram without cutting herself or the horse. "Get them!" she yelled, pointing. And then, suddenly realizing that she could in fact talk to this stupid animal, she leaned forward. "Get me down there or I'll chop your head off."
Out on Vrigid plain, Loki felt an itch between his shoulder blades that said "Gungnir," and waited for the sally and the attack to his vulnerable rear. He and Fafnir and Hel's corpse-army had cut deep into Surt's demon-troops. The rain had dealt a severe blow to the fire giants, but their flames did not die. So Loki had found he could turn the flames against them. They burned hot and he made them hotter, until they burst, destroying themselves and those around them.
And then came . . . not the sound of Einherjar horns that he'd feared, but a far sweeter sound. A raven caw. It said, "Gjallar is blocked and rising."
"The Einherjar are trying to fix it," said Munin, joining his brother.
"Got any jelly beans?" they demanded in chorus.
It was a good thing that he was fond of the magical beans himself and had brought a few with him. He turned to Fenrir. "Howl! Let the others know that we must press forward hard now."
Fenrir howled. The wolves and Hel's dead took up the sound. It would echo across Asgard. Let Odin know fear, now. From close, far closer than he'd realized, came the answer of the Vanir horns, and then the deep-throated terrible song of Gjallarhorn.
And almost as a reply came the distant roar of water and stone.
"Charge!" shouted Loki. His wolf-steed son needed no urging. Surt's remaining fire giants fled. Thunder roared from the west. On the East, Frey's sword sang.
And then there was space. In front of them stood Surt the fire demon of the East, burning so hot that nothing could stand close. Loki dismounted from Fenrir, and walked forward. Fenrir followed. "Go back, son," said Loki. "Your fur will burn."
"And you?" asked Fenrir.
Loki laughed. "One cannot burn a flame." In the periphery of his vision he saw Thor fling a thunderbolt at Surt. It was ineffectual, as Loki knew it would be. Surt was a creature of flames himself.