Sword of Doom (14 page)

“I kissed a walrus once,” said Lut, his eyes atwinkle.

“Really,” Dane said, having no clue what this had to do with his very pressing problem.

“It was long ago in my youth,” Lut said, “when a man has his greatest dreams. Every night I dreamed I kissed a walrus that turned into a beautiful maiden, whom I then took as my wife.” Lut cocked an eye at Dane. “Have you tried kissing a walrus? Or just getting your arms around one? Not an easy feat. Crippling injuries can occur. But, being an impetuous youth, I believed in that dream so fully that finally I snuck up on a colony of walruses sunning themselves on a beach and kissed one right on its god-awful mouth.”

“And
then
what happened?”

“The dream came true, of course,” said Lut.

“The walrus turned into a beautiful maiden?”

“Well, not exactly. There were some village girls watching from a nearby bluff. The ridiculous sight of a grown man kissing a walrus made one of the girls laugh so hard, she tumbled off the bluff and fell down onto the colony of beasts below. They started barking and biting the girl, I came to her rescue, and
she
became my first wife.”

“Was she beautiful?” asked Dane.

“She was a good and loving wife, if only slightly better looking than the walrus.”

“Oh,” said Dane, not sure what the story was meant to convey. Lut saw the puzzlement on his face.

“Son, sometimes dreams aren't
exact
foretellings of one's fate. Perhaps this serpent from the rune sword represents an adversary you will one day face.”

“You mean Godrek?”

“Perhaps. Or an actual sea beast. Or perhaps merely some flaw within yourself. Maybe it's all three.”

“Well, thanks for clearing it up,” said Dane wryly.

“Yes, well, the answers will come by living the questions. But one thing is certain: Whatever this is, you mustn't shy away from it. For, like all inner truths, it will consume you if you don't confront it.”

Dane slowed his horse a bit, allowing Lut to ride on. It was amazing, Dane thought, how one conversation with the wrong person could really ruin your mood.

T
he trail had narrowed treacherously, and staring down into the steep ravine, Dane wondered how he got into these increasingly dangerous situations.

They had ridden through the windswept valley, climbed higher into the craggy mountains, their path soon narrowing into a thin ledge where a sheer ravine fell away to their right. A howling wind had blustered up, threatening to blow riders off their mounts, and Dane had ordered that everyone dismount and walk in single file. They had been walking like this, hugging closely to the mountainside, the horses skittish as they led them on. Dane had tried to push all thought of his mother out of his mind, but it hadn't worked.

Dane heard a shout. He spied Fulnir in lead position holding up his hand, calling for a halt. Leaving his horse
for Drott to hold, Dane threaded his way to the front of the line to find Fulnir standing stock-still before a patch of snow soaked with what looked like blood.

Dane pushed his gaze a bit farther up the trail and, through the falling curtain of snow, there saw a huge she-wolf lying on her side across the path. Nearly the size of a bear, the wolf lay stone dead, her snow-white fur streaked with blood from the arrows shot into her, fangs protruding from her half-open jaws.

Coming forward, Lut took one look at the dead wolf and said gravely, “We must turn back.”

“Turn back?” Dane asked. “Why?”

“Draugurwulfn,”
Lut said, now joining them. “Ghostwolves. They'll come for revenge.” He scanned the craggy rocks above them. “They may be watching us now.”

“But we didn't kill it,” Dane said.

“No, Godrek's men obviously did—and left it here so we dared not cross its blood.”

“What happens if we do?” Fulnir asked, sounding worried, his hands smeared in wolf blood.

“We'll be marked and the
draugurwulfn
will surely follow the scent,” Lut said. “It is said they are the bastard offspring of Odin, made partly of snow and partly of shadow. A
Völuspá
—a female seer I knew in my youth—warned me of their ways, of their thirst for blood.”

There was a pause. “It's a chance we'll have to take,” Dane said. “I'm not turning back.”

Jarl exchanged looks with Rik, Vik, Ulf, and the others, then turned to Dane and nodded. With no other trail into Jotunheim, they had to go forward.

