Of course, Loki knew that the one-handed god had more than one reason to distrust him, given that it had been his fault that T ýr lost the hand in the first place. Now he loomed over the Trickster, his signature blazing a fierce orange, his right hand (renewed in Aspect) a miracle of mindweaponry, a gauntlet of glamours that doubled his strength.

“Hit him,” said Sif-whose long hair Loki had once cut off as a joke and who had never allowed anyone to forget it. “Go on, Thor, give him one from me.”

“Oh, give me a break,” said Loki. “I just gave my life for you people-”

“How?” said T ýr.

Loki told him.

“So, what you’re saying is,” said T ýr, “that it’s actually your fault that all this has happened. If you hadn’t been so damn careless-”

“Careless!”

“Well, unless anyone thinks that destroying half of Netherworld doesn’t count as careless, to say nothing of awakening the Destroyer, opening a rift into Chaos, releasing Jormungand back into the Worlds, and basically bringing about the second Ragnarók-”

“Leave him alone.”

That was Frigg, the Mother of the gods, and even the Thunderer hesitated to defy her. A tall, quiet woman with soft brown hair, she might have been unremarkable but for the intelligence in her gray eyes; as it was, her patience and dignity had often overcome trials that even the most powerful weapons had failed to defeat. As one of the few who had visited the Land of the Dead and returned, she had the occasional gift of second sight, and now all eyes were on her as she said, “There may yet be an escape for all of us.”

Thor made a scornful noise. “In this shambles? I say fight…”

Frigg looked out across the swollen river. The armies of the Order could be seen quite clearly now, eerily still on the dead plain.

“This is not a shambles,” she said. “All this was planned very carefully. Our escape from the fortress, the closing of the gate, the destruction of Netherworld, even Hel’s treachery-none of this was random. It suggests that we were brought here for a specific purpose and that the enemy-whoever he is-has a plan in which the destruction of the Æsir is only one part.”

Thor grunted again, but T ýr was looking interested. “Why?” he said.

“No,” said Frigg. “The question is who?”

Everyone thought about that for a moment.

“Well, Surt, I suppose,” said T ýr at last.

Thor nodded. “Who else is there?”

“Surt was in his kennel, sleeping off Ragnarók. The battle was won. His enemies were dead or imprisoned in Netherworld. What business would he have in the Middle Worlds? And more to the point”-Frigg turned to Loki, indicating with one hand the silent ranks on the far side of the river-“what business would he have with such as these?”

“You’re right,” said Loki. “It isn’t Surt. Chaos is his business, not Order. He wouldn’t know how to raise an army like this. He may be powerful, but behind it all he’s just another guard dog, trained to bite on command. Surt doesn’t do subtleties.”

Sif flicked her hair. “You seem to know a lot about it,” she said. “And you do subtleties.”

“Yeah. Like I’ve always wanted to destroy the Nine Worlds while committing suicide.”

“Well, there’s no need to be rude,” protested Sif.

“But Loki is right,” said Frigg quietly. “Surt, for all his power, is just a tool of Chaos. A machine. Someone set him into motion. Someone who knew that we’d be here, that our escape would galvanize his rage.”

The gods were looking puzzled now. “But there’s no one else,” protested T ýr. “There’s no one left after Ragnarók. A few giants, maybe, a demon or two, the Folk…”

But Loki’s hand had gone to his mouth. His eyes widened.

“He knows,” said Frigg gently.

“Does he?” said Thor.

“The girl wanted to rescue her father,” Frigg continued. “She knew he was in Netherworld. But who told her that? Who encouraged her? Who led her here at just the right time, and who made sure Loki was with her-Loki, whose presence ensured maximum havoc in Netherworld and who could also be used, among other things, as bait?”

“So it was his fault…”

Frigg shook her head. “I said, who?”

There was a silence.

All around them the screaming, the rushing, the sounds of rocks tearing away from the sides of the fortress and crashing into each other like worlds-everything came to a stop.

And in the silence Loki began to laugh.

And a blackbird shadow with a corona of fire reared up its head from between the Worlds and began to move across the vastness of Chaos toward them.

8

If Hel’s living eye was merciless, the dead one was like a burial pit. Maddy bore its gaze for seconds before she managed to look away.

“Am I dead?” she said.

“Damn, she’s awake.”

The dry voice was that of the Whisperer, but the figure was one she had never seen: a bent old man, garbed in light, carrying a runestaff that crackled with glam.

“Apparently you’re alive, my dear. Against all expectation you made it in time. Of course, it would have been most inconvenient from my point of view to see you discorporated at this stage. But I’d hoped to do things differently. Still, you’re here, and that’s what counts-”

“What things?” said Maddy.

“Why, my revenge.”

“Revenge against whom?”

“The Æsir, of course.”

Maddy shook her aching head. Still dazed after her wild flight through Netherworld, she stared at the gleaming figure that had blossomed from the Head and tried to understand its ludicrous words.

“The Æsir?” she said. “But-you’re on their side.”

“Their side? Their side?” The ancient voice was harsh with contempt. “And what side’s that, you silly girl? Order? Chaos? A bit of both?”

Maddy tried to sit up, but her head was spinning.

“What have the Æsir done for me? They plundered my talents, they got me killed; then, as if that wasn’t enough, they condemned me to this-to be picked up and put away at my master’s whim…” The Whisperer gave a dry little crack of laughter. “And for that,” it said, “I was supposed to feel grateful? To let them start all over again?”

“But I don’t understand. You helped me…”

“Well, you’re special,” said the Whisperer.

“And Loki?”

It smirked. “Well-he was a bit special too.”

Maddy looked around abruptly, half expecting to find Loki gone. She’d dragged him as far as the gate, she knew, but beyond that everything was blurred. Had she saved him after all?

He was lying beside her, eyes closed. Pale and still though he was, he looked far better than his battered counterpart in Netherworld, and Maddy was immediately reassured. Of course, if he’d died, she told herself, then his body wouldn’t be there at all and his shade would already be walking Hel’s halls, along with the ghosts of his family.

Maddy took a deep breath. “I thought he was the traitor,” she said.

The Whisperer smiled. “And so did he. In fact, he was merely a pawn in my service, as he has been for the best part of five hundred years. He thought I was his prisoner-never suspecting that he was mine. He tried to trick me, as I knew he would, but even a traitor can serve my plan. He’d served it before, at Ragnarók-which in many ways, incidentally, I engineered.”

“Engineered it? How?”

“I manipulated the gods to do as I’d planned: I tempted the weak; I flattered the strong; I guided their enemies, made cryptic pronouncements and secret alliances, entered their minds with treacherous thoughts. Odin never saw how he’d been deceived. Even when his brother turned against him, he never suspected the whisperer in the shadows. And now, once more, they have played into my hands. As of course, my dear, have you.”

Maddy listened in growing horror. In front of her she could see the ranks of the Order, silent now, awaiting the Word. Behind her, a single glance told her that the river Dream was rising to flood level: filaments of raw glam hovered over its teeming waters; things moved in its unspeakable deeps. Soon, she knew, it would break its banks and spill its nightmare across the plains of Hel. But beyond the river was even worse. Netherworld was coming apart; the illusion of a fortress-or even an island-was long gone now in the churning mess. Rocks circled each other in air that was clotted with ephemera; souls flitted by like moths around a lamp.