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  A world beyond fatigue closed around him then. His mind bent away from reality, summoning rapidly changing fragments of memory. Taziar thought he caught a glimpse of grass and water beneath him before he collapsed into utter darkness.

  Taziar awakened to a blur of black, white, and red, an evil smell in his nostrils, and the dull ache of every muscle and tendon. He felt chilled all over, except for his face which seemed oddly feverish. From habit, he assessed the damage caused by his fall. Blood slicked his hands and feet. Nothing seemed broken, just badly strained. And an unexplained pressure on his rib cage made every breath painful.

  Gradually, Taziar's vision unswirled. The colors came together to form the countenance of a narrow-muzzled animal, uncomfortably close. Silver fur covered the underside of its snout and framed eyes like live coals. Black hair capped the upper side of its nose, head, and triangular ears. Rows of teeth as long and sharp as daggers protruded from its open jaw. Its tongue lolled, dripping foul-smelling saliva onto Taziar's face.

  Wolf! Taziar gasped in alarm. His eyes followed the contours of the creature. It stood large as a plow horse, and its forepaws were planted firmly on Taziar's chest. Hairs of white and gray were interspersed amid the luxurious thickness of its ebony coat, especially on the legs; they tapered to cream-colored paws. A ribbon, which seemed scarcely strong enough to hold a house cat, en-wrapped one of the beast's hind feet. Taziar froze, not daring to move, and hoped a merciful man held the other end of the unusual leash.

  As if in answer to Taziar's unspoken question, a malevolent voice broke the silence. "Dessstiny."

  Taziar resisted the urge to wipe wolf spittle from his cheeks. "E-excuse me," he stammered carefully.

  "Dessstiny." The words were louder, this time accompanied by a burst of the wolf's putrid breath.

  Taziar forced a weak smile, and tried to sound matter-of-fact. "Would you mind calling off your dog? It would make it easier to talk."

  The wolf's head drifted closer until Taziar could see only its vast forest of teeth. "But he hasn't eaten yet!" The furred muzzle opened and closed with each syllable, punctuated the words with blasts of rank, expelled air.

  The same rational portion of Taziar's mind which still did not accept the existence of gods and magic would not allow him to believe in talking animals. Yet he could find no other explanation. You can speak? Taziar cut off his incredulous question before he uttered it. Stating the self-evident could only make him sound stupid. And this is no time to make a mistake. He met the wolf's fiery gaze as he spoke. "What did you mean by 'destiny'?"

  The wolf's jowls twitched. "You've heard of the Fates, little man?"

  "Call me Shadow," said Taziar, becoming annoyed with the references to his size. "And yes, I've heard a few things."

  The wolf backed off slightly. ' 'Then you know the Fates determine the length of a man's life." Its red eyes sparkled. "Yours has come to an abrupt end. It's your destiny to become my dinner." The beast's jaws stretched wide; it soon became apparent that it could swallow Taziar whole and the world with him.

  Taziar flinched to the ground. "Wait!" he called.

  The wolf's mouth stopped opening.

  Taziar continued quickly. "We could talk more easily if you let me sit up."

  There followed a tense and jarring silence.

  Then the wolf's muzzle snapped back to its normal size. "Very well," it said. It backstepped so that its paws no longer held Taziar. "But you had better have something important to say."

  Gratefully, Taziar raised his torso.

  Immediately, the wolf clamped his paws on Taziar's legs, pinning him into a sitting position. "Speak," it said, and its voice was like thunder.

  Taziar wasted a moment freeing his eyes from spit-plastered hair with his hands and a toss of his head. He used the short time this maneuver gained him to evaluate his position. He and the wolf occupied an island surrounded by a narrow ring of crystal waters. The thin coil of string which enwrapped the wolf's hind leg was attached to a staunch chain which encircled a distant crag. Above Taziar, the Bifrost Bridge formed a gentle arch to end in a sun-warmed field of grasses just beyond the unnaturally calm lake. Taziar tried to shift position, but the wolf's padded feet held him with the strength of a giant's vise.

  "Well?" the wolf demanded. Its ears swept flat to its head.

  Taziar had made a career out of reading intentions and gestures. It could have eaten me and didn V… yet. That can only mean I have something it wants which I can use to barter for my life. "If you free me, I can supply you with a lot more meat than I have on my body.''

