Even wearing mail, Heimdall’s weight was negligible compared to a Jotun’s might. The frost giant heaved the weapon high and only then registered that his foe was clinging to it. Eyes as big as shields and as white as the snowfall goggled in surprise.
The Asgardian heaved himself on top of the round wooden handle. He knew the frost giant need only flick the mace to fling him off, but the startled Jotun didn’t do it quickly enough. Heimdall raised the great sword in both hands, bellowed a war cry, and leaped into space. As he started to drop, the two-handed sword caught the Jotun just beneath the hairline and slashed a bloody furrow down the forehead, across the eye, and then on down the cheek to the lips before ripping free.
Heimdall plummeted. The frost giant reeled backward with one hand clapped to the gash.
Heimdall landed in a snowdrift, and either that or Asgardian resilience kept the drop from doing him any harm. Now that it was over, the sheer reckless insanity of what he’d just done came home to him, but there was no time to marvel at his luck. The sheltering pines were all but swept away.
At least his sister was still alive, still fighting, slashing and thrusting at the feet of another frost giant wearing iron-plated boots. The Jotun was hobbling and leaving bloody prints in the snow, proof that she’d figured out how to strike past the armor, and after a second Heimdall saw her dart under an upraised foot and stab. She’d discovered that the boots didn’t have plating on the soles.
After that, Heimdall had no more time to keep track of her. Two more frost giants were closing in on him, one from either side. Telling himself to stay calm, stay calm, he wondered how he could contend with two at once.
He felt a surge of relief when it didn’t come to that. A woman on a winged horse swooped down at the nearer Jotun and shot arrow after arrow into his head. Distracted, the frost giant took a lurching step after her and stabbed with his spear, but with a beat of his wings the flying stallion rose higher and dodged the thrust.
Heimdall saw that the other Valkyries were attacking the remaining frost giants with bows, lances, and javelins. Some hadn’t taken the time to saddle their mounts, but riding bareback didn’t appear to hinder them.
Emboldened by their arrival, he rushed the frost giant with the spear and, now that he’d seen his sister demonstrate the trick of it, slashed the soles of the Jotuns’ feet. For a moment, he felt a savage joy to think that he and his newfound allies might fell the creature without paying with their own lives.
Then, however, the Jotun’s huge spear leaped at a Valkyrie hurling javelins at him. Her black steed swooped lower, but not quickly enough. Heimdall cried out to see the spear thrust strike home and knock her from the equine’s back. Her body tumbled earthward. Enraged, he charged the frost giant and cut deep into one of his feet.
The Jotun warrior stumbled backward, tripped over one of the toppled trees, and fell on his back. The steed of the slain Valkyrie lit on top of his face and battered his eyes with his hooves, then took flight again before the frost giant could swat or grab him.
Meanwhile the surviving Valkyries drove weapons into the giant’s torso. The Jotun shuddered, the blue hands flopped down into the snow, and the creature didn’t move thereafter.
A Valkyrie on a white steed swooped low enough for a good look at Heimdall. She wore a winged helm like Sif’s except that it, like the rest of her armor, was black. So too were her braids. She carried a broadsword in her hand, and some enchantment sheathed the blade in rippling yellow flame, the firelight glinting on the dark mail. She gave Heimdall a nod and flew on in search of the next foe.
He looked around for Sif and discovered to his relief that she was still on her feet and likewise fighting in concert with several flying allies. He took a deep breath and ran to join her, but she and the Valkyries felled their adversary before he could enter the fray.
In fact, it turned out there was little more for him or Sif to do. The other frost giants were either down or on the verge of it. He and his sister aided in the fight against one more of the Jotuns, and then the battle was over.
Afterward, the Valkyrie with the flaming sword and several of her comrades landed their steeds in front of Heimdall and Sif. To his relief, there was nothing of suspicion or hostility in the Valkyries’ manner. He hadn’t really expected such, but life as a fugitive was teaching him to take nothing for granted.
