Sleipnir

"It's time, isn't it?" I asked.

She nodded silently.

"Rangrid—"

"Don't. Please."

She left the tub quietly, and dried herself; then turned and held a clean towel for me. She kissed my lips again, with tears in her beautiful eyes; but she didn't shed them, and her chin came up resolutely, reminding me of someone, from long ago... .

She hugged me fiercely. I held her for long moments, with my heart thumping so hard it hurt. I wasn't sure whether she hugged me for comfort, or to offer it, but I wasn't ready to let go yet when she finally pulled away. I cursed Odin and followed her into the bedroom, where she dressed me in battle clothing. It felt alien and awkward. Heavy leather pants and shirt offered minimal protection. Over these went a sword belt, to which I supposed I would hitch some sort of scabbard. I certainly didn't have a sword of my own, and wondered darkly if Odin intended to offer me one. Last came my own boots, carefully cleaned and laced with new leather laces.

"Neither of you will wear armor," she said softly, "for this is a duel of skill, to test your cu

"Isn't that a little lopsided?"

She bit her lip; then nodded.

"Dammit, Rangrid, this isn't a duel; it's a goddamned execution, and you know it. I've never carried a sword in my life; yet Odin's got his favorite weapons, and twice as many, to boot. Why? He's already got the advantage. Is he that goddamned scared?"

"We need you," was all she would say.

Like bloody hell.

I didn't answer at all. After a moment she crossed the room to a heavy cabinet, where she took out a sword and sheath. She squared her shoulders; then turned and held out the weapon. The gesture was familiar... .

Abruptly I knew.

Knew, and hated the very sight of her. The pride in every line of her body was the same. Although the hair that tumbled around her shoulders was golden instead of silver, and lines of age and grief had been erased, all the little familiarities had clicked into place.

It was her.

Ingrid Vernon.

I had spent the night with my best friend's grandmother.

And she worked for Gary's murderer.

"You—"

I couldn't even get the curse out past my throat. I wanted to strike her, punish her for such a cruel deception, for playing games with my life, and Gary's. Everything I'd felt while holding her, while making love with her, burned to ashes in an instant.

"You... murderous... bitch... !" I stalked forward, fists clenched—

She whipped the sword up between us. Its flashing point stopped me cold. Angry as I was, I wasn't about to get myself killed before my chance at Odin came.

I narrowed my eyes to slits, and calculated my chances of ducking under her guard. Not very damned good... She held her distance, but that wicked sword hung poised to strike.

"What's wrong, Rangrid?" I gritted. "Aren't you going to press the attack? Oh, sorry, I forgot. You're saving me for the boss, aren't you? Just exactly what was your assignment, Mrs. Vernon? Keep the fool busy screwing his brains out half the night, so he'll be nice and tired for the grand finale? Damn you to hell, did you kill Gary yourself before Sleipnir took him?"

I thought for an instant she would strike. I hoped she did, so I'd have an excuse to kill her. Rangrid was trembling. Her eyes flashed like the edge of the sword between us.

"I did not kill my grandson!"

"Blow it out your—"

"I DIDN'T KILL HIM!"

Something broke inside her. I could see it snap. The sword point dropped about six inches. She heaved one great sob, and caught it back again, then squeezed shut her eyes. In that instant, I could've taken her. I was ready for just that kind of opening. Ready, and more than capable of snapping her lovely neck in about a quarter of a second. In that moment, killing her would have been easy.

I almost lunged. Almost.

A faint, high moan, and the convulsive swallow that followed it, stopped me. Her hand was shaking despite the steadying weight of the sword. She opened too-bright eyes, and found my gaze. Something told me she knew how close I'd come to testing her speed with that sword. Something else told me she wouldn't have struck.

Which was crazy.

Rangrid was one of Odin's closest allies.

Her voice came at last, so choked I could hardly hear her.

"Did you think the old stories weren't true? Of course we lead mortal lives, take lovers and husbands, give birth to strong warriors, fiery daughters. Your race is stronger and better for it. Not all our sons bleed for the Valfather... ."

Her voice strangled.

Mine came out cold, each word a piece of ice dropping into the silence. "Gary wasn't supposed to die."

"No! He was not! I still don't know why Odin took him! It wasn't the right time. There should have been a wife, children... ."

There were no words to express what was inside me. There was nothing in striking range for me to kill. So I bit down on it, and stored it up to give to Odin when the time was right.

"I even went to Skuld," Rangrid said harshly. "I demanded an answer. She wouldn't say anything! Wouldn't do anything. She just looked right through me, like it wasn't my affair... ."

Her laugh hurt me.

"Can you imagine," Rangrid said, her voice shattering again on a semihysterical note, "not my affair?" Her eyes met mine again. "And you," she snarled—the sword came up again—"how could you possibly say such things to me? I should have made Skuld take back the Biter, rather than let it fall to the likes of you—"

"Skuld?" I interrupted. "What do you mean? Why would you give the Biter to Skuld?"

Rangrid blinked. "My God. You really don't know what I gave you, do you?"

I very nearly exploded. Instead, I counted to thirty—in German, English, and Spanish, then started over in German, just to be sure—and said, "No. How could I?"

The tip of her sword dropped just the tiniest fraction. Rangrid frowned. "Skuld carved the Biter with her own hands, before the Valfather was born."

That explained why it was black. Whatever it had started out as, her hands had burned every millimeter of its surface. A chill settled over me. If Skuld were the living personification of the future, which burned away each second of our lives, what in God's name was the Sly Biter?

Rangrid's voice went bitter again. "All of us, all the valkyries, share that in common with the Biter. All of us are older than Odin. We rode to battle at Skuld's bidding long before he took over Asgard, long before he tried to banish the Vanir."

She shook wildly tumbled hair across bare shoulders. "He did not succeed! No more than he succeeded in stealing the Biter for himself. I've kept it hidden away in my mortal family for centuries, where not even Hugin and Munin thought to look. After all the centuries we've spent in Valhalla, Odin trusts us valkyries, and never suspected." She sniffed, with a long, long lifetime of disdain in that single sound. "Besides, Skuld is my elder sister. Naturally, when the last of my family died, I took the Biter back to her for safekeeping."

I tried to digest all these bits of news. Shook the wrinkles out of them and put them in perspective with everything else. "And just what did Skuld say when you tried to return it?"

Rangrid frowned. "It didn't make sense, then." She met my eyes, and scowled. "Although it makes too much sense now. Skuld told me a stubborn young fool was going to need it, because he was probably on his way to making some serious enemies."

"Huh." That was putting things mildly.

A tiny vertical line between her brows marred perfection.

"It was so unlike Skuld to say that, too. Strange things are happening in the Worlds... ."