  The wolf raised its jowls in a snarl. "Don't speak to me as if to some foolish mortal! If I let you go, I'll never see you again."

  "You have my word."

  The wolf snorted. "Of what value is 'word' to a man who would climb the Bifrost Bridge on a whim? Or was it a dare, Shadow? No, thanks for the offer." Its voice went louder with each syllable. "But I think I'll eat you here!"

  Taziar's composure broke. "Wait!" he screamed. "There must be something I can do for you. Isn't there anything you need or want? Anything…"

  The wolf shook its head so hard, its jowls slapped against its teeth. "So long as I remain tied here, I have no needs." It lowered its head. Its feet kneaded deeper into Taziar's legs, and its whiskers brushed his nose.

  Seeking any opening, Taziar asked the logical question. "And if you weren't tied?"

  The wolf drew back its head. Its expression went soft, and its red-hued eyes held a faraway look.

  For an instant, Taziar felt almost sorry for the monster which threatened his life. He read deep sadness in the wolf's demeanor and another emotion, indescribable yet familiar.

  "Freed," said the wolf, its booming voice softening. "I would slay a light elf named Allerum and his battle-crazed swordmaster, the ronin, Gaelinar. They killed my father."

  Overwhelmed by memories, Taziar closed his eyes. He recalled the restlessness which had driven him from the day of his own father's death and inspired his insane love for challenges. He recalled how his quest for vengeance had drawn him from his home, everyone and everything he cared about, and eventually forced him to take a man's life. "I… understand." Hoping to gain the wolfs good will, he explained further. "I, too, had occasion to avenge my father's murder. The success was hollow. My father is still dead. But now I have to live with his slayer's blood on my conscience. And I realized this long before I killed him."

  "But you killed him anyway," the wolf finished.

  "I killed him for other reasons. Ilyrian was a cruel, unscrupulous worm. Left alive, he would have murdered others and broken a score of families…"

  The wolf loosed a lungful of harsh laughter. "You ignorant little peon! The crimes this Ilyrian might have perpetrated are of no significance. By killing my father, Allerum and Gaelinar may have destroyed the fabric of the universe."

  Taziar met the wolfs glaring eyes. There was no doubt in his mind that the wolf was telling the truth. "Explain."

  "Shadow." The wolfs tone became conversational. "Think of our world as a glass rod with a force pulling the two ends in opposite directions. Call one power Law, the other Chaos."

  Taziar nodded, looking interested. As long as the wolf talked, he remained alive and able to compose a plan of escape. "Go on."

  "Imagine Law and Chaos in a constant struggle to own that bar. So long as they have equal strength, it remains undisturbed. But, if that balance becomes skewed, the glass rod, our world, falls to the ground and shatters. Can you picture it?"

  Taziar nodded, though not fully certain of the analogy. He wriggled slightly beneath the wolf's paw and met instant resistance.

  The black line of the wolf's mouth twitched upward at the corners, but its tone remained deadly serious. "My father was the strongest proponent on the side of Chaos. When Allerum and Gaelinar took his life, they obliterated him completely, body and soul. He exists on none of our nine worlds: not Asgard, not Hel, not Midgard. The balance has been tipped. The r
esult, Shadow? If not put right soon, our worlds will suffer frill annihilation, too. All men, gods, and every manner of creature will die."

  A vast silence followed the wolf's revelation. Taziar studied the beast's face for some evidence of deception. But the concern in the wolf's fiery eyes was undeniable. Its intonation and stance conveyed a wickedness beyond that of any man, but it betrayed no signs of falsehood. For all the impossibility of its implications, the wolf was telling what it believed to be the truth. Still, Taziar questioned. "And the solution?"

  "Shadowman, it has become your destiny to fulfill my vengeance."

  It seemed to Taziar that their conversation had come full circle. He studied the wolf's powerful jaws, the evil gleam in its eyes, and the tensely bunched muscles beneath its heavy coat of fur. He knew the beast could cause more than its share of deviltry on Midgard. Gritting his teeth, Taziar gathered his courage. "I don't believe in destiny," he said softly. "And I'd gladly let you eat me before I'd free you to kill innocents, Wolf." Taziar cringed, anticipating the beast's wrath.

