Mist closed her eyes and spun, swinging the sword with her body, feeling the Runes dance in the air like snowflakes caught in a whirlwind. Runes of protection. Runes of strength. Uruz the Ox danced on the edge of Kettlingr’s silver blade, thrashing the air with his horns. Kenaz the Beacon burning behind her eyes, aflame with the power of transformation. Hagalaz, Hail, the uncontrolled forces of nature, lifting her hair with the crackle of electricity and bathing her skin in cool moisture.
Hrimgrimir came at her from the front, the other Jotunn from the back. Uruz bellowed and, cloaked in the whirlwind, impaled Hrimgrimir’s arm on one deadly horn.
The Jotunn yelled and retreated. The giant behind Mist bounced off the wall of water her spinning had formed around her.
Mist snatched a very brief moment to look for Dainn. He was halfway across the gym facing the third Jotunn, who was buffeting him with sprays of ice needles. As she watched, Dainn staggered back, one arm raised to protect his face.
He wasn’t defending himself. Only his elven nimbleness had kept him out of the Jotunn’s reach so far, but the giant was obviously wearing him down. He would let himself be killed rather than use his own magic.
As if he’d heard her soundless shout of fear, he leaped back and began to sing. Vast roots burst through the floor, nearly transparent at first, becoming more and more solid as shoots sprang up and wove themselves into a dense and impenetrable shield. Dainn lifted his arm, and the shield broke off and flew into his hand. The roots vanished.
That was the last Mist saw of Dainn or the shield. She had lost both her concentration and her momentum, leaving her vulnerable to attack. Hrimgrimir slammed into her, knocking her off her feet. She managed to take a swing at the second Jotunn before he could pile on. The blow connected, snapping bone.
Using his good arm, Hrimgrimir yanked Kettlingr from her hand and wrapped his sausage- sized fingers around her neck, freezing her skin from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes. His companion screamed in rage. Mist turned her head in the direction she’d last seen Dainn, struggling to break through the darkness clouding her vision.
Dainn was also on the ground, pushing against the Jotunn on top of him with the oak-root shield. The giant grabbed his hair and slammed his head against the matting. He lay there, his chest heaving, as the Jotunn lifted his fist.
Dainn’s shield unraveled, the shoots separating and reaching toward the giant, sinuous as serpents. One caught his raised fist and wrapped around it. The other shot toward his mouth and darted inside. The Jotunn’s face went red as he began to choke. He fell back, struggling with his free hand to dislodge the shoot in his throat.
Rolling out from under him, Dainn scrambled to his feet and ran toward Mist. The giant Mist had injured swung to face him, all teeth and muscle. Dainn looked like a stoat facing down an elephant.
But he didn’t fight. He dodged around the Jotunn and hurled himself at Hrimgrimir’s back, locking his arm around the giant’s neck. Hrimgrimir lost his grip on Mist and reared to fling Dainn off, while his crony kicked the elf repeatedly in the back with his heavy boot.
Her vision clearing, Mist pushed against Hrimgrimir’s chest and punched him in the jaw as soon as she had enough room to move. It was like hitting one of the faces on Mount Rushmore. Hrimgrimir bellowed and flung Dainn off. Mist squirmed out from under him and got to her knees, sucking in as much air as her lungs could hold, her fist a lump of pain. Desperately she scanned the floor for Kettlingr’s familiar shape.
The biker Jotunn had Dainn pinned to the ground with his good arm as Hrimgrimir rose to his feet. The gangster giant Dainn had attacked with the roots had finally escaped them, leaving blackened, twisted ropes of withered vegetation in his wake as he thundered across the gym to join his comrades. He stopped next to Hrimgrimir.
“Let me have him, boss,” the gangster said, rubbing his throat.
“Here!” Mist shouted. “Are you blind? I’m over here! Or would you rather beat up on a half- dead elf than face me again?”
Hrimgrimir bared his teeth at her. “There’s no rush. Whatever you did, you’ve lost it. Freya isn’t here. You’re just as helpless as the dirt-sniffer.” He glanced at the biker, who was holding his injured arm against his chest. “Dofr, you go find the kid. I promise I’ll let you have a turn at the bitch, as long as you don’t kill her.”
Dofr was about to protest when the gym door opened a few inches and Ryan’s head popped through the gap.
“Ryan!” Mist shouted. “Go back! Run!”
The young man’s face went pale, but he didn’t follow her orders. He stepped into the room, still barefoot and completely defenseless.
Mist knew it was her fault. She should have found a way to make Dainn leave with the kids. Now it was too damned late. She couldn’t protect Ryan and save Dainn at the same time, if she could manage either one.
Through a gap between the giants’ legs, Mist could see Dainn’s head on the matting, battered and bloody. He turned his face toward her, unbearable sadness in his eyes.
“Dainn!” she shouted. “Let it go!”
Dainn had nothing left. Nothing to save Ryan, nothing to help Mist. Nothing but the one thing he knew could destroy every living creature in the room. It was so strong now, slavering with hunger, eager to obey Mist’s reckless command.
But
“Dainn!” Mist cried. “Do it!”
“Dofr!” Hrimgrimir snapped, ignoring Mist completely. “That’s the kid. Go get him.”
Dainn managed to lift his head. The Jotunn in biker’s leathers headed for the door while Ryan, fragile as a porcelain statue, only stared.
Dainn let his head fall back and closed his eyes. There was one chance, and little hope he would succeed. More likely the beast would break loose completely, casting him aside like a half- eaten carcass and consuming his body as well as his mind.
But it was the
The spark in her eyes told him she had heard, or at least enough to figure out what he wanted. She jumped up and broke into a wild, giddy dance, leaping and whirling and throwing every conceivable rude gesture at the Jotunar.
“Nyah, nyah,” she jeered like a child on a playground. “Whasamatter, ya big apes? Still scared of li’l old me?”
Hrimgrimir and his companion turned to stare. “You must’ve hit her too hard,” the silk- shirted Jotunn said.
“Shut her up for me, Bakrauf,” Hrimgrimir said. “She’s getting on my nerves.”
Bakrauf lowered his head between his shoulders and stalked toward Mist, his right hand frosting over with a gauntlet of ice.
The Jotunar’s brief moment of inattention was all Dainn needed. He opened the cage door and caught at the beast as it emerged, burying his hands in its thick mane, drawing its savage strength into himself as it struggled and clawed and bit.
When he moved, the giants seemed like insects caught in amber, trapped forever in one instant of time. Dainn raced toward Mist’s sword rack and snatched at the first weapon he could reach, a heavy Viking spatha. He wrapped his fingers around the grip and charged Hrimgrimir and his companion, who had barely begun to notice his absence.
He swung, feinting high and then swinging low to cut at Hrimgrimir’s legs. The Jotunn, his arm still bleeding
