Eric Flint: Pyramid Power

Out on Vrigid plain, Loki felt an itch between his shoulder blades that said "Gungnir," and waited for the sally and the attack to his vulnerable rear. He and Fafnir and Hel's corpse-army had cut deep into Surt's demon-troops. The rain had dealt a severe blow to the fire giants, but their flames did not die. So Loki had found he could turn the flames against them. They burned hot and he made them hotter, until they burst, destroying themselves and those around them.

And then came… not the sound of Einherjar horns that he'd feared, but a far sweeter sound. A raven caw. It said, "Gjallar is blocked and rising."

"The Einherjar are trying to fix it," said Munin, joining his brother.

"Got any jelly beans?" they demanded in chorus.

It was a good thing that he was fond of the magical beans himself and had brought a few with him. He turned to Fenrir. "Howl! Let the others know that we must press forward hard now."

Fenrir howled. The wolves and Hel's dead took up the sound. It would echo across Asgard. Let Odin know fear, now. From close, far closer than he'd realized, came the answer of the Vanir horns, and then the deep-throated terrible song of Gjallarhorn.

And almost as a reply came the distant roar of water and stone.

"Charge!" shouted Loki. His wolf-steed son needed no urging. Surt's remaining fire giants fled. Thunder roared from the west. On the East, Frey's sword sang.

And then there was space. In front of them stood Surt the fire demon of the East, burning so hot that nothing could stand close. Loki dismounted from Fenrir, and walked forward. Fenrir followed. "Go back, son," said Loki. "Your fur will burn."

"And you?" asked Fenrir.

Loki laughed. "One cannot burn a flame." In the periphery of his vision he saw Thor fling a thunderbolt at Surt. It was ineffectual, as Loki knew it would be. Surt was a creature of flames himself.

Frey and Freyja had halted their chariots. They could come no closer.

So it was up to him.

Again.

He always got the?sir into messes. This one too had its roots in his deeds and laughter, he knew. And in the end they always wanted him to get them out.

Again.

Well, he was one of the oldest. Not the greatest, but certainly the trickiest.

Surt stood like a tower of flame fifty feet high and as unstoppable as an inferno. The only point that was not flaming was the pyramid pendant around his vast neck. Loki knew that they could still lose here. Surt didn't really need an army.

Loki made him burn hotter.

Surt grew. And laughed, a sound like fire-splintering forest. "No use against me. I feed on that."

Loki smiled. "Then try this." He drew on his frost giant kin. He drew on the cold of Fimbulwinter. He drew the fire down.

Surt shrank visibly. He lashed out with a tongue of flame at Loki-but he might as well have beaten at a fire with a feather. Loki, at the core, was fire. He knew that briefly all those around the circle would see him as he truly was, no matter what form he took. That was unimportant now. He concentrated his will on Surt.

Surt shrank visibly. Now he was barely twenty feet high. Loki drew breath, preparing for the final destruction of the wild flame.

"Enough," said a voice, atonal and quite unlike that of Surt, though it seemed to issue from him. "I am Krim. Stop and I will make you powerful. I will make you the Lord of the?sir. We should have offered the power of mastery of this Ur-universe to you rather than Odin. He has rebelled and stolen our device's powers. You can have power and mastery over all. We have the power to make you irresistible."

Loki laughed. "I may be quite wicked, but never evil. There is a difference, even if you don't understand it. And unlike Odin, I have no desire to rule. It would bore me to tears to have to be responsible."

"Power means that you are above responsibility," said the Krim.

Loki shook the flames that were his head. "Power without responsibility is evil," he said. He reached out his hands and drew the cold out of Fimbulwinter, the only cold that was strong enough to balance the heat of Surt. Norse myth was a place of balances. "Die, Surt-or Krim. This world doesn't need you."

Loki's exercise of his will drew him down too. But he had his hearth, Sigyn. Her love and that of his children. It gave him something that wildfire could never have.

There was an abrupt purple flash, and Surt fell into a pile of ash.

"Ah," said Odin, as the shadows of the Valkyries passed overhead. "A rescue."

And then a lot of things happened in such close succession that it was hard to tell what happened first.

A rock probably. A three pound rock flung by Lamont, which missed its target-Stephens-but knocked Thjalfi-Harkness off the trail and down onto the rocks below.

Thrud's axe did not miss. And neither did the explosive detonation of ball-lightning with it.

Odin's eyes widened. So did the trail where Stephens had stood. All that was left of him was an ozone reek.

"Surt is destroyed and the Krim has fled," said the Krim device. "The wall of your fortress has been breached. Flee this world. I will take you to another Mythworld."

Odin clutched at the pendant around his neck. "No! You will do my bidding! I am Odin, the master."

Liz and Lamont spilled down onto the trail behind him.

He turned Sleipnir and lowered his spear. The Einherjar were being aerially harassed by dragons. He would deal with that. He still had Gungnir and his?sir allies. Thor's daughter wielded a power he feared, but two mortals were no barrier.

Marie saw what was happening and screamed, "Dive!"

Flying horses do not do that well. But she did-right over its neck. She cannoned into Odin. He was kicking his horse into a gallop when he met her coming the other way-fast. Odin was a great horseman, and Sleipnir the greatest horse, but a hundred and forty pound human missile knocked him sideways off the horse.

If the sword in her hand had hit him he would have been a kebab.

Instead it hit the shaft of the spear Gungnir. She lost her hold on the sword but the deadly spear lost its head.

Marie and Odin lay sprawled against the wall, as Sleipnir thundered on, knocking Liz sideways off the trail, and Lamont into the wall.

Jerry had, to his amazement, beaten both Sigyn and Thrud up the trail. Odin and a gasping Marie fought.

Odin grabbed the sword that Marie had dropped. Jerry knew that neither he nor Lamont was ever going to get there in time. So he threw what he had in his left hand.

Jerry could no more throw a net than he could toss a caber. But this was a magical net, using the same spells that had been used to hold the trickster, Loki. Nothing could escape it. Like Sigurd's magical sword, Gram, in Marie's hands, it took will for the deed, and spread and enveloped and entangled.

Unfortunately, the sword in Odin's hand was Gram, wrought with rune magic and all the skill of the dwarf Reginn. It could cut a shred of wool borne by the stream-flow. It could cut this net too. Not easily, but the net couldn't stop Odin's stroke from wounding Marie, even if it did stop Odin from killing her outright. And now he fought to cut his way free of the tangling mesh.

Marie felt the pain and the blood, and saw the red brightness of the sword. Saw Lamont running closer. Heard him scream.

Well, this bastard might have killed her-but she was dying anyway. He wasn't going to get her man too.

She took the thorn of sleep from her pocket, and pushed it deeply into Odin's butt.

Lamont held her to his chest, crying, as the others arrived. Liz, scratched and bruised, swung her handbag at Odin's head. Twice. He was down and staying that way. Thrud made doubly sure. She had recovered her axe, and sat down on him.

"Guess it's the end, honey," said Marie weakly. "I love you so much. Take care of the kids."