Chapter Seventeen
I came to in bits and pieces: first my butt, which felt like raw meat; then my scalp, which felt detached. My clothes were soaking wet, and my nose and throat burned as though I'd tried to breathe water—which, I thought groggily, I probably had.
My ears woke up a moment later, to a howl that chilled me to the marrow of my living bones. At least, I hoped they were still living. Compared to this unearthly sound, Loki's bellows were nothing but the mewlings of a newborn infant. Every hair on my body stood on end as the cry died away into silence. It was neither human, nor quite animal... . I tried to roll over—wanting rather urgently to find out where it had come from—but was too stiff and sore even to get my eyes open. So I lay where I was, and decided the best course of action was playing dead.
Human voices reached through the reverberating vacuum left behind by that howl. The voices sounded excited, laughing and shouting in anticipation. Of what? Given my possible location—land of the frost giants, or the dark dwarves' realm, or even Muspell—whatever fun was anticipated probably didn't bode well for my immediate future.
One voice emerged, distinct from the general babble: "This is gonna be great!"
"Great! Ha-ha!"
"Five flagons says he soils himself!"
"You're on!"
"Ten says he pisses first!"
My immediate future was getting rapidly bleaker. Warm liquid splashed across my face. I peeled back one eyelid—it felt bruised—and saw fur. I managed to pry open the other eyelid, and confirmed it. A vast expanse of matted, grey-black fur rose above me, to the silver-furred throat of the biggest damn dog I had ever seen. A little wearily, I wondered if the Norse gods ever did anything on small scale. Then I decided they did: humans.
I was sprawled between Big Daddy Doggy's forelegs, on my back. My throat was bare to the world—and his fangs—but given his size, he wouldn't need to tear my throat out. All he had to do was step on me. His nearest paw was the size of my head, with claws like railroad spikes digging into reddish-black mud. Like the child who sees an elephant for the first time, all I could think was "Big..."
I wondered what Garm, the hellhound, was doing away from the entrance to his cave. Had Odin dragged him off duty? Garm certainly wouldn't hold me in high regard; not after chopping him in half with the Biter in Frau Stempel's parlor.
I lifted my gaze to glittering green eyes. They met mine without flinching. Lock gazes with a dog long enough, and he'll either flinch, or attack... . I dropped my gaze to the animal's jaw. His teeth glittered; but the saliva that splashed onto me was streaming crimson. The cruel point of a sword stabbed into the roof of his mouth. The hilt was lodged in the lower jaw.
I swallowed once. This wasn't Garm.
In fact, it wasn't a dog at all.
A stab of ice-cold adrenaline was enough to wake up my brain, but not enough to run. I needed to run... .
The Fenris Wolf crouched lower. He watched me intently, head cocked to one side. Fenrir's eyes glittered with a madness born of unbearable pain, and even worse betrayal. The faint beginnings of a growl rumbled in his throat, half deafening from my vantage point. His green eyes were—like Sleipnir's—more than animal, but not quite human. One blow from his paw would crush my skull. After a convulsion of muscles that were far too abused to obey, I relaxed. There really wasn't much point in being afraid. Either he'd kill me or he wouldn't, because the unending abuse to which I'd subjected myself had finally caught up. My body was on strike.
A chain around the wolf's neck held him. He'd stretched as far as it would reach. Breath rasped in his throat against the pressure. The far end of the chain disappeared into the earth, pinned there by a huge, jagged boulder. Gleipnir, the chain created from six elements: "...the noise a cat makes when it moves, the beard of a woman, the sinews of a bear, the breath of a fish, the roots of a mountain, and the spittle of a bird."
I hadn't considered precisely what that list of components meant until now, but seeing how very slender the chain was—in fact, almost invisible, when the light fell on it just right...
The Fenris Wolf was held by... nothing.
And the day he learned it, the nine worlds would fall, all living men and gods would die, and everything I had ever loved would become as ashes before Surt and the sons of Muspell.
(Whoever the hell they were.)
Unless, of course, I killed Odin first. That was, I reflected drolly, what I was here for; though my chances of pulling it off were looking slimmer and slimmer.
"Uhhh," I said, unable to articulate anything more profound.
Fenrir cocked a pointed ear, and listened. More bloody saliva splashed across my torso. To my astonishment, now that I'd decided fear was a useless reaction, I found myself pitying the cruelly gagged wolf. He certainly hadn't done anything to deserve this, any more than I had. The only "crime" he'd committed was somebody else's prophecy.
"Poor bloody bastard," I muttered in his direction. I propped myself on one elbow, and was only marginally aware that I spoke aloud. "They got you pretty bad-off, too, don't they, old boy? And damn it all, you didn't deserve it."
The growl disappeared. Fenrir cocked his head the other way, and both ears came forward. I gave a mental shrug; then reached up to scratch at that magic place located on all dogs at the base of the throat, just above the sternum. I could barely reach, even sitting up. The wolf was damn near as big as the murderous black horse I'd browbeaten into carrying me the length and breadth of hell's scenic wonders. Fenrir's eyes glazed momentarily. He lowered his head. His lower jaw scraped my belly, then he snuffled across my clothes and hair, getting my scent.
"Poor old fellow, you and me got troubles, don't we?"
I stopped scratching. To my amazement, the immense wolf whined, and nudged my arm. I crawled unsteadily to my feet and stretched to scratch his muzzle. He leaned into it, eyes half closed. The laughter behind me had died away. The moment I'd recognized Fenrir, all thoughts of my captors had slipped from my mind; now I glanced over my shoulder to see who was behind me. Fenrir whined again, head lowered as far as the chain would permit.
Screw them. Whoever they were.
I stretched full length, and resumed scratching vigorously behind his ear. "Poor old fellow, poor old boy, your mouth's cut to pieces, isn't it? I'll bet Odin would just shit if I were to get this sword out of your mouth... ."
Of course, I had no intention of freeing Fenrir, since that would be even more disastrous than freeing Loki—and I'd already done enough damage in that department. But I couldn't repress a sneaking admiration for the powerfully muscled animal, and I figured nobody around here was going to scratch his ears for him, so I stood there and did just that. I did wonder how I'd gotten here instead of drowning, and how I was going to extricate myself from this mess without getting killed. The Biter was conspicuously absent from my boot sheath.
"That's quite enough."
The new voice was icy cold and full of authority. I turned around, and found at least forty archers standing in a rough knot behind me. They'd fully drawn their bows; two-score arrows pointed straight at my chest. Maybe I was just tired, or maybe I was just so sick of these stupid games it didn't matter anymore, but I didn't even blink. What were a few archers, anyway, compared to Loki's brats? I glanced around for the source of the voice I'd heard. A tall, one-eyed man in furs strode through the ranks.
A very slow, very cold smile started somewhere in my gut, and ended turning up one corner of my lips.