Valhalla's High Throne was occupied, and I didn't have to ask by whom; that vermilion eye glowedbalefully from the shadows as we approached. Two slavering, gaunt timber wolves chained near Odin's feet raged, first at one another, then at anyone foolish enough to get too close to them. The two black ravens still sat on Odin's shoulders. Having slightly more leisure to study them, I realized they were virtually identical. Ithought the one on the left was Hugin and the one on the right was Munin; but my memory wasn't entirely clear.

In my ear, Rangrid murmured, "Beware of Geri and Freki, hero. These wolves are called Greedy and Gluttonous for good reason. Not even Odin's own portion from the boar Saehrimnir's eternal flesh is enough to satiate them. Living mortal is a treat they have never seen."

"Thanks for the warning," I said dryly. It was only appropriate that Odin's pet wolves reflected his own personality. Most pets did.

Rangrid drew her mount to a halt and we sat waiting for Odin to speak. He sat in silence for a moment, just staring. I returned the look with an outward semblance of calm. Inside . . . My handsached to close around his throat.

"So, you have come living to Valhalla."

His gravelly voice reminded me surprisingly of Hel's-an observation which startled me into some interesting conjectures.

"You will find my hospitality generous, mortal-but once I have entertained a guest, I am constrained to continue his entertainment. Eternally."

He laughed uproariously.

I growled, "I'll bet you're dynamite at a party, with a lamp shade."

Rangrid giggled; Odin looked grumpily puzzled.

The wolves' jaws gaped expectantly.

Odin recovered his composure to gesture at the ebony birds on his shoulders. Their little black eyes hadn't left me.

"Hugin and Munin also bid you welcome. Thought and Memory advise me of all that happens in the wide, wide worlds."

Briefly I wondered if these feathered tattletales were the source of "a little bird told me."

He added, with a tight, feral smile, "They have kept me well informed of your treason, mortal."

"Treason?" I barked. "That's rich."

Odin scowled at the interruption. "You have provided some measure of entertainment, despite your colossal presumption. Now-having been amused for so unexpectedly long-I return the favor. Have you any questions before you die in honorable combat?"

"Sure. I got a million of 'em, but I'll settle for just one answer before I turn your ugly ass into wolf chow."

He narrowed his eye; but nodded. "Speak."

"Okay, buddy.Why? "

Surprise lifted his shaggy grey brows. Rangrid turned in her saddle to look at me. Odin's voice was flatly puzzled.

"Why what?" It came out sounding almost petulant.

I enumerated my points by ticking them off on the fingers of one hand.

"Why are you murdering men who never knew you existed, wouldn't have worshiped you if they had, and could care less about you, your Valhall, or your petty squabbles with Surt?

"Why did you try to kill mebefore I'd done you any harm?

"Why are you meddling in affairs which are none of your business?

"And why the blazes did you start snatching recruits out of traffic accidents? You know as well as I do who you're supposed to take. Traffic accidents do not constitute battle."

His eye had widened further with each enumerated point. It narrowed savagely on the final one. I folded my arms with an air of assurance I was far from feeling, and added, "If you don't want to explainit to me, maybe you'd prefer explaining it to Skuld?"

Rangrid stiffened; her stallion's muscles turned to iron beneath my legs.

Uh-oh.

I braced myself.

Odin, however, merely looked thoughtful.

"You do have a way of getting to the heart of the matter, don't you?" he mused, stroking Memory absently. Or was it Thought? "Perhaps Skuld has granted me the boon at my request?"

I got the crazy impression thathe was stalling.

I shook my head. "Unh-uh. In the first place, why should she? A few extra corpses to toss into a battle you can't win isn't a good enough reason to throw the whole order of the universe into chaos.You might feel better about a few more men here and there; but that's no reason forSkuld to change the laws of metaphysics. There's no percentage in it, if it doesn't gain anything. Besides"-I grinned nastily-"I already talked to her. Try again."

Strike one . . . Odin still at bat . . .

A sharp intake of breath into the shapely torso in front of me told me I was really pushing it. I didn't care. I was here to push it.

Like a politician dodging the press, Odin started talking without answering. "Your people have forgotten so much. Some, like you, recall the old stories just a little, perhaps; but most, no. They forget, and sleep soundly, feeling safe. There is no way to avoid what must be. The sons of Muspell will destroy your world as surely as you breathe, whether I lead the armies against them or not. Is there no rage in your breast that this must be?"

He sounded like a schoolboy reciting the only lesson he knew. I wanted to throw up.

"We are doomed, all of us; but we will kill as many of our murderers as we can, in just vengeance for the loss of everything we hold dear. Surely you know it is not for the dead themselves that we mourn.

We grieve for what we, ourselves, have lost. This is what drives us to strike out in vengeance."

