Surt sat on the back of his boercat on top of a hill overlooking the valley leading to the walled city of Skara Brae. The valley was bordered by woods and lined with fields that crisscrossed the flat plain in front of the city. Arek sat on his own beast next to him and passed him a spyglass. He held it up to his eye.
A troop of men on horseback rode in front of a legion of troops. One of them carried a red banner with a white heron.
Surt looked closer. The fields were smoky, as if fog clung to the ground, but the battalions of men were clear enough. There were at least a thousand men lined up in the fields. A tiny sliver of doubt grew. Surt dropped the spyglass.
“Sire, there are more than we expected—” Arek said.
“Fool, you didn’t warn me of this.”
“I didn’t know—I have never seen this many men. They must have been scattered to hide their true numbers.”
Surt cut him off with a chop of his hand. “We will wait until Lukas and Bellac arrive. They are only a few hours behind us. Lukas will take his legions in first. They will draw them into battle. When they have tired, we will launch an aerial attack on their city while Bellac finishes them off.”
The waiting was the hardest part. Howie could see the line of boercats on the hills above Orkney, poised to attack. Why weren’t they already burning them to the ground?
“It’s working, Howie,” Teren said, wheeling in his horse in front of Howie. “They’re holding off.”
“Aye, waiting for their ground troops so they can skewer and barbecue us,” Rego said.
“Take Reesa’s boys, and keep your fake army moving,” Teren ordered Howie. “We mustn’t let them suspect it’s not real.”
Howie and the other boys moved among the ranks, picking soldiers up and moving them about. It was hot and sweaty work, but between the men on horseback riding and kicking up dust and the smoke-pots they kept burning, it was impossible to make much out, not from the distance Surt sat.
Howie kept staring at the sky. Jey was going to show up with his army of Safyre Omeras anytime now, but the sky remained clear. And where was Sam? If his bud didn’t get here soon, his mission to bring Odin back wouldn’t matter. There wouldn’t be anything left to save.
Wiping the sweat from his brow, Howie caught sight of something moving across the valley, a small cloud of dust that rolled impossibly fast toward them, as if it were a speeding car.
Howie dodged through the buckets of armor to stand by Teren. “What is that?”
The soldier stared grimly at the approaching cloud. “Don’t know.” His voice was tense, as if he expected the worst.
“Is it Surt? A trap?”
“I don’t know, Howie. Let’s go find out.”
They rode forward to meet whatever bad news was flying toward them.
One second it was a blur of motion, and then it stopped suddenly ten feet from them. A swirl of smoke and dust surrounded it. When the dust cleared, Howie’s eyes grew wide.
A giant bear stood in front of them. It roared, beating its chest with two hands. Then, before either of them could say a word, a blinding light exploded from it, and the bear shrank down into a familiar figure.
“Sam!”
His buddy Sam was back! Howie ran forward ready to give him a hug, but some instinct made him stop.
Sam was not Sam. Well, not exactly. His skin had an unearthly glow to it, like he was filled with light. His eyes blazed with a sheen of power, but his smile was the same.
“Hello, Howie.”
“About time,” Howie choked out, holding back all the emotion and relief that he felt. “The party was about to start without you.”
“I was kind of busy,” Sam said, and then he looked at Teren. “Fill me in.” His voice sounded like Sam’s, but it was oddly commanding.
“Surt is up on that ridge with his boercats,” Teren said. “We think he’s waiting for his foot soldiers to arrive before he strikes. We have an army of fake soldiers, just piles of armor. Howie’s idea, but it’s holding Surt off.”
A horn sounded, sending a blaring echo across the valley. The distant roar of thousands of voices raised in a deep battle cry made the hair on the back of Howie’s neck stand up.
“It sounds like he’s done waiting,” the glowing Sam said.
A line of red armor-clad warriors moved down the hillside like a tide of crimson blood. Line after line of fearsome fire giant marched. There were so many.
“I’m afraid we are going to lose,” this new Sam said calmly. “There are far too many of them.”
