by Troy Denning
“Fine.” Avner slipped off the table. “I hope I know what I’m getting myself into.”
The youth stepped to the window and threw his apple core out into the gray glow of first light.
* * * * *
The stomping had ended some time earlier, pattering into silence after an unexpected crescendo. That had been exactly a thousand breaths ago—Tavis had counted each one, lacking any other way to tell time—and now it was time to go. The scout checked to make sure his sword, quiver, and shoulder satchel were secure, then grabbed the counterweight chain and pulled.
An ear-piercing squeal, almost deafening after the long silence, echoed off the stone walls. The counterweight seemed to stick for a moment, then a loud crack sounded from the threshold as the door broke free. The granite slab began to rise, grudgingly, and a low, grinding growl joined the cacophony of rattling chains. A sliver of gray light appeared on the tunnel floor and slowly spread down the passageway.
Tavis cursed. Although the rays were not bright, he knew what they meant: dawn was coming, and soon. He forced himself to look into the light so his eyes would grow accustomed to it and pulled harder. The door rose another foot.
A gentle tremor shuddered through the tunnel, then another and another: giants searching for the source of the mysterious sounds. More steps joined the first, but none seemed to be growing any louder. That would change quickly enough, Tavis knew. Soon his foes would overcome their initial confusion and track down the source of the clamor.
The scout stopped pulling on the chains and heard the gruff, terse grunts of shouting hill giants. Although the voices were too muffled to understand, they sounded much closer than Tavis would have liked. He gave the chain another long pull, then abruptly stopped. A trio of giants began shouting contradictory commands, confused by the sporadic noise.
Tavis eyed the gap between the door and threshold, finding about three feet of gray light. That was enough space for him to squeeze through, but he feared the granite slab would slide down the instant he released it. The scout pulled again, paused a short time, then gave the chain another tug. The door rose to a height of six feet, and now he could hear the giants clearly.
“Where Gragg hear that sound?”
“Gone ’gain,” answered another muffled voice. “But gots to be over there somewhere. Be quiet.”
The tunnel stopped shuddering as the giants moved more carefully. The scout could picture them stalking through the predawn light in the typical posture of hunting hill giants: hunched over almost double, tree trunks resting across their stooped shoulders, their dull eyes fixed on the ground with their thick brows screwed into a crumpled parody of concentration. They were hardly as stealthy as fog giants, but they would move with surprising grace for such ungainly beings, their knees bent and their legs flexed. If the need arose, they could spring over the land in great, bounding strides, the impact of each crashing footfall bouncing their terrified quarry off the ground. Tavis did not look forward to becoming their prey, but the prospect of reporting his failure to Brianna was even less appealing.
The scout took a deep breath, then snatched Bear Driller and threw himself into the gray light. The door began to descend with a loud, grating rumble.
The ground failed to appear beneath Tavis. He plummeted headfirst into the gloom and glimpsed the face of a rocky crag slipping past, then the stony dark mass of a hillside emerged before his eyes. He had enough time to cover his head before a wave of stinging numbness coursed through his arms. The scout rolled instantly, and found himself tumbling head-over-heels down a steep bank, ricocheting off boulders and tree trunks and leaving equipment strewn all down the slope. He came to a rest in the bottom of a rocky gulch, dizzy and aching, with the growl of the closing door still rumbling somewhere above.
“Meorf hear sound!” shouted a giant’s distant voice.
“Bhurn, too!” answered another. “Come up here, Gragg!”
A series of muffled thuds echoed through the night. Tavis jumped to his feet and collapsed again, too shocked to stand. Both arms stung horribly, but it was his ribs that caused him the most pain. They hurt so much he could not draw air. The firbolg fought the tide of panic rising inside his chest and forced himself to exhale. The ache in his torso began to subside as his lungs expanded again; he had only knocked the wind out of himself. The scout took a few deep breaths, then flexed his elbows, wrists, and fingers. All the joints seemed in good working order, so he had not broken any bones. Tavis rose, relieved to have survived his unexpected fall.
