The fire Norn breathed his name into the smoky stillness.

When I looked, Baldr was pale to the lips. He held the Norn's gaze with obvious difficulty.

Suddenly I didn't feel quite so bad.

"Skuld." He sketched a courtly, archaic bow which I suspected was designed solely to break her gaze. It gave him a moment to compose himself. "Pray forgive me for intruding on your private affairs.

My apologies as well to Urd," he bowed to the white Norn, "and Verdani." Each nodded in turn, acknowledging the apology.

I wondered briefly if Urd was named for the spring or the spring for her. Destiny. History. How were maiden and spring interwoven, I wondered, these two who watered the Tree of the Worlds? I thought about the ashes of her footsteps and felt a chill run through my bones. Even if these threeweren't still in charge of the universe-something I was beginning to doubt, despite what I'd seen so far-they were clearly the most dangerous trio I'd ever encountered. Not even Sleipnir instilled the same fight-or-flight terror Skuld did.

As though she'd heard my thoughts, Skuld glanced my way. I stiffened. She smiled, then turned a stern gaze on my companion. I felt as though I'd been granted a reprieve. Baldr stiffened in turn.

"Yes, Baldr, this one is assuredly our private affair. Why have you chosen to interfere?"

Sweat broke out across the dead god's forehead; a healthy dose of fear shone in his eyes, mingled with stunned surprise.

"Youask ?" His voice actually broke.

She inclined her head slightly. A tremor caught him.

For a goddess who was supposed to know everything-including, obviously, Baldr's very thoughts -her question was decidedly odd. A cold, murderous smile started somewhere at gut level and stretched its way across my lips. Skuld's question-and Baldr's white-faced reaction-confirmed what I had already known.

-And what Odin's favorite son was just beginning to guess.Come Niflhel, come high water, Odin was mine.

Baldr was in deep distress. He closed his eyes, and his fists; then he met Skuld's eyes. Sweat poured off him. "I seek only guidance, lady."

She gazed at him in stony silence for a moment. "There are things stirring that even gods may not know, Baldr."

I thought he was going to be sick. Then Skuld turned, and the heat of her gaze caught me unawares. I reeled and fought to return it.

"Have you told your somewhat foolish-although undeniably loyal-companion why you came?"

she asked me.

I straightened. Sweat rivered off me. I managed to draw one scalding breath to reply. "I want to talk to Loki. And that's all I'm telling anyone."

I fully expected to be incinerated for my insolence. I wasn't. And if her laughter astonished me, it stunned Baldr speechless.

"I fear that will have to be enough for you, Baldr," she said, still laughing, "and for your grim hostess, as well. This mortal keeps his secrets well."

Baldr started to protest; then fell uneasily silent. He eyed me warily. I could see clearly that he bitterly regretted his impulsive act of friendship, made back at Hel's hall.

Skuld sighed, and said, "Things are not as they once were, Baldr; but if it makes you feel any better . . .".

She closed her eyes, and stood perfectly still inside the crackling aura of heat that surrounded her.

Skuld began to speak, in words wreathed with smoke and flame:

Helblindi's eye from heaven sees The battle grim which heralds doom, And fearful of His dreadful fate, He strives to halt what must transpire.

Does Fimbulvetr lurk beyond The madness He himself has loosed?

What guilty thoughts Helblindi hides, Such deeds, the valkyries abhor, And Frigga hangs her head in shame.

A mortal's eyes and mortal's heart See all with other eyes than His, And mortal lips pronounce a doom That drives no bargain save with Death.

Helblindi sees, Helblindi snarls, And all the worlds await the hour, To see if mortal blow can break The chains which hold Muspell at bay.

Will all that rages for revenge Be loosed upon the tree of ash?

Or will the dour hall of Hel Receive another guest tonight?

The force Between is now unleashed For good or ill upon the Worlds, And mortal gods do well to fear The Midgard hand unbound by Fate.

She stopped speaking.

Thank God . . .

Every hair, from my scalp to the dark hairs on the tops of my toes, stood on end. Only when I started breathing again did I realize I'd stopped. Skuld had raised more questions than she'd answered- in point of fact, she hadn't answeredanything -and I wasn't sure Iwanted some of her questions answered. All I wanted was a couple of words with Loki, a quick ride on Sleipnir, and a quicker end to Odin. Visiting an oracle hadn't been my idea in the first place; and Skuld's "prophecy" was decidedly enigmatic, even for an oracle.

Skuld opened her eyes and turned again to Baldr. "Do you begin to see?"

The look Baldr awarded me was filled with . . .

I could not interpret the emotion in his eyes. Probably akin to the look in Dr. Frankenstein's eyes when he realized what his creation had done.

I gave myself a rough mental shake. I had to clear my head again, think . . .

"No," Baldr whispered. "But I thank you for the Sight."

"Stand with him, if you will, or send him on his way, with all due warning. He has chosen this path, and not even you may turn him from it, without his consent."

