While the men were in the stable, deciding which Horses they would take, Hal was looking about for actual saddles, such as he would have employed on any ordinary cameloid. One or two devices of that kind were visible, but stored high up, as if for display rather than for practical use. He looked into another room of the big barn. There was a pile of hay, looking quite mundane, and stuck in one side of the pile a pitchfork, of no use to Hal at the moment.
Hal pointed urgently. "Don't we need saddles?"
Baldur shook his head. "Hildy never used one, nor did Alvit. She said that courage and kind words were all she needed to control her mount."
"We don't have any magic," Hal reminded his colleague succinctly, and began to lead his own chosen Horse away, the fingers of his left hand firmly tangled in its mane. It was a large and capable-looking animal, and did not seem to have taken an immediate dislike to him—he wasted no time worrying about other details. There was a name, Cloudfoot, presumably the Horse's, burned into the worn wood of a railing at the stall's entrance.
A collection of leather straps, their iron clasps and buckles finely worked enough to be considered objects of art as well as function, were hanging on a wall, but Hal dreaded the idea of fumbling around to put strange harness on an unfamiliar animal—that might take him half an hour, if he could do it at all.
He took a close look at some of the harness. Hanging on the planks of the adjoining wall were fat leather pouches that had to be saddlebags. The two pouches in each set were connected with a simple network of straps that must be intended to hold it in place on an animal's back, almost like the saddlebags an ordinary cameloid might wear. Each pair also included a strange addition on one side, in the form of a deep leather cup, that it seemed a rider might use to ground the butt end of a lance or spear.
It raced through Hal's mind to wonder why riders should be furnished with saddlebags when they used no saddles. But of course the Valkyries were not gods, and like the rest of common humanity they must sometimes need practical help in routine matters—there would be missions, journeys, on which they had to carry their own food supplies.
Hal climbed and stretched to reach one set of saddlebags, and snatched them down. A faint cloud of dust came with them, almost provoking a sneeze.
"What do we need those for?" Baldur wanted to know.
"You never know what we might have to carry. Food, for instance."
Baldur looked distracted. "Yes, you're right, we desperately need food. I ought to have a set of those too." And he scrambled to help himself from the display on the wall. Having done so, he announced: "Now we must be on our way."
"Yes, I think we'd better. But wait a moment." Etched indelibly into Hal's brain was a memory of the precise spot, just around there in the stable, where stood the bucket of golden shoes; now if he could only distract Baldur, somehow, for a few moments . . .
"Food," Hal reminded him again. "We must have food. For the Horses, if not ourselves!"
"You're right, I'll find some," the dashing young warrior volunteered. Hal's stocky body could move with surprising speed when it was called upon to do so, and Baldur's brief absence gave him the chance he needed to quickly gather up the gold and load it into his new saddlebags. After picking up the shoes he had earlier dumped on the ground, he scooped a few more from the bucket—maybe farmland in the north would prove more expensive than he thought.
That done, he pitched the empty bucket away into a pile of straw, where it landed almost noiselessly. He strapped the saddlebags tightly closed, to minimize any clinking and jangling when they were shaken. A moment later Baldur was back, timing his return perfectly from Hal's point of view, and carrying his own set of saddlebags stuffed with whatever kind of Horse-fodder he had been able to snatch up.
Hal threw the leather baggage on the animal's back, and then at the last moment, when his gold was loaded and the way seemed clear, fear of the unknown held him back. Bravely defying an absent god was one thing, but climbing onto the back of a creature whose like he had never touched before, in hopes that its wingless bulk would somehow magically carry him into the gray sky like a bird—an adventure like that presented dangers all too clear and present. He hesitated just a moment too long, until the animal caught his uneasiness and started to shy away. Another problem was the simple fact that this Horse had no stirrups. He needed something to stand on, to give him a leg up . . .
Baldur just sprang up on his long, young legs, and with a twist of his body had gained a rider's seat.
