"We've got Genghis Khan's third nephew."

"Great. Isn't he the one who jumped onto what's-his-face's sword when he was drunk?"

"Yup."

"Get rid of him."

After we'd figured out who to keep, who to dump, and who to bargain for, I made arrangements with a balky Hel to meet with her. I wanted to trade three of my discards for each of the worthwhile generals and other command-grade officers in her domain, which would cull most of the crazy-ass Berserkers from my ranks.

What I wanted to do was eliminate the "die-for-glory" crowd and leave a solid "kill-for-glory" core, which I felt possibly could be hammered into a legitimate fighting force. I didn't really want to do any more bargaining with Hel; but she had what I wanted, and I thought I could offer her somethingshe wanted in return.

All in all, I was pretty well pleased with progress. Hell, I was even beginning to look forward to the coming challenge. We had good men, and good plans. We were even planning to pilfer a few nukes here and there, along with the other equipment I intended to steal. If the enemy had the World Serpent to blow poison, well, we'd just hit them with a few multimegaton devices before they could bring their complete arsenal into play.

A lot of my preliminary plans were going to depend on what Hugin and Munin brought back. I was vitally interested in the sons of Muspell and their allies the Frost Giants, and moderately concerned about Odin's kith and kin back in Asgard. Every couple of days I'd look up at the vermilion sky and wonder what was taking them so long; then shrug and tell myself that a really detailed report took time to assemble.

I asked Gary once, between reviewing pike-thrusting demonstrations from ten different cultures, what- exactly-a Frost Giant looked like.

"You remember the Jolly Green Giant?"

"Yeah."

"Not like that."

"You're a big help."

"I do my best."

Rangrid and I made love several times a night. I marveled at her recuperatory powers-not hers personally, her ability to restoreme . Once I had finally satisfied her, she would snuggle beside me, and drift off to sleep. I would lie awake in her arms far into the night, going over in my head everything Gary and Rangrid had reported to me; reviewing plans to increase esprit de corps and discipline; and still wondering what I was going to do with all the civilians in Valhalla.

I didn't want to send them to Hel-and wouldn't, unless she insisted on taking them as "payment"

for the generals I needed. I didn't like the idea of turning over any of those people to someone like Hel.

But I didn't know what Icould do with them. I certainly couldn't send them back to Midgard. None of them seemed inclined to leave. Maybe I could train them to fight. Morale was certainly picking up, and everyone was likely to have real motive to fight, if the rumors I'd heard about Surt and Muspellheim were true.

A faint scritching at the door brought me to full alertness. I rose carefully to my feet, and groped for the Biter; then tiptoed to open the door. Hugin and Munin sailed in and perched on my shoulders. Irelaxed. The Biter disappeared back into its sheath.

"Well, you're finally back," I whispered to my feathery spies. "So tell all."

Taking turns, first one and then the other, they whispered into my ears. Before the first raven had gotten three sentences out, I was groping for a seat.

"Whoa-back up-how many did you say they had?"

"Wait-how many is a beejillion?"

"Howmany more than a googol?"

"And they look like what? Muspell haswhat for weapons?"

As the birds whispered facts and figures into my ears there in the dark, I listened in growing horror.

The Frost Giants, the Dark Elves, Niflhel's denizens in revolt, civil war in Asgard, a real barnburner of a mess developing on Earth, and Muspell-holy cow, what was I supposed to do about Muspell?

We were in deep shit. But damn, if it wasn't going to be one roaring helluva fight. And victory . . . ?

Well, stranger thingshad happened!

About the Author.

Linda Evans was born on Christmas night, carrying the family tradition of first-born daughters into its third generation. Ms. Evans achieved national attention as 19911992 president of the North-Central Florida Sportsman's Association, the NRA's Outstanding Club in America for 1992. Ms. Evans has volunteered many hours as a firearms safety instructor, and delivered speeches at the 1991 Gun Rights Policy Conference and across the country on the subject of firearms safety and civil rights.

Ms. Evans is also a volunteer at the Florida Museum of Natural History, and an amateur jeweler.

She shares living quarters with, among other sentient beings, an inherited cat named for Jack the Ripper.

THE END.