Day of the Giants

by Lester Del Rey

  He stuffed both the automatic and ammunition into the case with the sword and apples and then pulled the gun out again to examine it. It was too small for him, but he seemed satisfied. With a malicious grin, he threw it back to Leif and reached for another ember.

  A bellow came from the rear, cutting off the enjoyment Skirnir was getting from everything. One of the smaller giants rushed up, tossing Loki’s helmet onto the table. “Aesir!”

  Skirnir frowned. “Damn! Vidarr swore he’d send them to Muspellheim after Surtr’s tribe. No matter, they can’t be in full strength, or they’d have struck. Here, Hrymr, throw these two into a cage and get our horses. We’ll have to look into this.”

  Hrymyr grabbed Leif and Fulla in hands that resembled steam shovels and began dragging them off. All three of his mouths were drooling as he tightened his grip. But a bellow from Skirnir ended whatever ideas he had. He clumped behind the case, into a series of corridors, down some stone steps, and back to a cave covered by a huge oak door. There he tossed Leif in quickly and sent Fulla after him. She landed with a thud that threatened Leif’s already-aching ribs.

  The big door swung shut firmly with a positive click of the lock, leaving the cell completely dark, which the giant’s footsteps sounded off toward the others.

  Leif groaned, and Fulla began to roll off him, taking more time than seemed necessary in the process. She left one arm over his chest, and her lips were beside his ear. “Leif, I’m scared.”

  He chuckled dryly, forcing himself up on one elbow. “Then that makes two of us. I’m afraid I wasn’t cut out for this sort of thing.”

  He got to his feet and lifted her to hers, testing himself and finding no broken bones. He was surprised to notice that the weakness wasn’t bothering his legs now; apparently he was getting used to being afraid. But he still couldn’t laugh at danger, as Lee did. Then suddenly he realized he had laughed—and wondered whether the heroes might not be laughing at their own knowledge of fear.

  Beside him, Fulla caught her breath, snuggling against him. The warmly personal scent of her hair penetrated, even over the musty odor of the cell. He pulled her closer, his lips tautening in a twisted smile. If the giants were coming back soon, he’d probably be screaming in agony too intense for thoughts of her within the hour, but he didn’t have to die now in anticipation. The future couldn’t take away the pleasure of the present, at least, and only a fool would do less living than he could while life still stirred in him. He caught her chin, and found her lips in the darkness.

  For a minute, it seemed to work; then a vision of Skirnir smiling and moving the ember forward captured his mind. He drew back, grimacing. This was a hell of a time to be billing and cooing—particularly when he had no way of knowing what sort of jam Loki might be in.

  “We’ve got to get out of here,” he told her. “As soon as I can get a light to see what the setup is…”

  But Fulla sighed softly, reaching out a hand from which all the trembling had vanished. She took the matches he’d been striking futilely and thrust them back into one of his pockets. “There’s no air for the flame sticks to burn on Jotunheim, Leif. WE only seem to hear with our ears and to breath because Bifrost adjusted us to Jotunheim in passing over. And the fire the giants have is magic. But I don’t mind the darkness or what the giants will do, as long as you’re not angry with me any more. You do like me now, don’t you?”

  “I do, kid,” he told her. In spite of the fifty-thousand years she had lived, she was still only the twenty-year-old girl she seemed, at heart.

  He felt his matches again, wondering. The idea that there was no air didn’t impress him. If there had been none, there would havce been no need for all the things that made it seem there was—and the matches should still have sparkled briefly in the dark. It was probably just a tale the giants had told once to keep others out of Jotunheim. No air, no breathe, no live. Then, when someone had tried ti and found that it wasn’t fatal—probably Loki—the giants had been forced to invent a whole passel of lies to cover up. And since both the giants and the Aesir were ready to believe in wonders, they had all probably would up believing in the alleged absence of air.

  For a moment, he wondered about the whole Ragnarok business. Could it all have been a giant trick—a prophecy designed to create what it prophesied? It seemed possible, thought it would no longer matter. Both sides were so tradition-bound that they would still go through the motions even if all reason were removed.