Dane pushed them onward, trying to lead their horses past the dead wolf on the trail. But the horses refused, shying away from the body of the she-wolf. Only after Jarl, Rik, and Vik dragged the wolf's body from the path and threw it over the cliff would the horses finally proceed, though the scent of the beast's blood made them greatly uneasy as they trod over it.

Even with the trail darkening into night and a heavy snow beginning to fall, Dane led them onward along the ledge, desperately seeking a place wide enough to make camp. To Dane's dismay, the wind became a roaring blizzard, with particles of whipping ice so sharp, it stung their faces and greatly limited visibility. For a time Kára whimpered in complaint, the poor pampered thing numbed by the freezing winds, and Dane worried they might have to carry her. But after Jarl had bundled her in more furs, she soldiered on in silence, much to everyone's surprise.

Dane saw that the trail was starting to broaden, and it seemed that perhaps soon there would be space enough to pitch tents and take refuge from the punishing storm. Over the howling wind Dane heard a sharp shriek behind him. Turning, he peered back into the whiteness, barely able to see anything in the blizzard. Moving closer down the trail, he caught sight of Drott's horse furiously rearing
and kicking, a vivid slash of blood on its neck. The terror-struck horse frenzied the other mounts. They reared, trying to jerk their reins free from their human leaders. One animal bolted, but the path was too narrow and it slammed into the two horses pulling the sled; all three panicked and lost their footing, and suddenly they were gone, sled and all, falling off into nothingness.

Above the screaming wind Dane heard a chaos of shouts. But all he could do was grip the reins of his terrified horse to keep it from bolting too. Directly ahead, Jarl was doing the same with his mount. From behind him Dane heard a sudden sound—hoofbeats—and turned just in time to see the crazed eyes of another horse, its nostrils flared in terror, thundering up the path straight for him. It slammed him back against the rocky ledge, and he fell to the ground, dazed, as his horse and the other one ran off up the trail.

 

Astrid tried not to panic. The ghostwolves had come out of the blizzard unseen, leaping from above, attacking the horses and creating havoc on the narrow trail. In the chaos Astrid and her friends were forced to retreat as the wolves turned their attack upon them. She and Fulnir slashed blindly with swords, knives, and axes, but the white fur of the wolves was nearly invisible in the whiteout, and it was like fighting phantoms.

Before their horses fled, Rik and Vik grabbed their shields from their saddles. Made of hard limewood and
reinforced with iron, the shields were placed side by side across the path, edges overlapping to form a wall, and everyone took refuge behind them. The wolves leaped at the shield wall, battering it, but the Vicious Brothers dug in their heels, using all their muscle and size to hold back the onslaught. One wolf rammed his head and front legs between the shields and got his snarling, snapping jaws onto Fulnir's arm, but Drott rushed forward, thrusting his sword straight down the beast's throat, and the beast stumbled away, howling in retreat. The wolves repeatedly tried to smash through or leap over the shield wall, but each time, swords and knives drove them back. Finally the attack ceased; Rik and Vik peered over the shields and could see nothing but the blinding white ahead.

In the tumultuous confusion of the attack, no one had noticed those missing.

“Dane and Jarl,” said Astrid, realizing, “they're still out there!” She made a move forward to get past the shield wall, but Rik stopped her.

“So are the ghostwolves,” he said. “Stay behind the shields.”

“But we can move forward together, behind the shields,” she said.

“Ahead the trail widens and our shields won't give full cover,” Vik said. “We'll be vulnerable to a side attack.”

“He's right, Astrid,” Lut said. “Until the snow blindness lifts, here we must stay…and pray they made it away.” She
would have to hope that, for once in their lives, Dane and Jarl had let drop their rivalry to look out for each other.

And then the voice of Kára broke the silence. “Uh, are we stopping for food anytime soon? I am absolutely famished. Nothing too elaborate, mind you. Some big juicy elk steaks might be nice, with roasted beets. Or perhaps cold poached salmon and a nice stew of leeks and potatoes.”

The looks the others gave her said they might cook
her
for dinner.

