Mickey Reichert - Dragonrank master

Taziar gave a simultaneous explanation which Larson never heard. He held up a finger to silence his companion, then returned to the conversation in his mind. So why wouldn't any of the gods help us catch the brute? We all could have gotten killed .

There are laws which govern hostilities between gods. Fenrir isn't actually a god, but it is the son of one. Quite frankly, the fact that we never killed Fenrir before is the only reason the balance hasn't become skewed beyond salvaging. Fenrir has taken Loki's place as a strong Chaos-force.

Larson studied the great form of the wolf. Sort of a god substitute, eh? So we need to get it to the Bifrost Bridge ?

By Thor's beard, no . Vidarr seemed taken aback by Larson's suggestion. The gods will take care of Fenris-wulf I wouldn't allow your quest to be delayed another several days .

Afraid to lose Fenrir after the tremendous effort and pain of catching it, Larson warned Vidarr. Bramin's here, somewhere. He may try to free Fenrir before you can lead it away .

Amusement colored Vidarr's reply. Believe me, Allerum. If Bramin interferes, we will consider it a direct affront to the gods. Nothing would please me more than to have Bramin break his vow so I could pound him back to Hel. Anything more you wish to know ?

Curiosity goaded Larson. One thing. How did you manage to show up just when I wanted to speak with you ?

A strained pause followed. Larson sensed reluctance before Vidarr answered warily. You have twice abandoned your quest. Yesterday, you transported me to a fiery forest with trees which looked like a child's drawing. There, some puny, mortal archer without a bow shot an unshafted, unfletched arrowhead through my arm . Vidarr grumbled as if to himself, Still damn well hurts, too . He continued in his normal pattern. I promise I'll avoid your memories. But until you retrieve the rod, I have no choice but to keep a close watch over you. Can you live with that ?

Larson yawned, stretching muscles bruised from his battle with Fenrir. The excitement finished, the fatigue of two sleepless nights settled over him. I can live with that, but I can't live without rest. If it's all right with you and all the gods in the heavens, I'm going to lie here for a week . Larson picked his way to the rumpled pile of blankets. Offering no explanation to his companions, he collapsed upon the padded rock and fell instantly asleep.

'Our fathers and ourselves sowed dragon's teeth. Our children know and suffer the armed men.'

– Stephen Vincent Benet Litany for Dictatorships

The next week of travel passed in unaccustomed peace. Bramin trailed closely, making no attempt to hide his presence. Whenever Larson or Gaelinar or Taziar wandered into the woods alone, to wash up or relieve himself, the dark elf would hurl insults and threats. Still, Bramin kept his vow not to harm them; his taunts and invasions of privacy soon became familiar. Larson suspected the half man was as interested in the result of the quest for Geirmagnus' rod as he was in his coming battle with Larson.

Life seemed simpler without the Fenris Wolf. Sleep came easily to Larson, no longer interrupted by divine or magical intruders. Only Silme's continued absence and the oaths exchanged with Bramin remained to haunt him. Now, in the quiet serenity of the pine forest, Larson's agreement to fight the dark elf to the death seemed foolish bravado. Bramin was one of the most skilled warriors in the realm, while Larson had never seen a sword outside a museum until less than three months ago. Gaelinar's intensive training would help even the odds, and Larson hoped death might have weakened Bramin. Even so, Larson harbored little hope he could win a fair fight. But what choice did I have? At least this way, Bramin

won't interfere with our efforts to rescue Baldur and Silme.

Gradually, the towering evergreens gave way to spindly aspens and alders and stocky dwarf pines which admitted the glow of the sun. Larson and his companions pressed through thinning forest toward the timber edge. Gaelinar stopped. He pointed through a gap between the trunks. "There it is."

Eagerly, Larson pushed forward and stared over Gaelinar's shoulder. A blanket of snow lay over the dead and dying perennials which defined a short line of clearing. Beyond it, a wall of molded concrete rose above the younger trees to twice Larson's height. Vines with curled brown leaves swarmed over its surface. Coiled wire perched atop, its steel glinting in the sunlight despite centuries of exposure to the elements. Stainless? How ? Stunned by the enormity of this anachronism, Larson stared in silent wonderment. This can't be Old Norway. My God, what kind of game are they playing with me ? He searched his memories of his time in Midgard. Ever since his arrival, he had noticed differences between this world and his scanty knowledge of Norway's history, geography, and weather, inconsistencies which went beyond the simple reality of mythical and fabled creatures. The uncertainty shocked him. "What the hell is this thing? How did it get here? Where are we?"

Gaelinar met Larson's verbal volley with a quizzical look. "It's Geirmagnus' estate. He built it, and we walked here." The Kensei's tone went patronizingly gentle. "Are you well, hero?"

The familiarity of Gaelinar's voice made Larson reconsider. I have to be in Old Norway. Too much has happened for this to be a joke . "I'm fine, just surprised. The estate looks like something out of my own world." Imagine the power this Geirmagnus must have commanded to build a steel and concrete fortress without factories or supplies . Fascinated, Larson approached the wall and scraped a finger along its surface. Dirt lined pits and cracks, but the recent snows had scoured the main surface clear. It felt cold and coarse beneath his touch, like twentieth century cement.

Gaelinar and Taziar joined Larson. Together, they circled the clearing. The inspection took nearly an hour; each wall spanned a quarter mile. Scattered at the bases, a few bleached bones poked from beneath the snow. A gate interrupted the southeastern wall, a tombstone-shaped entryway of stainless steel bars reinforced with metal triangles and set flush with the concrete. Nicks and dents in the surface indicated failed attempts to hack through it with weapons of iron, copper, or wood.

Taziar assessed his findings. "It would be difficult, but I could climb it."

The casual claim horrified Larson. He caught Taziar's arm to prevent the Cullinsbergen from carrying out his plan. "You see that shiny stuff at the top?" He pointed. "That's razor wire. It'll saw off your fingers as fast as you can touch it. I'm willing to bet the bones lying about are from people who tried to break in."

Taziar gazed at the corkscrew of steel, his expression appropriately impressed. "How do you know?"

This time, it was Larson's turn to respond with, "Trust me."

Gaelinar chipped ice and dirt from an inscription on a square of wall several feet from the gate. "What's this? It's not in any language I know."

Bramin's answer wafted from the forest edge, his tone flat as a remembered chant. "My rod holds the key to unlimited power. Once freed, the future will be changed and nothing will be impossible." He stepped into the clearing, twisting the bottom rim of his dragonstaff into the snow. "And it's signed 'Geirmagnus, Dragonrank Master.' "

Gaelinar and Taziar whirled to face the half man.

Larson came up behind Gaelinar and studied the message. Someone had carved it into the concrete using an impact drill, a power chisel, or some other instrument well beyond the technology of the Vikings. Larson blinked, unable to believe his eyes. The message was inscribed in English. Aside from the substitution of the name 'Gary Mannix' for 'Geirmagnus,' it read exactly as Bramin had translated. This doesn't make any sense. It can't be . Larson tapped the resilience of spirit which had seen him through months of combat in Vietnam. I can't afford these distractions. I'm in a situation where I have to fight for my life. If I live, I'll have time to figure this out later. If not, it doesn't matter . Too surprised by Bra-min's knowledge to concern himself with rivalry, Larson questioned. "How did you know what it said?"