Gods of Fire and Thunder

by Fred Saberhagen

  "Here she is! I see her! Hal, look at this!"

  Baldur was crouched down, his head only three feet from the inner barrier—about as close as he could get without burning himself—trying with both hands to shade his eyes from the yellow glare, even as he stared intently at something near ground level and just in front of him, on the other side of that incandescent wall.

  Hal squatted beside the youth, cupped his hands round his own eyes to shade them from the omnipresent flames as best he could, and studied the indicated region. Then he rubbed his eyes and stared again.

  The object Baldur was focusing on was hard for Hal to make out at first, behind the glare and slowly swirling color, but when he had concentrated on the place for the space of a few breaths the thing seemed to come a little clearer—enough to allow him to perceive the outline of what might well have been a supine human shape.

  Given the obscuring glare, colors and other details were almost impossible to determine. But there could be no doubt about the general configuration. It did indeed appear to be either a young woman or the statue of one, lying on her back on some kind of bed or slab. She seemed partially clothed in some tight-fitting, reflective stuff that might have been metal armor.

  Squinting even more intently, Hal thought he could make out a pale mass of gold, just where the recumbent figure's head ought to be resting, as on a pillow. But as the fire bathed everything in its own bright yellow, it was impossible to be sure.

  Abruptly Baldur broke off his contemplation of the image beyond the sheet of fire. Next moment, with a bound and a wild cry, the youth had regained his seat astride his mount. Ignoring Hal's urging to stop and think, he urged Cloudfoot straight at the inner burning wall. But to the surprise of both men, the Horse refused the barrier at once, as simply and conclusively as it had accepted that of the outer ring.

  It occurred to Hal that if Wodan himself had carried Brunhild into this nest of fire, then the god must have had some means of getting in and out unharmed. On the way in, he must have protected his prisoner also, unless the terms of punishment had been broadened to include incineration. Of course Hal could not be sure of the exact sequence of events. The girl might have been brought here before Loki called the flames' fierce circles into existence.

  Or, and this seemed more likely as he thought about it, the Firegod himself could have carried the disgraced Valkyrie here as a favor for his colleague, the All-Highest, just as Loki had furnished Valhalla with some hearth-fires. That would mean that the two gods had been on good terms until only a few days ago.

  It would be something to ask Alvit about, Hal thought, when he saw her again. If he ever did.

  "Do you remember, Baldur?"

  "Remember what?"

  "Back in Valhalla, Wodan asked us several times what we knew about Loki, any contact we might have had with him."

  "Yes, of course I remember that. And Thor asked the same thing. What of it?"

  "I'm not sure. I was just trying to figure things out."

  Hal let it drop. There was no use trying to talk to Baldur, who was growing more frantic with every minute. Again and again he tried desperately to urge his Horse to join the motionless figure half-hidden behind the flames.

  Repeated efforts accomplished nothing. The animal showed no reluctance to approach the inner wall of fire, or even to stand near it—only within a few inches of the glowing wall did the heat become unbearable. But Cloudfoot could not be induced to try to pass through it, no matter what Baldur did. The burning inner curtain might as well have been a wall of stone. When Baldur persisted in trying to force the great Horse forward, it reared and finally threw him off.

  On his feet again a moment later, he borrowed the mount Hal had been riding and tried again, with exactly the same result.

  After being thrown the second time, Baldur lay for a long moment without trying to move. At last he croaked: "Maybe it is my fault—maybe I am unworthy. Hal, you must try!"

  Hal argued with him uselessly for a few moments. Then, more to pacify his colleague than in any hope of success, he made the same attempt, and managed to keep from being thrown. But his half-hearted effort achieved no more than Baldur's all-out try.

  Now, after stumbling about uncertainly for a few moments, the young man crossed his arms over his face and, before Hal realized what he intended, went lurching blindly forward, trying to reach Brunhild on his own two legs. Heat met him like a solid wall, and his effort accomplished nothing but slightly burning his arms and hands, and scorching some of his long hair until it smoked.

