Gods of Fire and Thunder

by Fred Saberhagen

  On hearing that, Hal allowed himself to show some mild interest, thinking it would be strange if he did not.

  "I have never seen a god," he lied to his hosts with perfect ease. "What is Valhalla like? There must be wonderful sights."

  "Wonderful," Andvari admitted tersely. Contemplating the marvels of Valhalla did not seem to cheer him up at all. "But we tend to our business when we are there, and do not see any more than we have to see, to do our work."

  Baldur cleared his throat, and asked tentatively: "I don't suppose human visitors are generally welcome there?"

  "No," said Andvari shortly. "They are not."

  At that Hal decisively changed the subject, turning the conversation back to the designs of imaginary weapons.

  Again he was reminded that he would have to go to the other village if he wanted to contract for such work. The gnomes made no offer of prolonged hospitality, and the visitors soon announced that they must be on their way.

  A few minutes later, he and Baldur were out in broad daylight on the surface of the earth, and quite alone. Briskly they tramped away, their footfalls solid on the ground, in the direction where they had left their raft. When they reached their humble vessel, Hal untied it and let it drift away.

  Baldur observed: "It wouldn't have been wise to hint that we might want go along with them partway."

  "I quite agree."

  "What do we do next?"

  "Wait for sunset. And we'd better make sure our water bottles are full. I doubt we'll find much water between here and the mountains."

  Presently the two adventurers doubled back toward the village to take up an observation post only about fifty yards from its edge, at a spot from which they could see anyone departing in the direction of the mountains.

  Before the sun dropped under the horizon, Hal and Baldur had concealed themselves behind some fallen trunks and underbrush, in a spot from which they could keep close watch over the western end of the village. The full moon would soon be rising in a clear sky, giving plenty of light for such a purpose.

  A small road nearby, little used and largely overgrown with weeds, curved sharply near the Earthdwellers' settlement, then headed out, running almost arrow-straight as far as Hal could see, toward the sawtooth horizon of the high country.

  There came a brief spattering of chilly rain. As they began their wait, Baldur murmured, peering over a fallen log: "I hope tonight is the night when they set out. But you're right, we can't count on that."

  "At least we know they're not already gone. I wonder why the time of the full moon was chosen?"

  "Probably because full moonlight makes it easier for night walkers to find their way."

  The sun fell lower and the air turned cold. Soon Baldur broke a silence to remark: "It is noble of you to help me in this way."

  "I've taken a liking to you, lad. You're a little crazy, but you may amount to something yet."

  Baldur smiled faintly, knowingly. "And maybe to Matilda, as well?"

  Hal cleared his throat uncomfortably. The smile on his face felt false. "Maybe. Besides, I have a yen to see just what's really inside that circle of Loki's fire." And as he said those words he realized that they were true enough.

  As they talked things over while waiting for Andvari and his unnamed helper to appear, the chosen subject was still gnomes. "They don't do any farming, of course, or herding, or anything that would keep them working outdoors all day." Baldur seemed to consider this a troublesome flaw in their collective character.

  "But what do they all eat?" Hal continued to be curious. "This village has a lot of mouths to feed. And you say there are many other gnomish settlements, just as big."

  "They eat a lot of roots, I'd say. Mushrooms and other fungi, like the ones they fed us. Fish. And of course there are animals and insects that burrow, spend a lot of time underground. And I suppose the Mud-diggers must pick up some food, somehow, on the surface."

  And underground there are also worms, Hal suddenly thought to himself. And all those grubs and burrowing insects to consider. It was undoubtedly just as well they had not been invited to stay to dinner.

  Despite all Baldur's theories and claims of expertise, Hal could not see the Earthdwellers as anything but an offshoot of humanity, somewhat warped by magic.

  "Unless we are the ones warped by magic, and they are purely natural?"

  Baldur only gave Hal a strange look when he voiced that thought.

  "And, by the way, I still wonder how we can be so sure that they make the journey on their own feet? It would put a fine knot in our plans if someone suddenly brought them a pair of cameloids."

  "They are walking." Baldur was calmly certain about that. "I never heard of gnomes traveling in any other way. Long journeys are difficult, of course, for at dawn each day they must find a suitable shelter against the sunlight."

  Hal thought that probably the cold winds of winter were more uncomfortable for gnomes than for Sundwellers—under the surface of the earth, seasonal temperature variations tended to be small. "So you think you know a lot about them?"

  "Not much. I don't care that much."

  "I wonder," Hal mused, "How did these particular gnomes come to be chosen to care for the Valkyries' Horses?"

  "I think Andvari might have been chosen because he was the best smith among their people. Probably most of them know little or nothing about Horses, or human maidens either. But as they are in general incomparable metalsmiths, they make great farriers when they set their minds to it."

  "What about his companion? The best at working the bellows for the forge?"

  Baldur shrugged, as if to say he really didn't know and didn't care. But then he said: "I doubt that. Maybe because he's the best of the gnomish magicians."

  "Oh." Hal did not find that reassuring.

  Hal, it must be good to have traveled as far as you have, and seen so much."

