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The thin crust of the earth crunched beneath my feet as I pelted back the way we’d come. The baying dogs were closer, but it didn’t matter to me. I just had to get ahead of them and lead them in the opposite direction. If enough of their dogs followed me, their owners would have to investigate, which would leave fewer people trying to kill Torsten.
I hadn’t made it ten feet before a huge arm looped around my waist and lifted me from the ground. A hand the size of a baseball mitt palmed my navel, tucking me in tight under one arm. Its owner whipped around so fast it wrenched my neck and threw my hair into my face.
I had to spit hair from my mouth to gasp, “Let me go!”
“When you stop moving in the wrong direction, I might,” Brisingr panted. “What in Hel’s name do you think you’re doing? Those mutts will rip you to pretty little shreds!”
“You said they’ll follow the smell of my blood. I can lead them away from Torsten. Now put me down!”
Brisingr let out a billowy sigh. Somehow, through the labored breathing, the sweat, and the thunder of his footsteps, I could hear the echo of frustration in it. It reminded me of a parent watching the antics of a child, and the sound raised my hackles. I’d had my fill of patronizing men.
The howl of a nearby mutt spurred Brisingr on, and he picked up the pace, running as fast as his undersized legs would carry him. Which turned out to be very fast. Heated air raked across my face, tearing tears from my eyes.
“This isn’t an epic poem, girl. There’s no mason here to etch your noble sacrifice into stone, no bard here to tell the tale in song. You throw yourself to the dogs, you die. That’s it. It’s not heroic, it’s not romantic, it’s stupid.”
“You don’t understand!”
A wall of charred stone blocked the path ahead. I expected Brisingr to make a hard left and run along its length, searching for a narrow place to cross. Instead, he sheathed his sword and shifted me to his back. It forced me to sling my legs and arms around his broad waist and beefy neck to remain upright. The massive sword sheath dug into my front, and every footstep knocked my shoulder against the hilt. Then he simply leaped ten feet into the air, digging his sausage-like fingers into a handhold I couldn’t see. Or maybe he'd carved the handhold from his strength alone. I made a mental note not to piss the dwarf off.
He began climbing straight up, an angle that would have been difficult for me on my best day. With the smoke and oppressive heat of Muspelheim choking off my air, it would be impossible.
“Do you really think that pup of yours would appreciate the gesture?” Brisingr asked coolly, continuing the conversation as though he hadn’t just performed a feat worthy of Spiderman. “You think he would want you to feed yourself to the mutts for his sake?”
I couldn’t answer. Of course, Torsten wouldn’t want that. He’d be pissed I’d entered Muspelheim to rescue him. But how could I just turn tail and run when I knew he was in danger?
Brisingr reached the top of the wall a few minutes later and swung our combined weight onto the ledge. It was about as wide across as I was tall, which didn’t leave much room to navigate. The piggyback ride was starting to feel a little undignified. I tried to climb down, but Brisingr seized my wrists and held them tight.
“You’re not going to want to do that,” he warned.
“Why?” I asked. “You’re going to wear yourself out if you continue like this. Let me down and give me a weapon. A sword. A knife. Anything. I am literally naked and unarmed. Give me a little dignity.”
He chuckled and held me fast. “Trust me. We time this right, and we won’t need to run anywhere.”
I stared at the back of his neck, willing my gaze to bore a hole through the thick, hairy skin. Couldn’t someone speak plain English for once? Was detailing a plan really that much of a hassle?
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Brisingr turned his head so I could see the wicked gleam in his eyes. He pressed a meaty finger to his lips, then pointed down. The ground on the opposite side of the wall was heaving, and as we watched, another giant burst free of the ground and began to lumber past.
“Hold on tight,” Brisingr whispered.
Then he threw himself off the wall, aiming for the giant’s armored back. The wind whistled past my ears, and I clung to him, too shocked to even summon a scream.
***
Skarde
My boots sank into the snow, obliterating Fyrcat’s smaller tracks. I smiled grimly. That seemed appropriate. I was meant to stomp her out after all. The fact that she was sheltering behind my back shamed me. It was tempting to throw her to the oncoming wolves. If the winters were not already upon us, and the need so dire, I would have.
Maybe.
I kept very still, straining my ears. Four. Maybe five. I would have been able to detect them with more accuracy as a wolf, but it wasn’t worth the tradeoff. In human form, I kept my mind and could recall all the reasons it would be a terrible idea to kill Fyrcat. I had no such restraint as a wolf.
“Run,” I urged. “There are too many for you to handle.”
“Don’t presume to know what I can handle, berserker,” Fyrcat said tartly.
She moved to stand beside me and I saw something akin to fear in her eyes. It was gratifying to know the little sorceress could behave in a sane fashion if the stakes were high enough. She reached into her bag and withdrew a bottle and a slender length of wood. It was free of runes but still thrummed with power. It smelled like rich, verdant spring, of old waters, and the stillness between worlds.
