“Evening drew in. I helped the god to his feet. The wan light washing over him seemed to dissolve a little his pale flesh.
“I indicated Salthaven, that we should walk there. He assented eagerly (I think he was attracted by its evening smokes, being drawn to fire, his trumps) and we set out, he leaning on me lightly.
“And now the mystery of Afreyt was made clear. She would by no means go with us! And then I saw, though only very dimly, the figure she had been succoring, tending and teaching all day long, as I had Loki—the figure of a frail old man (god, rather), bearded and one-eyed, who’d been lying close alongside Loki at the first, and I empowered to see only the one and she the other!”
“A most marvelous circumstance indeed,” the Mouser commented. “Perhaps like drew to like and so revealed itself. Say, did the other god by any chance resemble Fafhrd?—but for being one-eyed, of course.”
She nodded eagerly. “An older Fafhrd, as ‘twere his father. Afreyt marked it. Oh, you must know something of this mystery?”
The Mouser shook his head, “Just guessing,” and asked, “What was his name—the older god’s?”
(She told him.)
“Well, what happened next?”
“We parted company. I walked the god Loki to Salthaven, he leaning on my arm. He was still most delicate. It seems one worshipper is barely enough at best to keep a god alive and visible, no matter how active his mind—for by now he was pointing out things to me (and indicating actions and states) and naming them in Rimic, Low Lankhmarese—and High as well!—before I named them, sure indication of his god’s intellect.
“At the same time he was, despite his weakness, beginning to give me indications of a growing interest in me (I mean, my person) and I was fast losing all doubts as to how I’d be expected to entertain him when I got him home. Now, I was very happy to have got, hopefully, a new god for Rime Isle. And I must needs adore him, if only to keep him alive. But as for making him free of my bed, I had a certain reluctance, no matter how ghostly-insubstantial his flesh turned out to be in closest contact (and if it stayed that way)!
“Oh, I suppose I’d have submitted if it had come to that; still, there’s something about sleeping with a god—a great honor, to be sure, but (to name only one thing) one surely couldn’t expect faithfulness (if one wanted that)—certainly not from the whimsical, merry and mischievous god this Loki was showing himself to be! Besides, I wanted to be able to weigh clearheadedly the predictions and warnings for Rime Isle I hoped to get from him—not with a mind dreamy with lovemaking and swayed by all the little fancies and fears that come with full infatuation.
“As things fell out, I never had to make the decision. Passing this tavern, he was attracted by a flickering red glow and slipped inside without attracting notice (he was still invisible to all but me). I followed (that got me a look or two, I being a respectable councilwoman) and pressed on after him as he followed the pulsing fire-glow into this inner room, where a great bawdy party was going on and the hearth was ablaze. Before my eyes he melted into the flames and joined with them!
“The revelers were somewhat taken aback by my intrusion, but after looking them over with a smile I merely turned and went out, waving my hand at them and saying, ‘Enjoy!’—that was for Loki too. I’d guessed he’d got where he wanted to be.”
And she waved now at the dancing flames, then turned back to the Mouser with a smile. He smiled back, shaking his head in wonder.
She continued, “So I went home, well content, but not before I’d reserved the Flame Den (as I then learned this place is called) for the following night.
“Next day I hired two harlots for the evening (so there’d be entertainment for Loki) and Mother Grum to be our doorwoman and ensure our privacy.
“That night went as I’d guessed it would. Loki had indeed taken up permanent residence in the fire here and after a while I was able to talk with him and get some answers to questions, though nothing of profit to Rime Isle as yet. I made arrangements with the Ilthmart for the Flame Den to be reserved one night each week, and like bargains with Hilsa and Rill to come on those nights and entertain the god and keep him happy. Hilsa, has the god been with you tonight?” she called to the woman feeding the fire, the one with red stockings.
“Twice,” that one replied matter-of-factly in a husky voice. “Slipped from the fire invisibly and back again. He’s content.”