  But the wolf accepted Taziar's proclamation easily. "F‹?nmwulf," it corrected. "Or Fenrir or the Fenris Wolf." It hesitated, as if expecting Taziar to recognize its name. When it received no further reaction, it continued. "Your words are very brave and also very stupid. The destiny I spoke of has already been fulfilled. If you untie me, I admit I will kill; Gaelinar and Allerum will be the first to die. If I eat you, I remain here. The world is destroyed. All of creation dies, including Gaelinar and Allerum. In either case, you have caused my vengeance to be fulfilled. But which way results in the death of more innocents, Shadow?"

  Taziar bit his lower lip, drenched in cold sweat. His eyes followed the slender line of Fenrir's fetter. Perhaps I'm wrong. Perhaps Fenriswulf is lying. Taziar's alternatives paraded before him. If the wolf is telling the truth and I don't free it, the world will end. If it has invented this story and I do allow it to escape, innocent people will die. Taziar frowned, presented with equally unsatisfying options. He had no odds to play. Despite the seeming impossibility of the wolf's claims, Taziar trusted his own ability to judge expressions. His survival as a con man had depended on it too many times for him to doubt now. It's being honest, at least partially. And it has promised to kill these men, Allerum and Gaelinar, first. Therefore, while those two live, the remainder of the world is safe from Fenrir. And I will see to it they survive as long as possible! He spoke aloud. "These men who killed your father will be your first victims?''

  "Man and elf," Fenrir amended. "I swear upon my father's honor. I will kill no one in Midgard before them." Its eyes narrowed suddenly. "Why?"

  "No good reason." A sensation of pins and needles made Taziar's legs ache. "I've decided to free you. If I'm going to feel responsible for your wreaking havoc on the world, I just want to make certain the men who caused the trouble will die first. Now what do I have to do? That ribbon hardly seems strong enough to hold a wolf."

  "It's magicked." Fenrir stepped off Taziar's legs and raised a forepaw. "It can't be snapped, but it can be untied. I don't have the necessary hands."

  Taziar clambered to his feet and waited while the numbness in his legs faded. He peeled dried blood from the frayed skin and calluses on his fingertips.

  Patiently, the Fenris Wolf waited while Taziar prepared.

  At length, Taziar stooped by the wolf's ankle and seized the knot. The string lay limp in his hands, constructed of some material he had never seen before. Though smooth as a thread of silk, it felt tough and firm. Dirt coated the knot; it had assumed its present condition through centuries of remaining tied in the same position. It had cinched flush to the wolf's skin, disrupting the fur in a ring. Taziar sighed. In his days with the gang of rogues, one of the tricks he had performed to win food money from passersby consisted of freeing himself from tightly bound ropes. The talent had served him well in later years. But, despite long hours of practice with joints, locks, and links, Taziar knew this knot might defy even his expertise. Resigned, he set his broken fingernails to the fetter.

  For a quarter of an hour, Taziar sweated and struggled with the time-stiffened knot amidst Fenrir's growled epithets and insults. He stood, stretched cramps from his legs, and studied his dilemma from a duferent perspective. It is a slip knot. Taziar dropped back to a crouch. Carefully, he worked his little finger behind the wolf's leg and along the edge of the fetter. The string pinched his flesh painfully against the beast's shank. He flexed his finger, and the bonds gave slightly. He tensed again, gaining just enough space to insert another digit. He removed both hands from the ribbon of fabric and pinned the knot to the ground with his foot. "Bring your leg up and forward, slowly now."

  Fenrir complied while Taziar readjusted the noose to its optimal position for each of the wolf's movements. The shifting rope scraped fur from Fenrir's toes like a razor. Then the wolf stood free.

  Taziar rose, lacking the usual elation his successes inspired. Having chosen to untie Fenrir, he also carried the burden of protecting the world from his decision, beginning with two specific men. Man and elf, Taziar corrected himself. But what, in Karana's darkest hell, is an elf? He glanced at the shimmering, three-stranded Bifrost Bridge, twice a man's height above him, and marveled for the first time at how lucky he was to have survived the fall without serious injury. He followed the sweep of the rainbow to its end just beyond the waters of the wolf's island. If I had managed to remain conscious a few more moments, I could have avoided this whole situation. He turned his attention to the Fenris Wolf.

