A croaking grunt diverted my attention back to Child Number Two. That one was scaly as a snake, but shaped more like a Tyrannosaurus, with a badger's heavy, clawed forearms. It stood slowly up—and dwarfed its older brother. It looked like death on the hoof.
My death, his hoof.
My horse gave one wailing screech, and contorted in a maneuver that dumped me headlong into disgusting, icy slush. It vanished in a drumming of hoofbeats. I shook my head, and scrubbed frantically at my face to wipe off the slush, which burned like acid. Even as I dragged my furry sleeve across my face, I scrambled to my feet, snapping open the folding stock of my rifle and bringing the weapon to my shoulder.
I clicked off the safety. A grin stretched the skin of my face. It wasn't a smile—I was scared shitless—but it beat hell out of slobbering all over myself. The lizard took a big step forward and I fired. And hit it. Six times.
"Ow!"
I shook my head. That single, human word echoed impossibly about the hellish terrain. The big lizard had stopped and was looking at six neat holes in its chest. No sway, no buckled knees, not even much blood. It poked a claw into one of the wounds and licked it while Br'er Bear squinted curiously through nearsighted eyes. Just as impossibly, the lizard chuckled—a ghastly human chuckle—then it said, "Lead and copper. And just a little tin—gives it a nice flavor."
This amused both of them greatly; Loki just watched. His wife lay panting out of my line of sight. I glanced at the Armalite and made sure the magazine was in snugly.
"This just won't do."
Prickles ran up my spine at the sound of that voice issuing from jaws which weren't designed for human speech.
They lunged simultaneously. I think I yelled. I know I emptied the magazine. Bullets might not kill them, but bullets seemed to hurt the bastards, and slow them down. I threw myself behind a big boulder and tried to reload. The unwieldy pack encumbered me. Before I had time to even think about reaching for the pack release, Br'er Bear was snapping his jaws at my shadow. I scrambled wildly away. My hand shook as I released the spent magazine. I cursed my clumsiness. Shit! Doubleshit! The bastards wouldn't die... .
Baldr had warned me.
A premonition of danger caused me to jerk my head up. I dove simultaneously backward. Br'er Bear landed in a sprawl right where I'd been. He spun around. A snarl blasted into my face with a stench of incredibly bad breath; then a giant paw arced viciously toward me. I skidded backward again on solid ice. His paw caught the rifle instead of my side. The blow swatted the Armalite from my hands with such force, the barrel bent and the receiver was crushed as it smacked into rock. The rifle's plastic forearm shattered into hundreds of pieces.
I went down hard, and kept rolling in a backward somersault. When I came up into a crouch, the bear's hindquarters were disappearing—away from me—around the corner.
What... ?
I grabbed my P-7 and eased around the corner—and came nose-to-nose with T-Rex.
"Yahhh!"
I lunged sideways, out of jaw range, and shot wildly into the lizard's face; but in the critical half-second it took me to bring up my arms and fire, he'd dodged sideways, too. The shot went harmlessly past. I rolled and twisted around, managing to keep my hold on the P-7. Two-foot badgers' claws missed my legs by inches. T-Rex overbalanced, and rushed harmlessly past, then skidded in the ice, and went down in a spray of acid slush.
I scooted backward on my ass, scraping the butt pack across sharp stone, and tried to gain my feet. Br'er Bear lunged out of nowhere. I was out of position to do anything but shoot. Smothered under an avalanche of fur, I fired one shot point blank into the bear's belly, and waited to be mauled. He screamed, jerked once, and collapsed heavily on top of me.
Br'er Bear was very dead. At least he was warm... .
I heard confused shouts of "Iron!" as I fought my way out from under the grizzly corpse pinning me down.
I thought I heard Sigyn screeching, "I don't care whether iron kills you or not—you can't go back—" but I was pretty dazed... .
A thirty-foot snake had coiled itself around us. I emptied the pistol into it. One half fell across the bear. I climbed desperately over the other half while dropping the empty clip and slammed a second into the butt of the pistol. By the time I was free of the corpses, the dead snake's twin was slithering down on me.
How many of these things were there?
T-Rex leaped out of nowhere. I fired a few quick shots at its unprotected throat, savagely satisfied when it went down in a spray of blood. Then I wondered how many shots were left in the clip, and how long before I had to fumble for the last magazine.
Something sank claws into my pack. I snatched at the release, letting whatever it was have the whole pack, harness and all. Momentum dumped me to my knees. A second set of claws closed on empty air above my head.
Even as I lurched sideways and rolled over, I hissed. Acid slush was eating right through my pants. I managed to writhe away from the snapping jaws of a six-headed God-only-knew-what, with foot-long teeth grinning out of each feathered head. One head went flying after I emptied the clip into its neck.
I jammed home my remaining clip—wondering in acute panic how many monsters were left—and saw Loki's wife giving birth again. Whatever it was, it glistened and oozed a slimy pus that sizzled where it dripped onto the ground. It had lots of teeth. Its mouth and eyes were already open, homing in on me.
I gritted my teeth and fired at it before it could get completely born. Please, I prayed, let its corpse block the way to whatever else is in there waiting to get out. My hands were shaking so hard I had trouble controlling the aim. I heard a scream of agony as most of the rounds hit the obscenity being born. Then I froze, sick to my bones. A couple of rounds had torn right through Sigyn's pelvis. God, I hadn't meant to kill her....
That instant's horror damn near cost me my life.
Smothering scales tightened down so fast I couldn't even yell. The useless, empty pistol dropped from my grasp. Gleefully the snake began squeezing air out of my pores.
A frantic thrumming against my calf shrieked for attention. I closed my eyes, willing the Biter to come. Gary's knife slid warmly into my grasp, and its tail wrapped securely around my wrist.
There was a flash of blinding green light. I slid into a crumpled heap at the base of the Mother Viper's coiled body, thirty feet from where a very dead snake lay severed in the dust.
I shook my head to clear it, trying to see—then howled as venom burned through my shirt sleeve. I ripped the rest of the tattered cloth away and scrubbed at my skin even as I threw myself away from the snakes. Loki's unconscious—or dead—wife lay nearby, unmoving. I felt bad about her; but I didn't have time to grieve.
My pistol was missing, my rifle broken, but the Sly Biter hung in my hand, radiating an evil green glow. I was still surrounded on three sides by more monsters than I'd killed already. I backed up until I ran into stone—a rough, ten-foot-high chunk of it. It was the only way out I could see. I whirled and climbed. It took both hands. I grunted in appreciation when Gary's knife hung curled from my arm, refusing to resheathe itself for even a few seconds. I swarmed up the rock, waiting for claws or fangs to tear me back to the ground; but nothing hit close enough to do damage.
I'd just gained the top when a tremendous roar beat the air. It knocked me flat against stone. Thunder rolled through Niflhel. Semi-dazed, I looked up to see Sleipnir—all eight hooves flying—headed straight for Loki.