Winterfire

Chapter Forty-two

Lif

 “Garm?” Lucan mouthed silently. I nodded. We dared not move. We were downwind from the monster dog. He couldn’t smell us, but his hearing was keen. If we made the slightest rustle, he would come for us. Garm sat, waiting, between us and the short path to the tower. If Garm had been there long, he would have heard us climbing the bank; if we tried to climb back down, he would surely hear us. We were cold, wet, tired, and trapped.

Lucan put his lips close to my ear and whispered. “We will draw our weapons and rush him. Me first. Wait until I engage him. When I have his attention, you head for the tower.”

I nodded. I reached into my pack as quietly as I could and withdrew Breyta with cold, inflexible fingers. Its handle was warm and comforting in my grasp; I felt the familiar vibration, Breyta’s eagerness to fight. The moment Lucan took Tyrfing from its sheath, its glow would give away our position. He kept his hand upon it, but did not draw it yet.

Lucan held up three fingers to me; we would go on three. He held up one finger, then two, then three. Neither of us moved. I rolled my eyes in disgust at our cowardice and counted silently again. This time, on three, we crawled over the boulders, sprang to our feet, and ran at the wolf.

Garm jerked his head immediately toward us and gave a tremendous leap on his long legs. Lucan drew forth Tyrfing and charged beneath the front legs, slashing the dog’s underbelly as he went. His black blood sprayed on Lucan’s head, but Garm seemed more annoyed than injured, as if bothered by a pesky insect. He raised one giant paw and kicked Lucan with enough force to pitch him over the embankment we’d just climbed. Garm stopped right before me, his gaze intent on me as he forced me against the rocks. With his low, terrifying growl, he spoke to me. I’d forgotten how big he was, how rank his breath in my face.

“You are finished,” he said. “You are no more. Your hero the sea god is not here to save you now. When I finish ripping your head off, I’ll do the same, or worse, to your friend over there. You disgusting, pathetic little human. How dare you think you can stand against me?” He drew back his lips in a snarl, his fangs, right in my face.

 Garm’s breath - the smell of rotting flesh - steamed over my face. I tried not to breathe. As it had so long ago when I’d tried to out-run the Danes, fear paralyzed me.

Then Breyta hummed in my hand, and I remembered who I was. I was not ready to die. This was not the night of which the Norns had spoken. Thor’s strength flowed through Breyta, up my arm, and into my brain. I had one more trick left in my bag. I let the hammer drop uselessly to the ground. Then I vanished.