Volstagg had never been this cold in his entire life. Or hungry. It wasn’t natural for one not to feel one’s nose or lips or hands or even eyeballs. And it certainly wasn’t natural for him to hear his stomach grumbling over the sound of the wind howling. No, it was entirely wrong. As was this godforsaken journey to Jotunheim that he and his fellow warriors had been talked into by Thor Odinson.

Usually, Volstagg would be up for any adventure. His giant size was matched only by his equally large appetite for food—and excitement. And he had been at Thor’s side on many a journey. It was his rightful place as a member of the Warriors Three. He, Fandral the Dashing (who, in Volstagg’s opinion, was a bit too attached to mirrors and his own reflection), and Hogun the Grim (who was certainly grim, you couldn’t argue with that) were famous throughout the Nine Realms. Poems had been written about the mighty band of adventurers in Nornheim. Songs had been sung of their trips to Midgard, and tales had been told of their many conquests—of both lands outside the realm and women. And they were all true—well, most of them. At least the ones that other people told. Volstagg himself believed that a bit of embellishment could go a long way.

But, unfortunately, he was not embellishing now. It was cold. And he did not want to be in Jotunheim.

Lifting his head slightly, Volstagg felt the sting of ice against his cheeks. He did his best to glare at Thor, who walked ahead of him, seemingly unaffected by the temperature. Volstagg tried to raise an eyebrow but his eyebrows were frozen, so he fumed instead. They shouldn’t be here. Odin All-Father had expressly forbidden his son from traveling to Jotunheim. But Thor did not take kindly to orders. And he certainly didn’t take kindly to having his home invaded. Which the Jotuns had done—on the very day Thor was to become the new king of Asgard.

Jotunheim had slowly decayed until it was now nothing but a world of melting and cracking ice populated by angry and bitter Frost Giants. Still, their king was strong, and Asgard could not chance starting a war with them. That was why Odin had forbidden Thor from trying to take revenge, even if he didn’t like it that his realm had been invaded. They couldn’t risk a war.

Thor had raged, furious about being kept on a tight leash. If the day had gone according to plan, he would have been made king. And as king, he would have been the one making decisions.

Volstagg could have predicted what happened next: Thor had turned on the charm to get the Warriors Three to help him.

“My friends,” he had said to the Warriors Three, Lady Sif, and Loki when the group had gathered in one of the great banquet halls, “have you forgotten all that we’ve done together?”

Thor turned to Hogun, undaunted by his grim ex­pression and crossed arms. Thor was used to seeing the silent man with a scowl on his handsome face. While others quaked at the sight of the warrior who always had his large spiked mace by his side, Thor was never daunted—even on the occasions when he should be. Such as now. Still, he went on: “Who led you into the most glorious of battles?” he asked Hogun, who gave a measured nod in response.

Thor approached Fandral, who was relishing his own reflection. “And who led you on adventures so dangerous that female admirers and adoring fans continue to follow you around to this day?”

Fandral flashed his winning smile. “It was you, my Prince,” Fandral said, proud of his exploits.

Then Thor walked over and put an arm around Volstagg. He had to reach up, as Volstagg was one of the few Asgardians taller than Thor. With his other hand, Thor patted Volstagg’s large belly. “And who led you to delicacies so succulent you thought you’d died and gone to Valhalla?”

“You did,” Volstagg said, his stomach growling.

Thor smiled smugly. Finally he turned to Lady Sif. She was, as always, wearing a long sword across her back, and he knew all too well that there were more weapons hidden in her armor. While she was one of the most beautiful women in all the realms, her beauty was matched by her expert sword skills. No one dared mess with her. No one except Thor. “And who proved wrong all who scoffed at the idea that a young maiden could be one of the fiercest warriors this realm has ever known?” he asked.

She raised one perfectly arched eyebrow, and the corner of her mouth lifted up in the barest hint of a smile. “I did,” she said simply.

The others let out a nervous laugh as Thor nodded. “True,” he admitted. “But I supported you.” Then he turned back to the rest of the group. “My friends, trust me now. We must do this.”

And so they did.

A piece of ice hit Volstagg in the cheek, bringing him abruptly back to the situation at hand. Once more, he cursed the Frost Giants for ever making this trip necessary.

Beside him, Fandral looked equally upset by the situation. The charming warrior hated to be anywhere he needed to cover his face. And he really did not like being far from women and a nice flagon of ale. Hogun walked a bit ahead. Volstagg couldn’t tell how he was feeling, since the man looked as grim as he did on the sunniest of days on Asgard.

Thor was still irritatingly cheerful. “It feels good, doesn’t it?” he shouted over his shoulder. “To be together again, adventuring on another world.”

“Is that what we’re doing?” Fandral called back.

“What would you call it?” Thor asked, sounding honestly perplexed.