  "It has advantages. I have even seen something of horses, though never before of the kind Valkyries ride—how did you first happen to meet your Brunhild, if you don't mind my asking?" They were making low-voiced conversation as they kept their eyes open for the gnome-farriers' appearance.

  Baldur, whenever he began to talk on the subject of Brunhild, seemed likely to keep on indefinitely. No, of course she had not been born a Valkyrie—no one was. They were not a special race, or anything like that—not in the sense that gnomes were. No one was going to suggest to him that Hildy was not entirely human.

  "Of course not. Forgive my ignorance."

  "That's all right, you are a foreigner and I suppose you cannot help it. No, being a Valkyrie is just something that girls are chosen for when they are very young."

  "A very great honor."

  "Certainly."

  Eventually Hal managed to extract some details. According to Baldur, his first meeting with Brunhild had come about by sheer accident. He had made a long climb to a remote meadow in the hills, where he had been gathering flowers, actually meaning to take them to some other girl.

  The image of a would-be berserker gathering flowers gave Hal pause. But he said nothing, only nodding encouragingly.

  Baldur went on: "But those flowers never reached the one for whom they were originally meant. From the moment I saw Brunhild . . . all others were forgotten."

  "That's romantic."

  She had been on some kind of outing with other Valkyries. On a summer day, swimming in an upland pool, while their magic horses grazed nearby—not that Baldur had had eyes for Horses on that day.

  Now the voice of the youth was beginning to tremble. "You cannot imagine . . . such beauty . . ."

  "I'll try my best." Hal wondered what the chances were of this kid's living long enough to grow up. Well, Hal meant him no harm. He would try to keep him from getting killed, if that were possible. Merely following a couple of undersized metalworkers did not seem particularly dangerous.

  Baldur was still lost in his romantic dream. "It was a holy thing," he breathed.

  "I'm s
ure it was."

  As the light began to fade and redden into sunset the woods were quiet. They were also uncomfortably cold for fireless Sundwellers who were trying to be as silent and motionless as possible. As soon as the sun was actually gone, a work party of gnomes, not bothering with special protection, climbed out above ground and began to carry out what was apparently routine maintenance on the shallow mounds that collectively formed the roof of their buried village. Hal could hear them moving about in the middle distance, and as soon as the moon peered over the eastern horizon he was able to see them better. He began to wish that he and Baldur had taken up their observation post at a somewhat greater distance from the village.

  Despite his uneasiness and the need to remain alert, Hal had just started to doze off, when suddenly Baldur was poking his arm. "There they are, two of them, on foot. Let's go."

  They made two miles along the road by moonlight, then stopped. After waiting to make sure the gnomes were far ahead, they built a fire for warmth, ate sparingly of the cheese and hard biscuits provided for their fishing trip by Baldur's mother, and turned in for some sleep. Sundwellers traveled best by day.

  * * *

  7

  At first light Hal and Baldur were on their feet again, shouldering their modest packs and hiking westward on the road toward the mountains. They breakfasted as they moved, munching the remnants of last night's dinner.

  The master farrier and his assistant had a long start on their pursuers, and the two men kept up a brisk pace for several hours, thinking there was small chance of their overtaking the pair of Earthdwellers any time soon. By moonlight it had been difficult to be sure, but Hal thought that Andvari and his colleague had been carrying only a couple of modest backpacks, which could have held little more than the necessities of the journey. The tools and equipment required for their work must be waiting up there near the god's stable, somewhere on the higher slopes of the mysterious mountains.

  All that was very logical. Still, Hal could not keep from wondering whether the pair of artisans might possibly, even now, be carrying with them the gold they were going to use. How much they needed would of course depend on how many shoes needed replacement this time round. That was something an outsider couldn't even begin to guess; Hal supposed old shoes of gold could probably be melted down, reformed, and used again, just like those forged of common blacksmith's iron. How hot did a fire need to be, to melt gold? Not nearly as hot, he thought, as that required to make the darker, tougher metal flow.

  But of course if magic was heavily involved, everything about the metal might be different. Possibly it could even be lighter in weight? But no, the fragment in his own belt pouch was solid and heavy enough.

  If only he could contrive to get a look inside the packs of Andvari and his companion, while the gnomes were sleeping at midday!

  How many Horses did Wodan own? Baldur had said something about there being only ten Valkyries, which seemed ridiculously few, according to the legends . . . but maybe that meant only ten in her particular group, or squadron . . .

  Baldur spoke to his companion sharply, asking if Hal was about to fall asleep as they walked.

  "Not yet, lad, not yet."

  "What're you thinking about, then? You seemed a thousand miles away."

  "I am trying to imagine the glories of Valhalla."

  It was around midafternoon, on their first day of tracking, when the men reached the spot where the two gnomes had evidently gone to earth at dawn.

  Hal put out an arm to hold back his companion. Hal whispered: "Wait a minute. That looks like a little hut." It was a small, crude construction of stone and wood, its only windows mere chinks between stones and logs. A larger hole at one end looked as if it might serve to let out smoke, and indeed when Hal sniffed he could detect traces of fragrant smoke, blended with fainter odors suggesting cookery.

  "They're likely still in there now," he whispered.

  "So what do we do?"