Howie knew that. They had all known that. But hearing Sam say it was crushing.
“Let’s even things up, shall we?” Sam rubbed his hands and then clapped them together. A loud boom echoed across the valley. There was a ripple of energy that made Howie’s hair lift, and then the fake soldiers began to vibrate and rattle. Their armor moved jerkily, and then something miraculous happened.
They began to move like soldiers, drawing their swords from their sides. It was the freakiest thing Howie had ever seen. One of them had its mask open, and there was nothing in it, but Howie could swear he could hear them breathing, and they were definitely preparing to fight.
“Captain, your army awaits you,” Sam said.
Teren drew his sword, looking hopeful for the first time in days. “For every one of us they take, let us take ten of them!” The men, both real and fake, cheered. Teren raised his sword. “For Orkney!”
The men shouted in return, raising their swords before marching forward.
The frost-giant queen also raised her sword, turning to face her boys. She wore a golden crown unadorned with jewels. Her face was shining as she called, “For the freedom of all!” They joined her, rattling their swords together.
A trickle of hope made Howie’s spirits lift.
They had their miracle.
Sam was exhausted and yet filled with power. Sharing a body with Odin was electrifying. They had journeyed day and night to get here without stopping. Only the great power of the god had enabled them to make it in time to stop the destruction of Odin’s beloved Orkney. It had involved loping across the seas between whatever island they had been on and Garamond. Sam would never forget racing over white-capped waves, as if he were weightless and immense at the same time.
Sam had apologized a hundred times, but Odin had never answered. Never acknowledged Sam’s presence. No. Odin had been a silent companion, one with quiet power he allowed Sam to wield.
It was nothing like his time in the Omera. Then he had been in control. With Brunin, Sam was like a passenger allowed to put his hands on the wheel to steer the car, but he was never in control.
Exhaustion made him sway on his feet, but now was not the time for rest. Not with the wall of red flesh that was running toward them. Sam had never seen such fearsome men in all his life—thick red skin, angry snarls, black hair tied in ponytails on the tops of their heads, yellow eyes that glowed with an inner fire. The roar of their battle cries made Sam’s shirt vibrate with the thumping of their boots on the ground.
Courage, a voice in his head said.
Sam shuddered with relief. Odin was still there. Now, ensconced in Sam’s body, the god hovered, not taking control, but Sam could feel him pressing on the edges of his consciousness.
Teren and the others had taken position toward the center of Howie’s army, the enchanted one that now stood with swords drawn, ready to protect Orkney.
It was a wacky idea—one only Howie could have come up with—wacky but brilliant. Better that inanimate objects bear the brunt than flesh and blood. It would slow and confuse Surt’s men when no blood was spilled.
Sam itched to blast the field with witchfire, but not even sharing a body with Odin had restored his magic. It was gone forever. The thought left him sad.
“Hold steady,” Rego said. He had Howie and Sam on either side. Farther on, Reesa waited with her army of boys. Speria and Heppner had almost a hundred men in the trees waiting for Surt’s army to attack. Another dozen soldiers were on Teren’s side. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do.
Then there was the clashing of metal on metal as Surt’s men reached the first line.
There were shouts and yells, screams of pain from Surt’s men as they were run through by the very real swords of the dummy soldiers.
“Hey, Rego, I don’t suppose you have an extra sword,” Sam said calmly.
Rego drew the second sword from his back and passed the hilt to him. “No witchfire?” he asked.
“Not today. By the way, you’re still the most annoying dwarf I’ve ever met.”
Rego snorted. “And you still don’t listen a lick.”
Sam laughed. “Touché. Good luck, dwarf.”
Rego took up a position with his sword over his head. “I don’t need luck; I’ve got you watching my back.”
They held their positions, waiting as, one by one, the lines of inanimate soldiers moved off and engaged until finally they were on the edges of the battle.
A fire giant shoved a soldier aside, sending parts of him flying.
