Prologue
"The king may sing in his bitter flight,
The pine may croon to the vine tonight,
But the little snowflake at my breast
Liketh the song I sing the best —
'Sleep, little one, sleep;
Weary thou art, anext my heart;
Sleep, little one, sleep."
An excerpt from "Norse Lullaby" by Eugene Field
It was time for the Valkyries to fly.
The mighty goddess Freya tore through the forests of Valhalla on the back of her golden steed. Her red mane of curls streamed behind her in the wind, the moonlight mixing silver with scarlet.
"Valkyries!" she called as she rode. "My daughters, arise!"
As a ship stirs the water in its wake, Freya's cries awakened waves of activity.
"The Allfather calls you into battle! Save our Asgardian warriors from the evil of Jötunnheim!"
Jötunheim. The word spread through Valhalla almost as quickly as the goddess rode. Odin had been fighting valiantly in that barren land of ice and snow for many weeks to drive the Frost Giants of Jötunheim back from Midgard. If the Casket of Ancient Winters, the source of all Jötun power, could be obtained, the battle would be over at last.
The fighting had been bloody and brutal. Though the Jötuns had been dealt heavy losses, Asgard, too, was suffering. For days, the Valkyries had expected to be called into the fight, but Odin had wanted to wait for a decisive moment to tip the battle into Asgardian favor, a moment at which Odin's chosen maiden warriors might enter the fray and secure the victory.
Tonight, the fate of three great realms of the universe rested on golden wings.
Tonight, even the smallest Valkyrie would be needed to tame the kings of the ice and snow.