Page 8 of Loki

Lara shook her finger warningly. "Don't tempt fate. At this altitude the old Norse gods could still hear you, and take notice. The last thing we want is Loki messing with our expedition. An unseasonal blizzard, a supply run that runs late, or any number of things could go wrong, and even I can't control chaos. If you want my advice, you offer a cup of aquavit to the Norse gods, for the good of this expedition. They like a good drink as much as the rest of us."

Jorunn promised to do that, too. Though she had to admit, she'd quite liked Loki in the movies. Maybe it'd partly been Tom Hiddleston and his cheeky smile, but she'd always had a soft spot for a villain on a redemption arc. After all, she was hardly a saint.

SEVEN

Left alone in the longhouse, Loki fumed as he could only imagine the battle between Erik's men and Odin's. He wasn't sure what was worse – being forced to watch his fellow warriors cut down, without being able to lift a hand to help them – or not knowing what was happening until the victors returned.

With the witch's spell still binding him, he could neither leave the longhouse or perform magic, but Loki was not entirely unarmed. He had enough henbane to put a man to sleep, and he had a jug of crushed foxglove – enough to make sure a man never woke up.

But when Erik and his men returned, with no sign of Odin, Thor or any of their men...Loki feared the worst. So much for the witch's assurances that Thor would be spared. If it was any consolation to him, Fenrir did not appear among the warriors, either. So if Thor was dead...at least he'd sent one of Erik's men to his death first.

"Snake man!" Erik bellowed. "Bring me the snake man!"

Hands grabbed Loki and dragged him before the high table, where Erik sat among his men. A whole row of red faces told Loki they'd all taken jusquiasmus before the battle, and even now were still feeling the effects. Either that or they'd drunk too much ale, which didn't seem likely as they didn't slur when they called for drink.

Loki refused to bow to his mother's murderer. "What do you want?"

"Entertain us, snake man! Your people are defeated, and your future depends on my favour. Entertain us, and I will allow you to join us."

Loki wet his lips. He was no singer, and without his magic, none of his usual tricks would work. Which left him with... "I propose a challenge. I challenge your best man to an eating contest. If they win, I will join you." He'd rather die first, but he didn't say that. "And if I win, then I am free to go." Free to leave the hall, transform into a dragon, and burn them all to ash. The least they deserved for killing everyone he'd ever known or loved.

"Where would you go, snake man? There are none of your people left!" Orm taunted.

Let Orm take up the challenge, Loki prayed. If Orm had commanded the attack that killed his mother, then he deserved to die as much as Erik did.

Loki grinned. "What do you care? As long as I no longer have to look at your ugly face, anywhere is better than here."

Laughter roared across the hall. Orm the traitor was not well-liked. The gods help Astrid if Erik did tried to marry her to the man. Perhaps that's why Fenrir wasn't here – he'd spirited her away during the battle. Good luck to them both. As long as she was lost to Erik, Loki's honour was satisfied.

"Are none of you brave enough to challenge a snake to an eating contest?" Loki said.

The older of Erik's two sons stood. "I, Baldur, will accept your challenge, snake man."

Space was made at the table for Loki, and he barely managed to set his foxglove filled cup down before a trencher landed in front of him, topped with pork.

Someone filled his cup with mulled mead before he could stop them, but Loki knew better than to touch the cup, even if it hadn't been poisoned, for to fill his belly with liquid was to lose, he'd learned long ago in contests against Thor.

Baldur had no such qualms. He quaffed his own cup, then reached for Loki's and downed that, too, his eyes challenging Loki over the brim.

Loki kept his head down and concentrated on the food, hardly daring to look at the man beside him as he called for more mulled mead, draining Loki's refilled cup more times than he could count.

It was the mead that won the contest for him in the end – the crushed foxgloves stewing in the bottom of the cup would not kill Baldur for another day or two yet, as the deadly poison wove its spell through his blood and around his heart. By the time Baldur breathed his last, Loki would be far away from here.

"The snake man is the winner!" the witch cried, as it took two men to carry the unconscious Baldur away from the table.

Erik's other son pounded on the table, his face the reddest of the lot. "Nay, nay! Baldur is not Father's best man, for he drinks too much. I am Father's best man. Name me so, Father, and I shall take up the snake man's challenge. He has not won until he defeats me!"

The witch frowned, opening her mouth to protest.

Loki jumped up. "I accept the challenge! I ask only for a cup of jusquiasmus to ease my belly before we start!"

"As do I!" the son shouted.

Erik nodded. "Very well, Logi, you shall be my champion against the snake man. Avenge your brother's loss!"

Oh, if only Erik knew. Loki ducked his head to hide his grin.

The witch brought two fresh cups of mead, sprinkling them liberally with jusquiasmus seeds before setting them both on the table before Logi and Loki. "Drink, and then the contest shall start," she said.

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