I stared hard at her, nerving myself to ask, to confirm it. She had turned away, and gazed pensively at the rainbow spans rising high above our heads. Colors of fire and blood pulsed hotly in the still air, overriding the other hues in Bifrost. She looked inexpressibly weary, almost vulnerable. . . .

Baldr's hand touched my arm. I jumped, and yelled; then turned to meet the blue of his eyes. They were dark with inner trouble. I glanced away, back to where Skuld stood. I needed to ask-needed to know , not just guess-but I could not. I couldn't force my mouth to shape the words.

Mostly, I couldn't stand the thought of withering under her burning gaze again. Skuld was a killer. I knew one when I saw one, and I was certain she did too. Hel, I could fight. Skuld, I wasn't so certain.

The future arrives inexorably, second by relentless second, and there's not much any man can do to stop it. I didn't even plan to try. My business was elsewhere.

"Come," Baldr said, his voice and whole bearing exhausted, "the interview is over. We have another journey to make before I . . . leave you."

He'd almost said "before I can escape." The words all but hovered in the clear air between us. I didn't know what to say. I unstrapped my backpack from the saddle and slung it across my shoulders, then we mounted and rode away in silence. I didn't give Skuld so much as a backward glance.

Chapter Sixteen.

Baldr led the way around the shore of Urd and rode off in a different direction from the way we'd entered. I followed without protest. Whatever his reasons, Baldr had chosen to lead me where I wanted to go, which was better, I supposed, than being abandoned to Skuld.

I didn't quite know what to make of my interview with Skuld. Had she been trying to warn Baldr?

Or me? Why? And of what? I narrowed my eyes, and tried to recall exactly what she'd said.

Helblindi was another name for Odin: "He who blinds with death"-a fitting title if ever I'd seen one.

I snorted, which earned me a curious glance from Baldr. I held his gaze, but declined to enlighten him. He grunted once, then turned back around in the saddle; but not before his facial muscles tightened.

From his expression, it was obvious he was beginning to view me as a decided threat.

As well he should. Not that I meant Baldr any harm. I wondered briefly if seeing Loki about Sleipnir was the smartest thing I could have tried. Probably not. Unfortunately, I'd gone to a lot of trouble to set this hunt in motion. I could hardly back out now. Besides, it was still the only way I knew to get my hands on Sleipnir, and without Sleipnir, there wasn't much purpose to anything I'd accomplished so far. So I worried and rode and worried some more, and didn't even notice when Baldrand his horse vanished. My horse did, though. I grabbed wildly at his mane when he reared and danced sideways.

" . . . stupid, walking lump of Purina Dog Chow . . ."

I went on in this vein at some length; but I managed to haul the animal's head around and forced him in the direction I wanted to go. I promised myself solemnly that when I caught up with Baldr, I was going to arrange a trade in mounts-forcibly, if necessary. This greenbroke nag was determined to get me killed. Probably another present from Odin. If the witless animal pulled another stunt like this one, I'd serve him to Odin for his goddamn dinner.

A shimmer swallowed us. My horse's hooves rang on solid stone-and bone-chilling cold knifed through my light clothing. I experienced a massive bout of shivering before I managed to get the pack off and the fur jacket on. Even then, I couldn't get warm.

There was damn little light anywhere. My horse quieted down uncertainly while I peered through the darkness to get my bearings. Crossing the spatial bubble the Norns lived in had accomplished more than just crossing a section of Niflheim-it appeared we'd left Niflheim altogether.

A dully glowing wall of maroon rock rose just ahead. A wide lip curved outward, forming a deep overhang. It was almost a small cave. The overhang was bathed in ghastly, rust-colored light. Enormous boulders glowed like bloodstone on all sides. Inside the overhang I could see movement; but couldn't quite discern what was moving.

Baldr dismounted. I followed his example. As my feet touched the ground, I noticed an odd trembling underfoot, almost like the rumble of heavy machinery felt through a concrete floor-except I didn'thear anything.

Or did I? Yes, there was a sound, almost too low to hear. A sort of rustling, scraping noise, like leathery scales crawling across straw. . . .

A chill crept up my spine. "Baldr, where in God's name are we?" I whispered.

Baldr ignored the metaphysical gaffe. He didn't quite whisper, but his voice was low when he answered. "We're in Niflhel."

A world of eternal darkness and ice, where murderers and other evil men were sent for punishment.

"Loki is chained here. And this," he added, "is as far as I go." Baldr's expression was unreadable.

"Family killing family is terrible. I will not seek Loki's company for any reason. Nor am I . . . allowed to remain." A strained expression crossed his face; he said quietly, "

< >

'Brothers will fight and kill each other . . . an axe age, a sword age . . . a wolf age . . .' Do you understand me?"

I didn't have to answer. I understood exactly what he meant, and didn't want to talk about it.

Fimbulvetr, the three-year-long Terrible Winter that would come just before Ragnarok, and the end of everything . . . These were the portents that heralded its arrival. Skuld-and Odin-were afraid I might be the one to bring it down on their heads. Baldr gripped my arm-very hard indeed for a dead man- and met my gaze squarely.