“I’m Uschi,” said the one in black, who possessed, Heimdall now observed, a lean, long-legged frame and a long, dark-eyed, serious face to go with it. “I’m the thane of this company.”
“I’m Sune,” Heimdall replied, hoping the lie would pass muster one more time, “and my friend is Thyra.”
“Welcome to you both,” Uschi said, “and thank you. The frost giants would likely have slaughtered us all if not for you. Please, share our camp and the supper we were about to prepare.”
“Gladly,” Heimdall said, “it will be our pleasure.”
It was not, however, time to retreat indoors just yet. Four Valkyries and two of the winged stallions had perished during the fighting. The surviving members of the company first searched the bodies, scavenging any gear deemed useful and any items that kin or friends might want for keepsakes. They then built funeral pyres from the wood of the fallen pines and laid dead warriors and dead horses alike on top of them. Uschi set the piles alight with her burning sword, the surviving Asgardians sang a song of mourning, and the remaining winged stallions looked gravely on with eyes that seemed full of an almost human intelligence.
When the funeral observances were through, Heimdall and Sif were finally able to go inside the longhouse with its wattle and daub walls, floor of pounded earth, and thatched roof. Supper was leeks, cheese, rye flatbread, and dried eel. With their stomachs full, their bodies warmed by the fire and exhausted from marching through the snow all day, the two siblings fell asleep soon after on two of the built-in benches lining the walls.
When Heimdall woke sometime later, it was to discover that the Valkyries had gathered around him and Sif with weapons in hand and their expressions somber. Alarmed, he reached for the hilt of his great sword and found that the blade was no longer beside him.
Sif woke an instant later, saw the armed women clustered around her and Heimdall, and snatched for her broadsword. The Valkyries had taken this as well.
“What is this?” she demanded.
“A problem,” Uschi said. “I don’t like it, but apparently the two of you are not who you claim to be.”
Sixteen
“I don’t understand,” Heimdall said. It was a lie. As his anxiety attested, he understood all too well, the what if not the how of it.
Uschi gestured toward one of the other Valkyries, and Heimdall realized he hadn’t seen this one before. She was still in full armor and cloaked and hooded against the frigid winter weather outside.
“This is Quy,” Uschi said. “She carries messages to and from various warlords, thanes, and companies, and she’s just arrived with one about the two of you.”
Heimdall could readily imagine what the message said. No doubt Sif could as well, but evidently she still had hope of brazening the situation out. “That seems unlikely,” she said.
Quy pushed back her hood. She had a stern oval face with narrow green eyes and tousled auburn curls. “It’s a message from Queen Frigga herself,” she said, “about the traitors and murderers Sif and Heimdall.”
“Then you have the wrong people,” Sif replied. “I’m Thyra and he’s Sune. We serve under Captain Gudrun but were separated from our patrol when frost giants attacked it.” She looked to Uschi. “We already explained all this.”
“And apparently you were convincing,” Quy replied. “But unfortunately for you, the queen didn’t just send word of your crimes. She sent these.”
The messenger reached into the pouch hanging from her shoulder and brought out a parchment. Unrolled, it displayed two well-rend
ered sketches, one of Sif and one of Heimdall. Some talented artist must have drawn the originals, after which a sorcerer duplicated the images to put them into general circulation.
None of the other Valkyries looked at the parchment closely, no doubt because they’d already done so while the two Vanir were sleeping. Heimdall, however, stared at it in shock and with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. He no longer saw any hope of claiming that Sune and Thyra simply bore unfortunate chance resemblances to the fugitives. The likenesses were too exact. Which meant that only the truth offered any hope of saving him and Sif.
His sister began a protestation of innocence, and he talked over her. “Yes,” he said, “I admit, it’s us. We’re the ones Frigga is looking for.”
Sif shot him a startled if not disgusted look.
“But I beg you to listen to the whole story,” he continued. “Yes, to my shame, I killed a guard, and I’ll answer for it when the time comes, but it was an accident. Yes, Sif and I intruded on the vault where the All-Father sleeps the Odinsleep–”
“You mean you tried,” said Quy.
