"Would you be ready anyway?"
"Yes, I—"
I interrupted wearily. "Rangrid, you wouldn't be ready if you had another thousand years. Odin's hell-bent on dying in a blaze of glory and gore. He's dragging you and everything else down with him. Do you really want to die with a sword through your guts? Or drown in your own blood from poison, or have Surt's bully boys burn you alive, and do it so fast you still have time to hold your skin as it falls off—"
"Stop!" Rangrid was ashen. "Please, stop, I know what Ragnarok will be like, and I know it's hopeless—"
"Then why keep doing Odin's dirty work?"
She flinched, and didn't answer.
"My God," I said, utterly exasperated, "and they call the human race shortsighted, blind, and stupid."
That earned me a hot glare. "I am not shortsighted, blind, or stupid!"
"Oh?" I asked softly. "Then prove it, Rangrid."
Her voice broke on desperation. "I can't! Ragnarok can't be changed! Odin will die then. Nothing I do can stop him from killing you, because you can't possibly kill him!"
"Yes I can."
I said it quietly, reasonably, with the assurance of unassailable fact.
She stood gulping for several seconds, unable to find words. Finally, she whispered, "How can you know?"
Good question; but I wasn't quitting now. "Because the rules are off. You still don't see it, do you? You went to Skuld for answers, because Odin shouldn't have been able to take Gary from that wreck. Skuld didn't have any answers, because she can't answer. All bets are off. Odin's been operating under free will, and so have you, but you didn't know it. Can you explain why Odin's so scared of me? Just because I might have freed Loki?"
I laughed. It was an ugly sound. "Sorry, Rangrid, it won't wash. If I'm just part of the grand scheme, what's to fear? I'd be just a cog in the wheel—and not a very big cog, at that. No, Rangrid , he's scared because the grand scheme's in tatters around his feet. Odin knows damned well I can kill him. That's why he's stacked the deck so badly against me. You can make the difference. You can do whatever you please, Rangrid, choose whatever side you want, be a loose cannon he's not expecting. And think about this. Odin has no honor. You lose whatever honor you ever had, following his orders."
That really shook her. Rangrid's face went pale, and a tremor came to her hands. Getting a goddess who had thousands of years' worth of conditioning to predestination to swallow free will was tough; getting her to swallow treason was tougher. But then, treason always has been defined by the winner. John Adams and Tom Jefferson were traitors on one side of the Atlantic, patriots on the other.
I did sympathize with her. I knew how I'd feel if some green-horned, mealy-mouthed little alien showed up and tried to convince me that the law of gravity had stopped working—and calmly invited me to jump off the western rim of the Grand Canyon just to see for myself. I also knew exactly how I'd felt the day that slimy little German bastard had offered me ten thousand dollars for our code book.
I'd put him in the hospital. Then I'd reported him. Last I'd heard, he was still in prison. At least Rangrid didn't look like she planned on dismembering me. That was something.
"If," I continued very gently, "what you said about the final battle being so close at hand is true, then you've got precious little time left to make a decision. You can either die stupidly—uselessly—with Odin, or you can do something about him. I know I sound crazy as hell. But what in the world do you think drove me to go through all the agony I went through to get here? It took me weeks to convince myself, and I started out with an even bigger handicap than yours—I didn't even believe Odin was real."
Her lips quirked in a ghost of her former smile.
"The more I learned—and the more times Odin tried to kill me—the angrier I got, until the only sane thing I could do was find him, and stop him. Somebody has to stop him, Rangrid. It's a whole new, unpredictable ballgame out there; and the way he's running this war, it is already over, because your general's convinced himself he's already lost."
She studied my face earnestly, and chewed at one thumbnail for a moment. Then stared at the thumb self-consciously and dropped her hand to her side.
"Go on, please," she said very quietly.
I drew a deep breath. "Rangrid, if you can't—or won't—stand up to one outdated old tyrant, then you don't deserve to survive, either. He may well kill me out there today. Hell, he might kill me so fast, I won't even have time to yell. But I'll go down kicking and biting every step of the way. And I'll try to rip out his throat with my teeth as I die, because I know how desperately he's got to be stopped. And if I win..."
Her eyes widened.
I added softly, "If I kill Odin, then everything changes. At the very least, I think I'm a better soldier than he is. I don't lie to people, and I keep my promises—and don't make promises I know I can't keep. I may be nothing but a mortal man, Rangrid; but I think I'm a better man than he is a god."
The tears in her eyes spilled over. I couldn't quite bring myself to add that I didn't want to die still thinking of her as my enemy.
Rangrid whirled, and flung the sword. It embedded itself point-first in the wall, and hung there, quivering. My eyes widened. Good God, she was strong... .
An instant later, I was engulfed by one hundred thirty pounds of valkyrie. For at least five minutes, neither one of us spared a single second for breathing. When we unclutched, I had to gulp for oxygen. Her eyes blazed.
"Odin," she hissed, with a look in her eyes that made me very glad she wasn't my enemy, "will take your life only if he kills me first! And I am very much harder to kill than you."
It was not a boast.
I grinned and said, "Got any last words for your hero?"
She didn't; but then, she didn't need any.
And I'd thought that previous kiss explosive... .
When we finally came up for air again, I held out one hand, a little shakily. "Better give me that damned silly sword, Rangrid."
She managed to free it with one emphatic grunt, then handed it over hilt first. I examined it appreciatively. Being hurled into the wall didn't seem to have done it any harm. It wasn't ancient work, because the blade and hilt were quite obviously made from modern materials; but whoever had made it had put months of loving work into it. I wasn't a fencer; but I was a weapons buff, and a perennial haunter of military museums. I'd never seen craftsmanship like it in my life. I repressed a wistful sigh, then resheathed it and fastened the sheath to my sword belt. I got it right only after she shook her head and showed me how.
"It's hopeless," she murmured, watching me make awkward practice swings. "He'll cut you down where you stand. It isn't fair."
I flashed her a confident grin that had nothing to do with the way I felt. "Darling Rangrid, he didn't intend it to be fair. I'll just have to fight dirty."
She laughed, and threw her arms around my neck, kissing me again until we were both dizzy. I finally broke my lips free. "I don't suppose you've got a machine gun stashed anywhere around here? I'm a damned fine shot, if I do say so myself... ."
She shook her head slowly. "Odin fights only with traditional weapons."
"Huh. Figures. How the hell does he aim to fight a modern battle that way? Don't answer; I already know. He intends on losing. Stupid way to plan a war... ."