by Lou Anders
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Text copyright © 2014 by Lou Anders
Jacket art and interior illustrations copyright © 2014 by Justin Gerard
Map by Robert Lazzaretti; map copyright © 2014 by Lou Anders
Rules of Thrones and Bones Board Game™ copyright © 2014 Lou Anders
All rights reserved. Published in the United States by Crown Books for Young Readers, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Random House LLC, a Penguin Random House Company, New York.
Crown and the colophon are registered trademarks of Random House LLC.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Anders, Lou.
Frostborn / Lou Anders.
pages cm.—(Thrones and Bones)
Summary: Destined to take over his family farm in Norrøngard, Karn would rather play the board game Thrones and Bones, until half human, half frost giantess Thianna appears and they set out on an adventure, chased by a dragon, undead warriors, an evil uncle, and more.
ISBN 978-0-385-38778-1 (trade) — ISBN 978-0-385-38779-8 (lib. bdg.) — ISBN 978-0-385-38780-4 (ebook)
[1. Adventure and adventurers—Fiction. 2. Dragons—Fiction. 3. Animals, Mythical—Fiction. 4. Mythology, Norse—Fiction. 5. Board games—Fiction. 6. Fantasy.] I. Title.
PZ7.A518855Fro 2014 [Fic]—dc23 2013046709
Random House Children’s Books supports the First Amendment and celebrates the right to read.
v3.1
FOR ARTHUR AND ALEX
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Map
PROLOGUE: The Girl Who Fell from the Sky
CHAPTER ONE: Thirteen Years Later
CHAPTER TWO: The Summons
CHAPTER THREE: The Woman in Bronze and Black
CHAPTER FOUR: The Unwelcome Intruder
CHAPTER FIVE: Dragon’s Dance
CHAPTER SIX: The Barrow
CHAPTER SEVEN: Winternights
CHAPTER EIGHT: The Runestone
CHAPTER NINE: The Huntress
CHAPTER TEN: The Escape
CHAPTER ELEVEN: The Wilderness
CHAPTER TWELVE: The Avalanche
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: The Cliff
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: The Blasted City
CHAPTER FIFTEEN: The Dragon
CHAPTER SIXTEEN: The Return
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: The Game
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: The Battle
CHAPTER NINETEEN: Checkmate
CHAPTER TWENTY: The Parting of the Ways
Glossary
The Song of Helltoppr
Rules of the Thrones and Bones Board Game™
Acknowledgments
About the Author
The Girl Who Fell from the Sky
Escape was all that mattered. Escape at any cost.
In the skies between one place and another, Talaria gripped the reins of a strange beast so fiercely her knuckles were white. She dug her heels hard into its scaly flanks as the creature banked and turned in the cold night air.
She was a long, long way from home. Talaria had flown for nearly a week. Each time she had landed, to rest or scavenge food, they had found her. Then the chase had resumed.
They had found her again this morning. So she had taken back to the skies and flown to the northeastern-most corner of the world. Here the breath froze in the air, and the land was covered in an unfamiliar whiteness the natives called “snow,” and only the hardest of hard peoples lived. Here was nowhere she had ever meant to be.
A bolt of searing heat narrowly missed her. It blew past her head like a spear of white flame. Talaria jerked the reins hard. Her mount veered sharply to the left, snarling at her angrily. It was surly and temperamental and very hard to control, but it knew the danger they were in. It had flown full speed for days and still flew hard. How much longer it could fly, Talaria didn’t want to consider.
You’ll be the death of me, her mount spoke into her mind.
“I’m sorry,” she answered. It was a weak reply, but she meant it.
Another flash of heat. This time she felt the tips of her long black hair singed.
“We might lose them in those forests,” she said, glancing down at the trees racing by underneath her.
Not with them right on my tail. We’ll never shake them this close.
Her mount was right. It was a reptile. It didn’t pretend everything would be okay when it wasn’t. It didn’t lie or soften its words for the sake of feelings. It had a cold view of things.
A cold view. Talaria felt an idea forming.
Farther ahead she saw the jagged peaks of the Ymirian mountain range—the mountains at the top of the world, or nearly so. There were heavy clouds amid the white peaks.
“We go there,” she said, and dug her heels in.
The wyvern growled, but it beat its wings in a mighty burst. They surged forward, just as instinct made Talaria duck. Another burst of flame shot over her head.
Talaria risked a glance behind her. There were three of them. All rode wyverns just as she did. Black-scaled beasts with great, batlike wings and mean, snakelike faces at the ends of long necks. The riders were armored in gleaming brass and black leather. They carried the traditional fire lances of their order. Talaria wore merely her traveling clothes and cloak. She was armed only with her determination. But she carried something else.
It was that something else they were after. It wouldn’t do her much good here, but back home it could change her world. For good or for ill. Mostly for ill, which was why she had taken it, and why they had followed her.
It was a straight race now to the mountains. Without armor, she weighed less than her pursuers. It made her mount just that much faster. Below them, the forests of alpine trees were thinning out and giving way to scrub and frozen tundra. The ground was sloping upward as they crossed the border into Ymiria.