“Freezing,” Fandral replied.

“Starving,” Volstagg couldn’t help but add.

Silence fell over the group as they continued to trek across the frozen wasteland. How could anything dangerous come from this realm? Volstagg wondered as he walked. It seemed completely abandoned. Occasionally they would pass what might have been a house or small village. But the buildings had long since fallen into disrepair, and only the faintest skeleton of a frame could sometimes be seen through the ice. Volstagg felt an involuntary shiver that had nothing to do with the cold. This realm had once been one of the mightiest and most feared of Asgard’s enemies. But now it seemed pitiful. Had Odin really caused such devastation? The Casket of Eternal Winters seemed a heavy price to pay, looking at the realm now. Perhaps the Frost Giants were right to want it back.

Volstagg shook off these thoughts. It was not his place to wonder. He was here to help Thor confront Laufey. And it looked as if that was about to happen. They had arrived at the central plaza of Jotunheim.

As soon as they walked into the plaza, the wind died down and the ice stopped pelting their faces. Cautiously, they took off the hoods that had been offering them a bit of protection and raised their eyes to scan their surroundings. Each warrior kept a steady hand near his weapon in case of ambush.

But they seemed to be alone. The only noise came from the walls that creaked and melted around them and also from Volstagg’s labored breathing. Fandral shot him a look. “Could you keep it down?” he said. “Or would you like them to know exactly where to throw their ice spears?”

“They would just need to see your shiny hair to know where to aim,” Volstagg replied. “How much time did you spend brushing back those lovely locks of yours this morning? Ten minutes? An hour?”

“Hush,” Lady Sif hissed. “Both of you. I don’t think we’re alone anymore.”

And she was right. Volstagg felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise as, out of the shadows and from behind the crumbling columns, Frost Giants appeared. Their blue skin looked as cold as the rest of the planet, and they were very, very big. Even Volstagg looked small next to them. As they stepped into the light, he noticed that each giant had a different build. One of them had a large, wide, domed forehead while another had one arm that hung longer than the other and tapered into a very narrow hand.

“What is your business here?” one of the giants hissed.

Thor took a step forward, and in a choreographed move, the giants took a step forward as well, tightening the circle around the Asgardians. “I speak only to your king,” Thor said, his strong voice bouncing off the walls.

“Then speak,” another voice replied from the shadows of a balcony above them.

Volstagg narrowed his eyes as he tried to make out the speaker. He caught a glimpse of a long, lean giant slowly making his way to the foreground. There was a slight stoop to his shoulders, which indicated that he might be old, but his voice was still full of pride. This must be the Frost Giant king.

As if in confirmation of Volstagg’s thoughts, the giant stepped forward out of the shadows. “I am Laufey,” he said, “the king of this realm.” His voice crackled as he spoke, like the ice that melted and broke apart all around him.

Volstagg had heard many tales of the famed king of the Frost Giants, mostly from Thor and Loki, who had heard Odin’s stories growing up. He knew the king had no fear of battle. His fierce fighting style was second only to Odin’s, and over the years, he’d lost many Jotuns to battles among the various realms. Seeing the king now, Volstagg could believe the stories. Despite the state of his realm, Laufey looked noble and far too proud to reveal the giants had suffered at all.

“I demand answers!” Thor called up to the king, obviously unconcerned with the giant’s reputation. “How did your people get into Asgard?”

“The house of Odin is full of traitors,” Laufey said cryptically.

Turning, Volstagg exchanged a confused glance with Fandral and Hogun. Traitors? What was Laufey talking about? Asgard had no traitors.

Thor apparently agreed. His grip on his hammer tightened and he took another step forward. “Do not dishonor my father’s name with your lies!” he cried.

“Why have you come here?” Laufey asked rhetor­ically. “To make peace? No. You long for battle.” From the look on the king’s face, Volstagg guessed that the giant would be happy to oblige.

As if on cue, a few more Frost Giants stepped into view. This was not good.

Lady Sif seemed to feel the same way. She shot Loki a look, hoping Thor’s younger brother would take the hint. He needed to say something—now.

Loki, who had been rather silent up until this point, nodded. He walked over and put a warning hand on his brother’s arm. “Stop and think,” he said, trying to reason with his hotheaded brother. “We are out­numbered.”

Thor dragged his gaze, which had been fixed on Laufey, away from the balcony. Shaking off his brother’s arm, he looked around. For the first time, he seemed to notice the Frost Giants. Perhaps his brother was right. Perhaps it would be wiser to leave now. Still . . . he had come here for a fight. Looking over, he eyed the Warriors Three and Lady Sif. They were all shaking their heads, and he could easily read their looks—they wanted to leave, too.