“Your pardon, Lady Cif,” the Mouser interposed, “but how do these professional women find such close commerce with an invisible god to be? What’s it like? I’m curious.”
Cif looked toward them where they sat by the fire.
“Like having a mouse up your skirt,” Hilsa replied with a short chuckle, swinging a red leg.
“Or a toad,” her companion amended. “Although he dwells in the flames, his person is cold.” Rill had laid aside her cat’s cradle and joined her hands, fingers interweaving, to make shadow-faces on the wall, of prick-eared gigantic werewolves, great sea serpents, dragons, and long-nosed, long-chinned witches. “He likes these hobgoblins,” she commented.
The Mouser nodded thoughtfully, watching them for a while, and then back to the fire.
Cif continued, “Soon the god, I could tell, was beginning to get the feel of Nehwon, fitting his mind to her, stretching it out to her farthest bounds, and his oracles became more to the point. Meantime Afreyt, with whom I conferred daily, was caring for old Odin out on the moor in much the same way (though using girls to comfort and appease him instead of full-grown women, he being an older god), eliciting prophecies of import.
“Loki it was who first warned us that the Mingols were on the move, mustering horse-ships against Rime Isle, mounting under Khahkht’s urgings toward a grand climacteric of madness and rapine. Afreyt put independent question to Odin and he confirmed it—they were together in the tale at every point.
“When asked what we must do, they both advised—again independently—that we seek out two certain heroes in Lankhmar and have them bring their bands to the Isle’s defence. They were most circumstantial, giving your names and haunts, saying you were their men, whether or not you knew it in this life, and they did not change their stories under repeated questioning. Tell me, Gray Mouser, have you not known the god Loki before? Speak true.”
“Upon my word, I haven’t, Lady Cif,” he averred, “and am no more able than you to explain the mystery of our resemblance. Though there is a certain weird familiarity about the name, and Odin’s too, as if I’d heard them in dreams or nightmares. But however I rack my brains, it comes no clearer.”
“Well,” she resumed after a pause, “the two gods kept up their urgings that we seek you out and so half a year ago Afreyt and I took ship for Lankhmar on Hlal—with what results you know.”
“Tell me, Lady Cif,” the Mouser intejected, rousing himself from his fire-peerings, “how did you and tall Afreyt get back to Rime Isle after Khahkht’s wizardrous blizzard snatched you out of the Silver Eel?”
“It transpired as swiftly as our journey there was long,” she said. “One moment we were in his cold clutch, battered and blinded by wind-driven ice, our ears assaulted by a booming laughter. The next we had been taken in charge by two feminine flying creatures who whirled us at dizzying speed through darkness to a warm cave where they left us breathless. They said they were a mountain king’s two daughters.”
“Hirriwi and Keyaira, I’ll be bound!” the Mouser exclaimed. “They must be on our side.”
“Who are those?” Cif inquired.
“Mountain princesses Fafhrd and I have known in our day. Invisibles like our revered fire-dweller here.” He nodded toward the flames. “Their father rules in lofty Stardock.”
“I’ve heard of that peak and dread Oomforafor, its king, whom some say is with his son Faroomfar an ally of Khahkht. Daughters against father and brother—that would be natural. Well, Afreyt and I after we’d recovered our breath made our way to the cavern’s mouth—and found ourselves looking down on Rime Isle and Salthaven from a point midway up Darkfire. With some little difficulty we made our way home across rock and glacier.”
“The volcano,” the Mouser mused. “Again Loki’s link with fire.” His attention had been drawn back to the hypnotic flames.
Cif nodded. “Thereafter Loki and Odin kept us informed of the Mingols’ progress toward Rime Isle—and your own. Then four days ago Loki began a running account of your encounters with Khahkht’s frost monstreme. He made it most vivid—sometimes you’d have sworn he was piloting one of the ships himself. I managed to reserve the Flame Den the succeeding nights (and have it now for the next three days and nights also), so we were able to follow the details of the long flight or long pursuit—which, truth to tell, became a bit monotonous.”