That was inspiring. Hal's legs were shorter, but they still had a good spring in them. Still, it took him an extra moment or two to pull himself up into proper riding position once he had gained the animal's back.
Hal and Baldur had just got themselves aboard their respective Horses, with a set of saddlebags strapped on each, when animals and men alike were spooked by a frightening distraction.
There came a great swooping, half-visible rushing in the sky, a swirl of noise and cloud reminding Hal of whirlwinds and waterspouts he had encountered in the warm waters of the Great Sea.
He was just starting to say something else to Baldur, when the thought was dashed from his mind by someone or something making a loud noise, accompanied by a dazzlingly great flash of light.
Hal spun round. As soon as his vision cleared he could see, supported by some invisible force a dozen feet above his head, a golden-haired young woman in dazzling silver clothes suggesting armor, sitting a magnificent Horse, whose movements she controlled with her left hand in its mane. In her right armpit she held braced the butt end of a very competent-looking spear, strongly resembling a type of cavalryman's lance. Her fierce blue eyes were stabbing at Hal like darts.
The northman froze in his tracks, and something in the pit of his stomach abruptly knotted. Again there came a powerful swirling in the air—this time it was a whole lot more than smoke.
Baldur evidently recognized the Valkyrie at first glance, for he called her by name: "Alvit!"
She in turn recognized Baldur. Her voice was clear, imperious, speaking the common tongue in what sounded to Hal as a strange but elegant accent.
"Are you insane, Baldur? What do you and this one think that you are doing?" With the sharp tip of her spear, the Valkyrie savagely jabbed the air in Hal's direction.
The young man's answer was drowned out by the Horse's snorting breath, and also by a roaring sound of unknown cause that was now swelling swiftly in the background; but the name of Brunhild was a part of that reply.
Then her gaze turned round on Hal, and to him it looked coldly murderous. He grabbed instinctively for his axe, but the tip of the woman's long spear swung round on him with startling speed, so that before he could even try to parry or dodge the mere touch of it shocked his arm and sent his weapon flying, threw him sprawling in the snow, like a child flicked by some great warrior's blow. He came down hard, on bruising rocks waiting close beneath that cover of deceptive softness.
In a moment Hal was up, flexing his right arm, scrambling instinctively to recover his lost steel. His eyes fell on an axe-shaped imprint in the snow where his weapon had buried itself. His right arm, as he used it to reclaim the axe, was unbroken, not even cut, but tingling in bone and muscle as if he had been sleeping on it for a week.
For the moment the Valkyrie was ignoring him. But she was still holding that spear ready.
Baldur had not tried to draw his sword. Instead, he greeted the mounted girl as if he knew her. When she grounded her flying steed, he tried to grab the animal by its mane, but it pulled swiftly away, freeing itself from his clumsy grasp.
Hal, having recovered his axe, was trying to grab with his free hand for his own animal's bridle, forgetting for the moment that it did not wear one. It took a moment for his fumbling fingers to find the long mane again, and fasten themselves in that.
With shouted warnings and cautions Baldur let Hal know that this Valkyrie was one who had proven herself sympathetic to Brunhild and her affair with a simple warri
or.
Baldur sounded as if he had crossed over into panic: "Hal, hold back! Put down your weapon!"
Panicked or not, that sounded like good advice. With a broad gesture, wanting to make sure that everybody saw, Hal slipped it back into its holster, glad of the chance to demonstrate his preference for a peaceful resolution of this misunderstanding. The spear in the Valkyrie's hand was still ready, and he was not going to try to compete with it again. Not unless he had to, to save his life.
When Alvit once more turned his way, he warily introduced himself. His arm still seemed to be on fire, though functioning, and he resisted the urge to rub it.
Something in the Valkyrie's attitude as she confronted Hal strongly suggested that she had seen him stuffing two saddlebags with golden horseshoes, and the hard stare of her blue eye made him feel guilty about it.
In a moment Hal's instincts were proven correct, for she contemptuously charged him as a thief. "And this one has come along to steal gold."
