Trapped

confusion; part of it was terror at their future dental bills. I actually was happy for them: We’d discovered a way to free them from their thrall, and they could be human again.
    Granuaile appeared, Scáthmhaide in hand, and looked worried about my dangling left arm.
    » Yes, you do get to shove it back in, « I said.
    » I was afraid of that, « she said.
    » Thanks for the assist. Normally I would chew you out for leaving open a portal that long, but this time I’ll let it slide. «
    She grinned and gave me a quick kiss. » Thanks. «
    Letting an amateur shove your arm back into its socket is unpleasant, but when you have magic at your disposal, it’s better than getting insurance and waiting five hours for a professional to do it. Jogging north together until we found a tethered tree without an annoyed dryad inside, we shifted to our cabin near Camp Bird Mine to greet our happy hound.
    › Great news, Atticus! ‹ Oberon said as he bounded toward us, fresh from getting a drink in the Uncompahgre River. › I have independently verified that there are no Balrogs in this mine. And no goblins or cave trolls either. Only rats. I don’t know what they’re eating though. It makes you wonder about those rats in First Blood , remember them? They were hanging out, no visible nests, just waiting deep in this abandoned mine for a tortured Vietnam veteran to pass by in his attempt to escape a brutal small-town sheriff with the ability to boss around the state police and the National Guard. ‹
    » Oberon, did you go into the mine? «
    › No, I just listened at the entrance and sniffed around a bit, honest! ‹
    » Oberon? «
    › Okay, I might have set foot across the threshold. I was only trying to ditch those two ravens. ‹
    » What two ravens? «
    › The two that have been following me around for a while now. See them on the roof over there? ‹
    Casting my eyes toward the mine foreman’s house, I saw the ravens he was talking about. They weren’t the normal kind. They were a bit bigger than usual, and each had one eye that gleamed white.
    » That’s Hugin and Munin, « I said.
    Granuaile tensed. » Odin’s ravens? «
    » Yep. «
    She began to scan the area. » He’s here somewhere? «
    » I doubt it. He won’t get within striking distance of me again if he can help it. He probably has backup ravens and everything. I bet this is a call to arms from Frigg. She’ll be wanting me to kill Fenris now that you’re bound to the earth. But stay on your guard in case I’m wrong. «
    We began walking toward the foreman’s house, our eyes never resting but searching for threats. None appeared, though Hugin and Munin did their best to serve us up some turbo-grim memento mori action.
    As we neared the front porch, Frigg floated from the backyard to meet us. She was wearing another of her Dalek dresses, but this one was blue and green with white swirls reminiscent of marshmallows melting in chocolate. She smiled and greeted us, the very picture of hospitality, her sour expression from months ago now gone. An arm appeared from underneath her hair and waved gracefully at the door to the abandoned house. » Shall we go in? «
    I winced. » It’s probably not a good idea, « I said. » It’s been vacant for years, and the last time I was in there it was full of rodent droppings. «
    » Oh, I am well aware. But that is no longer true. « She lowered her voice conspiratorially. » A dwarf owed me a favor, and I permitted him to clean the place for our use. He has been very industrious; I am sure you won’t recognize it. But I should warn you—he is in mourning. «
    » I’m sorry to hear, « Granuaile said. » But why does that require warning? «
    » Well. « Frigg pulled at imaginary tufts of hair on her chin—or else it was a sign language of some sort. » He’s … you know. In mourning. «
    » No, we don’t know, « I said. » We’ve never seen a real Norse dwarf before. «
    › I’ll bet he doesn’t have a Scottish accent. He won’t be calling you laddie. ‹
    » Oh. Well, you’re probably expecting the beard, but it won’t be there, you see. They shave them off to express their grief. «
    » Instead of crying? «
    » Precisely. «
    » Would it be rude to ask why he’s in mourning? « Granuaile asked.
    Frigg smiled. » You won’t have to ask. He will tell you all about it. That’s part of their process. And in truth, Druids, his story is why I’m here. If this doesn’t convince you to help us