Mickey Reichert: Godslayer

Vidarr's mental presence filled his mind like storm wind. Bramin's sword, he corrected. And you should know something. Freyr brought you here with full knowledge that the choice to face Loki must remain your own. I want freedom, but it's your right to know the gods of Law are not vindictive. Slay Loki or not as your conscience sanctions. A moral decision will not be held against you. Vidarr ended contact with Larson, though not quickly enough to hide the grief which lapped Larson's mind like a tide.

"Ready," said Larson softly. Resolved, he filled his lungs with air and exhaled through clenched teeth. "Let's go."

Silme followed Larson through the lightening mists of the valley. The cliffs ended abruptly. The river washed across a plain of dying grasses, then plummeted through a pit as large as a mine crater. Larson strode from the valley; wind bitter as hoarfrost whipped hair into his eyes. Anyone but a native to the climate would have found it unbearably cold, but as a creature of faery, Larson was impervious. The rapid change from darkness to daylight made him blink, though clouds obscured the sun with gloom.

Larson's eyes adjusted quickly. He recognized ten similar valleys radiating from the central chasm like the spokes of a giant wheel. Curious, he trot-, ted forward; weeds crushed to powder beneath his feet. The rush of waters through the pit grew loud as a lion's roar, and then faded as Larson's ears adjusted to the noise. As he neared the edge of the cliff, he found a narrow path which threaded into the abyss. Poised at its lip, he saw a sight more breathtaking than the falls of Niagara.

Eleven rivers plunged as one through the rounded crater, their waters wound in a shimmering braid. The pittance of light which pierced the clouds drew glittering lines through the torrent crashing into the Helspring. Droplets bounced upward in a frozen mist and pelted Larson's face like hail. Entranced, he took a step forward. A stone broke loose beneath his foot. He went giddy as he imag-ined himself tumbling with it, weaving through the cascade, smashed to lifeless, soulless waste beneath Hvergelmir's current.

A shiver traversed Larson. He shielded his eyes and shied away just as Silme bellowed. "Loki!" Her voice echoed about the many valleys. "We know you're here. If you want Valvitnir in Hver-gelmir, come get him."

Larson whirled and freed his sword, edging nervously from the Helspring. Gaelinar waited near the valley. Silme stood, ready, in the center of the plain. Her challenge went unanswered.

"Loki!" Silme started again.

Bramin glided from the waning fog of Sylg's valley, black as oblivion. The winds of the waterfalls swirled iron gray robes about his torso. His eyes flashed red threat from shadowed sockets. The diamond in his staff glowed bright as a street lamp. "Did you think Loki would waste energy on you?" As he spoke, a sunburst of sorceries blos-, somed in his hand. "You're scarcely worth my time."

Gaelinar moved first. Fast as thought, his fingers freed a shuriken. Even as he tensed his arm to throw, Bramin's enchantments sheeted through the air. A raw blaze of magic enwrapped the Kensei in a glimmering net which held him still as stone.

"No!" screamed Silme. Light pulsed across the plain as wizard and sorceress howled spell words forceful as explosions. Bramin's diamond blazed through a chaotic spectrum of color. His raging red eyes locked suddenly on Larson, and Silme loosed a short scream. Her tone changed abruptly. A beam of ruddy light leaped from Bramin's fingers. Silme's magical parry pinwheeled protectively before Larson.

Bramin cursed, then laughed as his spell shattered to colored highlights. Sunbright sorceries surrounded both Dragonrank mages in a wave which blinded Larson. Light blazed and died; magics fizzled. Silme dropped to her knees as Larson lunged at Bramin. Valvitnir arced over Larson's head and sliced toward the half-breed.

In a single motion, Bramin dropped his staff, drew his sword and blocked. Six inches of air separated the swords when they stopped abruptly. The motion jarred both wielders. The half-breed riposted. Larson jerked his blade upward in instinctive defense. Bramin's sword shied awkwardly from Valvitnir, as if of its own accord.

Larson and Bramin recovered together. In the brief respite, Vidarr's presence imparted a panicked message. Helblindi and I are prisoners of the same spell. A touch will destroy us both!

Conditioned, Larson repeated the first maneuver Gaelinar had taught him. Valvitnir whistled reluctantly around him and lanced toward Bramin. Bramin sprang forward as he blocked. The swords quivered, desperate inches apart. Too close for an adequate sweep, the half-breed retreated.

Drop me, damn you! Vidarr's command pierced Larson's mind with painful force.

Larson responded with a desperate thought. Drop you and die! I can't face Bramin weaponless!

Bramin thrust. Larson waved Valvitnir before his body, and Helblindi sprang aside. Bramin swung low. Larson withdrew his front foot, but the Helblade scraped skin from his calf.

Larson swore, deaf to Vidarr's pleas. Again, he sprang at Bramin and skipped back as the half-breed returned his strike. Apology rolled through his mind in waves. Vidarr gathered mental strength, dragged Larson's consciousness with him in a short conspiracy with Helblindi.

Larson's breath came in wild sobs. He reposi-tioned his sword, just in time to block a sweep for his neck. Vidarr tore free of his grip and tumbled through the air like a wounded bird. To Larson's relief, Helblindi also pitched from its wielder's hand.

Bramin paused a moment in shock, then retreated across the plain. Larson noticed the sharp sting of ice pellets on the back of his neck, and only just realized how close Bramin had maneuvered him to a fatal plunge into the Helspring. Cautiously, he came forward to face the sorcerer in the dying grasses. Over Bramin's wide, black shoulders, he saw Silme watching with wide-eyed helplessness. She mouthed a silent message: I love you. Beyond her, Gaelinar stood motionless as a painting.

Bramin lashed, backhanded, at Larson's face. The elf blocked with his left arm. Before he could return the strike, Bramin closed. The half-breed's foot kicked painfully against the back of Larson's knee, and his elbow crashed against Larson's chin. Larson staggered, recovered. As Bramin realigned, Larson sprang and punched. Bramin blocked effortlessly. His dark fist smashed Larson's nose.

Larson lurched as sparks danced before his eyes. Dizzied with nausea, he tried to think. Bramin's maneuvers came with practiced speed and ma- chinelike efficiency. Larson knew he could never avoid the blows. He could only hope to endure.

Resolved, he jabbed at Bramin's face. Again, the half-breed blocked and returned the strike. This time, Larson took the punch. Pain exploded across his jaw, but he bore in on his enemy. His knee crashed into Bramin's groin. The half-breed gasped. Silme screamed. Larson's elbow thrust toward Bramin's head. The half-elf ducked, using Larson's own momentum to hurl him to the ground. Bramin's foot lashed out, passing over Larson's head as the elf rolled to his feet.

Several yards away, Silme rolled in the grass as if in pain. Bramin's features twisted in a savage smile. His hands rested peacefully at his sides as he raised his face to Larson. "Go ahead, hero." He spat the last word in contempt. "Hit me."

Larson did not need prompting. Bramin made no attempt at defense. Larson's fist smashed into his face, and Silme shrieked in agony. Stunned, Larson did not press his advantage.

Blood trickled from Bramin's nose, but his mouth parted in silent laughter. "Hit me again, elf coward." Malice danced in his feral eyes. "Hurt Silme!"

With a cry of anger, Larson struck. Cartilage snapped beneath his knuckles, jarring Bramin to his knees. Silme howled in torment. Her body writhed in the dirt.