I wasn't arguing that point-I'd lost my best friend, and look where that had gotten me-but Odin wasn't through orating.

"Perhaps your world's mad drive for peace in these last few years has blinded you to the fate that awaits you all. Death is inevitable. Personal death . . . world death . . . even your modern science admits this is so, does it not? Life itself lives on death, and all is doomed, all is the same in Skuld's eyes; and no living creature can stop the march from Muspell. We can only fight until we fall, and take with us into oblivion as many of the enemy as we can kill, so that the price of their victory is high."

The doom-and-gloom clichs didn't impress me. I had as much respect as the next soldier for that old adage, but there were better ways of dealing with enemies. Even when you were outnumbered.

Especially then . . .

Odin acted as if all he had to fight with was his muscles. A tiny lightbulb flickered in the back of my mind. I carefully stored the half-formed thought so I wouldn't lose it. I hoped I got a chance to mull it over before Odin and I came to blows.

Odin was shaking his grizzled head. "In the short decades you have lived, mortal, the numbers of men entering this most hallowed of halls has fallen to the merest trickle. We need warriors badly and take them where we find them, battle or no. The end is upon us, and there is little time to recruit more.

"In your grandfather's time we had some great heroes, oh yes, and many men came to us; but now your politicians tremble, and your young men bleat of peace and cringe in the face of bloodshed. You fear death so greatly, you will not even risk your lives to defend what is already yours."

I hit the floor running. The wolves scattered out of my way. I snatched him up by the shirtfront, and shook him so hard, the ravens flapped into the air, squawking objections.

"Listen, you fat-assed old bastard! Don't talk to me about putting it on the line! I've been there and damn near didn't come back. And what's more, we don't play with knives and spears anymore; we playwith bombs that would turn your precious Valhalla into slag and you along with it! Don't youdare sit on your murdering ass and whine tome about bleating for peace and being too goddamn terrified to start a war. What the hell do you think I'm here for, you lying, cheating son-of-a-bitch, to dance a minuet and sip tea? You want a war, Odin, you've got one. With me.

"And if you can getthat through your thick Neanderthal skull, trythis on for size-we don't need Surt to burn up the world anymore. We're more than capable of it ourselves, and we sure ashell don't need you helping us do it. Frankly, if we're going to blow ourselves to the stars, we'd like to do it by our bloody, goddamned selves! Andthat , my fat little friend, is why I'm going to kill you."

He stared at me, in utter wide-eyed shock. His mouth was slack. His throat worked against the pressure of my grip. I was weaponless; but so was he. A collective roar went up behind me, and hooves rang out on stone.

"You want a duel?" I asked softly, too low for anyone but us to hear. "Fine. Under code duello, I get to choose the weapons. How would you prefer to die, old man? Fifty-megaton hydrogen bombs at ten paces? That ought to do the trick, eh? Or maybe just swords at dawn? How about recoilless rifles?

M-1 tanks?"

Odin hung in my grasp still, mouth working. "You . . . impudent little . . ."

I laughed easily. I was cool . . . incredibly, clear-headedly cool. "You don't know the half of it."

I shoved him back into his chair. "Tell you what. You've got the home field advantage. Give me the Biter back, and I'll fight you here and now."

Odin came out of his chair. I didn't back down, which left him teetering precariously on his heels.

He overbalanced, and landed on his backside.

"What do you take me for?" he rasped. "A fool?"

My lip curled. "Actually, yes."

Deliberately, I turned my back, and strode past Rangrid, who sat stunned, a frozen statue on the back of her stallion. She'd wheeled around to put herself between me and the Einherjar. Ranged along the endless tables, thousands upon thousands upon multiple thousands of warriors listened in absolute, dead silence. Even the slaves had stopped to stare. The wolves at Odin's feet continued to cringe.

I stalked to the nearest table, grabbed a flagon of mead from the nearest hand, and tossed the potent brew down in one gulp. I managed not to cough and wheeze-it was gawdawful-then grabbed another. Less than twenty paces away, I noticed a red-bearded giant of a man, standing poised with one arm uplifted. He hadn't thrown the short-handled hammer in his hand. I lifted my mug in a silent toast, and grinned at him.

Thor's eyes widened, and he lowered his arm; then scowled deeply, and glanced toward his boss for orders. Whatever Odin signaled, Thor's scowl deepened, but he didn't make any further moves toward me.

"Thanks," I muttered to the guy I'd deprived of a drink, then turned to lean against the edge of the table. The nonchalant pose kept me from falling down as a case of very serious shakes set in.

I figured Odin would personally dismember me any second. He was certainly welcome to try. I narrowed my eyes, and waited for Odin's response.

I didn't have to wait long.

Chapter Eighteen.

