But the Old Man had done as I’d asked; with my bird-vision I could see bundles of firewood stacked on the battlements and barrels of dry shavings drenched in oil, just ready to burn. My body, under the feather cloak, was trembling with exhaustion and fear. I folded myself into a dart and made a final lunge for the walls . . .

‘Light it up! Light it up!’ I yelled as I shot past the battlements.

I hit the ground with more urgency than grace, rolled and flung off the feather cloak. Idun, still in hazelnut form, bounced across the cobblestones. I freed her with a cantrip, then collapsed in exhaustion, drained of every scrap of glam.

If my plan had failed, that was it. I was totally helpless.

But I hadn’t failed, of course. The fires were burning fiercely. The combination of dry wood and oil had caused the blaze to leap up fast and Thiassi, hot on my tail, had found himself heading, not for battlements, but for a massive firewall.

Wings alight, he lost control and fell in flames to the parapet. After that, they finished him off – old as they were, with sticks and rocks – and that was the end of Thiassi. The greatest hunter who’d ever lived; flame-grilled like a chicken and killed by a gang of old-age pensioners.

Gods, I told myself, I’m good.

Then I got up, still shaky, and took a bow. ‘Thank you, ladies and gentlemen. Refreshments are available. Form an orderly queue, please . . .’

Idun gave out her apples.

Lesson 3 Feet

LESSON 3

Feet

Laughter disarms the fiercest of men.

Lokabrenna

IT WASN’T TOO LONG before the news of Thiassi’s death reached the Middle Worlds. I may have had something to do with that; after all, it isn’t every day that Yours Truly turns out to be a hero. The best part of revenge, I found, was earning the enemy’s gratitude: Bragi wrote songs about me; people sang them in roadside inns. Soon, it was common knowledge that Loki had lured the Hunter to an ignominious death. Before I knew it I was famous; my name was on everyone’s lips. Women loved it – though I’ll admit I could have been more careful.

As it was, I’d forgotten about Thiassi’s daughter, Skadi. She must have heard what had happened, because some three months afterwards, she arrived at Asgard’s gates, armed and ready for combat, demanding recompense for her father’s death and threatening the gods with war.

I have to say, she had a point. Killing Thiassi in battle was one thing. A worthy end for a would-be god. But to be slaughtered and grilled like a chicken – well. It was no less than he deserved for what he’d done to me, of course, but the Ice People were a proud lot, and it must have rankled.