A child of no more than eight staggered past with a heavy tray. I ground my teeth. "You call that good treatment?"
"You've been to Niflheim!" she snapped. "Would you rather see her slaving for the creature called Hel?"
Recalling Hel's tastes, I couldn't help wondering if she wouldn't have preferred eating the child—but that didn't excuse what was being done to these people. It was bad enough that Odin was snatching people like Gary—but innocent women and kids and men who'd only got caught in the crossfire...
Back in Germany, I'd fought ragheads on behalf of people just like these. Now I had another reason to kill Odin. I couldn't blame Rangrid for this latest outrage—she was just a soldier following orders, which was something I knew about—but Odin was another story. What was being done to these people was unforgivable.
I didn't respond to Rangrid's angry retort, and she didn't press me further.
At the far end of the vast room, almost lost in distant shadows, was the High Seat of the Valhall. The carved throne stretched into the darkness that hid the rafters from view. Rangrid's stallion danced toward it, picking his careful way between the scurrying slaves.
Valhalla's High Throne was occupied, and I didn't have to ask by whom; that vermilion eye glowed balefully from the shadows as we approached. Two slavering, gaunt timber wolves chained near Odin's feet raged, first at one another, then at anyone foolish enough to get too close to them. The two black ravens still sat on Odin's shoulders. Having slightly more leisure to study them, I realized they were virtually identical. I thought the one on the left was Hugin and the one on the right was Munin; but my memory wasn't entirely clear.
In my ear, Rangrid murmured, "Beware of Geri and Freki, hero. These wolves are called Greedy and Gluttonous for good reason. Not even Odin's own portion from the boar Saehrimnir's eternal flesh is enough to satiate them. Living mortal is a treat they have never seen."
"Thanks for the warning," I said dryly. It was only appropriate that Odin's pet wolves reflected his own personality. Most pets did.
Rangrid drew her mount to a halt and we sat waiting for Odin to speak. He sat in silence for a moment, just staring. I returned the look with an outward semblance of calm. Inside... My hands ached to close around his throat.
"So, you have come living to Valhalla."
His gravelly voice reminded me surprisingly of Hel's—an observation which startled me into some interesting conjectures.
"You will find my hospitality generous, mortal—but once I have entertained a guest, I am constrained to continue his entertainment. Eternally."
He laughed uproariously.
I growled, "I'll bet you're dynamite at a party, with a lamp shade."
Rangrid giggled; Odin looked grumpily puzzled.
The wolves' jaws gaped expectantly.
Odin recovered his composure to gesture at the ebony birds on his shoulders. Their little black eyes hadn't left me.
"Hugin and Munin also bid you welcome. Thought and Memory advise me of all that happens in the wide, wide worlds."
Briefly I wondered if these feathered tattletales were the source of "a little bird told me."
He added, with a tight, feral smile, "They have kept me well informed of your treason, mortal."
"Treason?" I barked. "That's rich."
Odin scowled at the interruption. "You have provided some measure of entertainment, despite your colossal presumption. Now—having been amused for so unexpectedly long—I return the favor. Have you any questions before you die in honorable combat?"
"Sure. I got a million of 'em, but I'll settle for just one answer before I turn your ugly ass into wolf chow."
He narrowed his eye; but nodded. "Speak."
"Okay, buddy. Why?"
Surprise lifted his shaggy grey brows. Rangrid turned in her saddle to look at me. Odin's voice was flatly puzzled.
"Why what?" It came out sounding almost petulant.
I enumerated my points by ticking them off on the fingers of one hand.
"Why are you murdering men who never knew you existed, wouldn't have worshiped you if they had, and could care less about you, your Valhall, or your petty squabbles with Surt?
"Why did you try to kill me before I'd done you any harm?
"Why are you meddling in affairs which are none of your business?
"And why the blazes did you start snatching recruits out of traffic accidents? You know as well as I do who you're supposed to take. Traffic accidents do not constitute battle."
His eye had widened further with each enumerated point. It narrowed savagely on the final one. I folded my arms with an air of assurance I was far from feeling, and added, "If you don't want to explain it to me, maybe you'd prefer explaining it to Skuld?"
Rangrid stiffened; her stallion's muscles turned to iron beneath my legs.
Uh-oh.
I braced myself.
Odin, however, merely looked thoughtful.
"You do have a way of getting to the heart of the matter, don't you?" he mused, stroking Memory absently. Or was it Thought? "Perhaps Skuld has granted me the boon at my request?"
I got the crazy impression that he was stalling.
I shook my head. "Unh-uh. In the first place, why should she? A few extra corpses to toss into a battle you can't win isn't a good enough reason to throw the whole order of the universe into chaos. You might feel better about a few more men here and there; but that's no reason for Skuld to change the laws of metaphysics. There's no percentage in it, if it doesn't gain anything. Besides"—I grinned nastily—"I already talked to her. Try again."
Strike one... Odin still at bat...
A sharp intake of breath into the shapely torso in front of me told me I was really pushing it. I didn't care. I was here to push it.
Like a politician dodging the press, Odin started talking without answering. "Your people have forgotten so much. Some, like you, recall the old stories just a little, perhaps; but most, no. They forget, and sleep soundly, feeling safe. There is no way to avoid what must be. The sons of Muspell will destroy your world as surely as you breathe, whether I lead the armies against them or not. Is there no rage in your breast that this must be?"
He sounded like a schoolboy reciting the only lesson he knew. I wanted to throw up.
"We are doomed, all of us; but we will kill as many of our murderers as we can, in just vengeance for the loss of everything we hold dear. Surely you know it is not for the dead themselves that we mourn. We grieve for what we, ourselves, have lost. This is what drives us to strike out in vengeance."
I wasn't arguing that point—I'd lost my best friend, and look where that had gotten me—but Odin wasn't through orating.
"Perhaps your world's mad drive for peace in these last few years has blinded you to the fate that awaits you all. Death is inevitable. Personal death... world death... even your modern science admits this is so, does it not? Life itself lives on death, and all is doomed, all is the same in Skuld's eyes; and no living creature can stop the march from Muspell. We can only fight until we fall, and take with us into oblivion as many of the enemy as we can kill, so that the price of their victory is high."
The doom-and-gloom clich‚s didn't impress me. I had as much respect as the next soldier for that old adage, but there were better ways of dealing with enemies. Even when you were outnumbered. Especially then...
Odin acted as if all he had to fight with was his muscles. A tiny lightbulb flickered in the back of my mind. I carefully stored the half-formed thought so I wouldn't lose it. I hoped I got a chance to mull it over before Odin and I came to blows.