The Book of Doom - By Barry Hutchison Page 0,30

and Herya heard a faint crunch as they slid over the top of him.

“Ooh, that had to hurt,” Zac winced. He very deliberately didn’t look back.

“Four more coming in low,” Herya warned. There was a splat from somewhere back up the slope. “Make that three.”

“We’re almost there!” Zac shouted. Over the sounds of the storm he could hear Odin’s voice now, cursing and swearing as he wrestled with his ‘dragon’. The hissing and screeching he could also hear was Angelo, Zac guessed. Only something truly demonic could make those sounds.

“Left, left, left!” Herya cried. They both leaned left just as Jurgen hit the ground beside them. He landed on his feet, skidded frantically for a few wild-eyed moments, then his legs went in opposite directions and he did the splits on the ice.

“Right, right, right!” They leaned again, narrowly avoiding a seventh Viking bomb. His fingers clawed for the edge of the shield, but they were sliding too fast for him to hold on.

“One more,” Herya said.

Zac gave a curt nod, keeping his gaze fixed ahead. They were barely fifteen metres from Angelo and Odin now, and they in turn were barely fifteen metres from the drop.

“Here he comes,” Herya warned. Her eyes followed the falling Viking as he plunged harmlessly into a snowbank several metres to the left. “Aaaand there he goes.”

Herya turned. “Right, I think we’re in the clear,” she said, and then something hit the back of the shield and the world gave a sharp, sudden lurch. Zac’s chin smashed against the ice as the shield flipped over. The ice hit him like a wall of raw cold, frost biting him as he slid head first down the slope.

He clawed at the polished ice, trying to get a grip to slow his descent, but his fingers found no purchase on the slippery surface. Behind him, also sliding, Herya was pinned beneath her mother. The older Valkyrie was shouting, screaming, but Zac couldn’t hear her over the howling of the wind and the high-speed thudding of his own racing heart.

Odin and Angelo were nowhere to be seen. All that lay ahead now was the edge, and beyond that, the abyss. Too fast. He was going too fast. The sword slid by him. One chance, only one chance.

He stretched out and found the sword’s handle. The edge was five metres away now. Four. Three. Gritting his teeth, he drove the blade into the ice.

At once, he began to slow down. Those behind him didn’t. Herya crashed into him, her momentum carrying them all the way to the edge of the drop. There was a panicked fluttering of wings and Herya’s mother flew clear, just as the bottom dropped out of the world and Zac felt his legs sliding off into nothingness.

With a sharp jerk, the sword stopped. A grunt burst from Zac’s lips as every muscle in his arms stretched to tearing point. The pain was like fire. It burned through him, making his head go light. But he hung on, his frostbitten hands locked round the handle of the sword.

There was a weight on his legs, pulling him down. Craning his neck, he was able to see Herya clinging to his feet. Beneath her was nothing but grey mist, lit up every few seconds by a crackle of lightning.

He was about to tell her to let go and fly them to safety when he saw her left wing. It drooped at an awkward angle, the white feathers dark with blood. An ornate-handled knife was embedded into the wing just by her shoulder. There was no way she was flying anywhere.

She looked up and met Zac’s gaze. “I know,” she said. “Worst. Mother. Ever.”

“Ah, young Zac. Fancy seeing thee here.”

Zac looked to his right. Just a few metres along the cliff face, Odin was clinging by his fingertips. The Allfather’s face was a rash of bruises. His white beard was matted with blood, and one of the horns on his helmet was pointing the wrong way. He grinned broadly, and appeared to be missing some teeth.

“I hoped we might have the opportunity to hang out together,” the Allfather said, then he hurled back his head and laughed long and hard at his own joke.

“Where’s Angelo?” Zac demanded. His arms were shaking now, both from the cold and the effort of holding on to the sword.

“The dragon? Gone. Down there,” Odin said, nodding into the cloudy abyss. “Unfortunate, really. I would have enjoyed seeing his head on a spike. Not