  Fulla stirred against him, making a purring sound in her throat. “Even if you had ruined the tree and killed the Aesir, I’d still be yours. It wasn’t my heart that hated you, and hit you, Leif—it was all the old traditions that die so hard. But after you went away with a frozen face, I knew that tradition didn’t matter. Only then you were so cold and distant…Leif, why did you come to rescue me? I’d caused you so much trouble already!”

  “Shh.” He’d never had much use for story heroes who dropped their important business to go rescuing some clinging vine from the villain, but it seemed natural enough now. It was probably a tradition as deep in his race as the traditions of the gods and giants—traditions that could hold back Ragnarok for the right signs, even when the giants could have found Asgard asleep and undefended. Or maybe it was because he was responsible, and he’d had to develop a sense of stubborn responsibility in the long years of running the farm by himself.

  “Shh,” he repeated. “I’m not sorry.”

  It was the right answer, and she leaned against him, content. Or as nearly so as a woman can ever be. “I must look a mess, now. And just when my complexion seemed to be improving, too. If I only had a light and a mirror…”

  His sudden yell cut off the words, and he was fumbling in his pocket, cursing himself. Of all the darned fools, forgetting the dimensional mirror! Somewhere in a big city on Earth, there’d be a searchlight he could locate. His mind directed the focusing, letting it draw gradually closer, while a growing beam of light began to lance form the mirror surface, strengthening as his focus came closer to the light. The massive walls of the cell sprang into view.

  He swung the light over them, finding no trace of weakness anywhere. And the door was solid, locked on the other side with a bolt that couldn’t be reached. His heart sank for a moment, then he grunted. It was supported on four bronze hinges, each fastened with three brass screws instead of the pegged construction he had expected. The giants had more technology than he had thought.

  “Hold that light on the door,” he told Fulla, giving her the mirror. He drew out the automatic, forcing himself to concentrate on the mirror focus without deliberate thought. There were things about the gun’s army design that the giant hadn’t suspected, such as the fact that it was specifically made to be its own toolkit. Even without shells, it was useful. He began disassembling it rapidly.

  Finally the rod that served as a screwdriver lay in his hand. It was apparently pitifully weak and slim, but the metal in it was sound, and brass screws turn easier than iron ones. He found bits of rock to prop up the door and take the weight off the hinges, then began working on the first screw. It was rough going, and his hands ached with the effort of forcing the screws, but they turned. In a few minutes, the last screw dropped into his hands, and Fulla cooed admiringly, reaching for the door.

  He shook his head, massaging his fingers until he could reassemble the automatic. They’d have to reach the case to get the apples; and once there, a new clip would make the gun his best chance for getting free.

  The door moved reluctantly as he heaved at a cross piece, and begin to swing in. He took its weight on his shoulders, somehow easing it down to the floor. Maybe there was supposed to be no air, and hence no real sound—but if he’d thought he heard Hrymr’s footsteps before, then the giants might think they had heard a loud noise from a falling door.

  Leif Svensen wiped the sweat from his forehead, and peered out into the corridor; it seemed free, and he reached his hand back for Fulla. They crept forward cautiously,
but the place seemed deserted. He began dashing down a long passage, just as a figure stepped out of one of the side corridors.

  Leif brought the automatic up without thinking, but a quick whisper reached him. “Leif! Hold it!”

  “Loki!” Fulla moved forward to the god, making a few quick gestures, and nodded. “It is you, and not a deception. We thought you were caught.”

  “Too bad I wasn’t, eh, Fulla?” Loki asked, grinning at her. Then he made a whistling gesture without sound. “Well, what’s this? You seem almost glad to see me. Leif, you’ll have this wench tamed yet. No, they didn’t catch me—I used my helmet to distract them when they had you almost on the fire. I slipped in here under illusion to save you. I can’t hold the trick long here, though, so you found me in my own form. Come on.”