The rumble on the hillside above came to a slow, grinding halt. Tavis looked up and saw the small cliff off which he had inadvertently leaped. The secret passage opened near the center, above a narrow ledge that led across the face to a safe route down. The granite door fit so tightly between two natural crevices that the scout would never have noticed it, save that the rusty counterweight chains had gotten stuck, leaving the granite slab hanging three feet above its threshold.
“Surtr’s flame take that earl!” Tavis hissed. He could not leave Cuthbert’s secret door open. Even if the hill giants couldn’t fit into the narrow passage beyond, they could send a pack of their pet wolves through to wreak havoc. Besides, if they happened to have a shaman, there was no telling what use his magic might make of that tunnel. “If Cuthbert’s going to break Brianna’s law, at least he could do it well!”
Tavis started up the slope, gathering his satchel and other gear as he climbed.
“Meorf, hear squealing sound?”
“No, stupid,” Meorf replied. “Gone ’gain. But let’s us look in that ditch over there. That where it was, Bhurn.”
The voices of Meorf and Bhurn were coming over the hilltop. The third giant, Gragg, had not spoken, but the scout heard his heavy footsteps pounding along the lakeshore, about thirty paces away at the gulch mouth.
Tavis grabbed his arrows and thrust them back into his quiver, then angled across the hill to retrieve his bow. Once he had his favorite weapon in hand, he would not be so nervous about getting caught on the ledge above. Bear Driller had felled plenty of giants, many far larger than the trio now stalking him.
The pounding of giant steps suddenly faded. The scout looked up to see a pair of stoop-shouldered figures silhouetted on the summit of the hill. They stood almost directly above the secret passage, peering down into the gully toward Tavis.
“Meorf see somethin’?” It was Gragg’s voice, rolling up the gulch from the lakeshore.
“No,” Meorf replied. “Not Bhurn neither.”
Tavis glanced toward the lake, where he saw the last giant silhouetted against the starlit waters. This one was especially rotund, with a shape resembling that of a pear. The scout dropped flat to crawl to his bow.
“How Meorf know what Bhurn see?” Gragg demanded. “Let Bhurn talk!”
“Bhurn don’t see nothin’,” Meorf insisted. “Right?”
“Right,” Bhurn said. “Nothing but little fella.” The hill giant pointed a long finger at Tavis.
The scout snatched his bow and leaped to his feet, running away from Cuthbert’s tunnel. Trying to reach the passage now would only draw the giants’ attention to it and put him in a difficult defensive position. It would be far wiser to lure his pursuers away, then circle back later to close the door.
“Stop, little fella!” Bhurn yelled.
“What fella?” demanded Gragg.
A loud crash sounded on the slope above, then a small boulder bounced past Tavis’s head. He dodged away, barely eluding a second, better-aimed stone.
“Stop, stupid fella!” Meorf yelled.
“Where fella?” Gragg was still standing on the lakeshore, peering toward his friends on the hill’s summit. “Gragg don’t see nothin’!”
Tavis reached the bottom of the slope and started up the other side of the gulch, intentionally kicking stones down the hill to make it easier for Gragg to find him. If the secret passage was to remain hidden, all three giants had to follow him.
&nbs
p; “Wait!” yelled Gragg. “Hill giants friends! Not hurt little fella!”
Two more boulders slammed into the ground behind Tavis. The scout paused and looked back across the gulch.
“Why should I stop? Meorf and Bhurn are too stupid to catch me!” he yelled. “And so is Gragg!”
“Meorf don’t need smarts to catch little man!”
“Bhurn neither!”
All three giants hefted their clubs and started after Tavis in great, bounding steps. The scout turned and scrambled up the slope. He moved swiftly and in near silence, his feet instinctively seeking out the firm, quiet footing of grass tufts and rocky crags. Now that all three giants were on his trail, he no longer needed to make himself an easy target.
Tavis reached the summit a few moments later, without the necessity of dodging any more boulders. Ahead of him lay the gray crests of dozens of hills, interspersed with shadowy black ravines similar to the one behind him. Out of every third gulch rose the yellow glow of a campfire. The scout did a quick count of the amber lights. Assuming that his three pursuers came from a typical campsite, he estimated that more than a hundred hill giants had encircled Cuthbert Castle.