Her pursuers refrained from firing their lances now. They wouldn’t waste charges when she hovered at the limit of their range. They bent low over the necks of their wyverns to reduce the drag from the wind. Talaria did the same. As cold as she had been, she felt the air grow even colder.
She looked behind her again. She had gained some distance on her pursuers. The clouds were just ahead. She just might make it. But what was the middle rider—the leader—doing? Talaria saw the woman’s hair whipped up in the wind as she lifted off her heavy bronze helmet. She tossed the helmet into the air and it was snatched away, spinning off into the sky. Then she began to unbuckle her bronze chest plate. That too was tossed into the wind. With a sinking feeling, Talaria realized the woman was lightening her load. Saddlebags were cut loose next. Free of the extra weight, her wyvern began to pull ahead of the others.
The woman came into range just as they hit the cloud bank.
Talaria’s mount screamed as fire rolled across its left wing. Then they were plunging down and tumbling over and over in the air. All Talaria could do was fight to stay on.
Her wyvern pulled out of the roll. They had lost altitude. Their pursuers were high above, hard to see in the dense cloud. The mount winced. Its wing still beat against the air, but Talaria saw that it was badly injured. Wind whistled through ragged holes burnt in its leathery membrane.
We are going down, her mount spoke. Rather uncharacteristically, it added, I’m sorry.
“You can’t take my weight anymore,�
�� Talaria said. It was a statement, not a question. “Without me, you might have a chance.” The mount did not answer. It did not have to answer. Talaria reached a hand to feel the stolen object tucked inside her shirt. Good. It was still there.
“There’s no point in us both dying.” Talaria stood up in the saddle. The cloud cover just might hide her next action.
What are you doing? the wyvern asked.
“Lead them away from the mountains. With any luck, the snows will have covered me before they realize their mistake and come searching for my body.”
You can’t be serious.
“They can’t be allowed to find it. You know that.” Talaria pulled the reins hard, causing the mount to tip sharply to one side, shielding her momentarily from her pursuers’ line of sight. Letting go, she tumbled from the saddle. As she fell, she heard her mount’s final words in her mind. They carried a note of cold approval.
Die well.
Thirteen Years Later
“Pay attention, Karn. Today’s a big day.”
Karn blinked his eyes and mumbled, hoping he’d be left alone. He was focused on the game board balanced on his lap. It was hard enough to keep it level because of all the rocks in the road. Plus, he was concentrating. Karn was playing himself, playing both attackers and defenders. So far, this had led to a succession of stalemates. He was hoping one side or the other would win.
“Karn!”
He looked up from the board. The scenery hadn’t changed any since the morning. Or any morning of the last week. Unending forest on the right. The cold waters of Serpent’s Gulf on the left. Carts, one of which he rode in. Barrels of cheese and milk and grain. The smelly back ends of the oxen before him. Pofnir glaring at him expectantly from the bench opposite. Nothing worth looking up for.
Pofnir cleared his throat. Out of all the employees and family members who worked the Korlundr farm, right now the former slave turned freeman was Karn’s least favorite.
“What?” said Karn.
“Your father expects you to know this, so you will know it,” Pofnir replied. “Now pay attention. Six arctic fox pelts equals how many ounces of silver?”
“I don’t know,” Karn said. “Three?”
“Three?” Pofnir glared. “That’s a bit generous. You could get eighteen fox pelts for three ounces!”
Karn shrugged and risked another glance at the board. He moved one of his shield maidens into position beside an attacker, then switched his thinking and immediately started looking for a countermove.
“Karn!” chided Pofnir.
“Two, then,” Karn replied without looking up.
“Two? If three get you eighteen, then how do two get you six? Who taught you math?”
“I don’t know. You. Um, four?” said Karn. He brought another one of his attackers into position, capturing the shield maiden between the two undead pieces. He took it from the board, pleased with at least one half of his gameplay.
“You’d better listen to him, nephew,” said Karn’s uncle Ori, looking up from the book he’d been reading. “Your father expects you to know this. We’ll be in Bense tomorrow, and he wants your help with the trading.”
At the mention of his father, Karn looked toward the head of their procession. Korlundr rode on his horse at the front, his broad back ramrod straight in the saddle, just as he’d been all week. His blond hair was braided into a long ponytail. His great sword, Whitestorm, hung at his side. He looked like he should be out slaying dragons and fighting trolls, not worrying about fox pelts and cheese.
“My father has a hundred people to do this stuff for him,” Karn said. “Can’t one of them handle it?”
“It isn’t proper,” said Ori. “Bartering needs to be conducted by a family member. You’ll be expected to do it for yourself when you’re the hauld of the farm.”
Karn didn’t like to think about that. His father was hauld and always would be. The title referred to a farmer whose family owned a farm for six generations or more. Apart from being a Jarl, or High King, it was just about the only rank one could claim in Norrøngard. But there was more to life than farming. There was a whole world out there he longed to see. As it was, Thrones and Bones was his only escape from the sameness of farming life. He looked down longingly at his game board. Then an idea occurred to him.
