Thorvald’s Wyrd 112
Thorvald jerked the axe over his shoulder barely in time to block the sudden flurry of ice shards hurtling for his face. A blast of cold spilled around the blade, stabbing through his furs as if he stood naked. He sucked in frozen air and felt the battle rage explode in his heart. “Kill me then.” Thorvald stepped forward, axe held high for protection. “For if I come much closer, you die.”
More shards speared across the room with cold enough to chill the even Trickster’s heart, then came a blow so heavy it spun the axe from his hands.