  Beaten back once by the intense heat, which when you got close enough was as fierce as that of any fire, he was still ready to try again.

  Seeing the expression on Baldur's face, Hal felt compelled to grab him and hold him back to keep him from a suicidal plunge.

  "Let me go! Let me go!" The young man struggled frantically, but Hal was stronger.

  When the youth attempted a desperate kick, Hal tripped him and slammed him expertly to the ground, knocking out his wind. Then he straddled him to keep him there.

  "Let me go!"

  "As soon as you get back your wits, I'll let you go. Can't you see, you're going to fry yourself like an egg if you keep on? What good'll you be to her then?"

  The youth broke down in helpless weeping.

  Releasing his prostrate partner and slowly regaining his feet, Hal looked about him. The brief struggle had not been very intense, but it had worsened every ache in his body. It would be too bad to leave Baldur here in this state, but he might have to do so. Still, Hal was in no immediate hurry to stick his nose outside the outer fire-ring, where an angry Wodan might well be waiting to pounce. Alvit had said that she would come to them here, and maybe she really would, bringing food and information.

  Meanwhile, something must be preventing Wodan from simply bulling his way in. Loki's defensive magic must be powerful. Sleipnir perhaps lacked golden shoes, and Wodan probably could not think straight enough to borrow a properly equipped Horse.

  And Hal thought he had better take advantage of Baldur's collapse before the youth revived. Hal himself was nearly exhausted, but he retained the strength and energy to switch the saddlebags from one Horse to the other, strapping the heavily laden pair firmly onto Gold Mane, the animal he had himself been riding, and the light pair on the other. He was assuming that Baldur, when he had pulled himself together, would continue to ride Cloudfoot. But right now Hal's companion did not question what Hal was doing or even notice it.

  It eased the aches and pains of battle wonderfully, to think that he had now secured his fortune as best he could. Now, Hal thought, the only thing really preventing his immediate departure was the strong possibility that Wodan was waiting for him just outside the flames. His stay could not be prolonged indefinitely, but he could afford tio wait a little longer.

  Loki's refuge might be proof against: certain angry gods, but it was notably short on such amenities as water and food. Now Hal opened the lighter set of saddlebags, in search of whatever Baldur had managed to snatch up before leaving Valhalla. Hal sighed at what he found. A few handfuls of nothing better than fodder for the Horses, some of it stale-smelling stuff probably left over from some previous Valkyrie ride. Hal decided to postpone trying to eat any of it now—Alvit had definitely said something about trying to bring them food.

  Shaking first one water bottle and them the other, to ascertain just how much might be left, he stood over Baldur and spoke to him sharply.

  "Look here, young one. Give up this whining and bawling and pull yourself together. Sit up like a nnan and share a little Horse-fodder with me. Thinking and eatimg will be better than banging your head against a wall of fire."

  Baldur sat up. If his assortment of minor burns, cuts, and bruises were paining him, he gave no sign. Ah, youth! Hal thought again. Sitting down to rest his legs, he groaned with the pain in his chronically sore knee. He wished there was a solid wall that he might lean his back against.

  Baldur stirred.
He rubbed his head with both hands for a while, then asked: "Where is Alvit? Didn't she say she was going to meet us here?"

  "She did say something like that, yes." Hal could feel his eyelids trying to sag shut. It was a long time, years, since he had felt as tired as he did right now. He was going to have to rest before he tried to flee, or made an effort to do anything, for that matter. Not that he wasn't proud as well as tired. Few men—very few—could boast of killing a berserker in single combat.

  Still thinking about Alvit, he added: "But she's done a lot for us already, and now she may be caught up in whatever damn fool battle this is that the gods are getting into. We oughtn't to expect much more from her." Privately he was thinking that Alvit would be lucky if Wodan did not discover everything she had been doing for his prisoners and deal her out some terrible punishment.

  "I suppose." Baldur had run out of tears and groans for the moment. Now he sat slumped beside Hal, just staring at nothing.