Tavis turned around to see that Meorf and Bhurn had already crossed the gulch and climbed halfway up the slope. Gragg was still picking his way up the rocky gulch, grumbling bitterly about his difficulties. The scout cursed the giant’s stupidity. He had expected the brute to traverse the hillside instead of clambering up the treacherous gully bottom. Slipping around the trio would be much more difficult with one straggling behind.
Tavis went over to a large boulder perched on the summit of the hill. Hoping to slow Meorf and Bhurn enough for Gragg to catch up, the scout pushed the heavy stone down the slope.
“So long, you oafs!”
The scout did not linger to see if his plan worked. He turned and bounded down the other side of the hill, making as much noise as possible. After descending two dozen paces, he stopped and nocked an arrow, then quietly circled back to the summit and hid behind an unruly hedge of juniper bushes.
To his dismay, the scout saw Gragg standing in the gully below, gasping for breath and bracing himself against a tree. Meorf and Bhurn, on the other hand, were standing on the summit less than twenty paces away. Both giants were staring into the next dark gully, their eyes searching in vain for their quarry.
Meorf growled in frustration, then slowly turned around to face Gragg. Tavis aimed his arrow at the giant’s throat If the brute spied the secret tunnel on the opposite ridge, the scout would silence him before he could speak.
Fortunately for Meorf, he was more interested in his rotund fellow than the opposite wall of the canyon. “Stop wastin’ time, Gragg!” he ordered. “Stupid little fella gettin’ ’way.”
“Meorf and Bhurn go on,” Gragg said. “Gragg stay here, ’case little fella come back.”
“Come back?” Bhurn scoffed. “Gragg lazy. Dekz not like.”
“Dekz not here.” Gragg looked away from his companions. “Gragg camp boss. Go catch little fella!”
Bhurn kicked a rock down the slope, then turned to descend the other side of the hill. Meorf stayed long enough to snicker as Gragg jumped up to avoid the stone, then bounded after Bhurn.
Gragg watched the summit for a few moments. When no more stones came bouncing down at him, he found a boulder large enough to support his broad posterior and settled in to wait. Tavis slipped out of his hiding place and crept silently down the hill, keeping his arrow pointed at the giant’s back. He did not like killing in cold blood, but such things were necessary in war—and the ring of campfires encircling Cuthbert Castle left little doubt that the giants had come to make war.
Tavis was about halfway down when Gragg’s roving gaze fell on the open door to Cuthbert’s secret passage. The giant thrust his head forward, then suddenly rose to his feet
“Hey, Dekz was right!” he boomed. “Them little fellas gots a secret tunnel! Bhurn, Meorf, come—”
Tavis let his arrow fly.
Gragg’s command changed to a deafening shriek as the shaft drilled deep into his kidney. The giant stumbled forward, at the same time reaching behind his back to pluck the arrow from his body. His effort did not succeed, for Bear Driller was no ordinary bow. Tavis’s mentor had shown him how to double-bend the weapon and reinforce it with dragon bone, so that any arrow fired from it struck with the force of a horse-driven lance. The shaft had passed into Gragg’s kidney, fletching and all, and nothing short of healing magic could remove it now.
The scout nocked another arrow and rushed down the slope. Although he would have liked to ask Gragg a few questions, the firbolg’s intention was not to interrogate the injured giant. Kidney wounds were far too painful to allow questioning. Tavis was simply looking for a clean shot that would put Gragg out of his misery.
“Gragg, what all this screamin’ for?”
Tavis ducked behind a boulder, then glanced up to see Meorf standing on the summit.
“Where that secret tunnel?”
Gragg tried to answer, but all that spilled from his mouth was a long wail of agony. The injured giant spotted Tavis crouching behind the boulder and stumbled away, urgently gesturing at the scout’s hiding place.
“Tunnel there?” Meorf asked.
Gragg shook his head, then collapsed into the gulch and began to thrash about, mad with pain. Meorf screwed his brutish face into an expression of utter puzzlement, then suddenly dropped into a crouch. He glanced over his shoulder. “Bhurn come—”
Tavis stuck his head up and loosed an arrow. He had a poor angle, so the shaft failed to pierce the giant’s heart and simply buried itself in the rib cage. Meorf raised a hand to the wound, then his jaw went slack with surprise as he felt warm blood on his palm. Tavis nocked another arrow and stepped from behind his boulder. He needed a clean shot more than cover.
