The Complete Compleat Enchanter by Fletcher Pratt, L. Sprague deCamp Read Free Book Online Page A

you, most gracious worm. Then I will tell you what you must do; you must go with us to Jötunheim, and that will be a hard journey.”
    Shea remembered his conversation with Heimdall the night before. “Isn’t that where some of the giants live?”
    “The frost giants to be exact. That lying Sleepless One claims to have heard Thor’s hammer humming somewhere in their castle; and for all of us it will be well to find that weapon. But we shall need whatever we possess of strength and magic in the task—unless, Lord Turnip Eater, you think you can recover it without our help.”
    Shea gulped again. Should he go with them? He had come looking for adventure, but enough was enough. “What is adventure?” he remembered reading somewhere, with the answer, “Somebody else having a hell of a tough time a thousand miles away.” Only—
    Thjalfi had come round the table, and said in a low voice:
    “Look. My sister Röskva is staying here at the Crossroads, because the Giant Killer don’t think Jötunheim would be any place for a woman. That leaves me all alone with these Æsir and an awful lot of giants. I’d be mighty obliged if ye could see your way to keep me company.”
    “I’ll do it,” said Shea aloud. Then he realized that his impulsiveness had let him in for something. If Loki and Thor were not sure they could recover the hammer without help, it was likely to be an enterprise of some difficulty. Still, neither Æsir nor giants knew about matches— or the revolver. They would do for magic till something better came along.
    “I’ve already spoken to the Lord of the Goat Chariot,” Thjalfi was saying. “He’d be glad to have ye come, but he says ye mustn’t disgrace him by asking to eat turnips. Ye’d best do something about those clothes. They’re more than light for this climate. Sverre-bonder will lend you some others.”
    Sverre was glad to take the inadequate polo coat and riding breeches as security for the loan of some baggy Norse garments. Shea, newly dressed in accordance with his surroundings, went outside. A low, cheerless sun shone on the blinding white of new snow. As the biting cold nipped his nose Shea was thankful for the yards of coarse wool in which he was swathed.
    The goat chariot was waiting. It was as big as a Conestoga wagon, notwithstanding that there were only two wheels. A line of incised runic letters was etched in black around the gold rim; the body was boldly painted red and gold. But the goats constituted the most remarkable feature. One was black, the other white, and they were as big as horses.
    “This here’s Tooth Gnasher,” said Thjalfi, indicating the nigh goat, “and that there’s Tooth Gritter,” waving at the off goat, the black one. “Say, friend Harold, I’d be mighty obliged if ye’d help me tote the stuff out.”
    Shea, ignorant of what the “stuff” was, followed Thjalfi into the bonder’s house, where the latter pointed to a big oak chest. This, he explained, held the Æsir’s belongings. Thjalfi hoisted one end by its bronze handle. Shea took hold of the other, expecting it to come up easily. The chest did not move. He looked at Thjalfi, but the latter merely stood, holding his end off the floor without apparent effort. So Shea took his handle in both hands and gave a mighty heave. He got his end up, but the thing seemed packed with ingots of lead. The pair went through the door, Thjalfi leading, Shea staggering and straining along in the rear. He almost yelled to Thjalfi to hurry and ease the horrible strain on his arms, but this would involve so much loss of face that he stuck it out. When they reached the chariot Shea dropped his end into the snow and almost collapsed across the chest. The icy air hurt his lungs as he drew great gasps of breath.
    “All right,” said Thjalfi calmly, “you catch hold here, and we’ll shove her aboard.” Shea forced his unwilling body to obey. They manhandled one end of the chest onto the tail of the chariot and