"Be warned. Loki is master of lies and trickery. His moods are more changeable now than ever before. He may be chained; but he is still very, very dangerous to a mortal man. Do what you must, for Fate will have it no other way, but guard your life if you value it."

That struck me as an odd statement for a god who believed wholeheartedly in predestination. I wondered if Skuld's predilection for strange behavior was contagious.

"I must leave you now. Remember-caution. . . ."

My mouth was dry and my palm was wet when I clasped his arm.

"I . . . uh . . . thanks." I wanted to say more but had no idea how to say it. I owed Baldr my life.

Killing his father wasn't much of a thank you, which made the moment more awkward than it should have been. "Guess you ought to take this worthless nag back with you, huh?" I jerked my thumb at my horse.

Baldr shook his head solemnly. "Keep him for a while. If you don't need him, he'll find his way back home. But if you do need him . . .""Yeah."

Baldr gripped my arm one last time; then turned, mounted, and galloped away without another word. The Norse weren't much on prolonged goodbyes. Either that, or he was as scared as I should have been. I watched him disappear into the shimmer marking the boundary with the Norns' world; then I leaned against a nearby boulder and contemplated my situation. I had a horse that bolted at the sight of its own shadow, but I was in better physical shape than when I'd started out, thanks to Verdani and that marvelous drink of water.

I was about to meet Loki face-to-face-with no guarantee I'd survive the interview. Well, I was armed to the teeth, and then some. Meet Loki? Nothing to it. Just walk right up and introduce myself. I'd survived Hel and Fate; what was a little chat with Loki?

I shrugged out of my battered pack and started getting ready. The soil was so cold I wondered whether it might be made of frozen hydrogen. On further reflection, I decided that if the temperatures here were cold enough to freeze hydrogen solid, I'd be a Han Solo-style popsicle by now. I was, however, still alive and functioning. Well, mostly. I wasn't too sure the end of my nose was ever going to regain feeling.

Despite the numbing temperatures, I took my time getting ready. No sense rushing in half-assed.

Half-asses got killed a little too quickly to suit me. I didnot want to die in this frozen wasteland.

I loosened the Armalite from the pack and restrapped it so I could pull it loose with one quick jerk.

Then I checked my spare magazines and stuck them into various convenient pouches on my web gear where I could get at them in a hurry. There were six extras for the rifle and two spares for the P-7. I had some good civilian, soft-point hunting ammo in the rifle, but had been able to get only military "hardball"

ammunition for the pistol. I regretted again that I hadn't had enough cash to buy a large supply, and so had picked up some old World War II surplus stuff-armor-piercing German rounds-priced to sell.

It'd tested okay when I shot some; but I didn't like it as much as the hollow points I would rather have had in the P-7.

It occurred to me presently that I was letting my preparation become procrastination. I couldn't afford to let my courage get cold. Caution was one thing-but too much thought bred inaction and that would probably prove fatal. So. The guns were set, the ammo was set, and Gary's knife . . .

The Sly Biter had grown deadly quiet in my boot sheath. I didn't care much for that portent, but I wasn't going to let it worry me. I loosened the Biter's sheath snap, and shouldered my pack. Then I drew a deep breath, mounted my horse, and set him to a brisk trot. The frigid air got blood and adrenaline flowing again.

I headed toward the distant overhang, keeping the larger boulders between me and the source of that low scraping sound, which had already started to set my teeth on edge. My horse was growing more nervous with every step. I had my hands full keeping him under control. We rounded a corner- Loki!

Before my horse could scream, I whirled his head back around. We retreated behind sheltering rocks. Freezing air knifed my lungs with each gulp. Gripping the reins firmly, I risked another look-and found myself overcome by a rapid, shrinking sensation that reduced my ego to its proper insignificance.

Loki . . .

One of the few names from Norse mythology most people had at least heard . . . It was a name full of dark madness. Only who was madder: the god, or the fool seeking him out?

I had thought I was ready for this interview. Now I knew why Baldr never came here. Loops of slender chain bound Loki to three flat slabs: one under his head and shoulders, one under his hips, and one under his knees. It looked hellishly uncomfortable. I couldn't guess what the chains were made of; but they were damned (as it were) strong. He writhed like an epileptic in grand mal seizure and all they did was creak a little. No wonder the ground trembled constantly.

He was a dark god, in more than just reputation. Long black hair, plastered by centuries of sweat and grime, hung across dark skin and deep-set black eyes. An aura of darkness hovered around him,tantalizing the eye and blurring details I needed to see. If he'd been clothed when the gods bound him here, the fabric had long since rotted away. Or maybe it'd been eaten away. . . .

Acid burns and half-healed scars covered him, turning a face that might once have been very handsome into a grotesque parody of human features. Only the eyes remained human-and they burned with an endless rage.

Prospects for a productive interview looked poor.