Mickey Reichert: Dragonrank master

"No!" Larson screamed. Brandishing Gaelinar's sword, he plunged toward Bramin. Hovering at the half man's hip, the gun swung around to Larson again.

Larson halted, lowering the katana in a gesture of surrender. Bramin remained just beyond sword range. "Go ahead," Larson challenged, more boldly than he felt. "Shoot him again. I'll kill you before you can chamber the third round.''

Taziar had slipped to his haunches, staring at the wound in his leg in startled awe. His features turned stark white, and Larson suspected pain was driving the Climber into shock.

Bramin simply smiled. "He's not going anywhere. I have time to shoot you first."

"Go ahead." Surprisingly, Larson knew no fear. "But you doom yourself as well."

Patient as a cat with a cornered bird, Bramin allowed Larson to elaborate.

Larson stalled, keeping his gaze locked on the gun. As long as Bramin held it low, he doubted the dark elf would pull the trigger. A hip shot from a beginner was unlikely to hit even a target at close range. "If you bring the great equalizer into Midgard, you sign your own death warrant. You have nothing to gain and everything to lose. Your magic and sword skill, gained through a lifetime of effort, make you more powerful than almost anyone, stronger even than some of the gods. Sure, you have the first gun. But you saw my world. They breed. They grow. Bramin, if you put guns into your world, you open the way for any weak coward to kill you before you see him coming!''

Bramin's head twitched.

Larson granted no mercy. If I can distract him just long enough to make my move … "Dragonrank magic is no match for bullets. Once you bring guns into your world," unintentionally, he parroted Vidarr, "there is no more glory in war."

Abruptly, the rifle arched toward Bramin's shoulder.

And Larson ran out of time. As soon as the barrel started moving, he charged. Bramin shot as he positioned. Larson's ears rang with the blast. The bullet ripped through his lower abdomen bringing white hot agony. He screamed. Oblivion crushed down on him, bringing with it Gaelinar's admonishments from a sword lesson which seemed centuries ago. " Excuse me, O most worthy opponent. I banged my arm. Please don Y decapitate me ."

From a great distance, Larson heard the ragged clatter of the rifle bolt. He swept Gaelinar's katana in a desperate, half-blind dive. The razor-honed edge bit into Bra-min's shoulder and through his neck. The bullet bounced off the other wall, strewing chips of concrete. Larson rolled, tangled with Bramin's decapitated body, covered with blood of which very little was his own.

Pain quickened Larson's breathing to a pant. He forced himself to slow down, gathering enough strength to fling Bramin's limp arm away from his face. The effort drove dizziness down upon him. He lay still, not daring to move again. His vision narrowed to a tunnel which admitted only the clouds, and starred points of light threatened to blur what little of the world remained to him.

Allerum , Vidarr sent softly. Are you … He completed the query with an aura of sympathy and concern.

Unable to gather a coherent answer, Larson tried to force desperation from his thoughts. His gut burned like acid, but he believed he would survive the injury. At the moment, he did not feel fully certain he wanted to.

Vidarr kept his tone level, soothing. I thought it might cheer you to know Baldur is with me .

Shadows edged in on Larson. With effort, he questioned. How ?

The chaos-force you loosed was more than powerful enough to repair the rift created when you destroyed Loki. The excess energy balanced Baldur's return from Hel.

But , Larson managed, we killed the chaos-force .

Not really . Distress leeched through Vidarr's aura of compassion. You killed a physical manifestation of a chaos-force, dispersing it. Chaos is not an object, it's an energy. So long as it's not destroyed utterly, it remains around us to be channeled by its servants .

Vidarr's reply seemed thinned as if by distance. Still, Larson could not help noticing the eerie resemblance between Vidarr's explanation and the Law of the Conservation of Matter and Energy. Pressed to the extreme edge of consciousness, he nearly forgot to force an issue far more important to him than Baldur's rescue. Silme ?

Larson detected a trace of guilt beneath Vidarr's cavalier answer. She's safe with me, Allerum .

Larson's strength ebbed. Even breathing seemed too much work. Unable to gather mental words, he hoped Vidarr could detect his curiosity.

The hesitation in Vidarr's attitude was unequivocal. Allerum, I must tell you something unpleasant. I hate to

speak while you're hurt, but perhaps this is best. You have no choice but to listen. Afterward, I hope you won't judge me too harshly; and, first, I want you to realize Silme and I will get you through this… and Shadow, too. Rest easy.

Larson did not speculate, afraid even that small endeavor might drive away the last spark of his awareness.

We have all long believed the quest for Geirmagnus' rod was impossible. I believe our own doubts kept us from achieving it, so skepticism was the one luxury I couldn't allow you. I hid the truth from you. Apparently guessing my motives, Gaelinar did likewise. My recommendation, that you take Shadow with you, may have seemed casual. It was not. After you met Shadow in the tavern, I made a detailed check of his background and discovered useful qualities. Despite his dishonest profession, his loyalty to friends was unquestionable. And to him, the terms "impossible" and "interesting challenge '' were interchangeable.

I knew Bramin would tell you the task was impossible; I was only surprised it took him as long as it did. I tried everything to keep you from raising him. Failing that, you left me without option. I needed some way to force you to finish your quest. I had to find a cause so important to you as to preclude all doubt - to drive you beyond the impossible. That goal could only be the same which made you challenge me: Silme. When she left Hel, I met her; recall, she is pledged to my service. I brought her to my hall on Asgard. She asked to reunite with you, believe that, Allerum. I told her it could not be. I didn't explain the situation, but she chose to trust me. Then I cornered Shadow. By making him believe I was working against you in addition to your enemies, I fueled his allegiance to you. I knew his attitude could only help you succeed .

I always knew any or all of you might die, but I had no other choice. If you refused the quest, Odin would have slain you all, perhaps me, as well. I care for Baldur very deeply. I did not enjoy the deceptions any more than you, but I saw no other way. I plead the cause of brotherly love and hope you can find it in yourself to forgive me . Vidarr stopped, obviously awaiting a reply. His anxiety felt tangible.

Larson trembled in the grip of pain. He tried to search his mind for an answer, but he felt only the crushing weight of darkness. Quietly, he slipped into oblivion.

"The law that I have preached… and the discipline that I have established will be your master after my disappearance.''

– The Pali Canon Digha Nikaya, II

A quarter moon dangled above Hvergelmir's chasm, mirrored in the sluggish waters of the eleven rivers which formed the falls. Twisted as one, the streams crashed to Hel's entry way, whipped to foam by the force of impact on the rocks below. Spray rebounded, needling Larson and freezing on the metallic surfaces of the rifle in his hands. Winds from the rushing cascade ruffled thin, yellow-white hair into his eyes. With no regrets, he hurled the weapon. It spun through air, reflecting patterns of moonlight across the surface of water. Then Hvergelmir accepted the offering. Steel clanked against stone, and the rifle was swallowed beneath the boiling current. Larson knew the wild waters would pummel Gary Mannix's rod to splinters and beyond; he had learned from Loki's death that the cascade could bash not only a man, but also his soul, to irretrievable oblivion.