Page 6 of Thor

But Erik either did not notice the insult, or did not care. He laughed. "A drinking contest we shall have. The first to the bottom of the barrel who is still standing, then."

Servants brought forth two barrels, which were broached before them. Erik's barrel was placed beside his chair, so that he might easily dip a mug into it without rising. Thor was not offered the courtesy of a seat, and he had to steal a rough wooden cup from a passing servant instead of being offered a mug or drinking horn. No matter. When Thor had his hammer back, they would all pay for their poor hospitality.

"For Odin," he whispered as he drained the first cup. Odin was no doubt in Valhalla with his family, as he deserved, and Thor would join him soon enough.

A second cup chased the first, burning its way down Thor's gullet. A wiser man might have eaten something first, but Thor had no desire for food. No, all he wanted was vengeance for Sif. For Odin. And for all the rest of their village, murdered by these men.

Thor lifted a third cup, as an offering to the gods that they might grant him victory.

That's when he saw his gesture mirrored by a man in a dark corner of the hall. A man with a leather patch over one eye, so Thor did not recognise him at first, but he blinked and he knew. Odin had survived the battle, too, though he'd lost an eye doing so. He had no appetite, either. All he held was a rough cup of wine, raised in anticipation of Thor's victory.

A fourth cup, then a fifth. One after the other, Thor drank as if his life depended on it, for he suspected it did.

Something clattered to Thor's right. Loki had dropped his mug, which rolled across the table and onto the floor. Empty, for he'd drunk it all, and likely more besides, for Loki slumped to the table.

A ruse, Thor was sure of it. Loki was never beaten. He must only be pretending to be overcome by the feast. When Thor reclaimed his hammer, Loki would leap up, alert as ever, to fight by his side.

Thor lifted a sixth cup to his lips, and his eyes went to Odin. Odin slumped against the wall, almost sliding off the bench, as his cup slipped from his fingers.

Thor dipped his cup into the barrel for the seventh time. Except...was it one cup, or two? Or perhaps three? No...one, two, three...four? He'd never been so woozy before after drinking so little. Especially with Erik matching him drink for drink.

"I will challenge any man here to beat me in a race!" a reedy voice piped up.

Thor blinked. It couldn't be. Was that...Thialfi? How had the boy survived the battle?

"No man is faster than me!" Thialfi declared. "On a count of three. One, two, three!" He bolted for the door.

No one followed him.

Thor allowed himself to smile. Thialfi might escape, and live a good, long life.

Thialfi made it to the doorway, before he appeared to trip over something and pitched forward. Thor expected him to catch himself, or at least rise and try to run again, but the boy stayed down.

A man with a bow in one hand marched over to Thialfi and reached down. With one mighty yank, he brandished a bloodied arrow. An arrow bearing Thialfi's blood, Thor realised.

Thialfi did not rise because the boy was dead. The bowman had been faster than the boy. Thor closed his eyes. All the more reason to beat Erik in this drinking contest. To win his hammer back and...and...

Loki lay face down on the table. Odin had slid to the floor, where he was now snoring. And Erik lifted a horn of ale to his lips, curling them into a knowing smile.

"The drink...you drugged it. You are an honourless wolverine, as much a beast as any of your so-called men. Give me back my weapon and I shall take on all of you. Show you what a real warrior can do!" Thor growled, reaching for his hammer. Or what he thought was his hammer, for there seemed to be half a dozen of the things lying on the table, but when his hand closed around what should have been the handle, he grasped only air.

Then Thor hit the ground, so all he could see was the soot-blackened beams of the roof.

Erik's face swam into view. "You couldn't best my own grandmother or even her cat in a fight. You don't belong in Valhalla, hammer man."

An old woman's face peered at him. And was that...a cat? Thor had never seen a butter coloured cat before, yet there it was, looking down upon him as though he were the lowliest thrall to ever crawl out of a midden.

"He drank three times as much as the others before he succumbed, Erik. This one's stronger than the rest. He will make a fine fighter in your army, just like I told you."

Thor opened his mouth to tell her that he'd rather die than fight for the man who murdered his sister, but darkness swallowed him before he could get a word out.

SIX

"That's not how you record the GPS!"

"But that's how I've always been taught..."

"This is a real archaeology dig, not some student exercise in a fifty-year-old rubbish dump!"

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