“On second thought,” said Kára, “I'm really not that hungry. Later is fine.”

D
ane lay in the snow, trying to regain his bearings. His head throbbing, the shrieking gale filled his ears and he saw nothing but a wall of white. He called out, first up the trail where he'd last seen Jarl, and then behind him to where he thought the others were.

His words died on the wind, and no one called back.

He drew his sword and started back up the trail when two ghostwolves came loping toward him, halting in their tracks. They were even larger than the dead she-wolf, Dane was chilled to see, with fur so white, their eyes and blood-smeared jaws seemed to hover before him, disembodied. The wolves began to circle him, heads slung low, baring their canines, watching Dane's eyes. His sword in his right hand, Dane drew his knife with his left and turned with them,
trying to keep both wolves in view, for he knew the moment he lost sight of one, it would attack.

Then the one on the left, the female, made a quick, sudden feint at Dane and he slashed at her, missing. He felt teeth ripping into his boot heel as her mate attacked him from behind. He stabbed wildly backward with his knife, the blade hitting fur, and he heard a yelp of pain. The female now lunged forward, locking her jaws on Dane's left arm, sinking her teeth into the stiff, padded sleeve of his sealskin coat. His knife hand now unusable, Dane smashed the pommel of his sword into the wolf's snout. The enraged beast shook him like a dog shakes a rat, Dane's sword flew from his grasp, and he felt himself slammed to the ground. The she-wolf held him there, jaws clamped tightly on Dane's arm to prevent escape, waiting for the other wolf, the one Dane had wounded with his knife, to come and kill his prey. He came into Dane's view, and he felt the wolf's hot breath as he opened his jaws to rip out his throat.

And then a sudden chill came over him. Dane felt himself rising up off the ground.
Am I dead?
he thought.
Am I being taken to Valhalla?
But where was Mist, his Valkyrie? Shouldn't
she
be here to ferry him? He realized that both the wolves were airborne too, and that he was still dangling from the jaws of the one that refused to release him. He saw them: the massive, ice-frosted fingers that were wrapped around their necks, and Dane's spirits rose as he was lifted higher and higher and soon found himself looking into the
pale blue eyes of a dear old friend.

It was the frost giant Thrym, the same friendly grin on his face, his beard of icicles even longer and frostier than the last time he'd seen him.

Dane heard a
scrawk!
and saw Klint perched on the frost giant's shoulder.

“Klint found you!” Dane said.

Thrym nodded, smiling, and his eyes went to the bird.

Just then Jarl trotted up, returning from the path ahead. He saw Thrym holding the white wolves by the scruffs of their necks, and Dane dangling helplessly from the mouth of one of them. “Look who's almost
náttmál
,” Jarl cracked.

“Ha, ha,” said Dane dryly. “Where were
you
?”

“Retrieving the horses. Hey, Thrym.”

“Jarl. Looking good. Put on some weight?”

Jarl slapped a hand to his chest. “Muscle.
All
muscle.”

“I thought your
head
was all muscle,” said Thrym.

“Thrym,”
said Dane impatiently, “a little help here…?”

“Oh, sorry,” said Thrym. He lowered his head to eye the wolf in question. “Drop it!” the frost giant said, exhaling a huge cloud of icy vapor that instantly frosted the wolf's entire fur coat. Whimpering like a scolded puppy, the wolf got the message and opened her jaws, releasing Dane. He dropped, landing with a painful thud on the hard ground.

“Bad wolves!
Bad!
” scolded Thrym. And Dane watched as Thrym turned to a ridge line on a lower elevation all the way across the ravine, and there he set down the wolves
where they could no longer do any harm, further shaking his finger at them. Dane could hear the wolves bark and snarl; and then, realizing they had been beaten, the ghostwolves slipped away, disappearing into the snowy whiteness.

