فصل 63

I Hate Signing My Own Death Warrant

“WELL, WELL,” said the Wolf. “I haven’t had this much company since my binding party.”

Gunilla gripped her spear. She didn’t look at the Wolf, as if ignoring him might make him go away.

“Thomas Jefferson, Jr.,” she said, “you and your hallmates take the prisoners. Go around the edges, obviously. Slow and careful.”

T.J. didn’t look happy about it, but he nodded. His army jacket was buttoned up tight. His bayonet gleamed in the moonlight. Mallory Keen gave me the stink eye, but that could have been her version of a happy greeting. The two of them went left, picking their way across the rim of the crater while the three Valkyries kept their spears pointed at Fenris.

X lumbered to the right, followed by Halfborn, who was twirling his battle-axes and whistling under his breath, as if this was a pleasant stroll through a field of fallen enemies.

“Sam,” I muttered, “if we’re taken—”

“I know.”

“No one will be here to stop Surt.”

“I know.”

“We can take them,” Blitz said. “They’re not wearing armor, much less fashionable armor.”

“No,” I said. “These are my shield bro—my shield siblings. Let me try talking to them.”

Hearth signed, Crazy. You?

The beauty of sign language: He could’ve meant Are you crazy? Or I’m crazy. Just like you! I decided to interpret it as a show of support.

Fenris Wolf sat on his haunches and tried to scratch his ear, which wasn’t possible with the cord binding his legs.

He sniffed the air and grinned at me. “Interesting company you keep, Magnus Chase. Someone is hiding, but I can smell him. Which one is he, eh? Perhaps I will get a feast today after all!”

I glanced at Sam. She looked just as mystified as I felt.

“Sorry, fuzzball,” I said. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

Fenris laughed. “We shall see. I wonder if he will dare to show his true face.”

“Chase!” Gunilla plucked a hammer from her bandolier. “Do not speak with the Wolf again or I will cave in your skull.”

“Gunilla,” I said, “great to see you again too. Surt is on his way right now. We don’t have time for this.”

“Oh? Have you made common cause with the fire lord who killed you? Or perhaps that was part of the plan from the beginning—to get you into Valhalla.”

Sam sighed. “For a child of Thor, you think too much.”

“And you, daughter of Loki, listen too little. Jefferson, hurry it up!”

My hallmates got to either side of us.

Mallory made a tsk-tsk sound. “You led us on quite a chase, Chase.”

“Clever,” I said. “How long have you been waiting to use that line?”

Mallory smirked.

Next to her, X wiped beads of green sweat from his forehead. “Wolf’s rope is loose. This is not good.”

From across the valley, Gunilla yelled, “No fraternizing! I want them in chains!”

T.J. dangled four sets of handcuffs from his finger. “Here’s the thing, Magnus: Gunilla made it clear that if we don’t prove our loyalty to Valhalla by apprehending you, we will spend the next hundred years in the boiler room shoveling coal. So consider yourself under arrest, blah, blah, blah.”

Halfborn grinned. “But the other thing is: we’re Vikings. We’re pretty bad at following orders. So consider yourself free again.”

T.J. let the handcuffs slip from his finger. “Oops.”

My spirits lifted. “You mean—”

“He means, you idiot,” Mallory said, “that we’re here to help.”

“I love you guys.”

“What do you need us to do?” T.J. asked.

Sam nodded to Blitzen. “Our dwarf has a rope to rebind the Wolf. If we can—”

“Enough!” Gunilla shouted. On either side, her Valkyrie lieutenants readied their spears. “I will take you all back in chains if I must!”

Fenris howled with pleasure. “That would be delightful to watch. Unfortunately, Valkyrie, you are too slow. My other friends have arrived, and they won’t be taking any prisoners.”

X gazed toward the south, his neck muscles rippling like freshly poured cement. “There.”

At the same moment, Hearthstone pointed with his staff, the whole length of white oak suddenly burning with gold fire.

On the ridge to the right, between the Valkyries and us, a dozen fire giants marched into view. Each stood about ten feet tall. They wore leather scale armor, carried swords the size of plow blades, and had various axes and knives hanging from their belts. Their complexions were an assortment of volcanic colors—ash, lava, pumice, obsidian. The fields of heather may have been noxious to the Wolf, but the stuff didn’t seem to bother the fire giants. Wherever they stepped, the plants burned and smoked.

In the middle of their line stood Satan’s fashion consultant himself, the fire lord Surt, wearing a trim-cut three-piece suit of chain mail, a tie, and a dress shirt that appeared to be woven from flame—elegantly accessorized with a burning scimitar in his hand. He looked pretty good, despite the fact that his nose was still cut off. That fact, at least, made me happy.

Blitzen clenched his teeth. “That’s my design. He stole my design.”

“Magnus Chase!” Surt’s voice boomed. “I see you have brought my new sword. Excellent!”

Jack almost leaped out of my hands. I must have looked ridiculous trying to keep him under control, like a fireman wrestling a high-pressure hose.

“My master…” Jack said. “He shall be my master.”

Surt laughed. “Surrender the sword and I will kill you quickly.” He sneered at Gunilla and her two lieutenants. “As for Odin’s wenches, I make no promises.”

Fenris Wolf rose and stretched. “Lord Surt, as much as I love posturing and threats, can we move things along? Moonlight is a-wasting.”

“T.J.,” I said.

“Yeah?”

“You asked how you could help. My friends and I need to rebind Fenris Wolf. Can you keep those fire giants busy?”

T.J. smiled. “I charged uphill against seventeen hundred Confederates. I think I can handle a dozen fire giants.”

He called across the valley, “Captain Gunilla, are you with us? Because I’d rather not fight another Civil War.”

Gunilla scanned the army of fire giants. Her expression soured, as if she found them even more repugnant than she found me. She raised her spear. “Death to Surt! Death to the enemies of Asgard!”

She and her lieutenants charged at the giants.

“I guess we’re in business,” T.J. said. “Fix bayonets!”