Odin exploded to his feet, fists clenched. His flame-red eye blazed. Released from momentary paralysis, the wolves leaped to the ends of their chains, snapping and snarling in belated efforts to reach me. I ignored them. I didn't bother even to glance over my shoulder-when you're that badly outnumbered details don't matter.

The one-eyed god snatched up an enormous war axe and raised his arm to hurl it. Bunched muscles on his throwing arm flexed, and I prepared to dodge-And an outraged bellow rose from thousands of throats.

Odin paused. I resisted the temptation to glance around. What was going on? His eye flicked over the assembled host, which peripheral vision told me had surged to its collective feet. Then his gaze returned to me. He regarded me the way a man might watch a rattler he'd accidentally roused in the grass -only to discover that it was a cobra instead.

His expression reminded me of the hopelessly mad Loki. Slowly, and with the reluctance of a man forced to surrender at gunpoint, he lowered the axe again.

"Now is the time for feasting," he growled unpleasantly. "No battle is joined in Valhalla while feasting continues."

Ahh. . . No wonder the Einherjar had protested earlier. It wasn'tpersonal ; they'd just been enforcing the rules, with Thor acting as Sergeant-at-Arms.

"Never let it be said," Odin muttered, "that I have dealt dishonorably in my own hall."

Huh. He could deal dishonorably all he wantedoutside ; just not at home, eh? Made sense-he'd lose the loyalty of the Einherjar if he broke that particular oath in front of them.

"Rangrid." Odin's voice had gone oily smooth. "See that our guest is properly entertained for the evening. This is his last mortal night. I would not have it said he spent it unhappily under my roof."

"Yes, lord," she answered, her voice uncertain.

I hadn't taken my eyes off Odin, despite his apparent capitulation. He had resumed his seat and was stroking his ravens to calm. He still watched me narrowly; but he had relaxed back into the throne. I concluded that-for the night, anyway-I was probably safe enough. I began warily to relax. Odin noticed, and accorded me a nasty little smile, but kept petting his birds. I turned my attention to the valkyrie. She was supposed to "entertain" me, eh? This might not be such a bad deal, at that. . . .

Rangrid twisted around in her saddle. "Coming?" she asked.

"Oh, I do hope so," I answered with a slow grin and a raking stare, "but that'll probably depend on you." I leaned easily back against the edge of the table.

A great bellow of laughter spread in a receding wave as the joke was repeated down the length of Valhalla. Even Odin roared appreciatively. Rangrid actually turned scarlet under her armor.

I heard her mutter, "Just wait until I get you alone."

The laughter redoubled when she grabbed me by the wrist and hauled me across her lap. One shapely hand smacked against my ass with enough force to sting.

"Rangrid," I said in mock surprise, "do you like spankings? For shame, and here I thought you were a nice girl." I twisted around, and grinned up at her. "Do I get to return the favor?"

She seethed in silence. The nearest warriors fell over each other laughing. My discomfited valkyrie put heels sharply to her stallion's flanks. The warhorse snorted and bounced once; I grunted sharply and decided to cease and desist-until I was in a better bargaining position. We rode out through a side doorway big enough to drive a Clydesdale forty-horse hitch through, and left behind the hooting and cheering.

To my vast relief, the first thing Rangrid did was send away her horse. She removed his tack, slapped him on the rump, and sent him trotting down an interior hallway toward a slave who waited with a bucket and halter. The saddle and bridle she dumped onto a rack; then she led me through yet another door into a suite of private rooms. These chambers were delightfully free of the scents of spilled mead, unwashed corpses, horse sweat, manure, and hay dust-of which the outer chambers and corridors reeked.

"I didn't know Viking halls were laid out this way," I observed wryly. "I thought it was a free-for-all in one big room."

She smiled. "Oh, we valkyries haven't lived out in the main chamber in centuries; not since separate bedrooms were invented."

She peeled off layers of armor, and I watched in fascination as tantalizing bits of her becamevisible. Once she was down to a linen undergarment that clung sweatily, she pulled her long hair up, and tied it in place, lifting her breasts delightfully beneath the nearly transparent linen. Then she turned to me.

"First, a bath."

I glanced down at myself. My clothes were in tatters, I was filthy from head to foot, and there were acid burns on my skin.

I grinned. "Sounds good to me. Got a hot tub hidden somewhere around here?"

She laughed delightedly and turned to lead the way into an adjoining chamber. The sway of her hips under the short linen shirt was hypnotic. I followed her like a mesmerized rat chasing the Pied Piper.

Once I'd stepped through the doorway, I stopped abruptly.

"Well, I'll be damned. . . ."

She crooked a brow and her lips twitched. I laughed out loud. Sitting in the center of the room, raised a few inches above a bed of glowing coals, was an enormous oaken barrel full of steaming water.