 

Kára knew that frost giants existed. She'd heard Dane tell the story of how Prince Thidrek had traded Astrid to Thrym in return for Thor's Hammer, and how Dane and his villagers had rescued her from Thrym's cave atop Mount Neverest. And finally how Thrym had bravely come to their aid and stopped an avalanche from destroying Voldarstad. Hearing it had been one thing; but actually
laying eyes
on the towering creature, and trying to make sense of what she was seeing—a living, breathing man of ice? Her senses were so overwhelmed, all she could do was sit and stare in wonderment, having lost all power of speech.

This delighted Jarl no end, of course, and he joked that at last his prayers had been answered. “Thrym, you did the impossible,” he said, laughing. “You shut her up!”

“I seem to have that effect on people.” Thrym sighed, his breath forming a giant cloud of frost that settled over the icicles of his beard, making them grow even longer.

When William saw the
frostkjempe
, he too stared up in awe and disbelief. So the stories were true! The creatures did exist! He marveled at the frost-encrusted giant, amazed that all that ice could be alive. The others welcomed their friend and thanked him for coming to their aid, no one happier to
see him than Astrid.

“Thrym, I could kiss you!” she said.

Grinning, the giant bent down and offered his cheek. Astrid coquettishly kissed it—and instantly her lips froze to the spot. Not realizing she was stuck fast, everyone was made uncomfortable by the lengthy show of emotion.

“She
really
likes the guy,” she heard Drott whisper to Fulnir. Even Dane looked askance at their seeming display of affection.

Finally Astrid managed to free herself with a cry of pain, leaving a piece of skin from her lip still stuck to Thrym's cheek. The giant grimaced in sympathy.

Last spring, when Astrid had first arrived in his lonely ice cave, Thrym had been so taken by her that he'd hoped they could get over their size and temperature differences to become man and wife. Astrid told him that he was a nice giant, but girls who preferred cozy nights by the fire and guys who melted whenever they even drew
near
one were not exactly the ideal match. Thrym had been angered by her rejection—he'd pouted, stamped his feet, punched holes in the walls—but in time he had realized she was right. They could never be mated. Yet he had never stopped loving her, and this, Astrid knew, was what Dane had been counting on when he had sent Klint to find him.

“When I saw the bird,” Thrym told her, “I knew you needed me.” The summons had worked the first time, and so it had once again.

 

It was night and the blizzard had subsided. Thanks to Thrym, making camp had been amazingly easy. They had watched Thrym scoop a large handful of snow from the mountainside and form a cave shelter for them all, marveling that he could do in mere moments what it would take them several hours of labor to accomplish. Then everyone—the people and their horses—had climbed into the snow cave, and Thrym had lain across the top of it, instantly blocking out the freezing winds. Thus shielded, they had felt a cozy feeling come into the cave, the combined heat of everyone's bodies helping to keep them all so warm and toasty that Astrid had said they probably wouldn't even need a fire, and she had been right. Nor would they have made one, out of respect to what it might do to Thrym.

Now Dane sat comfortably atop his furs, glad to have some warmth back in his bones. Ulf was snoring away, and Kára seemed fast asleep beneath her furs, wearied but unhurt by the day's ordeal. Drott was teaching William a game of dice, and from what Dane could tell from Drott's frequently muttered oaths, the boy was beating him handily. With great interest Vik and Rik the Vicious Brothers were watching Jarl comb his hair, and even from across the cave, Dane could easily see the long, glossy strands agleam in the few shafts of moonlight that fell past Thrym's massive body.

Fulnir, he noticed, seemed rather irritable and unable
to sleep, and lay rolling around in his bedroll, vigorously scratching at his arms and legs and even his privates, as if he had been bitten by a load of fleas. But Dane's attention was drawn away as he heard the shifting of an even larger body—Thrym's. Dane saw that the giant had moved so that his face was peering down at them in the cave, the moon visible just over his left shoulder, a look of deep affection on the frost giant's face.

“Now you are safe,” Thrym said in his soothing rumble, his voice sounding to Dane like air blown through a giant flute.

“This is the second time you've saved our lives,” Dane said.

“I can count,” the frost giant said with a growing smile.

