The Beasts Of Valhalla

Frederickson.'

'Nothing about any of you people or Project Valhalla would surprise me anymore. On the other hand, there may be a surprise in store for you.'

'What would that be?'

'You keep forgetting Mr. Lippitt. I'm betting our old man blows away your old man, and that'll be all she wrote on Project Valhalla.'

'I'm sorry to take away your last hope,' London said with apparent sincerity. 'There's no longer any chance of that happening. I also came to tell you that I regret what's about to take place. I don't believe in unnecessary killing, or in torture, but certain things at Ramdor are outside my areas of responsibility and control.' He paused, nodded in the direction of the great wooden door. The door banged open, and two Warriors dragged a bleeding, feebly struggling, semiconscious bald man down the corridor.

'Lippitt!'

'Frederickson,' Mr. Lippitt gasped as he turned his head toward me. 'You must- '

That was all he was able to say before the Warriors threw him into the black cell and the steel door crashed down from the ceiling.

'Let us talk to him!' I said to London.

Stryder London slowly shook his head.

'Why the hell not?' Garth snapped.

'Security.'

'Fuck security,' Garth said. 'He's our friend, and he's about to be killed. You're not an evil man; now try being a kind man. Let Mongo and me talk to him before he's murdered.'

'I'm sorry,' London said, turning toward the door. 'Good-bye.' Flanked by the other two Warriors, London walked out of the dungeon, and the door closed behind them.

'Lippitt!' I shouted. 'Lippitt, can you hear me?!'

There was nothing but silence; either the black cell was soundproofed, or Lippitt had lapsed into unconsciousness. In the Treasure Room, Siegfried Loge and his son would be waiting to cast Mr. Lippitt into Mount Doom.

'Mongo, we owe that bald-headed son-of-a-bitch,' Garth said in a low, tense voice. 'Besides that, he's our only link to whatever else is going on outside here. We don't have any idea where London is headed; Lippitt may. I suggest we make a move.'

'Yep.'

'Where the hell is the panic button in this cell?'

Hidden under my overalls, inside my belt.

Shhh.

I slipped Whisper up between Garth's neck and his choke collar, pulled; the blade of Damascus steel sliced through the leather and wire constraint as if it were no more than a band of silk. I cut away my own collar, threw it away into a corner, then handed the blade to Garth. 'You're better at picking locks than I am; see what you can do with the tip of this.'

Holding Whisper like a pen, Garth knelt down before the large, rusty lock and probed the keyhole with the blade's tip. He worked at it for more than a minute, paused to wipe sweat from his brow, then went at it again.

'Uh, I don't want to hurry you, Garth, but one could say that time is of the essence.'

Garth nodded, continued to work. I could hear Whisper grating against steel, but there was no clicking of tumblers; her blade was too wide to gain the necessary penetration.

'This isn't going to work,' Garth said tensely, leaning back and resting on his knees.

'Garth, it has to work! Our only chance is to get to Loge before he forces Lippitt out onto the face of that rock wall! Try jamming the knife and twisting!'

'That'll only make matters worse,' Garth said as he flipped Whisper over in his hand, handed her back to me. He slumped forward, bowed his head as if in prayer, and planted his palms flat on the floor on either side of him. He murmured, 'I'm going to try something.'

'Garth…?'

'There's an aura that precedes each seizure,' he said in a voice so low I could hardly hear him. 'Just before I get hit with one, I feel like I can take off and fly; there's a high whine in my head, and a cold feeling in the pit of my stomach. If I can concentrate… try to touch those sounds and feelings… maybe I can…'

'You're going to try and induce an attack? Garth, I don't know. We're in pretty close quarters here; you're liable to kill us both.'

His spine stiffened, and both arms started to twitch. I was afraid.

'Garth, wait! What am I supposed to-?!'

'You.. go,' Garth mumbled through tightly clenched jaws. I watched in terror and awe as Garth, his entire body twitching, struggled to his feet. His eyes bulged, and the cords in his neck stood out like steel cables. Spittle dribbled from the corners of his mouth.

'Garth!'

'Leave… me. Kill… fucking… Loges.'

Then he hit the door with his shoulder; the bars shook, and the bolt securing the door clanged in its socket. Garth hit the lock with his hip, spun around and grabbed the bars of the doors with both hands. Animal moans of agony and rage escaped from his froth-flecked lips as he shook the bars, banged against them with his shoulders, hit the rusty plate of the lock with his hips. He spun around, staggered to the rear of the cell, then turned and charged the door. At the last moment he lowered his shoulder and banged it against the plate.

The bolt snapped, the door crashed open, and Garth fell into the corridor.

Ignoring the possibility that he would snap me next, I rushed to him, rolled him over on his back and wiped the froth off his mouth. His arms were flapping around, and I lay across his chest, trying to pin him; it was a ridiculous gesture, his dwarf brother trying to pin two-hundred-and-twenty pounds of rock-hard Garth when he was in the midst of a seizure, but it was the only thing I could think of. I didn't want him to die, and I wasn't going to leave him behind.

The flapping stopped. Somewhat amazed that I was all in one piece, I slowly eased myself off him, looked into his face. Sweat was pouring off him, and his eyes were filled with-terror. He was trembling now, but not from the seizure.

'Garth?'

'Mongo, I'm afraid. It's like… white-hot wires inside my head. I think I broke something in my mind.'

'No! I'll take care of you, Garth. You'll be all right.' I got to my feet, struggled to pull Garth to his. 'Come on! We have to move!'

Garth struggled to his feet and, with me pulling at his sleeve, we ran down the corridor. The two Warriors who had thrown Mr. Lippitt into the black cell came through the door. Garth literally ran over one, hitting him under the chin with his elbow and knocking him very cold. I slammed the other one in the solar plexus with Whisper's handle, followed up with a kick to the groin and a rabbit punch. He joined his colleague on the dank stone floor, and Garth and I raced along the narrow, slightly curving corridor that we knew led to a short flight of stairs that led to a door opening into the ranch house, close to the corridor that led to the Treasure Room.

I didn't much care for the sounds Garth was making in his throat.

We went up the steps, through the door, and into the house. The door in the house had been left open, and we sprinted down the stone corridor. The door at the far end was closed; without slowing, Garth smashed into it, taking the force of impact on his right shoulder. The door crashed open, and we stepped into the red glow of the Treasure Room.

Siegfried and Obie Loge spun around, saw us, and scrambled off in opposite directions. Garth hit Siegfried Loge across the back with a forearm, sending him somersaulting through the air and crashing into a wall-but not before he had pushed another button on the microphone. The lights in the Treasure Room began to flash, and somewhere a siren wailed.

Obie Loge, screeching with panic, ran around me. I had no time to bother with him, and so I let him go. I had other things on my mind, for I could see that we were too late to save Mr. Lippitt from Mount Doom. Through the Plexiglas shield, I could see the old man teetering on the edge of a ledge as he flailed with his torch at the leathery