The Jotunn were no doubt used to fighting in conditions like these. They might be only a few yards away, and we’d just stumble into their midst. All we could do was push blindly on and hope the blizzard would blow over before we came near any Frost Giants.
The blizzard raged for hours, and everyone was cursing and complaining in a continuous stream by the end of it—even Drok and Friya, who were accustomed to the Wastes and its frost. And then, just as the wind died down and visibility was opening up, I saw my first Frost Giant.
He was huge, at least 25 feet tall, and he must have weighed almost two tons. Except for his blue skin, he could have been mistaken for an oversized northern barbarian. His armor consisted of a few steel plates around the shoulders, furry bearskin patches here and there, fur boots, a fur loincloth, and a conical helm of steel, with huge horns topping it off. It seemed to provide sparse cover, not only for battle but also for the cold. As for his weapon, he carried a battle-axe so huge, it could have lopped Fang’s head off with one blow.
He also happened to be dead. His face had been caved in from what looked like an exceptionally mighty blow, perhaps from another Jotunn’s club. As we rolled past this huge corpse, I started to sense it: the presence of Death. It was extremely potent and concentrated. As the wind and snow continued to give way to calm, clear air, we saw more dead Jotunn strewn across the ground.
These corpses were obviously from a battle, but it looked like a battle among themselves. Jotunn warriors lay in heaps all over the snow-thick field. It looked as if they had banded together here to make last stands, obviously overwhelmed by a superior force.
“A Jotunn battle,” Rollar said as he rode up next to me on his direbear. “I never thought I’d see the aftermath of one. From what I know of the Jotunn, battles as large as this one are very rare. They fight and kill one another often enough, yes, but those are usually drunken brawls, or feuds between small bands of them. This… I do not know what could have happened here. Perhaps your uncle and the Blood God are involved somehow.”
“I was thinking the same thing.”
“Indeed,” Rollar said. “Everywhere your uncle has been, he has left a trail of death and destruction in his wake. This seems no different.”
Friya rode up next to us. “I do not think that this was Rodrick or his followers’ doing. Your uncle surely would have known that he and his people would not be well-received by the Jotunn. He would have tried to limit contact with them. And if he had fought them, they would have died in different ways. These Jotunn have been killed by other Jotunn, not by magic. Nothing your uncle or the Blood God could have offered could have convinced them to do this to each other, at least nothing I can think of. Look at their armor; there are two different colors. This was no spur-of-the-moment fight. This was a planned battle between two separate Jotunn armies.”
Friya was right. Some of them had daubs of yellow paint smeared across their helms and the steel sections of their armor.
“I could try touching one of them,” I said. “I’d know exactly what happened when they died.”
“Don’t!” Isu yelled, her tone suddenly commanding.
I looked to her, expecting an explanation.
“The Jotunn aren’t human. You’ll find entering their memories rather traumatic. You mind may break, or you may be very exhausted for many days.”
“Either way, we can’t risk that,” I agreed.
I gritted my teeth and stared at the corpses. Something stirred in the snowfall ahead. A huge form materialized like some vast tree out of the murky expanse. A living Jotunn, standing upright with his back turned to us, gripping a mighty axe. How had this fierce loner survived whatever had killed the hundreds lying dead on the field?
“Get ready!” I called out to my fighters. “If he tries anything, we’ll make sure he regrets having survived the battle!”
I brandished my kusarigama and approached the Jotunn, who seemed to be simply standing there. It might well be a diversion. I began to draw upon the power of my skeletons, sucking their strength and energy into the weapon’s chain. If this tree-sized asshole tried anything, I’d hit him with a blow that would rip his massive head off his brawny shoulders.
It was one thing to see a dead Frost Giant lying on the ground, but it was another thing altogether to see one up close, standing on his two legs and towering over you as if you were nothing but a newborn infant looking up at a bear. I had approached within a few yards of this colossus, who still did not turn around or react, and I finally called a halt to our column. It would have been easy enough to have simply walked around the Frost Giant, but I was burning with curiosity.
“You, Jotunn!” I roared. “Do you speak the common tongue?”
He turned around slowly, and his huge, bearded face with craggy features displayed a look of deep despair.
“I do, human,” the Jotunn rumbled. There was no hint of threat or intimidation in his voice.
“I am
