Gods of Fire and Thunder

by Fred Saberhagen

  Silence fell again. The god maintained his dour look, but his gaze was wandering, so maybe his mind was elsewhere. At first Hal kept expecting him to make some comment on the shabby appearance of the two new members of the corps of Heroes. But then Hal remembered under what circumstances the Valkyries generally did their recruiting.

  Somewhere behind Hal, in the middle distance, a dozen human feet or so came shuffling and tramping through the snow. He didn't turn, but he thought he could identify the source: a small squad of human soldiers, moving at route step, still some distance off.

  Again the god seemed to have drifted away into some shadowy realm of rumination, chewing his substantial mustache and staring now right at Hal, now at something over the northman's shoulder. When Hal looked around at the squad marching toward them, perhaps to escort the two new recruits to the barracks, something about them struck him as odd. As far as he could tell not one of the men was really wearing a uniform, proper or not.

  Hal kept expecting rough hands to seize him, strip him of battle-axe and dagger, and probably dump out his belt-pouch too. Wait till someone hefted the saddlebags—then the fun would start. But nothing of the kind happened. All that happened was that Wodan commanded that the two new arrivals be conducted to the barracks.

  The tramp of feet grew louder, then shuffled to a halt. Now Hal took a closer look at the squad that had just arrived. He was not impressed. There were only six of them, armed with a miscellany of what looked like second-rate weapons, and none of the men looked really formidable. On neutral ground, and with some other companion than befuddled Baldur at his side, he might have seriously considered trying to fight his way free once the god had ceased to stare at him. Here, under the eye of Wodan, there was no point in considering resistance.

  Again the god was speaking, in his voice of rolling, muted thunder. "You are the sergeant—?"

  "Sergeant Nosam, sir!"

  Hal thought there was probably no reason why Wodan had to know the name of every noncom in his army. Still, a god ought to be able to do that, if he made the effort. If Hal were a god, he would have done as much.

  Wodan was rumbling. "Nosam, yes. You are to take charge of these two recruits . . ." The volume of the thunderous voice declined, the words trailed off.

  The sergeant did not seem to be surprised at his commander's vagueness. "The recruits, yes sir. They will be inducted and indoctrinated according to standard operating procedures."

  "My army," Wodan was saying now. "My army needs more men."

  "Yes, sir. That has been—that has been my opinion for some time, if I may say so."

  Wodan apparently did not care if the man said so or not. Eventually the god grated out an order. "Sergeant Nosam, see that the new members of the guard are issued proper uniforms."

  "Yes, my great lord, at once." The sergeant, snapping to attention, saluted and acknowledged the order with military precision. None of the men were wearing any insignia of rank, as far as Hal could tell.

  Wodan's rambling voice kept running, on and off, like intermittent rain. Hal would have liked to concentrate more fully on what the god was saying, but he could not. All he could think of was the purloined gold still packed into the saddlebags on the back of the Horse he had been trying to borrow. So far, no one had discovered the theft—no one but the gnomes, and they seemed not to count. Hal was beginning to hope against hope that the matter might somehow, incredibly, be overlooked. But he knew he was not out of the woods yet.

  The presence of the animals, as if waiting to be ridden, had suddenly caught Wodan's wandering attention.

  "Why are these other Horses here?" the god demanded, pointing with a huge forefinger at Gold Mane and Cloudfoot.

  Alvit, bless her, was sticking her neck out to try to save the trespassers. "The heavenly farrier is making his regularly scheduled visit, my lord." Hal hadn't really expected any more help from the Valkyrie, not after she had almost killed them with her damned Spear. But he wasn't going to argue. Still, he feared her noble effort would be wasted. As soon as someone else discovered the stolen gold, he was as good as dead anyway.

  "About time," Wodan grumbled.

  To Hal's dismay, the gnomes were back. Andvari was even daring to approach the god directly, while his colleague trailed behind. The daring Earthdweller was babbling to the god something to the effect that the supply of gold was almost entirely missing.

  If Wodan heard the plea at all, he ignored it totally.