Dane had something of a ticklish favor to ask of Thrym, and he looked to Astrid and Lut, who sat beside him, partly hoping that one of
them
would ask it. They had discussed it earlier and agreed that one of them would have to do it. Astrid gave him a “so ask him already” look. Lut just looked down and began to pick at his fingernails. Dane knew that it was up to him, and he tried to come straight to the point.

“Thrym, I have to ask a favor….” Dane saw Thrym's giant brows arch upward in anticipation of his question. “I was wondering if you could, I mean if you had nothing better to do…”

“Yes…?” asked the frost giant, looking as if nothing Dane could say would change his happy mood.

A look from Astrid made Dane get right to it. “I wondered if you could lead us to Utgard.”

Thrym's glacial blue eyes went white. His prodigious brow knitted in anger. Hairline fractures of ice spiderwebbed across his face and neck. “You want
WHAT
?” he roared, his frosted breath blowing into the cozy cave, blasting everyone instantly awake. “No! Never!” He stood and crashed his fist into the mountainside, causing a small avalanche, then stalked away into the night, his footsteps shaking the ground. With Thrym gone and thus exposed to the elements, everyone sat up, pulling their furs around them for warmth and giving Dane annoyed looks. Now they'd never get to sleep.

“Good job, Dane,” said Jarl.

“Yeah, way to sweet-talk him,” said Fulnir.

“You
know
how hesitant he is about returning home,” said Astrid.

“All
right
, I get it,” Dane flared in frustration. “I should have eased my way into it. Bad strategy on my part.” But then they heard the heavy footfalls returning. Dane traded looks with his friends. “Or
not
. Maybe he's thought it over and will agree to—”

Thrym thrust his massive hand into the cave. Dane suddenly felt himself being plucked up and pulled out into the freezing cold wind. For the second time that day Dane was brought face-to-face with the frost giant, and this time Thrym was anything but cordial.

“You
DARE
ask me to take you there? To
Utgard
?” boomed the giant, his breath frosting Dane's face and hair, turning them white. “Have you no heart? No compassion? Have you forgotten I am hated there? That they'll kill me if I ever show my face? Utgard is a death sentence! I save
your
life and you now ask me to risk
mine
?” The giant's icy fingers gripped Dane tighter. “Tell me why I should do this! Tell me!”

Dane was so cold, he could barely think, much less speak. He stared up at the irate frost giant, his teeth chattering, searching for the one answer that wouldn't get him hurt. “Because, uh…because
she
wants you to!” Dane pointed down to where Astrid stood on the ledge just outside the ice cave. Astrid gave Dane a look, as if to say, “Thanks for throwing the problem in
my
lap.”

“Well, Thrym,” she said, cautiously choosing her words, “we all know that with your prodigious strength, you could easily kill Dane with your teensiest little finger, or just rip his head off if you so chose, and I can certainly see why you might like to. Dane can be awfully full of himself at times, fully deserving of such treatment, and there's been many times I've wanted to rip his head off, too.”

Not helping my case, girl,
Dane thought in panic.

“But,” Astrid went on, “that would be too easy, now, wouldn't it, Thrym? Because those of giant-size power crave giant-size challenges, something great and noble and worthy of their stature. Something like, well, the one that awaits you
back in Utgard.” Dane held his breath, waiting to see how the giant would react. To his relief, he saw warmth returning to the giant's eyes as Astrid continued. “For though we all have fears from time to time—terrifying, paralyzing fears—those like you, Thrym, those with true strength of character, are strong enough to face those fears head-on, because they know they are capable of great things if only they try. And that is why we look up to you, Thrym, and revere you, and yes, even love you, now and forever, whether you choose to lead us to Utgard or not….”

Thrym was so affected by her words he began blubbering real tears. Dane watched in awe as they rolled in great rivulets down his cheeks and froze solid right there in his beard, a sight he would not soon forget. They waited for Thrym to regain his composure, and for the longest moment Thrym stared down at Astrid, a smile growing bigger and bigger on his face. The next thing Dane knew, the frost giant had gently set him back on solid ground, and bending down, Thrym brought his face so close to Dane's that their noses practically touched.

“So when do we leave?” Thrym asked.