The Sleeping Army by Francesca Simon Page B

travel as far as possible before dark.’
    Freya saw the others looking at her expectantly.
    â€˜I don’t want to be leader,’ said Freya, trembling. ‘I don’t know my way around … I don’t know anything, really … But … but … can I just ask … has anyoneever been where we’re going? To the land of the giants? Jot – Jot—’
    â€˜Jotunheim,’ said Roskva. ‘Alfi and I have been many times with our Master. It’s north-east from here. The River Irving marks the boundary. Ever been to Jotunheim, Snot?’
    Snot looked down at her and bit his shield. He said nothing.
    â€˜Thought so,’ said Roskva.
    Snot’s hand tightened on his sword.
    â€˜You’re lucky that Woden ordered me to protect you,’ he snarled.
    â€˜Then I think Alfi and Roskva should guide us there,’ said Freya. ‘We can argue about who is leader later. Does anyone have a better plan?’
    â€˜That’s settled then,’ said Roskva, without waiting for anyone to answer. She grabbed hold of Sleipnir’s golden bridle. ‘Four can ride at once,’ she said. ‘If we squeeze.’
    Freya held back. Horses terrified her.
    She stared up at Sleipnir. The gleaming grey horse towered over her. He was longer and wider than any horse she’d ever seen.
    â€˜I’ve never ridden before,’ said Freya.
    â€˜High time you did,’ said Roskva, clambering on.
    Snot heaved her unceremoniously on to Sleipnir behind Roskva. Freya scrabbled about and tried to swing her legs over his broad back without slipping over the other side. The ground looked very far away. Snot hesitated, then climbed on behind Freya, muttering and growling. Alfi sprang on last, vaulting easily over Sleipnir’s tail.
    â€˜AAEEEEEEE!’ screamed Freya, as Sleipnir galloped off. ‘Help,’ she squealed. ‘I’m going to fall!’
    She clung frantically to Roskva and squeezed her eyes shut as Sleipnir jumped the flinty river as if it were a puddle and scrambled up the opposite bank.
    â€˜Careful, you’ll pull me off!’ shouted Roskva as Freya clutched her waist, terrified, rocking and jolting on top of the speeding horse.
    Soon the plains and parched meadows of Asgard were behind them. Freya sat squished between Roskva and Snot, her eyes squeezed shut every time Sleipnir leapt over a river or a lake, her knees gripping his smooth sides as tightly as she could as they vaulted through the air, landing with a horrendous bump that made Freya’s stomach lurch. Far, far away, she could see mountains black with forest, lost in grey clouds.
    For hour after hour they crossed river valleys and hillsides, wooded below, rocky higher up. Waterfallstumbled down sheer, pink-grey cliffs, flowing over boulders into frothy pools. Freya dared to open her eyes for a time and glimpsed tiny blue flowers growing between the rocks littering the overgrown path. Sleipnir crushed them underfoot.
    Freya was concentrating so hard on not falling off she barely looked where they were going. It was difficult to talk, they were travelling so fast. Roskva’s long hair, tied back in a knot at her neck, kept whacking Freya’s face.
    â€˜What’s that?’ shouted Freya. She pointed to a huge, monstrous-shaped stone, squatting by the steep, winding path between the hills they were crossing. The arms were outstretched, like a bulbous Valkyrie of the North.
    Roskva shrugged. ‘Petrified troll,’ she said. ‘They get sun on them – bam! They turn to stone. Our Master tricked one once – Alviss.’
    â€˜Good times,’ shouted Alfi.
    Freya shook her head. Poor Alfi. What a dreadful life he’d led, if tricking trolls was his idea of fun.
    The wind whistled through the valley as shadows started to drift across their path. The snowy peaks of the giants’ icy lands loomed in the distance behind small hills rolling off into the