Rune fell back and spun, his back slamming to the ice as he dodged the highwayman’s attack. And as Rune fell, his arm shot out and — one second, he was holding his sword, and then his sword was discarded, clattering to the ice. A crackling sound like shattering ice filled Elma’s ears, and Rune’s arm glowed white-blue, suddenly engulfed in a glittering, swirling mass of frost. In a breathless instant, the frost expanded and resolved, solidifying with horrifying quickness, into an ice-sharp blade that seemed to sing as it cut the air, frigid and deadly.
