There at the top of the stairs he found Gunnar. And Gunnar’s dead lay thick about him.
Gunnar had moved himself to a sitting position against one of the railings. His chin was upon his great chest and his eyes were closed as though he slept. But when Odin knelt beside him, he opened one eye and looked up with a twisted smile upon his broad face. One side of his face was barely recognizable. Gunnar was badly burned. He had been thrust through at least a dozen times. But Gunnar lived.
“Eh, Nors-King,” he whispered, sitting up straight as Odin steadied him in his arms. “It was a long time to wait. And I thought sometimes that I would not make it. But I held on, for I knew you would come. Oh, it has been a long wait—and it took all my strength.”
“As fast as I could,” Odin answered in a choking voice. “As fast as I could, O Chief of the Neeblings. For Ragnarok is past, and the tree of life still reaches into the stars. The twilight is past and new suns and new earths are quickened. And Gunnar still lives.”
“Part of him.” Gunnar blinked his good eye. “What happened down there? Oh,” he gasped in pain, “to have missed the fighting!”
“Maya lives and I live. Ato is wounded. Wolden came at the last to help us, Gunnar. We won. And I have killed Grim Hagen with my bare hands, even as I promised.”
“Good, Nors-King. I knew always that one of us would kill him. Oh, it was a grand fight. But Gunnar will sharpen his sword no more. There was a ford near my father’s house where the clear water ran fresh over the stones. That might help me. But it is far away. And my father too. You tell Freida that we did not make the long trip in vain.”
“If I can,” Odin promised.
“Oh, you can. For we have won the stars and nothing is beyond us—except youth, maybe.”