Mickey Reichert: Godslayer

"No!" Larson hollered. Smoke from the smoldering village swirled like ghosts into the phantom's twin intakes. Larson lay frozen in terror. A rocket dropped from beneath the jet, plummeted, then shot forward with a speed which outdistanced the plane. Before Larson could scream, the missile crashed to ground with a blast of red-orange. Its explosion seemed to shatter earth. Though the magical shield contained most of its impact, force crashed against Larson's head and knocked him to oblivion.

Larson awakened to utter darkness. Screams of terror ripped from his lungs and reverberated like distant answers. Throat raw, he fell to silence and recognized the slosh of running water. The rasp of a sword scraping from its sheath restored his rationality. Larson struggled to legs stiff with disuse. His hand closed about Valvitnir's hilt. "Gaelinar?" he whispered hopefully.

Gaelinar's gruff reply had never seemed so welcome. "I should have known it was you, hero. How do you feel?"

"Shaky," Larson admitted. "And blind." A scene threaded through his mind, the memory of Silme lying still as death on a road in the Mekong Delta. "Where's Silme?"

The sorceress called over the bubbling of the river Sylg. "Here. The real question, Allerum, is where was Silme."

Larson groped toward Silme's voice. "My world. I'm sorry. I tried to control my memories, I swear I did, but:" Silme caught his arm. It occurred to Larson with frightening abruptness that the surrounding darkness was too complete for night. He finished with an anxious whine. " Dammit, why can't I see?"

Gaelinar replied. "We're in the Valley of Darkness."

"H-how?"

"We carried you," Silme explained. "Bramin can only track us through your mind. With you unconscious, we traveled as quickly as we could."

Larson pulled Silme closer. "Why are we still headed toward Hvergelmir?"

Gaelinar sounded nearer. "Because Loki expects us there. He wants your sword destroyed in the Helspring, and for all he knows we plan to complete that quest. He'll be there to make certain it gets done."

"Please, Allerum " Silme spoke with concern. "Talk with Vidarr. Make certain he's all right after: what happened."

Reluctantly, Larson released Silme and drew Valvitnir. The sword quivered mournfully in his grip. Vidarr's mental presence wound cautiously through the fragile tangles of his mind. / pity your people. The men of your world removed all the glory from war and left only killing.

Larson jammed the sword into its sheath and broke his link with Vidarr. "He's fine," Larson grumbled. But the god's assessment echoed through his mind, awakening a terrifying thought. When we complete this quest and the gods of Asgard no longer need me, what becomes of me? Will Freyr return me to the skill-less death machine of the Vietnam war?

With a strength born of imagined injustice, he jerked the sword free again. Vidarr:?

The god answered defensively before Larson finished the question. / don't know what Freyr plans! My own fate is tenuous enough. Since my imprisonment, I know only what I see through your eyes.

Damn! Larson dashed the sword to the ground. Its blue flare faded darkness in a circle of purple. Larson crushed Silme to his chest in frustration, and her dragonstaff cracked painfully against his shoulder. His lips brushed her face, found her mouth, and pressed into a passionate kiss. Desire burned him like fire, but he loosened his grip and fought bitterness. "Silme, the success of this quest may doom us to separate worlds." Grief caught the words in his throat. "There is a link between our worlds, even if it's only in my mind. We passed through it once. I swear, if Freyr sends me back to Nam, I'll find a way to return to you."

Larson heard the scrape of metal against sand as Silme hefted Valvitnir and returned the sword to its sheath. "Or if necessary, I'll find you," she told him gently. "It's not often I meet a hero like you."

Gaelinar shuffled his feet, and sand showered against Larson's ankles. "Forgive me. If we don't move along soon, we forfeit whatever advantage we gained. Allerum?"

Larson felt a slight breeze of movement. A ration sack thumped into his side. He accepted the pouch and slung it across his shoulder. "Where are the horses?"

"They refused to enter the valley." Gaelinar's voice came from some distance ahead. "Animals can sense evil."

Larson caught Silme's hand and trotted after the Kensei. Two days had passed since his last meal, but Larson felt no hunger. His stomach balled in an aching knot of tension. Soon he would face the greatest challenge of any life. He would become a godslayer or damn his soul and Silme's to an eternity of torture.

A victim of his own doubts, Larson did not notice as darkness diffused to gray. But another in the party was more wary. Gaelinar stopped, silent in the mist, and caught his companions as they passed. "Caution," he warned. "We're approaching the Helspring. I hear the falling waters."

Larson released Silme's hand and wiped slick palms on his cape. Beyond the gurglings of the river Sylg, Larson heard a sound like a roomful of serpents. The air felt suddenly chill. For the first time since his recovery, Larson discerned huddled cliffs which hemmed the Valley of Darkness. The river Sylg spanned nearly four times its earlier width, and ice blocks as large as a man's head bobbed in its current.

Gaelinar drew his katana and tested its edge with his thumbnail. "Ready?"

"Ready?" repeated Larson incredulously. "Ready! Loki's a god. Shouldn't we make a plan of some sort?" His own words struck with mind-jarring force. We're fighting a god. Like Christ or something. What chance do we have?

Gaelinar sheathed the katana, trading it for his companion sword. His hand slid along the blade, but Larson could not perceive the Kensei's expression in the semidarkness. "I cut him. Silme throws spells. And you:" Gaelinar paused thoughtfully, ": bested the guard captain of Forste -Mar before your first sword lesson. So, I guess you hit people, too."

Larson paced to hide his trembling hands. " Loki's not people. He's a: a god."

Gaelinar walked toward the palisades, and his figure was lost to the hovering shadows of the Valley of Darkness. "He can die just like we can."

Silme caught for Larson's arm, but her hand slipped free in the sweat which slicked his limbs like grease. " Loki's both a wizard and a swordsman, which gives him a large repertoire for attack. Plans become worthless against a god as unpredictable as his Chaos, especially when one of the parties privy to the strategy can't hide his knowledge from the enemy."

Larson nodded his understanding. Silme and Gaelinar might have plotted while he recovered from the phantom's rocket, but anything they told him could become accessible to Loki through the flaws in his mind. Doubt rushed down upon Larson, merciless as a volley of gunfire. "I'm not prepared to war with gods. I may never be." A private in one of the bloodiest wars in history, and I've never even killed a man with my own hands. The murders on my conscience were all the impersonal and distant victims of an M-16. Yet the gun he had wielded lay without guilt between the banks of a dried river in a body-littered jungle, while the screams of the dying haunted the memory of Al Larson. Larson stopped pacing and deliberately avoided touching Valvitnir.

" Allerum!" Threat colored Gaelinar's words. " Freyr brought you to complete this quest at a price a mere mortal cannot comprehend. You will fight gods, I promise. Need I remind you there are three gods of Chaos and fifteen of Law? Choose your enemies with care."

Larson fixed on the first numerical fact. " Three gods!" he screamed, nearly hysterical.

Silme clarified quickly. " Loki's daughter, Hel, can't cross the bridge from her citadel. As for Helblindi:"

"He's trapped in a sword, too," Larson interrupted as he recalled Vidarr's vision. " Loki's sword." His hand dropped unconsciously to Valvitnir.