“Little fella hurt Meorf!” the giant bellowed.
Meorf raised his club and launched himself down the slope. Tavis barely had time to pull his bowstring back, then his foe was upon him, club raised to strike. The scout loosed his arrow.
A red dot appeared on Meorf’s belly, and his eyes went blank. The club flew from his hands and bounced away, then the giant’s immense bulk started to fall. The scout hurled himself aside, barely reaching the safety of his boulder before the impact of the dead body shook the entire slope.
Tavis wasted no time on self-congratulations, for Bhurn would be coming, and the scout preferred not to give his foe the uphill advantage. He nocked another arrow and sprinted toward the summit, his lungs burning from the exertion of the battle.
As the scout approached the top, he felt the ground shuddering beneath Bhurn’s heavy steps. Even if he did reach the crest first, Tavis realized, there would be no time to put his advantage to good use. When his head reached eye-level with the top of the ridge, he stopped and lay on his belly.
The crown of Bhurn’s pointed head appeared an instant later. Unlike Meorf, he approached carefully and quietly, peering over the crest to see what all the yelling was about Tavis jumped up, his arrow aimed directly at the giant’s huge eyeball.
Bhurn froze instantly. “Not little fella!” he gasped. “Stupid firbolg!”
“I am a firbolg,” Tavis answered.
“Oh, no!” Bhurn’s eyes gleamed silver with recognition. “You Tavis Burdun!”
“That’s right.” Tavis was as famous among giants as he was among humans, though the giants considered him more a dark avenger than a savior. “How did Dekz know about the castle’s secret tunnel?”
The emotion drained from the giant’s face. “Bhurn not tell.” He pinched his eyes shut in fear, then started to raise his club. “Bhurn die honorable.”
“If you wish.” Tavis loosed his arrow.
Bhurn fell in silence, and the scout retreated down the slope. He finished Gragg with a merciful arrow, then began the long climb to close Earl Cuthbert’s secret passage.
5
Romance
Blossoms
The queen stood at the window of her chamber, on the highest floor of the keep, looking across the lake toward the distant wall of granite and ice that Cuthbert said was Shepherd’s Nightmare. It was almost dusk, and by now Tavis would be among those treacherous peaks, picking his way across boulder fields and snowbanks. At least that was Brianna’s hope, though she had reason to think otherwise.
Shortly after dawn, the queen had spotted a swarm of giants searching the hills near the secret passage exit. Then, later in the day, she had seen them drag three of their fellows to the lakeshore and burn them on a funeral pyre. Clearly, there had been a fight But Brianna had no way to know whether Tavis had survived. That uncertainty had kept her at her window all day.
A knock sounded at her door. Brianna composed herself, then called, “Enter.”
The latch clicked, and the heavy door creaked open. Prince Arlien stepped into the room, still wearing his enchanted armor and borrowed cloak. He paused at the door to take a silver tray from one of Cuthbert’s servants.
“That will be all,” he said.
The young woman bowed and pulled the door shut. The prince walked into the room and placed the tray on the table.
“I thought you might need some sustenance.” Arlien gestured at the tray, which bore a heap of sliced fruit and two steaming mugs of spiced wine. “You’ve been in here a long time.”
Brianna smiled, gathering the strength to be gracious. Arlien was the last person she wanted to see, but she could hardly afford to offend her only potential ally—not with the giant tribes uniting against Hartsvale.
“That’s very considerate,” Brianna said. “But at the moment, I’m not hungry. I’m afraid my stomach feels like a butter churn.”
A sympathetic frown appeared on Arlien’s face. “Worried about your bodyguard?”
At least call him by name, thought Brianna. “I’m afraid so,” she said aloud. “Perhaps tonight we should send out a party to see what happened.”
The prince came and stood beside Brianna at the window. Instead of looking at the distant mountains, however, he fixed his gaze on the lakeshore, where the hill giants were using tree boles and rope to assemble a fleet of primitive rafts.