Baldur was lagging mentally a step or two behind, as usual. Reassuringly he told the Valkyrie: "No, I made him put that back."
There came an interruption from an unexpected source. From the direction of the smithy, now out of sight behind some other sheds, came the gnomes, the pair of them stumbling and wincing in daylight. They were pulling on additional clothes and shielding their faces as they cried the alarm. Both small men were crying out in their harsh, accented voices, and struggling with the strings that held their bone-disk goggles on, as they forced themselves to brave the outdoor sunlight. Hal needed a moment to understand what they were saying.
"Someone has carried off the bucket of old shoes!"
Fortunately Baldur once more failed to get the point. "We saw it in the stable," he assured them.
The Valkyrie was briefly distracted as she tried to reassure the two gnomes.
They protested some more, but she had at least temporary success, despite the obvious presence of mutual suspicion.
For a moment at least the gnomes were staring straight at Baldur and Hal, but it was possible, Hal supposed, that in the glaring, show-reflected light they failed to recognize the recent visitors to their village. Moments later the Earthdwellers, at Alvit's urging, had turned away to grope their way back to the smithy.
Now the Valkyrie turned back to Hal and Baldur, and in a low voice urged the foolish intruders to flee.
"Get out of here, and quickly. Yes, you had better take the Horses. I'll get them back later, and think up some explanation. How did you reach this place? On foot? Fools!"
Hal needed only a moment to recover from his astonishment. "Thank you, my lady," Hal bowed deeply. She was welcome to call him whatever names she wanted, for he had never heard sweeter words. "We're on our way at once. Let me just give you back what we have taken—"
But Alvit interrupted, cursing at him. "Never mind that. Take what you have, I say, and go!"
When Baldur showed signs of being unable to move until his mind had been relieved regarding the mysterious problem of the gold, Alvit relented and tried again: "If there is not enough gold to make the shoes, that will get the attention of the All-Highest. Then maybe I can get him to confront our greater problems."
"Greater problems than missing gold?" Even now Hal could not restrain his curiosity.
Alvit's answer burst forth as if she had been holding it back for a long time and could no longer do so. "The guard is greatly under strength, there are shortages of equipment, clothing, even of food—" She broke off, looking anxiously back over one shoulder.
Baldur, who now seemed determined to explain his conduct, began to say something, but she silenced him with a fierce gesture. "Wodan is coming! I will try to delay him, but—no, it is too late." Her last words were almost inaudible, her voice sinking in what sounded like despair.
Baldur took a step closer to her, and for a moment he had Alvit's full attention.
Hal seized his chance. Winding his fingers into a mane of coarse dark hair, he clutched it tightly and leaped astride the Horse, fear lending an extra spring to his legs this time. From the corner of his eye, he could see clearly enough that Baldur had mounted too. As soon as Hal felt himself firmly aboard, he kicked hard with both heels into the animal's flanks.
The next few moments were total confusion.
Using stirrups and saddle, Hal had climbed onto the backs of cameloids and droms more times than he could count. But this bareback experience was every bit as different as he had feared it would be. The beast beneath him seemed harder, bonier than any he had ever clamped between his legs before, and was surely as strong as any cameloid that Hal had ever ridden. In two bounds they were out of the stable and into the air. He caught a glimpse of Baldur near him in the sky, legs forked as they clamped hard round the thick body of a running animal. Both Horses had left the ground in giant leaps, and neither showed any sign of coming down.
Someone, in a voice that sounded remarkably like Hal's own, let out an outcry, as if of fright.
The Horse with Hal aboard was moving quickly, but he had not left the Valkyrie and her steed behind. Their flight had covered only a few yards when in the next moment Alvit, with what seemed a single sweep of her flashing Spear, knocked them both out of their saddles, and sent them sprawling on the snowy ground.
Baldur seemed to have been flattened utterly, but Hal came up from the fall with a bloodied knee and elbow. He also had acquired a mouthful of snow, muffling the words of rage that he was ready to spew forth. His anger was chiefly at himself, for making what now appeared as a long chain of stupid decisions, getting himself into this, and it was doubly fierce because of that. "What now, in all the hells—?"