“No,” Heimdall said. “I understand why it seems that way, but we did get in, although the door locked after we came out again and created the appearance that we didn’t. We intruded because we feared some enemy had put Odin under a spell, and that was why the sleep has lasted so long just when his people need him most. We understood it wasn’t our place to go, but no one else would heed our fears.”
Quy made a spitting sound. “Save your lies and excuses for the tribunal that will judge you.”
“It’s all right,” Uschi said. “It does no harm to let them speak.” She looked at Heimdall. “Did you find proof that Odin has fallen prey to sorcery?”
“No,” Heimdall said, “but we did find proof that another intruder had entered the vault before us. Possibly even a traitor still going undetected and just waiting for the chance to do further harm. Someone must have entered the chamber because one of the king’s treasures was missing. Someone stole the head of Mimir.”
“If you know anything about it,” said Sif, “you know it’s a source of great wisdom, and now the frost giants fight with a cunning they never displayed before. Clearly, they have the head, and my brother and I intend to get it back.”
Quy sneered. “How noble of you. And here I thought you were simply running in the direction of Jotunheim to escape punishment for your treachery.”
“That’s not so,” Heimdall replied. “Dangerous as Asgard has become for us, we wouldn’t run to a place more dangerous still.” He gave Uschi a pleading look. “Captain, I realize you only just met us, but you’ve seen enough to form an opinion. We helped you and your company against the frost giants when we could have simply sneaked on by and left you to your fate.”
Some of the Valkyries looked uncomfortable if not actually guilty that they’d turned on the people who’d fought to save them. Uschi turned to Quy. “You have no way of knowing this,” said the commander in black, “but he’s telling the truth. I think we all would have died if not for his sister and him.”
“And therefore what?” Quy replied. “Queen Frigga commands that the fugitives be apprehended and returned to the citadel for judgment. If you and your company don’t obey, you’ll stand condemned as traitors too.”
Uschi grimaced. “I know.”
At the show of acquiescence, Quy’s manner became less truculent. “I know you don’t like it – I wouldn’t either in your place – but we can’t know what game Heimdall and Sif are playing, or why they truly chose to help your company. Let the wise ones back at court sort it all out. The prisoners will have their chance to speak.”
Uschi gave Heimdall a regretful look. “We have no choice but to obey the queen.” She turned to Quy. “After the fight, my warriors and our steeds are exhausted. I imagine you and your horse are tired too. We can take the prisoners back in the morning.”
“Of course,” said Quy. “The journey will be less dangerous in the light of day.”
“Then it just remains to secure the prisoners.” Uschi turned back to Heimdall and Sif. “We need to tie you up now. I ask you not to resist.”
Heimdall thought grimly that it was an unnecessary request. Surrounded by Valkyries with weapons in hand, he saw no hope of resisting successfully, and, scowling, Sif had evidently arrived at the same conclusion. She too suffered one of her captors to bind her hands behind her and her ankles together and then lay her back on the bench.
“Tying them’s not enough,” said Quy. “Someone needs to watch them.”
“I’m well aware,” Uschi said, a sardonic note in her voice. “I have commanded this company for a while. In fact, unless I’m mistaken, I outrank you, courier.”
Quy blinked. “Yes, Captain. I didn’t mean–”
“I’ll take first watch myself,” said Uschi, cutting her off. “The rest of you, get some sleep. We have a long flight ahead of us in the morning.”
The other Valkyries sought their own benches and bedrolls. Once everyone was lying down, the buzzes and snorts of snoring arising here and there, Heimdall started tugging at the coarse rope around his wrists, trying to loosen his bonds and slip his hands free. His struggles, however, served only to scrape his wrists raw. He had an Asgardian’s strength, but so too was this rope Asgardian, tied by someone who knew how to secure prisoners.
And what good, he thought, not far from despair, would it do him even if he did succeed in loosening his bonds? Uschi was sitting right across from him with a trestle table between them. If he jumped up, her cry would rouse the other Valkyries in an instant.
