Mickey Reichert: Dragonrank master

A lofty shout of indignation suffixed Taziar's assessment. He turned. The Vikings were staring up the colored bands, their pallid faces etched with horror. What could be terrible enough to frighten battle-mad pirates ? Apprehension prickled the edges of Taziar's consciousness. He followed the direction of his companions' gazes. A huge figure shuffled toward them on the Bifrost Bridge; distance blurred it to a moving mass of whiteness. The rainbow shivered beneath each footfall. "Who?" asked Taziar carefully, his gaze locked on the approaching form.

Kolbyr inched forward and clamped fear-rigid fingers on Taziar's forearm. "Heimdallr," he whispered.

"Heimdallr," Hamar echoed. He took a shuddering backstep.

Even Bothi, who would as soon kill a man as acknowledge his presence, remained frozen, his features twisted in alarm. "The Guardian of the Bifrost."

Taziar had seen a similar expression only once, on the face of an acolyte to Aga'arin before the insane, young priest swore he had looked upon his god. Superstitious awe . Taziar snorted. Cullinsberg's temples existed only to wring money from the pious to fill the coffers for their self-indulgent clergy. What is it about man's nature which forces him to invent gods? And what is it about the gods he invents which makes him panic in their presence ? Taziar had asked himself the question too many times to ponder its significance now. He nudged Kolbyr. "If you fear him, why don't you run now, before he reaches us?"

Kolbyr's fingernails gouged Taziar's flesh. His terror seemed tangible. "No good," he panted. "Heimdallr sees a hundred leagues in front of him and as well by night as day. He knows who we are."

Torben finished the description in the routine monotone of a well-versed holy man. "He can hear grass growing and the wool on sheep and everything that makes more noise."

Heimdallr's muscled form drew closer.

Painfully, Taziar pulled free of Kolbyr's death grip. He waved his companions silent in the unlikely event they were correct about Heimdallr's acutely developed senses. Taziar had never found a reason to believe in gods, but until he crossed the sea to Scandinavia's strange lands, he had never accepted the existence of sorcerers, pirates, or rainbow bridges either.

Heimdallr's descent seemed to span an eternity. The Vikings stood in quiet awe. And as Heimdallr finally reached the edge of the Bifrost Bridge, Taziar realized the man/god's size had created the illusion of closeness and it explained why his approach appeared to take so long. Heimdallr towered over even the largest Viking. Gold-red curls swarmed his scalp and chin framing angry, gray eyes, a straight nose, and ruddy cheeks. A chain about his neck held an ornately-crafted horn.

Taziar read power and strength in every line of Heimdallr's frame. He stepped forward, aware his atheistic perspective would put him in the best position to bargain.

"What is it you wish?" As Heimdallr spoke, he flashed teeth of glowing gold.

Doubt suffused Taziar. Surely no normal man would guard a rainbow nor have a mouthful of sculpted metal. Taziar questioned his own concern. And what difference if he is a god ? He recalled the huge chunks of time priests spent in prayer, glorifying deities with flowery words. A man who believes himself divine will fall easy victim to praise . He adopted his most humble expression. "Lord Heimdallr, forgive me. I am a stranger to this country. Yet tales of your greatness have spread even across the Kattegat to my people. I begged my new friends to bring me to this spot. Ignorant of the consequences, I leaned against the Bifrost. Please accept my sincere apologies and this offering to your magnificence. I assure you I shall not repeat the accident." He knelt as if before royalty, pulled the pouch of coins from his belt, and offered it to Heimdallr.

Amusement colored the white god's features. He took the sack in one beefy hand and, without examining its contents, secured it to his own wide sash. "Thank you, little man, for your dramatic performance and your money." Turning on one booted heel, he tramped back up the Bifrost Bridge.

Heimdallr's easygoing manner left Taziar slack-jawed with astonishment. As the god disappeared into the distance, the Vikings regained their arrogant courage. Bothi opened his mouth, but Taziar waved him silent until Heimdallr had sauntered well beyond the range of his legendary vision and hearing. In the time which passed, all surprise abandoned Taziar, leaving him feeling cheated. The anticipation of matching wits with a god had raised an excitement which could be quenched by nothing less than a noteworthy achievement.

Bothi sputtered. "You stupid little insect! You gave away enough gold to feed a village."

Taziar's blue eyes narrowed. While you stood like a panicked rabbit, too afraid to move or speak . He kept this thought to himself, still not crazy enough to do battle with four trained warriors. In his thieving days, the Shadow Climber had donated his stolen proceeds to the needy, the thrill of risking his life and achieving the impossible his only reward. Bothi's concern for a bagful of money seemed illogical to Taziar. "A single battle will earn you all twice as much." An idea came to him suddenly, and he whirled to face the Vikings' glares. "It was my money, but if it means so much to you I will happily retrieve it."

"Retrieve it?" Kolbyr shook his head, obviously attributing Taziar's word choice to difficulties with their language. "You mean replace it."

Taziar circled the Bifrost Bridge, studying it from every angle. He recalled, from his touch, that the three-tiered rainbow was unsteady; it quivered in the stronger breezes. Yet his fingers had detected irregularities in its surface. Some lofty architect had constructed it of blocks of an unknown material, chunks of light perhaps. And Taziar knew from experience that anything composed of parts would have cracks between, no matter how careful or divine its crafter. "No," he said slowly. "I will retrieve it. I will climb the rainbow and return your gold to the last insignificant chip."

Bothi snickered. "And we'll wait and watch while Heimdallr casually tosses your broken corpse from the bridge."

Hamar explained. "Heimdallr serves as watchman of the gods. It's his job to keep mortals and giants from Asgard. He fathered the races of men, so he can forgive your touch and, perhaps, even a few steps onto the bridge. But I doubt Heimdallr will carry the gold all day. To retrieve it, you will have to sneak past him and into his hall on Asgard. To do that, my friend, you will need to be less than a shadow and more than a climber."

Kolbyr examined Taziar's face, apparently seeking to determine the seriousness of the smaller man's boast. "Heimdallr will see and hear you the instant you stand on his bridge."

Taziar smiled, enjoying the Vikings' attention. "Hear me, perhaps. But I believe your precise description was that Heimdallr sees a hundred leagues in front of him and as well by night as day. Is that not so?"

"That's what the legends say."

"Then," said Taziar, crossing around and ducking beneath the rainbow until he could see only the lowest, red band, "I will have to approach from beneath him." He slipped off his boots, sacrificing their warmth for the necessary gripping power and sensory input his bare toes could provide. Soon, exertion would make him forget the cold. With practiced skill, he caught handholds in the all but invisible seams of the structure and swung his feet so his soles rested on the undersurface of the Bifrost Bridge. The band shivered slightly. Knowing the movement would summon Heimdallr, Taziar spoke in a rapid whisper. "Leave now. I'll meet you at the longhouse. For my sake and your own, say nothing to anyone." With that warning, he turned full concentration to the arching band of light above him. Quietly, deliberately, he worked his upside-down way along the bottom edge of the Bifrost Bridge.