Thorvald’s Wyrd 114
“With no stomach to face me, the Æsir send a man in their stead. What a pathetic champion to hold the faith of gods.” Icewind waved a negligent hand. A glacial gale smashed into Thorvald, stealing what remained of the heat from his flesh, forcing him to lean farther into his next step.
Through frozen lips and chattering teeth, he spat a laugh. “Ha! Words to betray your fear.” A final lurch brought Thorvald to his towering foe, so close that one quick sword thrust might free the nine worlds. He drew back and stabbed upward with all his strength.