  Alvit looked utterly discouraged. She eyed the two small workmen fiercely, and ordered in a low voice: "Look around carefully. Things are forever being misplaced."

  "Yes, my lady," the gnome who had spoken to Wodan rasped, in tones of fear. Then he and his more timid associate began to retreat, walking slowly backward and bowing repeatedly, like dancers or magic toys, until they had passed around the corner of a building.

  Suddenly Baldur had fallen on his knees again, and was making preliminary noises in his throat, as if about to utter some impassioned plea, or worse, a miserable confession. Once more Hal grabbed him roughly and jerked him back to his feet, this time twisting his collar and choking him into silence in the process. Wodan had no reaction to this incident; the mind of the All-Highest, if he really had one any longer, still seemed to be elsewhere.

  Meanwhile Hal was thinking furiously, or at least trying. The two Earthdwellers ought to have been able to get a good look at Hal and Baldur, and ought to have recognized them from their meeting in the gnomes' village. Yet they had given no sign of knowing them. Possibly the gnomes had been unable to identify the men here in the glare of daylight—or possibly they had simply thought it safest not to recognize the intruders, who were obviously in deep trouble of some kind.

  Thinking seemed quite useless at the moment. Wodan was mumbling something into his beard, and Alvit was busy being deferential and soothing to her master. "As you say, lord. I will see to it that the Horses are kept under better control."

  "See that they are," said Wodan in a voice that was suddenly clear and sharp. A moment later he picked up the reins of his chariot, and with the sharp tug of an expert driver induced the eight-legged horse to turn the vehicle around, the animal demonstrating fancy footwork in the process. He drove off slowly, staying firmly on the ground, in the direction of his stronghold's massive, towering, half-ruined central keep.

  While Sergeant Nosam was trying to get the squad's formation into shape, Hal favored Alvit with his best effort at a pleading glance, hoping she would understand his silent request that she somehow arrange to get them free again. If for some obscure reason she wanted him to steal the gold, well, that could certainly be managed; if not, he could live with that decision too.

  When she only glared at him, he tried to talk to her again, keeping his voice low.

  "That is impossible," the young woman snapped, in reply to his first few words. "Now Wodan knows you are here."

  "He does? I mean, with all respect, he doesn't seem to—"

  "Here you are, and here you must stay."

  "For how long?"

  That provoked a savage look. "For the rest of your lives. What did you expect? But take courage, northman. Your life may be over much sooner than you think."

  Then the Valkyrie must have signaled to the squad of soldiers with a gesture, for the squad gave up on trying to dress itself into a tight square and loosely surrounded Hal and Baldur, as if officially taking them into custody.

  "Forward, march! Route step." Sergeant Nosam might not look like much, but he had the knack of issuing crisp commands.

  Dazedly they moved away, the escort looking and sounding as awkward as the two recruits, or prisoners. It was an uneven march, and one of the men somewhere behind Hal, seemed to be straggling, almost unable to keep up. There came a sound of hard breathing, with the slight exertion of this simple walk. Again, Hal thought he could almost certainly outfight any of them, maybe even any two, but it would be berserker madness to take on all of them. Whether Baldur would help
him or swipe at him with his sword would be about an even bet. And he doubted that he could outrun any but the slowest.

  There was no air of pride, or even of menace, about their escort. Their guide had little to say to his new captives, or recruits; it was as if his thoughts had joined his divine master's, brooding in some distant world.

  Their destination, reached after a minute or so of circuitous route-stepping through the sprawling ruins, proved to be a kind of armory or barracks, built into a lower level of the great keep.

  Baldur became aware of the low doorway just in time to duck his head. The interior was a shabby place, with makeshift barriers of straw and rags propped with boards over holes in the wall, where they fought to keep out the cold. Better help came from a roaring fire in a makeshift hearth, positioned below another hole that served as chimney. Hal noted with a start that the flames in the crude fireplace seemed to be consuming nothing, just like those on the high crag. More of Loki's magic, he supposed, here in Wodan's headquarters as a gift or on loan.