  He’d been moving forward as he whispered to them. Leif gripped his shoulder silently, and the god grunted, accepting the gesture properly as thanks. He led them around a complicated course, quite different from the way Hrymr had come, but a few minutes later they were cautiously edging out behind the case holding the apples and ammunition.

  “Luck,” Loki commented. “No giants. Open it!”

  Leif lifted the lid—and a sudden clangor began from a big hammer beating on a brass gong imbedded in the floor. The giants had a warning system, and already he could hear yells from outside. The big creatures would be here in seconds—long before the three could reach the door!

  Chapter XIV

  Loki had already snatched out the things from the case. He tossed the chest of apples to Fulla, handed her the sword with a look of surprised and near awe, and gave Leif the clips. Leif began shoving one in at a run toward the door, while Fulla swung the great blade experimentally. It seemed to be light and almost paper thin, but amazingly tough, passing through the leg of the case without apparent resistance.

  “Freyr’s sword!” She was unquestionably reverent as she held it. “The great weapon here!”

  Leif Svensen could remember snatches about it. It was one of three or four of the final, perfected weapons the elves had given the gods. This was supposed to be a weapon to make Excalibur look like a kitchen knife, and it almost looked the part.

  Now there was a louder clamor outside, and giants began boiling in, answering the gong. They came shoving through the door, ranging from ten to thirty feet in height, forming a solid wall of swords and spears as they charged at a full run toward the three in the middle of the room. Leif brought up the automatic, but he knew it was futile to try it against that amount of brawn.

  Hrymr clapped two of his mouths together in surprise as the bullet hit his chest, but the spear in his hands rose to throwing position without a tremor and started for Leif.

  Something whipped past Leif’s head from behind, just as Loki’s hand caught him and dragged him down beside Fulla, flat on the floor. Then the room shook to an explosion, and Loki was bouncing to his feet again. Where Hrymr had stood, there was only a gory mess, and the giants were backing away, except for a few who were making no further plans due to sudden death.

  “I’ve still got two more grenades,” Loki said grimly. “With enough luck, we may be able to get outside where it’s dark enough that we can hide. After that...Come on, we’ve got to find cover before they strike again.”

  He led them at a run across the huge floor, dragging the corpses of four of the giants into a crude barricade. Fulla looked sick at the idea of dropping onto that, but she dropped with the others, when the giants started forward again. The giants were not all fools. They’d learned their lesson; this time, Skirnir was sending them in well scattered, to minimize the effect of the grenades. The main attack was by spears, and the floor behind the three trembled as the heavy weapons landed. But the corpses seemed to give enough protection—at least until some bright giant decided to try a forty-five degree angle cast.

  Leif was shooting carefully, taking his time and aiming for their throats. The big torso seemed unharmed by the .45 slug, and the heads were protected by massive layers of bone. He reloaded, counting three more clips. Loki waited until several in advance came close together, and finally threw the second grenade.

  Skirnir yelled, but it caught several of them. This time, though, the giants made a forward rush as soon as the explosion ended, and Loki was barely able to get the final grenade thrown in time to halt the leaders.

  The giants hesitated, and Loki nodded. “Next, they’ll loose the rest of the spears, and then charge. Here, this one had a sword you can manage. Keep low—in a brawl, sometimes, being shorter has advantages. Strike to cut their tendons, and then into their throats when they fall. Fulla, I’m calling Hoof-Tosser. If he can get through to us, grab him, and get to Asgard.”

  She gripped the amazingly versatile sword and shook her head. “I can kill giants with this.”

  “You scram!” Leif ordered harshly. He heard Loki let out a piercing whistle, keeping his eyes on the giants, who were already drawing back their spears.

  Hoof-Tosser suddenly crashed through the door, high and coming fast , with his feet beating down at the giants’ heads. For seconds, it disconcerted them, and the horse dropped. Leif made a sweep as his arm came around and threw Fulla into the saddle. The horse rose at a yell from Loki. It was becoming obvious that the animal was more than just a flying horse—he seemed to have a fair understanding of events and instructions.