He hated the thought that this was how it was all going to end. Even now, he couldn’t find it in himself to be sorry he’d helped the Valkyries, but he bitterly regretted that it had been necessary. It was probably going to cost Sif and him their lives.
He felt a twinge of surprise and anxiety when Uschi stood up and came around the table. He wondered if she was coming to check his bonds and if she’d see he’d been pulling at them. If so, she was likely to have him restrained even more securely. But she passed on by without so much as a glance.
Uschi walked to the spot where the Valkyries had stowed their shared provisions, found the white cheese that had been part of supper, drew a dagger from her belt, and cut off a fresh slice. Munching it, she headed back in Heimdall and Sif’s direction. Still without acknowledging the prisoners in any way, she put the dagger on the trestle table. The knife was only a few steps from the benches on which they lay. She then returned to her bench.
At first what had happened seemed too fortunate to be true. Heimdall almost felt he didn’t dare believe it, as if embracing hope would somehow turn it false. Surely Uschi had set down the dagger absentmindedly, by accident. Surely she’d notice the lapse at any moment, rise, and retrieve it.
That wasn’t what happened, though. Instead she slumped and eventually let out a soft snore, either truly asleep or more likely feigning it, and the knife remained where she’d set it.
Heimdall heaved a shivering sigh of relief. Now it seemed plain that, reluctant either to openly defy Frigga’s express command or to repay benefactors with captivity and the likelihood of execution, Uschi had opted to steer a middle course and give Sif and him a chance.
It was only a chance, however. Now it was up to him to take advantage of it. He swung his legs off his bench and stood up. One of the Valkyries had covered him with his cloak when he lay down, and the garment spilled down around his feet.
The cloak nearly tripped him when he started hopping. He felt a jolt of alarm, and Sif gave a tiny involuntary hiss of dismay. Recovering his balance, he headed on toward the dagger. Tense as he was, it seemed to him that each little jump thumped the earthen floor like a drumbeat, and he feared each would rouse his captors. But none of the Valkyries stirred, and in due course he reached the trestle table. Facing away from it, h
e groped for the dagger, put the blade to the bonds securing his hands, and sawed.
It was awkward work and seemed to take forever. Once, he fumbled his grip, the dagger fell back on the tabletop with a clink, and he flinched. It hadn’t fallen far, though, and no one roused at the sound either. His heart thumping, trying not to let nervousness make him clumsy, he took a long breath, expelled it slowly, and picked up the knife again.
Finally, one of the loops securing his hands parted, a second did the same, and then he was able to shake off the rest of them. He freed his feet, then tiptoed back to Sif and relieved her of her bonds.
They found their armor, backpacks, and the weapons the Valkyries had taken from them but didn’t immediately put them on. They begrudged the time the process would take and the noise it might make. They slipped outside into the cold and donned their gear in the wind and the snow.
As the two Vanir readied themselves, Sif said, “I should have gone after Uschi’s dagger. You were lurching around like a three-legged cow.”
Heimdall chuckled. “You can do it next time.” He buckled his baldric and then adjusted it, making sure he could draw the two-handed sword hanging down his back without difficulty.
“Let’s hope there won’t be a next time.” Sif frowned at her quiver, or rather, her brother suspected, at the fact that after the fight with the frost giants there were only a few arrows remaining. “Are you ready to run?”
“I don’t think we should try it on foot. Uschi gave us our chance, but come morning, the Valkyries will hunt us. Frigga’s command doesn’t leave them any choice. They’ll catch us, too, if we’re on the ground.”
“Wait,” she said. “Are you saying we should steal two of the winged stallions?”
“That was my thought. If you noticed, two survived the fight with the Jotuns when their riders didn’t.”
“That may be,” Sif said, frowning dubiously, “but there are stories about the mystic bond between the Valkyries and their steeds. Supposedly the horses won’t carry anyone else.”
The Head of Mimir Page 12