“Finally, flesh and blood!” he roared, a sword over his head. He swung it down hard at Rego, but before the dwarf could defend himself, Sam was there. He rammed his sword into the red giant’s side, and Howie did the same from the other. The two boys grinned at each other over the still form of the red giant.
“See? Nothing to worry about,” Rego quipped.
Sam turned his head, catching sight of the Vanirian queen taking out two red giants. She had eight boys around her, fighting furiously.
Sam marked the line of fire giants pouring down the hill. Even with Howie’s army come to life, they needed an advantage. Something to help turn the tide.
Cut off the head, and the body will be lost.
Sam knew what to do.
“Stay with Rego,” he shouted to Howie.
Then he ducked into the mix of fire giants and fake soldiers. The chaos was dizzying. Sam focused on finding their leader. Someone was in charge.
He dodged under red flesh and avoided a wall of flame, racing through the lines until he spied an oversized fire giant barking orders. He was ugly, with a face like a red bull. The fire giant swung his broad sword, taking off the heads of ten of Howie’s fake soldiers, dropping them to the ground in a rattle of armor. His yellow eyes flickered toward Sam and locked in. The giant roared as he began lumbering forward, raising his sword over his head.
Sam held his ground, blocking out everything around him. He couldn’t flinch from this. He couldn’t hide.
Be still, the voice in his head whispered. I am here.
So Sam was still, waiting, watching, listening as the bull man ran toward him with his sword held high. His heart pounded out of control, leaving him breathless and weak, but he clutched his sword with everything he had.
The fire giant leapt the last five feet, soaring through the air toward him, bringing the sword down in a killing blow that would cleave Sam’s head from his body.
Sam’s arm was up, holding a sword that suddenly felt far too flimsy. He shut his eyes as blade on blade clashed with a clang that was loud enough to make his ears ring.
But his blade held.
An immense strength flowed into his arm, into the blade, and, in spite of the superior size and strength of the fire giant, Sam held his ground.
Again, the voice in his head whispered.
Sam raised his arm again as the bull man swung at him with another powerful blow.
The fire giant circled him warily now, looking for an opening.
“I am General Lukas, second in command of Surt’s great army, and you will beg for your life, little boy.”
With a roar, the general charged, this time swinging low to take out Sam’s legs.
Jump.
Sam jumped, leaping over the blade, and then he brought the hilt of his blade down on the back of the fire giant’s head.
There was a sickening thwack and a flow of blood. The general sagged to his knees, shaking his head to clear the stars.
Finish it, the voice urged.
Sam hesitated.
Finish it, or I will, the voice commanded.
Sam raised the sword. Still, his arm wavered even as he willed it to obey. From a distance, he heard a loud whistle. He turned his head toward it, and the wounded fire giant’s hand shot out and grabbed his ankle, yanking him to the ground. In a second, the general was on top of him, a dagger to his throat.
“Die now, human scum.”
The fire giant raised his knife to deliver the killing blow, but a loud thumping sound made him pause. He looked up in time to see Fenrir’s gaping jaws, and then the giant wolf bit down on the general’s head and shoulders, tossing his body through the air.
The wolf barreled through the lines, knocking down the fire giants like bowling pins, sending their bodies hurtling through the air with a snarl and snap of his jaws. Surt’s army began to scatter and run for the hills to evade those deadly teeth.
Breathing heavily, Sam let Howie haul him to his feet. Damarius jumped up, putting his paws on Howie’s chest and lapping at his face.
“I think we won this round,” Howie said, rubbing the wolf’s ears.
“Should I ask where Fenrir came from?”
“Nope. And let’s hope he keeps going. He eats more than he weighs.”
Sam probed around inside his head. Odin had gone silent. He felt cold, like a warm blanket had been removed. He had disobeyed the god, hesitating over taking the life of that fire giant. Was this his punishment?
Men began streaming from the trees. They started racing past Sam and Howie as if the devil himself were after them. They turned to see what the problem was.
A wall of red flesh began to march out of the trees.
A second army. This one bigger and fiercer than the one they had just defeated.