  Then the spears fell, one grazing against Leif and catching in the cloth of his trousers. He yanked free, as the giants came boring in, and was over the barricade with Loki.

  They were lucky enough to dart into the thick of the charge before the giants realized they were coming, and Leif began struggling to stay with Loki and avoid the giant legs at the same time. The god was right—since the giants had difficulty in separating enough to get a clean sweep at the pair. Leif chopped out with the sword, ducked as a giant started to fall, and managed to drag the point across the huge flabby abdomen, disemboweling the creature as it fell. He was surprised as he saw how well Loki was doing. But even legends had never made a coward or a poor fighter of the sly god, and there had to be some reason for Thor’s willingness to put up with him, as he seemed to have done. Beside them, there was a snick of metal against bone as Loki’s sword found a throat on another fallen giant.

  But that gave the opening the giants needed. Leif felt a huge hand dart forward, leaped to avoid it, and found himself in another hand, with Loki also encircled. There was an end to their fighting, almost before it really began.

  Then the hand suddenly opened, and the giant began falling, his head jumping from his shoulders toward the floor—and Leif’s eyes dared up to see Fulla coming down again on Hoof-Tosser, the sword drawn back for another swing.

  And a deafening roar from the doorway seemed to shake the whole room and drag every giant around. Fear washed over most of the big faces before they had time to look.

  “Thor!” Loki yelled. “Get behind that barricade and lie close, before we get trampled. When Thor’s really angry…”

  Leif snatched a glance of Hoof-Tosser carrying Fulla toward the doorway, before he dropped beside Loki. Thor’s fighting bellow came again, and there was a deep, hollow sound that could only be his hammer finding a giant skull. Almost on its heel, the sound of a grenade came, followed by another. There was a sudden thump of giant feet, and the first giant leaped over the bodies shielding Leif and Loki.

  Leif’s sword leaped up, and the giant landed with a stumble, to fall on his face, and start crawling away on hands and knees. The tendons on his heels were sliced through.

  “Good man,” Loki said approvingly, and his own sword licked out. To the giants, Thor must be sheer catastrophe; none even bothered to turn back for a swipe at the two striking them, but collapsed only to start crawling desperately for the rear.

  Then the fight ended, and Thor was over the bodies, dragging Leif and Loki to their feet and shoving a bag of grenades at them. The first of the giants had just reached the exit when Leif’s
toss crumpled him. A minute later, there were only parts of giants lying around.

  Lee came running up. “Okay? God, son, you had us worried when we couldn’t see you among those giants. Say, Fulla, come on down and let’s see one of those apples.”

  She was dropping already, and Leif accepted the fruit gladly. He could hardly stand and hold the sword now, though it had seemed a part of him during the fight. But the first bite of the apple sent its usual heady strength through him, and he managed a fair grin as he watched Fulla put what was left back. The chest was more of the elf work, apparently, since it could hold the entire crop of fruit without difficulty, prevent spoilage, and still take up little more space than his own pouch. Perhaps it really stored its contents in some tiny dimension of its own.

  He was surprised to see even Thor wiping sweat from his forehead and waiting for the effects of the apple to wash over him. He looked around, nodding at Leif. “Without the grenades, things might have gone less well. They were more than tenfold in numbers than should be in a giant fort. Ho, you’ll do, Leif Svensen. There’s a place for you on the right side when the Sons of the Wolf come down at Ragnarok, if you want it!”

  Leif realized that Thor was handing out the highest accolade he could, and apologizing for his comments that first time at the tree. Somehow, he felt like a peasant who had just been knighted by a king. This queer tradition of theirs began to get in the blood in time. But Thor cut off his thanks by lifting Fulla from Hoof-Tosser and into Leif’s arms, then picking both of them up and carrying them toward a tank of liquid at the side.

  “And a maid worth of a berserker,” the big god rumbled, in his closest approach to humor. “But my goats won’t like the stink of giants on you!”