Stormbringer: Book 2 of the Wyrd

Twenty-Six

"How long till their arrival?"

Munin clicked its beak, hopping from foot to foot, exhaustion eating at its bones. Two days it'd been flying, ahead of the kids coming back from Sindri. It was a long trip, and Munin was about ready for a soft nest and a good nap, followed by a fresh corpse and a birdbath full of mead.

Forseti, however, wasn't coughing up any of it.

"A day," Munin said. "Maybe less." It hopped backward again as Forseti paced. The kid didn't look well. Sort of gaunt and pale. Haggard and washed out. And Munin would've sworn he was favoring a single eye.

Not to mention he was still holding Gungnir. Munin wondered if the kid even put it down to sleep.

Come to think of it, was Forseti even sleeping? Munin would've suggested a massage and a day off if it would've earned any response other than a glare and potential slap.

"And they have Mjölnir?" Forseti was giving that one-eyed stare again. The one that made Munin shiver. The one that should've died a long, long time ago.

"Yeah, see," it started. "About the hammer . . ."

"Tell me!"

"Of course, of course." Munin hopped back, definitely out of reach. "It's just . . . I've been flying a long time. Pretty tired, y'know? Hungry. If you could bring up a bit of meat, maybe it'd help with the memo—"

"No!" Forseti's fist slammed down on the table, hard enough to rattle cups and send Munin stumbling backward with a squark. "First you will speak."

"Boy, enough."

Forseti's head turned, a sneer curving over his lips. Munin, meanwhile, felt relief. And not all of it because Nanna was approaching, carrying a tray of offal and a bowl of water.

"Mother, get out. We have no time for your coddling."

Nanna, to her eternal credit, shouldered past her son, placing the tray down in front of Munin.

"Please excuse Forseti's . . . inhospitality," she said. "He has had a trying time of late. You have served Ásgarðr well. Some comforts are the least we can provide."

Keeping Nanna between itself and Forseti, Munin obliged her on her offer, eyeing the stinking pile. Liver, lungs. Kidneys and a heart. All the good stuff.

It bowed, wings spread. "Thank you, ma'am." Then hopped forward, beak plunging into flesh.

Nanna took a seat, patiently watching, back straight and arms folded. Forseti beside her, looking one sharp jolt from catching fire.

"The hammer," he growled.

"Right, right." Munin gulped down a piece of lung, blood smeared over its beak and claws. "It's coming back, don't worry about that. But the other stuff isn't."

"What?" snapped Forseti, even as Nanna's eyes widened and she said, "Þrúðr?"

"Is fine. She's got the hammer."

"What of Magni?" From Forseti.

"He's, uh . . . indisposed. Injured. The dvergar are looking after him." Munin tore off another piece of meat, stomach a riot of growling. "Look, it's a long story. The short version is Þrúðr isn't married, she gave her dad's belt back to the dvergar, and the gloves to the þursar."

"What!"

Yeah, Munin had been afraid of that reaction. Even the normally serene Nanna looked perturbed.

"There would've been war, otherwise," it said.

"There is war now!" Forseti really did love slamming Gungnir down against the floor. The wood made a real solid thwack when he did it. Munin remembered that thwack. Odin had been a fan of it as well, once upon a time. "Armies on two fronts," Forseti continued. "Duplicitous, cowardly beasts. Let them come. Ásgarðr will not fall."