With one last glance at Laufey, Thor sighed and turned to go. Behind him, Volstagg said, “Thank Yggdrasil.” Then Fandral laughed softly. Perhaps this is what Thor’s father had meant about being wise and patient, Volstagg thought. True, they had not taken revenge, but they hadn’t caused irreconcilable damage either.

And then one of the Frost Giants spoke.

“Run back home, little princess,” it said.

A few more minutes, Volstagg thought. Why couldn’t that giant have waited just a few more minutes to say something?

Volstagg saw Thor lift his mighty hammer. Slowly, and with a heavy sigh, Volstagg drew his axe, Hogun clutched his mace, and Lady Sif pulled out her double-bladed sword. Reluctantly, Fandral reached for his sword and held it in front of him. Volstagg had to stifle a laugh as he caught his friend checking out his reflection in the blade’s smooth metal. The Asgardians then formed a circle around Thor. Above all else, they would protect the prince.

It seemed the Jotuns were intent on protecting their own as well. They reached down and touched the puddles of chilled water at their feet. Instantly, the water traveled up their limbs and onto their bodies, freezing into weapons of various kinds. Volstagg saw the giant he had noticed earlier with the narrow hand. The ice froze over his lean limb, creating a sharp spear. The giant with the round head now had a mallet-shaped one, which he could ram into objects—or Asgard warriors. Another stepped in front of Fandral and created a sword and spiked armor out of the water. The ice glinted and sparkled dangerously.

“I’m hoping that’s just decorative,” Fandral said.

But it wasn’t. The battle was on.

The sound of clashing metal and ice filled the plaza as Frost Giants and Asgardians faced off. Volstagg sighed as the mallet-headed giant raced at him. As Volstagg stepped to the side at the last moment, his aggressor ran right by him and crashed into a wall. The palace shook with the blow. “Maybe next time,” Volstagg said merrily, before turning to another approaching giant. Beside him, Fandral ducked and weaved, his sword swishing through the air as he confidently dispatched giant after giant. Despite the overwhelming odds, he seemed to be having a good time.

Even Hogun looked pleased. Or, rather, at least a little less grim. Out of the corner of his eye, Volstagg watched Hogun face off against one of the giants. Hogun was clearly winning when the giant suddenly managed to back him up against one of the walls. He pulled his sword arm back, ready to strike. Hogun raised his mace high over his head, embedding it in the wall above. As the giant plunged forward, Hogun swung up and over him. Then, in midair, he pulled the mace out of the wall and landed behind the giant. With one swift move, he knocked the Jotun, now unconscious, aside.

But the Jotuns kept coming. Volstagg knew the giants needed to be stopped soon. The longer the battle continued, the worse the odds. The treacherous Frost Giants outnumbered them. To overtake them, the Asgardians would have to do something bold, something daring, something only the Warriors Three were capable of.

Fandral seemed to be on the same page as Volstagg, as he yelled out, “What move do you think?”

Volstagg stepped out of the way of an approaching Jotun and then used his giant belly to knock him over. “I say we use the Norn’s Revenge,” he shouted back.

“At this close range?” Fandral replied, swiping the frozen arm off one of the giants. “I think the Alfheim Lunge is a better move.”

Volstagg paused. The Alfheim Lunge. It could work . . . perhaps. But it was rather embarrassing. And they had done it only that one time. Just as his mind started to drift back to that day, a blast of cold air startled Volstagg into the present.

The Alfheim Lunge, as the Warriors Three had dubbed it upon their arrival back in Asgard, was indeed a useful trick. But they were in the middle of a heated battle. It did not seem the time. Volstagg was just about to ask Fandral for another idea when Hogun rushed past him.

“Shut up!” he ordered. “And fight!”

Volstagg took an involuntary step back and had to duck as a Frost Giant swung a large block of ice at him. Hogun never spoke in battle. It was one of his rules. So if he was breaking it now, they were in far more danger than Volstagg had thought. Swinging around with his sword in hand, Volstagg sent the giant flying into a deep crevasse. Then he turned and held his weapon at the ready.

Across the way, Fandral continued to dodge and weave as he took out more Jotuns. Right outside the plaza, Lady Sif was holding her own, her shield raised and her sword swishing back and forth so fast it was almost impossible to see. Glancing behind him, Volstagg saw that Thor was busy defending himself as well. A circle of giants had formed around him as though he were in an arena and they were each waiting their turn to fight him. His hammer swung wildly, crackling with light and energy.

So far, the tide was on their side. But that could change any minute. The giants kept coming, and the Asgardians had no backup. It was going to be a difficult fight.

Turning back to the Jotuns in front of him, Volstagg let out a mighty roar and charged into the fray. No, now was not the time for the Alfheim Lunge. That was a move to use another time, in another battle.

Today, they just had to survive. eQOf8HDpINFQ2x7uH0aK5zmqFDcoyvV8oToGPmgV6vl4Oe6Ah5v9KnkN7/41MtVb