  The sergeant took note of what Hal was staring at. "Never seen a fire like that one, have you? Once Loki was welcome in Valhalla. Some of the flames that he gave Wodan, when the two of them were friends, are burning still. Thank Loki, or we'd none of us survive the coming winter."

  Hal was curious. "But Wodan and Loki are friends no longer, is that it? How about Thor? What's his attitude now?"

  Now that the god was no longer in sight, Baldur had regained his powers of almost normal speech and movement. He murmured to Hal that this might be a kind of training station where new recruits were kept until they could prove themselves.

  "See, Hal, it is only a kind of outpost, as I thought. The stables are here, and a few men to guard the stables. The All-Highest must be only visiting. We won't be here long." He seemed to be doggedly trying to convince himself as well as Hal.

  Hal only grunted in response. Alvit's parting remarks, whether they were meant as curse or warning, hadn't offered much ground for hope. And with every passing moment Hal expected a great outcry, a shout from whoever had charge of the Horses now—whoever was going to discover the gold in the saddlebags. And soon horrible vengeance would fall upon the thief.

  But moment after moment passed and there was no outcry.

  Shortly after their arrival at the barracks, Baldur's outpost-with-stables theory suffered a distinct setback when Sergeant Nosam pointed out to the recruits what he said were the god's regular living quarters, high up in the solid remnant of the still-impressive keep.

  When Hal ventured to question the mild-mannered sergeant on the subject of Valkyries' housing, he learned that they were quartered in an upper floor of the same building, very near Wodan's private domain.

  There was another entrance to the keep, at ground level, through which the young women came and went, as a rule, without their flying Horses. Even as Hal was watching, he saw a couple of them flying in, the Horses landing on and taking flight from a high terrace, up near the highest level of the still-palatial remnant of a building.

  Moments after those maidens on Horses landed, a bright light, like a large lamp newly kindled into flame, suddenly came on in those high rooms. Maybe that was coincidence, thought Hal, or maybe evidence that Valkyries' duties did not end when they put down their Spears. He doubted they were held strictly to their pledge of perpetual virginity.

  "The old man's turning in for the night," one of his new comrades in arms observed.

  Baldur turned his head sharply. "Who?"

  "The old man, I said. Who do you think that is? Our lord and eternal master, Wodan." The tone in which the words were spoken was far from reverent, and the hero let out an ugly laugh through broken teeth.

  Baldur rose up as if determined to object to such a sacrilegious attitude, but then remained silent, as if he were either afraid to speak, or didn't know what to say.

  Suddenly everyone wanted to avoid the subject.

  Hal had not been in the barracks for an hour, when he was surprised to be summoned to take a turn at guard duty. The sergeant led him to a deserted courtyard not far from the smithy and the stables. Was this some kind of trick, to see if he would try to grab the gold and flee again?

  Nosam had turned his back and started away when Hal called after him. "Can I ask you a question, Sergeant Nosam?"

  Turning, the sergeant was agreeable as usual. "Fire away."

  "No one's told me what I'm guarding, or who I'm supposed to challenge if they come this way."

  Slowly Nosam shook his head. "Maybe I didn't make it clear. I wouldn't challenge anyone, Haraldur. Just stay on your post, and look alert, in case Wodan or a Valkyrie comes by. Maybe a guard is needed here, maybe not. But there's a standing order to post one, going back a long way, that's never been countermanded. Our job is to follow orders."

  "I see."

  Hal had not been on guard for more than half an hour, when he was surprised by Alvit, who appeared, on foot and unarmed, and stopped to talk with him.

  "Well, northman. What do you think of Valhalla now?"

  "So far I am surviving. Give me a little time and I might get used to it."

  "Is that all?"

  "If you want my opinion of it as a prison, well, I've seen worse. As a military outfit, I have to say it stinks." In fact he had already noticed that the latrine behind the guardroom had a particularly evil smell, despite the fact that it was even colder than the barracks. The walls of both facilities were full of holes and crevices, some of which had been stuffed with straw and rags in a futile attempt to shut out the rising winter wind.

