"Im-press-ive. Stupid, but impressive. What were you going to do if you got in?"
I gestured at the second horse. "I needed my gear."
"Uh-huh. Ready to go?"
I didn't let go of the Biter, and was pleased when it remained poised for battle. "I have no intention of going anywhere near the Norns. Like I said, I've got things to do, and I'm a little shy on time."
Baldr shook his head. "For one thing, you're in no shape to reach Loki. One meal and a few hours' rest won't do it. For another, you haven't the faintest idea which way to go. —Wait, hear me out," he said as I started to interrupt.
"All right," I growled, "say your piece."
Baldr inclined his head in mock thanks. His voice came out a little flat. "You're finally learning courtesy."
"I'm courteous enough," I countered. "Tolerance for assholes, I've never had."
Baldr's brows shot into his hairline. Then he laughed—and, notably, his breath did not steam in the freezing air, the way mine did. "I've been called many things, Randy Barnes; but you are the first to give Odin's son that title."
"Huh. Good to know I'll be famous for something."
He chuckled. "Indeed, you will. I am sorry, you know, but you really must see the Norns. Hel was right. You're none of her affair, which means you shouldn't be in Niflheim at all. Either you're here by my father's design—which I'm seriously beginning to doubt—or you're here because the Norns want you here."
"I wouldn't bet on that," I muttered.
Baldr frowned; but refrained from comment.
I wiped ice crystals off my eyelashes so I could see him better, and took my horse's reins. Mounting took only a moment, then I swung my horse's head around to face Baldr. I kept the Biter in my free hand, between me and Odin's son. "If it's all the same to you, Baldr, I don't need a nursemaid. Especially not Hel's. Nothing personal."
His frown deepened furrows in his cheeks. "I am not here at Hel's instructions."
"Oh?"
For the first time, Baldr looked tired and... well, dead.
"No. I'm not." He paused; then met my gaze levelly. "It's clear I don't understand what's happening here, any more than Hel does; but I rather like you, Randy Barnes, and you may believe it or not, I admire you very much already. I'd hoped to extend my hand in friendship."
"You'll understand, I hope, if I have trouble believing that."
I expected him to get angry, and abandon me to my own devices—which was exactly what I wanted. Instead, he paled, and looked troubled.
"I am not accustomed," he said very quietly, almost inaudible above the sleet-filled wind, "to being so mistrusted. Whatever drives you, it is clear you have little love for us." He glanced up from his horse's mane, and shivered in an errant blast of icy wind, the first indication he'd given that Niflheim's weather affected the dead.
"Perhaps," he mused, "you have good reason. I would give a great deal to know what you said to Hel. In all my centuries here, I've never seen her in such a towering temper. Frankly, I'm astonished she let you live."
"As someone else has found out recently"—I smiled tightly—"I'm not so easy to kill."
He stared levelly into my eyes. "That may be. But Niflheim isn't exactly hospitable to someone who's still alive. Please believe me, if you want to survive much longer, you will have to accept some help. Without food, water, or a sense of direction, you won't last another four songs."
"Twenty-four hours, huh? You don't know what a tough bastard I am. And the Biter can get me where I want to go."
—Unless where I wanted to go conflicted with its notion of where it thought I should go, a possibility I had to consider.
"It's your funeral." He shrugged. "I'd thought you were more intelligent than that. I would be more than willing to guide you to Loki, and you would travel safely in my company. I swear that on whatever you consider sacred; but only if we visit the Norns first. I, at any rate, would like to know what I've let myself in for, befriending you. Hel was not amused when I left her hall to come after you."
I studied him narrowly; but found no hint of guile in his troubled blue eyes. Had Odin's son really put it on the line for me? It didn't seem likely. On the other hand, Baldr's reputation argued that he was telling the truth. I found myself wanting to believe him. I liked this stocky, blue-eyed god who'd been dead before mankind learned to turn iron ore into weapons. Baldr waited in silence, while I sat astride my dead horse and tried to decide what to do.
I was already ravenously hungry, especially now that I was away from Hel's unappetizing home. I had no food of my own, and there wasn't much water left in my canteens. If the River Gjoll were any indication, none of the water in Niflheim might be drinkable. I might be able to steal some of the weird mushrooms I'd seen growing nearby; but I couldn't be sure which ones were safe. Nanna had known, and Baldr probably would, too, but I might end up poisoning myself, especially if they had to be specially prepared to get rid of toxins. I'd be no good to Gary dead of starvation and consigned to Hel's hall for eternity.
On the other hand, visiting the Norns might not be such a bad idea. If they called the shots—or once had—I might get valuable information from them. The more I thought about that, the more it made sense. Predestination had gone screwy. So who better to consult than the three old witches who were supposed to preordain everything? For all I knew, maybe they'd gotten so senile they'd simply lost track of what they were supposed to be arranging. In which case, I might be able to do a helluva lot more than I'd hoped.
I glanced over at him, and scowled. "Dammit, Baldr, you know I haven't got much choice."
He grinned and tossed me a fur overjacket slung across his lap. "Then get into that before you freeze—and see if you can guide your horse out of this ice storm without breaking your fool neck. Whatever do they teach warriors these days?"
"Yeah? Well, I'd like to see you try and drive an M-113 armored personnel carrier," I muttered. I slid the parka on and closed it up, then turned in the saddle and checked my gear. Everything was there. I slipped the web gear on; then adjusted the pack straps to fit over the fur jacket.
"Okay, pal o' mine, lead the way."
Baldr smiled, friendly and relaxed again, then turned his horse's head and set off at a walk. I wondered briefly what I'd let myself in for this time, then wondered what Hel made of all this. Probably was gnashing her pointed teeth. I shivered in a stray blast of wind, and hoped I never saw Hel again, before death or after.
We skirted the enormous wall and headed inland.
Once past the wall, Baldr glanced back curiously. "What, exactly, did you say to Hel back there?"
"What Death didn't want to hear."
He favored me with a long, keen stare; then shut up. I heard him mutter to himself, "It's going to be a long ride."
Then both of us fell silent.
He was right—it was a long ride. I developed saddle sores the size of dinner plates on my butt and thighs. He produced some sort of ointment that healed them into calluses. The food Baldr had brought along was edible—barely—but it kept body and soul together, a fact that undoubtedly displeased Hel tremendously. I thought a lot about Gary Vernon, and what Valhalla might be like. I hoped to God it was better than Niflheim. If it wasn't... Well, that's why I was here, wasn't it?
Baldr did most of the talking. He had an endless stream of stories to tell, but I no longer found the exploits of murdering gods amusing. Letting him talk, though, proved easier than shutting him up, so I let him ramble, and hoped I might eventually learn something useful. Most of the stories were little more than braggadocio. At least most of them weren't about Baldr. My new friend really was a self-effacing kind of guy. Despite my vow to remain cautious of him, I found myself ever more grateful for his company. For a Norse god, he was a decent guy.