“Uncle Ori, you can do it!”
Ori smiled. It wasn’t a warm smile.
“That’s not my lot in life, I’m afraid.” He glanced toward where his brother rode up front.
“Ori will have to start his own farm soon, I expect,” said Pofnir.
“What do you mean?” Karn asked.
“This is something you would know if you ever looked up from that board game,” sighed Pofnir. “Korlundr’s Farm has grown as big as it can get. Ori will be given a handful of servants, a portion of the sheep and cattle, and some silver, and be sent off to build his own farm. Probably sometime in the spring.”
Ori could be surly, but he had a dry sense of humor that often made Karn laugh. Karn would miss it.
“So, Uncle Ori, you’ll really be leaving?”
“It does sound like a dreadful amount of work, doesn’t it? All because my twin brother appeared a few measly minutes before I did.”
“When you put it that way,” said Karn, “it doesn’t seem fair.”
“My thoughts exactly. Of course, I could have inherited the farm from my brother. But now there’s you. You have four older sisters, but even so, you’ll have to be the one to bear the burden of leadership. Norrøngard is such an enlightened place.”
“Exactly,” said Pofnir, oblivious to the sarcasm. “Father to eldest son down through the generations, as pleases the gods. So, pay attention. If you do well tomorrow, I’m sure Korlundr will take you with us to trade with the giants later this season.”
Karn sat up at the mention of giants. Meeting actual frost giants would be something different, even if it was intimidating. But Pofnir was still droning on about more mundane matters.
“Now, six ewes, two being two years old and four older, all thick-haired and without any visible bald spots, with their lambs, equals how many cows?”
Karn sighed. He shuffled on the hard wooden bench of the cart.
“I don’t know. Three?”
“Three!” screeched Pofnir. “No! Not three. One.” Pofnir saw that Karn had turned his attention back to his game. “Oh, for Neth’s sake,” he swore. Neth was the goddess of the underworld, but her name was often invoked in frustration. “Look, you know I think you spend too much time bent over that unhealthy obsession, but if I agree to play you one game of Thrones and Bones, will you give me thirty minutes of concentration?”
Karn thought about it.
“That’s no good,” he said. “I beat you too easily.”
Pofnir turned expectantly to Ori, who had returned to his book.
“You play him, then,” Pofnir told Karn’s uncle. Ori shook his head but Pofnir’s gaze was insistent.
“Must I?” said Ori. Pofnir nodded.
“Please, uncle,” said Karn. “There’s only so much I can learn playing myself.”
“Oh, very well,” said Ori, putting aside his book and leaning forward. “But I have to warn you, Karn, I play to win.”
“Isn’t that the only way?” said Karn.
“Yes,” replied his uncle. “But you’ll find that I’m a very poor loser.”
A few hundred miles nearer to the frozen crown of the world, another game was playing out.
“You are going to lose, and lose hard, little half-breed,” growled one of the nastier players. Thianna glared up at the giant, trying to outstare him. The giant glowered down at her over a large bulbous nose and bushy blond beard. Her eyes were darker than his, just as her hair and skin were darker. It was just one way among many that she stood out from the crowd of giants on the field.
Her fierce determination also set her apart. In principle, Thianna had always hated losing. But even more, she hated the thought of l
osing to Thrudgelmir. The big oaf was her constant nemesis. He went out of his way to make life in the village miserable for her, every chance he got.
Today the best payback would be beating him fair and square on the playing field. She crunched her feet in the hard snow and waited for the starting signal. She clenched the wooden bat in her hand and steadied her breath.
“Lace my shoes while you’re down there.” Thrudgelmir snickered. He never tired of making jokes about her height. True, Thianna was only seven feet tall. It was the fault of her mixed blood. Thrudgelmir, however, was a healthy, full-blooded young frost giant. He was easily fifteen feet tall. This meant that her head was level with his belt buckle. Odds were high that she was going to be squished when the game started. None of the giants, least of all Thrudgelmir, could be expected to go easy on her because of her smaller size. If she had half a brain, she wouldn’t be playing at all. Frost giants were a tough breed, and so they played tough games. But that was just it. Frost giants played tough. If Thianna really was one of them, then she would play tough too. And while the game of Knattleikr might be dangerous, it was also a lot of fun.
“Go!” cried the giantess Gunnlod as she tossed the heavy stone ball high into the air over the field. Thianna didn’t wait to see where it landed. She ducked her head and threw herself forward, tucking into a roll. While Thrudgelmir cursed loudly above her, she somersaulted between his legs.
Coming out of her roll, Thianna flipped onto her back. Kicking with her two feet, she struck Thrudgelmir behind both of his knees. The oaf was bent down with his head between his legs looking for her. When his knees buckled, he tumbled right over in a heap.
“Why, Thrudgelmir,” she laughed, “I didn’t know you could somersault too.”
Before the giant could untangle his limbs, she sprang up and leapt back over him, landing just as the ball came down. She whacked it hard with the bat, sending it down the field toward her teammate Bork. He knocked it the rest of the way over the line. First point to her side.