  "Let us think," Hal repeated. "How we are going to reach behind the inner flames. There never was a barrier without some kind of a way to get through it." As soon as those words passed his lips, he had serious doubts that they were true. But he let them stand. Baldur needed all the encouragement he could get. And for that matter, so did Hal himself.

  At last Baldur said, in a weakened voice: "We need some rest; I don't think I can think straight."

  "Truer words were never spoken. Who wants to stand the first watch?"

  Later Hal was never sure which of them had volunteered for the first turn of sentry duty, if either did. As things turned out, it did not matter. The two men were exhausted after putting in a day of duty in Valhalla, getting through the nightly feast, then fighting a deadly brawl in the early hours of the morning, and after that a desperate flight. In less than a minute they were both asleep, sprawled on the hard ground.

  Hal woke up with a shock, half-strangling on a snore. But he knew it was something more than snoring that had awakened him. There had been a sharp burst of sound, a briefly stuttering, ripping, slamming kind of noise like nothing he had ever heard before. It could have issued from no human throat—but could it possibly have been a dream? The sound had repeated itself once, he thought, and then had come no more.

  Now fully awake and sitting up, he listened, as carefully as he could. But everything was quiet, save for the endless murmuring of Loki's surrounding fire, which burned on undisturbed.

  "Now what in all the hells was that?" Hal muttered to himself, not really believing the jolt of sound had proceeded from a dream. No one answered him. Baldur was still sprawled out and snoring faintly. A whole team of eight-legged horses could have galloped in through the firewall and trampled over him, and he would not have cared.

  Groaning, Hal stood up and forced himself to move about a little. He had a distinct feeling that hours had passed since they had fallen asleep. He was both thirsty and hungry, and his muscles and joints were stiffer than ever from sleeping on the hard ground. But the two confining walls of fire showed no change, and he realized that he had no idea how long he had been asleep. In here, he thought, it would always be impossible to distinguish day from night. This time they had arrived at the crag in the early morning. For all he could tell, the day had passed, and night had fallen; day or night, things would probably look exactly the same in here.

  The two Horses were only a few yards away along the curving corridor, still browsing the scanty grass that endured in spite of magic fire. Hal opened a water bottle and took a swig. The Horses were going to have to wait for theirs. He opened the heavy set of saddlebags and checked the gold again, to make sure that something strange and evil had not happened to it while he slept. Then he told himself his nerves were making him inordinately suspicious.

  Well, if he had really been sleeping for many hours, that would seem to make it much more likely that by now Wodan had got tired of waiting in ambush outside the fire. Or the Father of Battles might have forgotten about his victims, and gone off to fight an important battle somewhere. Hal was in no hurry to find out. Speaking gently to Gold Mane and Cloudfoot, petting them as he passed, as he had seen Alvit and Baldur do, he took a complete slow turn around the little circle of their flame-protected sanctuary, stretching his arms and legs.

  When he had reached a point diametrically opposite to Baldur and the Horses, Hal opened his belt pouch and got out his scrap of Golden Fleece. The little swatch of cloth grew brighter, very definitely brighter, when he held it near the inner circle of flame.

  Don't be greedy, he told himself sharply. All you need is the several pounds of yellow stuff you already have put away. If you can get clean away with that, you'll have had all the good luck that any man could dare to hope for in a lifetime.

  And yet, and yet . . . now the Fleece was indicating a much vaster hoard nearby. For Hal the real lure of great treasure was not so much to possess it, but simply to know about it. To fathom all the secrets of the rings of fire . . .

  By the time Hal had put away his talisman and returned to his starting point, his companion was also awake, drinking from a water bottle.

  What we need," said Baldur, when the two began to plan again, "is a skilled magician for an ally."

  "Of course. I should have thought of that. Better still, why don't we just enlist one of the great gods as our partner—Loki himself, wherever he is, would be about right."

  Irony was lost on Baldur. "Why do you suppose both Thor and Wodan are angry with him?"

  "Who knows? If Loki's unavailable, we might instead employ some powerful tool of magical power, something so simple that it can be used effectively even by clumsy clods like us." Hal paused. "Any idea how we can do that?"

