Glámr awoke her with a touch. Skadi rolled smoothly up to sitting, Natthrafn in hand, and only then did she awaken, blinking at the half-troll in the pre-dawn gloom.

“The time has come,” he whispered.

She nodded mutely and pulled on her boots. Fastened her seax to her belt, checked that Seimur was in her pouch, then rose and stretched, reaching for the ceiling first with one hand then the other. Relaxed with a sigh, then followed Glámr out into the cold.

He held the barrel in both arms. The mountains were black walls on both sides. No sound came from the silent houses around them. The wavelets of the fjord lapped against the dock just below.

“If they’re asleep?” she asked.

“Then we wait for them to awaken.”

“You said trolls aren’t fond of your kind.”

“They’re not. But we come bearing gifts. And if they go for me, I shall simply drop the barrel and run.”

They climbed the street toward the great hall. How many dawns had she followed this exact route, Damian yawning by her side, her stomach growling, her spirit dreading the seven runs up to the Thor Stone?

It felt like walking through a dream.

They reached the space before the great hall. Gone were the warriors who watched the doorway, gone were the doors. They had been torn out and hurled across the street, shattered into great, carved planks, their artistry and beauty forever ruined.

Nobody stood guard. What had Kagssok to fear in a village of women and children?

Skadi cautiously padded up the broad steps to the ruined entryway, and peered into the great hall proper.

All was lit by a blue flame that raged silently in the central fire pits that ran the length of the hall. Icy blue and frigid green leaped and danced over darkened coals, and caused the interior of the hall to appear a place out of legend, a fairy-tale castle, a submerged grotto, a hidden longhall in the heart of a glacier. The trestle tables were knocked about, some tipped over, and everywhere were splashes of black liquid, pieces of human bodies, whether they were gnawed upon arms, severed heads, or discarded bones.

The great hall had become an abattoir.

Trolls had sunken into their dormant crouches, so that it looked as if boulders had been rolled in through the great entrance. Five, she counted, and felt her heart sink. They alone were a terrible enemy.

But her gaze was drawn to the massive figure that sat at the longhouse’s far end, Kvedulf’s throne knocked away so that the frost giant’s head raked the rafters. Kagssok filled the far end of the great hall completely, a wall of powerfully muscled blue flesh, broad as a house, his huge sloping shoulders touching either side of the hall, his head bowed, the long mammoth tusks that flanked his cheeks and curled before him extending out over his lap and just over the closest blue flames.

His expression was contemplative, his hands resting one inside the other on his lap. By his side lay Crag Crusher, its vast head glimmering like treasure lost in the depths of a mountain lake.

The flames reflected in the frost giant’s great, slanted black eyes. His mouth was curved into a natural frown, the many silver and golden rings of his braided beard glinting as if caught in fires of their own.

Abruptly his gaze rose and locked onto Skadi where she hesitated just outside the doorway.

No expression, no change of posture, but she suddenly felt the weight of his full regard, and it was as if his hand pressed down on her shoulders, his presence awful, mighty, bleak, demanding.

By some unspoken signal, the closest troll roused itself, uncurled, and stood, blinking black eyes as it turned to stare at her and Glámr. Its expression curdled at the sight of the half-troll and it took a threatening step forward.

“Mighty Kagssok,” shouted Skadi, stepping forward. “We come bearing tribute for you. Kráka is yours, and soon Kvedulf with be Queen Grýla’s. The Draugr Coast will be as it should. To recognize the rightfulness of these new events, we bring you golden fire in a barrel to drink, what the men of Unigedd call chwisgi. It is only a barrel, but the flavor is like liquid glory. We hope that you will accept this gift, and show us women and children mercy in the days to come.”

Kagssok studied her, impassive, impossibly huge, big as one of the whales that haunted the ocean depths.

The troll, uncertain, glanced back at the frost jotunn to see what it should do.

“I have tasted chwisgi,” rumbled Kagssok, the sound of its voice so profound and deep that it felt as if the very bones of the world shifted and rubbed against each other in the depths. “Many years ago.”

Skadi, emboldened, took the barrel from Glámr and stepped into the hall. The air stank of coppery blood and offal, of loam and must, the mineral tang of mountain streams and the soothing air of forests at dawn. The normal scents of the great hall were completely gone.

“A barrel, then, for you to toast your victory.” Skadi marveled at how her voice did not shake. “I know it is small for such a great giant as yourself, but it is all we have.”

The jotunn watched her approach without expression. It was only the fact that she was even allowed to walk forward that implied his interest. The barrel sloshed in her arms, the smell of the chwisgi wafting up from the seal they had broken in the völva’s temple.

When she had drawn as close as she dared, she set the barrel down.

The jotunn’s voice caused the whole longhouse to vibrate. “Who are you?”

“Skadi Styrbjörnsdóttir,” she said clearly. “Niece to Jarl Kvedulf, and thus the representative of everybody left in Kráka. I gift you this chwisgi in their name, in the hopes of merciful treatment.”

