Linda Evans - Sleipnir

We followed the course of a bloodred river that flowed away from Fenrir's prison. This had to be the River Von—"Expectation"—which flowed from Fenrir's jaws. Valhalla itself, the actual building which gave this world its name, must lie across the lake up ahead, where the river emptied into a bloody delta. A couple of football-field-sized barges were drawn up on the bank, to transport the "Viking Retreads." As we approached the delta, they began jostling one another like rowdy truants waiting in line for a roller coaster. They eventually got themselves sorted out and loaded.

Sleipnir stood waiting beside the boats. At his side stood another stallion, the same rusted-iron color as the river. This horse's eyes were amber and his mane and hooves were glittering gold. It made for an odd-looking beast. A heavy gold war-helmet hung from his saddle, beside a long, wicked sword.

Then I noticed her .

Tall, self-assured, with thick blond hair, icy blue eyes, and a figure that heavy, gilded chain mail couldn't disguise, she was far plainer of face than the Norns would be at their absolute grubbiest; but far more earthy and real. Hers was a beauty born of inner fire and pride. She reminded me of someone; I couldn't imagine who. She was maybe six inches shorter than I was. She stood beside her war-horse with the air of a woman who knew exactly who and what she was, and needed no outsider's flattery to tell her she was good at it.

My guards—some of them had managed to remember their duty—marched me through the grumbling crowd and delivered me into her delightful hands. She looked me over as I studied her assets. When she had finished her own frank perusal of my assets, she met my gaze. When she smiled, her teeth flashed whitely. Death looked from her eyes. (But what a way to go... .)

Odin leaped to Sleipnir's back. The eight-legged stallion tossed his head, pawing deep gashes in the earth with both right forefeet.

"Rangrid," Odin called.

The woman turned his way. "Yes, lord?"

God, her voice was as sultry as the rest of her... .

"Bring him."

Sleipnir leaped away, and vanished in a crack of thunder. Nice trick. I was reminded unpleasantly of the night Gary had died. Behind me, the interminable loading of the barges continued. I wondered where Gary was. Somewhere in that crowd? I wanted to see him again, almost as much as I wanted to kill his murderer.

Rangrid mounted her warhorse in one fluid, graceful vault. I followed the motion as she sprang easily to the saddle. I found myself insanely jealous of a dumb animal as she gripped with perfectly shaped thighs... .

She turned in the saddle to face me, and held out an imperious hand. I stood my ground, and grinned up at her. I kept my weight balanced on the balls of my feet—while hoping that I didn't look as dead-tired as I felt—and planted my fists solidly on both hips.

"No way in hell, lady."

She laughed, a delightfully intimate sound. A wave of her hand dismissed the guards. To my surprise, they obeyed, leaving us alone on the shore.

"You are truly provocative, hero," she smiled.

"Huh."

"Oh, but you are," she objected. "You have defied the Valfather time and again, and lived." The implied "so far" hung on the air between us. I didn't bother to comment. "Your touch tames Fenrir. And you, alone of mortals, have caught unawares and ridden the great Sleipnir." Genuine respect, and what sounded suspiciously like wistful regret, colored that last observation. This lady wanted to ride that murderous black fiend?

"Sleipnir," I said deliberately, "is dog food. His gaits are lousy, he bucks, and he bites. His sole saving grace is jumping between worlds, and that's not a joyride, either. Give me a Harley Davidson any day."

She gasped.

While she was off balance, I pushed for information. "How come I wasn't left to drown?"

Surprise deepened in her lovely eyes. "You don't remember?"

"Remember what?" I snapped.

"Coming ashore in Valhalla?"

I just looked at her.

The rust-red stallion moved restively; she brought him up short. She studied me minutely, then shrugged, a delightful motion, even in armor. I would have given a lot to have seen her without that chain mail. Enough was visible to make my blood pound.

She kept her voice low. "When Sleipnir tossed you into the River Von, you swam ashore and came staggering out onto the riverbank. Some of the Einherjar saw you collapse, and had the sense to realize you were still alive, not just one of their number. They called Odin at once."

She paused, and a smile hovered about her lips. "You should have heard him. Even I was impressed. He hasn't used that kind of language since Baldr died."

"Huh."

She shrugged again. "Valfather thought maybe Fenrir would enjoy your company."

"He thought Fenrir would tear me into pieces!" I corrected harshly.

She flashed me a genuine smile. "To be perfectly honest, yes. And can you blame him? No one wants to die—and you did nearly free Loki. I can't imagine what else you'd expect him to do."

"Huh." My vocabulary was deteriorating rapidly. I sighed, and looked her square in the eye. "You're right about one thing, lady. No one wants to die. Not even unimportant little mortals like me. So why don't you tell me what he's going to do with me, so I can plan accordingly?"

She smiled again, revealing toothpaste-ad teeth. "You know, you're the most excitement I've had in decades. Too bad I have to take you straight to Valhalla. I'd enjoy a tumble with you first."

I grinned. The mere suggestion of sleeping with this valkyrie—and I assumed by "tumble" that she didn't mean hand-to-hand combat—left me with a sudden raging desire to strip off that chain mail.

She noticed the bulge and smiled. I replied with a wolfish grin, "Then why don't you ask him to postpone things?"

She laughed. "Thank you for the compliment. You've courage, hero. I admire that. You'll make a fine addition to the Einherjar, Skuld willing. I might just ask him, at that. Come," she held out her hand again, "the Valfather intends to meet you in personal combat."

I glanced back at Fenrir. Beware Norse gods bearing gifts? Odin was giving me exactly what I wanted—a chance at him—so naturally, I started looking for the shiv up his sleeve. There was no way this would be a fair fight. I returned my gaze to the lovely Rangrid. "Do I have a choice?"

She laughed merrily. "I do like you. No, you do not have a choice. Not unless," she correctly interpreted which choice I'd meant, "you can walk on water? It's rather a long swim."

I chuckled. "So it is. After what I've been through, Rangrid, I'm starting to think I could do just about anything."

She didn't laugh. Her brow arched, and a troubled look came into her eyes. Good. I had at least one of Valhalla's permanent residents worried.

I grasped the proffered hand, expecting her touch to be cold as death, since that was what she brought. I was pleasantly surprised at her warmth. She lifted me easily to her stallion's back, behind her. Fenrir howled in the distance, a lonely sound that caught at my throat. I knew how the poor bastard felt.

Her horse leaped into a gallop that sent us speeding across the surface of the subterranean lake. Wind tore my breath away. I was proud of riding skills I'd accumulated the hard way; but I still took advantage of the opportunity to wrap my arms around her golden-armored waist. Rangrid didn't seem to mind. I gave a quick squeeze, and heard a chuckle float back to me on the wind.

The horse's golden hooves touched the far shore and he slowed to a walk. We had entered the outer fringes of an array of fighting men that dwarfed even the cast of The Longest Day . These fighting men, however, were all dead: the Einherjar, Chosen Heroes of Odin.