In the moment it took him to regain his feet, the warrior girl had changed her mind as to what she wanted them to do—her attitude, her shouted commands, showed that they had become her prisoners. And in a moment Hal understood why.
It was already too late. Hal saw with a sinking heart that it was far too late now to attempt flight—because now another airborne marvel had come into view, a single figure riding a black chariot that thundered through the sky behind a pair of Horses, somehow harnessed in tandem rather than side by side—no. Hal rubbed his eyes and looked again.
Pulling the chariot was one monstrous animal, that in fact appeared to be an eight-legged Horse.
One moment this fantastic equipage was hurtling through the air directly toward them. But a moment or two before it ran them down, it abruptly descended until the wheels spun in snow. A moment after that, the chariot had pulled to a stop on the ground no more than twenty feet from Hal, sending up a spray of snow and gravel from the vehicle's two wheels and the eight hooves of Sleipnir. That, Hal now seemed to remember from some legend, was the name of Wodan's Horse.
The Valkyrie and the young man seemed both frozen in position like two statues. Baldur had just dragged himself erect, while Alvit sat astride her own Horse, spear held firmly with the point raised, as if to offer a salute to the new arrival.
Looking at the great god leaning toward him from his chariot, Hal saw an imposing man apparently about fifty years of age, his one functioning eye, locked now in a stare at Hal, deepset under a jutting brow under long hair of silvery blond. A black patch covered the other eye. Wodan was clad in rich furs, and there was a definite resemblance to Hagan, so that the two of them might have been brothers. The big difference that Hal could see with his first look was that except for the missing eye, Wodan's massive body was that of a hale and hearty man.
Baldur was whimpering like a lost child, and he had fallen on his knees.
* * *
10
With a sense that the youth's behavior was utterly unseemly in the eyes of humanity and the gods, Hal grabbed Baldur's collar with one hand and yanked him to his feet. Meanwhile a fragment of some old parody of a drinking song, learned in some exotic tavern from some fellow Argonaut, had begun running through Hal's head. It was something about:
. . . marching with the heroes
. . .
Some part of his mind, as usual, kept finding jokes even when the situation was far from funny.
He couldn't remember the next line of the song, and at the moment it did not seem to matter. He was feeling even less heroic than usual, but at least it seemed that he and Baldur were not going to be thrown directly over a cliff. Wodan was staring at them both, but Hal had no sense that the god was particularly angry. Beside Hal, Baldur was keeping silent too, both of them standing there panting and disheveled, about like a couple of boys caught stealing apples. The young man seemed not much worse off physically for having been knocked off his Horse, but his helmet was still dented, and Hal was bleeding freshly from a couple of minor scratches. Anyone who gave them a cursory inspection, as Wodan seemed to be doing, might be easily convinced that they had just fallen on some battlefield.
As far as Hal was aware, only the two gnomes and Alvit had as yet noticed that gold was missing, and only the Valkyrie had connected the loss with him. For her own reasons she was keeping silent about it.
Meanwhile the All-Highest was still directing his one-eyed glare at the pair of intruders, his broad, bearded face betraying not much in the way of interest despite the steadiness of his regard. When at last he spoke, he apparently saw no reason to doubt that they were newly harvested heroes.
"And where are these two from?" The voice of the Father of Battles seemed fully appropriate to his reputation. It gave the impression that if he raised it, it ought to be audible to the farthest corner of any field of war.
Alvit bowed her head and uttered what sounded like a place name, one that meant nothing to Hal. But Wodan accepted it without apparent surprise.
"Have you seen the god Loki anywhere?" was the surprising first question Wodan now shot at the newcomers to his realm.
"No sir, I have not," said Hal clearly, and kicked Baldur in the ankle so that the youngster was roused sufficiently to second Hal's denial.
Gods of Fire and Thunder Page 12
