Odin was shaking his grizzled head. "In the short decades you have lived, mortal, the numbers of men entering this most hallowed of halls has fallen to the merest trickle. We need warriors badly and take them where we find them, battle or no. The end is upon us, and there is little time to recruit more.
"In your grandfather's time we had some great heroes, oh yes, and many men came to us; but now your politicians tremble, and your young men bleat of peace and cringe in the face of bloodshed. You fear death so greatly, you will not even risk your lives to defend what is already yours."
I hit the floor running. The wolves scattered out of my way. I snatched him up by the shirtfront, and shook him so hard, the ravens flapped into the air, squawking objections.
"Listen, you fat-assed old bastard! Don't talk to me about putting it on the line! I've been there and damn near didn't come back. And what's more, we don't play with knives and spears anymore; we play with bombs that would turn your precious Valhalla into slag and you along with it! Don't you dare sit on your murdering ass and whine to me about bleating for peace and being too goddamn terrified to start a war. What the hell do you think I'm here for, you lying, cheating son-of-a-bitch, to dance a minuet and sip tea? You want a war, Odin, you've got one. With me.
"And if you can get that through your thick Neanderthal skull, try this on for size—we don't need Surt to burn up the world anymore. We're more than capable of it ourselves, and we sure as hell don't need you helping us do it. Frankly, if we're going to blow ourselves to the stars, we'd like to do it by our bloody, goddamned selves! And that, my fat little friend, is why I'm going to kill you."
He stared at me, in utter wide-eyed shock. His mouth was slack. His throat worked against the pressure of my grip. I was weaponless; but so was he. A collective roar went up behind me, and hooves rang out on stone.
"You want a duel?" I asked softly, too low for anyone but us to hear. "Fine. Under code duello, I get to choose the weapons. How would you prefer to die, old man? Fifty-megaton hydrogen bombs at ten paces? That ought to do the trick, eh? Or maybe just swords at dawn? How about recoilless rifles? M-1 tanks?"
Odin hung in my grasp still, mouth working. "You... impudent little..."
I laughed easily. I was cool... incredibly, clear-headedly cool. "You don't know the half of it."
I shoved him back into his chair. "Tell you what. You've got the home field advantage. Give me the Biter back, and I'll fight you here and now."
Odin came out of his chair. I didn't back down, which left him teetering precariously on his heels. He overbalanced, and landed on his backside.
"What do you take me for?" he rasped. "A fool?"
My lip curled. "Actually, yes."
Deliberately, I turned my back, and strode past Rangrid, who sat stunned, a frozen statue on the back of her stallion. She'd wheeled around to put herself between me and the Einherjar. Ranged along the endless tables, thousands upon thousands upon multiple thousands of warriors listened in absolute, dead silence. Even the slaves had stopped to stare. The wolves at Odin's feet continued to cringe.
I stalked to the nearest table, grabbed a flagon of mead from the nearest hand, and tossed the potent brew down in one gulp. I managed not to cough and wheeze—it was gawdawful—then grabbed another. Less than twenty paces away, I noticed a red-bearded giant of a man, standing poised with one arm uplifted. He hadn't thrown the short-handled hammer in his hand. I lifted my mug in a silent toast, and grinned at him.
Thor's eyes widened, and he lowered his arm; then scowled deeply, and glanced toward his boss for orders. Whatever Odin signaled, Thor's scowl deepened, but he didn't make any further moves toward me.
"Thanks," I muttered to the guy I'd deprived of a drink, then turned to lean against the edge of the table. The nonchalant pose kept me from falling down as a case of very serious shakes set in.
I figured Odin would personally dismember me any second. He was certainly welcome to try. I narrowed my eyes, and waited for Odin's response.
I didn't have to wait long.
Chapter Eighteen
Odin exploded to his feet, fists clenched. His flame-red eye blazed. Released from momentary paralysis, the wolves leaped to the ends of their chains, snapping and snarling in belated efforts to reach me. I ignored them. I didn't bother even to glance over my shoulder—when you're that badly outnumbered details don't matter.
The one-eyed god snatched up an enormous war axe and raised his arm to hurl it. Bunched muscles on his throwing arm flexed, and I prepared to dodge—
And an outraged bellow rose from thousands of throats.
Odin paused. I resisted the temptation to glance around. What was going on? His eye flicked over the assembled host, which peripheral vision told me had surged to its collective feet. Then his gaze returned to me. He regarded me the way a man might watch a rattler he'd accidentally roused in the grass—only to discover that it was a cobra instead.
His expression reminded me of the hopelessly mad Loki. Slowly, and with the reluctance of a man forced to surrender at gunpoint, he lowered the axe again.
"Now is the time for feasting," he growled unpleasantly. "No battle is joined in Valhalla while feasting continues."
Ahh... No wonder the Einherjar had protested earlier. It wasn't personal; they'd just been enforcing the rules, with Thor acting as Sergeant-at-Arms.
"Never let it be said," Odin muttered, "that I have dealt dishonorably in my own hall."
Huh. He could deal dishonorably all he wanted outside; just not at home, eh? Made sense—he'd lose the loyalty of the Einherjar if he broke that particular oath in front of them.
"Rangrid." Odin's voice had gone oily smooth. "See that our guest is properly entertained for the evening. This is his last mortal night. I would not have it said he spent it unhappily under my roof."
"Yes, lord," she answered, her voice uncertain.
I hadn't taken my eyes off Odin, despite his apparent capitulation. He had resumed his seat and was stroking his ravens to calm. He still watched me narrowly; but he had relaxed back into the throne. I concluded that—for the night, anyway—I was probably safe enough. I began warily to relax. Odin noticed, and accorded me a nasty little smile, but kept petting his birds. I turned my attention to the valkyrie. She was supposed to "entertain" me, eh? This might not be such a bad deal, at that... .
Rangrid twisted around in her saddle. "Coming?" she asked.
"Oh, I do hope so," I answered with a slow grin and a raking stare, "but that'll probably depend on you." I leaned easily back against the edge of the table.
A great bellow of laughter spread in a receding wave as the joke was repeated down the length of Valhalla. Even Odin roared appreciatively. Rangrid actually turned scarlet under her armor.
I heard her mutter, "Just wait until I get you alone."
The laughter redoubled when she grabbed me by the wrist and hauled me across her lap. One shapely hand smacked against my ass with enough force to sting.
"Rangrid," I said in mock surprise, "do you like spankings? For shame, and here I thought you were a nice girl." I twisted around, and grinned up at her. "Do I get to return the favor?"
She seethed in silence. The nearest warriors fell over each other laughing. My discomfited valkyrie put heels sharply to her stallion's flanks. The warhorse snorted and bounced once; I grunted sharply and decided to cease and desist—until I was in a better bargaining position. We rode out through a side doorway big enough to drive a Clydesdale forty-horse hitch through, and left behind the hooting and cheering.