  "What can we do? Wait till sunset, when they'll set out again."

  Withdrawing a short distance down the road, Baldur and Hal made their own cold and uncomfortable camp only some fifty yards away, not daring to start a fire that would give away their presence, though Baldur assured his companion that gnomes had a reputation for being observant only in matters connected with their craft.

  Shortly after sunset, they heard a muttering in gnomish voices, and presently the sounds of people breaking camp and getting on the road again.

  Hal waited an hour this time before he thought it was safe to build a fire.

  When in the morning of their second day on the trail Hal and Baldur resumed their advance, their meager tracking skills were helped enormously by the presence of a light snow fallen overnight. The thin white cover on the ground made it ridiculously easy to track the pair they were following; Andvari and his companion had indeed been in the little hut, they had indeed come out of it and marched uphill, and they seemed to be making no effort at all to conceal their trail.

  At one point Baldur caught a glimpse of flying sun-shadows on a low cloud, and pointed them out to Hal, who looked up almost too late to see anything at all.

  "Could it have been birds?"

  "Far too big." Baldur sounded subdued. "They might have been Valkyries, but I could not be sure."

  Hal, who was not sure he had seen anything, was uneasy too. The last large flying creatures he had seen had been the hideous Harpies, which still sometimes disturbed his dreams.

  The road wound back and forth almost continuously, tending this way and that, but always came back to point toward the mountains, which were still days away. Soon the river and the forest fell behind them, to be replaced by a more open landscape that gave progressively less evidence of human occupation. Since leaving the gnomes' village they had seen only a few human figures, and those all at a distance, farmers and herdsmen evidently. Now the narrow road was taking them steadily into territory even more sparsely inhabited, lacking all signs of human presence. Close ahead loomed foothills, and beyond those were high mountains, barren and unwelcoming in aspect.

  Baldur confessed that he had never been this way before, and there was no way to be absolutely sure that Andvari and his companion were still following this road. But no other range of mountains remotely comparable could be seen in any other direction. If Valhalla was anywhere in this part of the world, Hal thought, it must be there, somewhere straight ahead.

  After about noon on the third day, Hal and Baldur kept a more moderate pace and an even sharper lookout. It would not do to inadvertently overtake their quarry. They had no way of being certain how fast the short-legged Earthdwellers might be walking. Around midafternoon the men slowed their own steps even more, and began keeping a sharp lookout for the camp the two gnomes would presumably be making, in which to spend the day. Since they seemed to repeat this journey fairly often, there might well be a series of small huts, conveniently spaced.

  Hal continued to be vaguely surprised that Andvari and his companion were not riding or driving droms or cameloids. But Baldur continued to assure him that such animals were practically unknown among the Earthdwellers.

  "But somehow they have no trouble dealing with Horses."

  "So it seems," the youth admitted. "Though I don't think they ride them. Lucky for us that Wodan didn't choose to provide his workers with magic transport or an escort of some kind."

  "Yes, lucky." Hal subjected his surroundings in all directions to one of his routine scans. "I also find it a little puzzling."

  Another light dusting of early snow allowed another period of easy tracking, and when that snow melted in bright sun, additional help was provided by patches of mud and dust occurring at intervals along the sparsely traveled road. Traffic of any kind seemed so rare that Hal did not worry about footprints being obliterated by the tracks of other travelers.

  Once more the two men continued walking until the sun had fallen behind the western mountains, without seeing the least sign of their qua
rry. While traversing a long stretch where there were no footprints to follow, Hal had to admit it was entirely possible that he and Baldur had accidentally passed the gnomes, if Andvari and his companion had gone off the trail to rest or for any other reason. There were many stretches of the road devoid of any clear footprints, where something of the kind could easily have happened. It was equally possible that the journeying Earthdwellers were making such good time that their pursuers could not have overtaken them if they tried.

  Moving uphill again, on the fourth morning, Hal was practically certain that their whole scheme had misfired, and he would have to start again from scratch, or abandon all hope of being able to pick up scraps of divine gold.

  Then suddenly Baldur was pointing at the ground. "Look! Look, Hal, I think these must be the tracks we want!"

  Every now and then those promising tracks appeared again, a few clear prints of small, booted feet, plain enough to tell their story to anyone with eyes. The pattern of bootmarks was consistently that of two people walking side by side, in the short strides natural to short legs.

  As far as Hal could tell, the Earthdwelling farriers continued to move only during the long moonlit nights. Hal and Baldur did almost all their traveling during the short winter days, pushing steadily to keep up, while always keeping a sharp lookout on the trail ahead, to avoid overtaking their quarry.

  Four days passed on the road, then five. The way the two Earthdwellers were following had gradually lost its wagon-track duality, diminished through frequent branchings until it was only a trail. And then steadily the trail grew thinner, and less deeply worn into the ground, as if few people indeed had ever dared to follow it this far. Hal would have had no means of knowing whether he and Baldur were still on the right path, indeed it would have been hard to be sure that they were on any path at all, had they not now reached an altitude where early winter had already moved in, and snow consistently covered most of the ground. Here the four small booted feet of the two gnomes had left plain record of their passage.