“The winter knows not mercy,” said the jotunn, and Skadi swore she could hear sorrow in his great voice.

He reached forth with his huge hand. It was large enough that he could have wrapped his fingers around Skadi from ankle to head and crushed her whole as Aurnir had that sailor’s leg. Each finger was as large as a bench, the back of the joints deeply whorled, and tipped with an iron nail like the head of a shovel. With great delicacy, he picked up the barrel between thumb and forefinger and raised it to his flattened nose.

Would he smell the hemlock, the other poisons?

Would his desire for the chwisgi overwhelm his caution?

Skadi waited, heart in her mouth, as he sniffed sharply at the barrel.

Kagssok blinked, then sighed. “Yes. I remember the smell well. Thank you, Skadi Styrbjörnsdóttir. I accept this offering.”

And peeled back his upper lip to reveal his massive white teeth, the canines of which were as big as her hand, and wickedly pointed. With one he pricked open the top of the barrel, then daintily poured the contents into his mouth, the mammoth tusks rearing up in the blue firelight.

Skadi took a step back.

Kagssok smacked his dark lips, pinched the barrel into fragments, and tossed them aside.

And turned his ponderous gaze upon her once more, as if questioning why she remained in his presence.

Crag Crusher lay right by his side. There was no way to reach it without crossing before him.

The other trolls had roused themselves from their stupor. Five in all behind her. Kagssok before.

Skadi bowed low, stepped backward, then strode from the hall and out into the dawn.

Glámr materialized from the shadows as she rounded the longhouse’s corner. “He drank it?”

“To the last drop. Nor did he react to the poison. Perhaps it was too weak, or too little for him?”

“He is a big man. It might take time to work its effect. But what do we do now? We cannot wait out here for him to begin roaring in pain.”

Skadi glanced around. “We go up. Come!”

She raced halfway down the length of the longhouse, past the muddy yard where she’d been hurled about by Tiarvi a lifetime ago, only to hear an all-too-human hiss meant to draw her attention.

Skadi dropped into a crouch, alarmed, but Glámr pointed into the pig pen where a pale face stared back at her.

Yri.

Who emerged from the shadows to lope across the yard and join them both under the eaves of the longhouse.

“What are you doing?” whispered the other girl. She had a bow over one shoulder, a half-dozen hatchets at her belt, and a quiver on the other hip.

Skadi grinned. “We just poisoned the jotunn. Now we aim to climb the longhouse and enter by means of the chimney hole to wreak what revenge we can.”

Yri’s eyes widened. “Poisoned? You’re madder than I thought. I love it. I’ll climb with you.”

Skadi extended her arm and clasped Yri’s in a warrior’s grip, fingers wrapping around her forearm. “We’re glad to have you.”

Glámr hoisted both of them up to the low-hanging roof, where they carefully climbed the frigid wooden slats up to the great humpbacked spine. There a raised square was held aloft over a large hole by four small pillars. Most days and nights smoke vented through here, but now it was cold and dark.

“Wait for my signal,” whispered Skadi, and reached out to touch the green leaf that hung suspended amongst her seven threads. The moment she did so it faded away along with a thread, and she felt herself suddenly encased with its soothing energy.

Silent as a mouse she ducked under the awning and peered into the huge hall below.

Kagssok sat as immobile as a vast idol, gazing blankly out over the great blue flames. The trolls had curled themselves back into sleep.

With great care, Skadi lowered herself onto a rafter. So massive was the giant that its head was only a few yards below, but a good seven yards away in the center of the hall.

Skadi dared not even breathe as she crouched in the darkness and slipped her hand into her pouch.

She closed her fist tightly about Seimur’s liquid coils so that not a glimmer of gold might escape, and drew it forth.

Sharpened her vision, and saw the dozen heavy ropes burning their way out of the giant’s huge chest, slowly spinning and gyring about the hall.

Waited, breath shallow, and watched.

It had to work. It had to.

Then Kagssok’s frown deepened. He shifted his weight where he sat and became immobile once more. Only to narrow his eyes, duck his chin, then let loose a reverberating burp whose foul odor she could almost see.

Again he shifted his weight, then leaned forward to place a palm as large as a cart upon the floor and bow his head to burp again.

Skadi saw three of his golden threads vanish, one by one.

The moment had arrived. Looking down, she navigated to be directly above Crag Crusher, and with a swift prayer to Freyja let Seimur slip from her fingers and fall upon the hammer.

The golden chain fell like a teardrop, directly upon the hammer.

But at the last moment, Kagssok turned to grasp its hilt, and the chain fell upon his hand and slid off to pool upon the floor.

Another of the jotunn’s threads disappeared.

Had he noticed?

The frost giant turned with difficulty to stare at the chain where it lay upon the great boards of the hall, then raised his gaze to stare right at where Skadi crouched.

He burped with riotous force, his head reeling back, then wiped his other massive hand across his lips.

“Skadi Styrbjörnsdóttir,” he rumbled, voice edged with anger now, with growing fury. “What have you done?”