Sword of Doom by James Jennewein

your destiny should be.”
    Dane thought for a moment. “Could the answer lie in the chest, Lut? The secret that will change my life?”
    â€œA distinct possibility, son. A distinct possibility.”
    Â 
    The party climbed ever higher up the mountain, the vegetation growing sparse and the footing treacherous as the path led them across the blue ice of a glacier. Deep crevassesin the ice could be hidden by thin snow bridges, so two of Godrek’s men went ahead on foot to probe the ice with pikes and spears to be sure it was solid. Godrek ordered all to stay in single file and not stray from the path, for if anyone were to stumble into a chasm, death was certain.
    The riders guided their mounts with care up the icy path to where the glacier reached its highest point between two mountain peaks. They crested the ridge and made their way down the gently sloping path. Dane spied a fortress far in the distance at the glacier’s southernmost edge. He had never seen such an impressive structure. The timbered walls encircling the city stood at least five times the height of a man. He glimpsed, within the walls, more huts and a high-roofed lodge of wood and stone that surely was the lair of the king.
    â€œBehold Skrellborg,” Godrek announced with pride. “King Eldred’s abode.”
    Dane exchanged looks of awe with Drott and Fulnir. The fortress was far grander than they had ever imagined. Dane envisioned himself passing triumphantly between its massive front gates, sitting before the king’s roaring fire, a cup of hot mead in his hand, and servants attending his every need as he regaled the king with stories of his exploits. He could hardly wait.
    â€œIt’ll be nightfall before we make it down,” Dane heard Drott say. And looking over, he saw Drott was thinking the same thing that he was thinking: Let’s get there already! Drott raised his eyebrows and said, “There is a faster way.”
    Drott eagerly jumped off his horse and sank to his knees on the downward-sloping ice.
    â€œDon’t be a muckhead,” Fulnir said, realizing what he was about to do. But Drott wasn’t listening. “Last one down’s a moldy maggot pie!” he shouted as he launched himself face-first down the icy slope, gleefully screaming at the top of his lungs.
    Not to be outdone, Dane leaped from his saddle, and soon he too was shooting down the ice slope, deaf to his mother’s cries of alarm. What a thrill to be going so fast, the exhilaration of wind whipping his hair, making him feel free and unfettered. The slope abruptly dropped away, he went airborne—and in a sickening moment of clarity he realized this perhaps had not been such a wise idea. Flying in midair, he saw dark, jagged shapes fast approaching. Rocks. Huge slabs of granite jutting up out of the ice. In one panicked moment, he cursed himself for forgetting that his friend was named Drott the Dim for a very good reason: He was an idiot!
    Missing a jutting rock by a hair, Dane crashed hard onto the ice slope again, tumbling ass over ale cups down the ever-steeper slope. Again he went airborne, flew over Drott, who lay spread-eagled, and slammed down on a crusty stretch of snow. At last he came to an abrupt halt, crashing hard into a snowdrift piled against a boulder.
    He was still breathing, at least. That was good. Butwhen he rose to his feet, he saw Drott wasn’t moving. He hurried back toward where his friend lay, but before he could reach him, Drott cried, “Stop!” Dane froze. He heard deep cracking sounds coming from somewhere beneath them. Evidently this was one of the snow bridges Godrek had warned them about. Any sudden moves and the bridge could collapse, sending Drott falling hundreds of feet to the bottom of the crevasse.
    â€œGet away, Dane! It’s gonna fall!”
    â€œDon’t move! I’ll reach you!”
    â€œStay back!” Drott yelled again.
    Dane hushed him and put an