  Baldur was the picture of gloom. "No. My only clear idea is that I must reach Brunhild, and hold her once more in my arms."

  "Then we'd better come up with a different kind of plan. Maybe something totally practical, for a change. How about a scheme that requires us to do nothing outside the realm of possibility?"

  What felt like a lengthy period of silence dragged past. At last Baldur offered: "Magic would seem to be our only chance. Some kind of magic."

  "I hope that's not true," Hal meditated. "Because, as I keep pointing out, neither of us is able to do magic worth a fart. I learned a long time ago that I have no skill along those lines."

  There passed another lengthy interval during which no one spoke.

  "Clues to magical difficulties are often concealed in riddles," Baldur suddenly announced.

  "Are they indeed?" Hal snapped awake; he had been on the point of dozing off again, a vision of a bushel of golden horseshoes drifting in his mind. What was the young fool babbling about? Riddles? Magic riddles? Hal couldn't remember ever hearing anything of the kind.

  "Of course!" Baldur was emphatic. "I've heard any number of stories. And I did hear a certain riddle in Valhalla—from one of the kitchen workers—"

  Hal made a disgusted noise.

  "Wait a moment." Suddenly Baldur stood up straight, rejecting one theory to push another. "Riddles, no, that's nonsense." He raised an arm to point dramatically at nothing. "Gold rings!"

  "Brain damage," Hal sighed.

  "What?"

  "Never mind. All right, gold rings. What in the Underworld have gold rings got to do with anything?"

  Baldur had recovered himself sufficiently to begin pacing in the confined space. Once more he looked and sounded full of energy and hope. "Rings are famous for being used in the most powerful magic. I could tell you a dozen stories—"

  "Yes, and I could tell a score. But how about a few facts instead?" Hal paused. "You mean a ring like one that Alvit has been wearing?" Come to think of it, he had seen something of the kind on her hand.

  Hal did what he could in the way of encouraging suggestions, but soon Baldur's enthusiasm faded. They could not even agree on whether Valkyries generally wore rings or not, or whether Alvit had been wearing one or several.

  Hal thought privately that if
Baldur were suddenly to insist on some plan that involved their returning to Valhalla in pursuit of some strange magic, that would be the moment when he, Hal, decided he had waited long enough. He would encourage his young partner with some inspiring words, jump on the gold-loaded Horse—yes, that would now be Gold Mane—checking just once more, at any cost, to make sure his treasure was still in the right place—and strike out alone for freedom and security.

  Baldur was struggling, as he said, to recall the exact words of some spell that a certain enchantress had tried to teach him as a child, when without warning something large came bursting in upon them through the outer firewall, no more than fifteen feet away. Both Horses started, but only momentarily. For the space of half a breath, Hal was certain that his doom had come upon him. But he was not lost yet. The intruder was only Alvit, mounted on her own Horse, whose gold-shod hooves came clattering now on the hard rock.

  The Valkyrie looked tired, but seemed genuinely pleased to see the two men, and glad to dismount.

  "I bring you one item of good news," she began without preliminary. "Wodan has not laid siege to your sanctuary. He is nowhere in sight."

  Hal had jumped to his feet, momentarily uncertain whether Alvit had come to skewer them on her Spear or bring them help. Now he relaxed. "That is good news indeed! Then we can leave."

  "Leave?" Baldur was dumbfounded. "But Brunhild—"

  Alvit said: "I suppose you may. But I should tell you, before you go. There is a strange—phenomenon outside."

  Hal's surge of relief was abruptly tempered. "What kind of a phenomenon?"

  The Valkyrie made awkward gestures that seemed to suggest an object spinning in the air. "There is a glowing circle round the crag, at a distance of about a hundred yards."

  "A glowing what?"

  Again she moved one hand around. "As if some burning coal, some particle of fire, were speeding steadily in a circular path, revolving around this blazing hilltop, keeping always at about the same distance. I was careful to avoid the thing, whatever it is, as I arrived."