  Somewhat to Hal's surprise, the Valkyrie only nodded thoughtfully. "I suppose you were brought to this country as a mercenary?"

  "Then you suppose wrong. I was very much on my own, just passing through."

  "So you can tell me very little about the intentions of any of our local warlords?"

  "Never met any of them, so I can tell you nothing. But I'd think you must know them fairly well. You visit their battlefields, don't you?"

  Alvit shook her head. "Battlefields are not good places to discover what people are thinking."

  "I am curious," Hal said, taking advantage of the young woman's evident willingness to talk. "I know very little about Valkyries. Do you really make an effort to collect the bravest and the best when you go out recruiting?"

  Alvit was shaking her head, as if she marveled at his ignorance. "Haraldur, I believe just this much of what you have told me so far—that you really are a stranger in these parts."

  "I am."

  "Well, just stop and think about the problem of recruiting heroes. The rankest cowards have run from the battlefield before we Valkyries get there. The brave but ineffective have been slaughtered, unless they are very lucky. Others are trapped, just fighting for their lives. So how are we to know who among the survivors is the bravest? Personally I always look for a man not too badly hurt, but no more than about half conscious, so he won't put up a fight when I drag him aboard my Horse."

  "Presumably he should not be dead, either; though the legend has it that you bring the dead to Valhalla."

  "Of course, not dead!" Alvit gave a harsh laugh that did not indicate amusement. "Wodan needs fighting men, not corpses."

  Hal chuckled too. "I think Baldur more than half believes the legend."

  "How do you mean? Believes what, exactly?"

  "He's idealistic about Wodan and Valhalla, but doesn't have the details worked out very well. He seems to think that if Brunhild had gathered him in, his dead body would have stayed on the field, while only his spirit would have been carried here to glorious—"

  The Valkyrie interrupted, snorting. "Baldur is a fool! And so are you, or you would not be here."

  "I won't argue that point. But tell me more about your work on the battlefields. What if you need recruits but can't find a good candidate?"

  "We always need recruits, as you can see by looking around you. And it's true, acceptable men, let alone ideal ones, are hard
to come by." She sighed. "More often than not we ride home empty-handed after these skirmishes. But Wodan insists we do our recruiting in the traditional way. Some of those we bring back here are failures. We are granted no magical insight. But more likely than not, those struck down in battle have some bravery, or they would not be on the field. I always try to avoid the men who are really trying to run away."

  For once Hal had no comment. Alvit ruminated briefly, then turned away and started to leave. Then momentarily she turned back. "Maybe, Haraldur, you will live longer than I thought."

  Baldur and Hal had been assigned a pair of neighboring bunks, poor berths hardly more than pallets on the stone floor, in a dim-lit, cheerless barracks or guardroom, with a row of some ten or a dozen bunks down each side. Despite the welcome presence of Loki's magic fire, the room was cold.

  Hal looked, and pulled his cloak around him. "Damn those holes. Is there a better barracks than this somewhere around?"

  A man who was sitting two bunks away looked over. "This is it, friend."

  Everything that Hal had seen and heard since his arrival was forcing him to the realization that the Heroes of Valhalla comprised a total of something less than twenty men, most of them not very heroic.

  He turned to his companion. "Baldur, do you know what I am beginning to suspect? That this handful of misfits in this barracks are all the army Wodan has."

  "That can't be." Baldur looked over as if he suspected Hal of cooking up a joke.

  "Maybe it can't be," put in the tired-looking fellow from two bunks away. "But it is."

  Other men around them wearily confirmed it.

  The tired-looking one sat up; the movement seemed to cost him a great effort. "When did you die?" he asked Baldur. Despite the evidence of illness, there was a glint in his eye that told of joke-making.

  Baldur only looked at him, but Hal replied. "It was so long ago, I can't remember."

  Then he looked back at Baldur, who seemed to be in shock.

  Staring at him, Hal asked in a whisper: "What are you worried about now?"

  Baldur only looked at him.