  Fenrir crouched, ready to spring. Its eyes seemed to blaze with real fire. Its mouth parted in a wolfish grin which displayed every tooth. "Thank you, Shadow. And now I eat you."

  Taziar took an involuntary backstep. Suddenly, he saw his entire plan crumbling around him. "Y-you made a vow. You promised your father's murderers would die first."

  Fenrir hunched lower. "I merely said I would kill no man on Midgard before them. You, my lucky friend, stand in Asgard." It sprang with a snarl.

  Taziar dove aside. The wolf's lunge fell short, but its shoulder crashed against Taziar's side. Impact bowled Taziar over. He rolled, then gained his feet from habit. The wolf's huge form sailed toward him again.

  Gathering his remaining strength, Taziar leaped. His fingers hooked the edge of the Bifrost Bridge, and he hung there. The wolf loosed a bone-chilling howl of frustration. It rocketed straight upward. Taziar swung his legs. Fenrir's teeth snapped closed where his feet had been. As Taziar flung his body flat to the surface of the Bifrost, Fenrir sprinted for the water and the far end of the bridge.

  Taziar jumped to his feet and ran down the quivering form of the rainbow bridge. Too astute to delude himself, he knew the wolf would catch him before he could reach Midgard. Fenrir could cover twenty of his longest strides with every bound.

  Suddenly, a figure loomed before Tazier. Not daring to waste his breath in warning, Taziar dodged past. He was jarred backward by a fist wrapped in the folds of his tattered bearskin cloak. He whirled to face Heimdallr. This time, the god's face was dark with anger, his mouth set in a grim line. "You again! How did you get up there?"

  Beyond Heimdallr, Fenrir's gigantic, black form filled the horizon. Taziar shrank away. "Behind you!" he screamed. "Wolf!"

  Heimdallr's face twisted to a glare of withering disdain. His grip tightened, and he shook Taziar until the little man lost his footing and sank to one knee. "Don't lie to me, weasel! Did you think I'd fall for such an old and stupid trick, that I'd turn around and gave you a chance to escape? You got by me once…"

  Fenrir sprang.

  Taziar cringed away as far as Heimdallr's grip would allow and steeled himself for the inevitable. Wolf and god collided with an explosion of sound. The force sent Taziar sprawling. The bridge rocked and roiled as Fenrir and Heimdallr engaged, hurling thunderous taunts whose meaning Taziar could not fathom. He fought for balance as the whole fabric of the rainbow threatened to collapse beneath him.

  The B
ifrost bucked like an unbroken stallion. Taziar half-crawled, half-slid toward Midgard, aware that a fall now would spell instant death. But, as he clawed his way farther from the battle, the swaying of the bridge lessened. Gradually, he worked his way to his feet and raced down the rainbow way. Two names swirled through his thoughts: Allerum and Gaelinar. And Taziar knew he would need the help of his Dragonrank girlfriend to locate a man and an elf who could be anywhere on nine worlds.

  PART I:

  Hel's Mistress

  CHAPTER 1: Hel's Hall

  "… Remembrance fallen from heaven, And madness risen from hell…"

  – Algernon Charles Swinburne Atalanta in Calydon

  For nearly a week, Al Larson and Kensei Gaelinar had journeyed ever deeper into darkness so thick Larson could discern his own arms only as pale blurs. In the last day, Hel's confines had grown colder and damper, but the blackness thinned gradually to a red mist. Larson felt as if he was caught in the bat exhibit at the Bronx Zoo or the pseudo-illumination of a photography developing room. He could see now. Behind him loomed the twenty-foot gate which surrounded Hel's citadel, its upper edges curved inward, as if to keep prisoners within the grounds rather than prevent trespassers from entering. Ahead, the shadowed hulk of Hel's citadel stood, long and flat in the gloom, and no more inviting than its fence.

  The unnatural quiet of the underworld crushed in on Larson, as stifling as humid heat. Its continual gloom seeped into his being, intensifying the aching sorrow for his beloved Silme, a grief tainted by guilt. Her own magic had bound her soul to her half brother, Bramin. But it was Larson's sword stroke which claimed Bramin's life… and Silme's with it.