Sleipnir

He'd almost said "before I can escape." The words all but hovered in the clear air between us. I didn't know what to say. I unstrapped my backpack from the saddle and slung it across my shoulders, then we mounted and rode away in silence. I didn't give Skuld so much as a backward glance.

Chapter Sixteen

Baldr led the way around the shore of Urd and rode off in a different direction from the way we'd entered. I followed without protest. Whatever his reasons, Baldr had chosen to lead me where I wanted to go, which was better, I supposed, than being abandoned to Skuld.

I didn't quite know what to make of my interview with Skuld. Had she been trying to warn Baldr? Or me? Why? And of what? I narrowed my eyes, and tried to recall exactly what she'd said.

Helblindi was another name for Odin: "He who blinds with death"—a fitting title if ever I'd seen one.

I snorted, which earned me a curious glance from Baldr. I held his gaze, but declined to enlighten him. He grunted once, then turned back around in the saddle; but not before his facial muscles tightened. From his expression, it was obvious he was begi

As well he should. Not that I meant Baldr any harm. I wondered briefly if seeing Loki about Sleipnir was the smartest thing I could have tried. Probably not. Unfortunately, I'd gone to a lot of trouble to set this hunt in motion. I could hardly back out now. Besides, it was still the only way I knew to get my hands on Sleipnir, and without Sleipnir, there wasn't much purpose to anything I'd accomplished so far. So I worried and rode and worried some more, and didn't even notice when Baldr and his horse vanished. My horse did, though. I grabbed wildly at his mane when he reared and danced sideways.

"... stupid, walking lump of Purina Dog Chow..."

I went on in this vein at some length; but I managed to haul the animal's head around and forced him in the direction I wanted to go. I promised myself solemnly that when I caught up with Baldr, I was going to arrange a trade in mounts—forcibly, if necessary. This greenbroke nag was determined to get me killed. Probably another present from Odin. If the witless animal pulled another stunt like this one, I'd serve him to Odin for his goddamn di

A shimmer swallowed us. My horse's hooves rang on solid stone—and bone-chilling cold knifed through my light clothing. I experienced a massive bout of shivering before I managed to get the pack off and the fur jacket on. Even then, I couldn't get warm.

There was damn little light anywhere. My horse quieted down uncertainly while I peered through the darkness to get my bearings. Crossing the spatial bubble the Norns lived in had accomplished more than just crossing a section of Niflheim—it appeared we'd left Niflheim altogether.

A dully glowing wall of maroon rock rose just ahead. A wide lip curved outward, forming a deep overhang. It was almost a small cave. The overhang was bathed in ghastly, rust-colored light. Enormous boulders glowed like bloodstone on all sides. Inside the overhang I could see movement; but couldn't quite discern what was moving.

Baldr dismounted. I followed his example. As my feet touched the ground, I noticed an odd trembling underfoot, almost like the rumble of heavy machinery felt through a concrete floor—except I didn't hear anything.

Or did I? Yes, there was a sound, almost too low to hear. A sort of rustling, scraping noise, like leathery scales crawling across straw... .

A chill crept up my spine. "Baldr, where in God's name are we?" I whispered.

Baldr ignored the metaphysical gaffe. He didn't quite whisper, but his voice was low when he answered. "We're in Niflhel."

A world of eternal darkness and ice, where murderers and other evil men were sent for punishment.

"Loki is chained here. And this," he added, "is as far as I go." Baldr's expression was unreadable. "Family killing family is terrible. I will not seek Loki's company for any reason. Nor am I... allowed to remain." A strained expression crossed his face; he said quietly, "`Brothers will fight and kill each other... an axe age, a sword age... a wolf age...' Do you understand me?"

I didn't have to answer. I understood exactly what he meant, and didn't want to talk about it. Fimbulvetr, the three-year-long Terrible Winter that would come just before Ragnarok, and the end of everything... These were the portents that heralded its arrival. Skuld—and Odin—were afraid I might be the one to bring it down on their heads. Baldr gripped my arm—very hard indeed for a dead man—and met my gaze squarely.

"Be warned. Loki is master of lies and trickery. His moods are more changeable now than ever before. He may be chained; but he is still very, very dangerous to a mortal man. Do what you must, for Fate will have it no other way, but guard your life if you value it."

That struck me as an odd statement for a god who believed wholeheartedly in predestination. I wondered if Skuld's predilection for strange behavior was contagious.

"I must leave you now. Remember—caution... ."

My mouth was dry and my palm was wet when I clasped his arm.

"I... uh... thanks." I wanted to say more but had no idea how to say it. I owed Baldr my life. Killing his father wasn't much of a thank you, which made the moment more awkward than it should have been. "Guess you ought to take this worthless nag back with you, huh?" I jerked my thumb at my horse.

Baldr shook his head solemnly. "Keep him for a while. If you don't need him, he'll find his way back home. But if you do need him..."

"Yeah."

Baldr gripped my arm one last time; then turned, mounted, and galloped away without another word. The Norse weren't much on prolonged goodbyes. Either that, or he was as scared as I should have been. I watched him disappear into the shimmer marking the boundary with the Norns' world; then I leaned against a nearby boulder and contemplated my situation. I had a horse that bolted at the sight of its own shadow, but I was in better physical shape than when I'd started out, thanks to Verdani and that marvelous drink of water.

I was about to meet Loki face-to-face—with no guarantee I'd survive the interview. Well, I was armed to the teeth, and then some. Meet Loki? Nothing to it. Just walk right up and introduce myself. I'd survived Hel and Fate; what was a little chat with Loki?

I shrugged out of my battered pack and started getting ready. The soil was so cold I wondered whether it might be made of frozen hydrogen. On further reflection, I decided that if the temperatures here were cold enough to freeze hydrogen solid, I'd be a Han Solo-style popsicle by now. I was, however, still alive and functioning. Well, mostly. I wasn't too sure the end of my nose was ever going to regain feeling.

Despite the numbing temperatures, I took my time getting ready. No sense rushing in half-assed. Half-asses got killed a little too quickly to suit me. I did not want to die in this frozen wasteland.

I loosened the Armalite from the pack and restrapped it so I could pull it loose with one quick jerk. Then I checked my spare magazines and stuck them into various convenient pouches on my web gear where I could get at them in a hurry. There were six extras for the rifle and two spares for the P-7. I had some good civilian, soft-point hunting ammo in the rifle, but had been able to get only military "hardball" ammunition for the pistol. I regretted again that I hadn't had enough cash to buy a large supply, and so had picked up some old World War II surplus stuff—armor-piercing German rounds—priced to sell. It'd tested okay when I shot some; but I didn't like it as much as the hollow points I would rather have had in the P-7.

It occurred to me presently that I was letting my preparation become procrastination. I couldn't afford to let my courage get cold. Caution was one thing—but too much thought bred inaction and that would probably prove fatal. So. The guns were set, the ammo was set, and Gary's knife...