by Troy Denning
“I don’t think a spy party would be wise,” Arlien said. “After their losses last night, the hill giants will be doubly alert. Anyone you send is more likely to get killed than to return with news of Tavis.”
Silently, Brianna cursed Arlien for being so logical.
When the queen did not reply, the prince said, “But if it makes you feel better, perhaps it’s worth the chance.”
Brianna shook her head. “I can’t risk the lives of good men to settle my nerves.”
“A wise decision,” Arlien agreed. “But you must keep a clear head. Perhaps you should wear the necklace I gave you. Ice diamonds have a soothing effect on the emotions.”
“At the moment, I have no wish to be soothed.”
“Pardon me for saying so, but your wishes are not of paramount importance.” There was a definite edge to Arlien’s voice. “I can do the military planning for you, but the people in this castle are your subjects. You must provide the leadership.”
Brianna glared down at Arlien. “Are you saying I’ve let them down?”
The prince met her gaze without flinching. “If you spend the day hiding in your chamber, they’ll think you are despairing. They will despair, too,” he said. “If you let that—”
“I know what will happen, Prince.”
“Then you also know you must be cheerful and strong to prevent it,” Arlien insisted. He stepped away from Brianna and ran his gaze over the room. “Where is the necklace?”
Instead of responding, Brianna looked out her window, this time studying the soldiers on the walls below. They were stockpiling boulders next to the catapults, hoisting oil barrels onto the ramparts, soaking wooden roofs with lake water, and performing all the other tasks necessary to prepare a castle for battle. Most seemed grimly absorbed in their duties, but every so often a man would cast an uneasy glance up at the queen. When he returned to work, his shoulders were invariably stooped.
Brianna stepped away from her window. “Thank you for having the courage to point out my failure, Prince Arlien,” she said. “But at this time, it would be wrong for me to wear your wonderful necklace. After all, you did tell Tavis you wouldn’t press me for an alliance until he returned.”
“And Tavis told me that we would all do what’s best for our kingdoms,” Arlien reminded her. “But the necklace is a symbol of friendship, not a wedding gift.”
“No matter how you intend it, my subjects would view the necklace as a symbol of betrothal.”
Arlien inclined his head. “I’m sure you know your subjects better than I do.” He went to the table and picked up the steaming mugs, handing one to Brianna. “But even if you don’t need Gilthwit’s ice diamonds, you do need your strength. You’ll find this drink invigorating. It’s a specialty of my land.”
Brianna accepted the cup. “Thank you,” she said. “I could use some fortification before I inspire the troops.”
The queen touched her rim to Arlien’s, then they both drank deeply. The beverage tasted of spices and fruit, with just a hint of honey and wine, and it was every bit as invigorating as the prince had promised. As the libation slid down her throat, a warm, exhilarating sense of well-being spread through her body. At the same time, she realized how famished she was, for she had not eaten all day and felt a little light-headed.
Brianna sat at the table and pulled the tray over. “Perhaps I’d better eat something before I go.”
Arlien sat across from her. “A wise idea,” he said. “As it happens, I wanted to discuss something else with you.”
Brianna slipped an apple wedge into her mouth, then took another long swig from her mug. “As long as you’re not courting me.” She had to stifle an unexpected giggle. “We mustn’t break our promise to my bodyguard.”
Arlien reached across the table to pat her hand. “Oh, we’d never do that,” he said. “As a matter of fact, I bring this up because of something he asked of me.”
Brianna slipped a pear half into her mouth, then raised her mug to her lips again. It seemed the more she ate, the thirstier she grew, and the more she drank, the hungrier she became. The queen took a cherry off the plate and popped it into her mouth. “What did my bodyguard ask?”
Arlien looked at the tabletop. “It has to do with Cuthbert,” he said in a reluctant tone. “Tavis suggested I keep an eye on him, and, frankly, what I’ve seen amazes me. The man’s either a fool or a traitor.”
Brianna stopped short of slipping another apple wedge into her mouth. “I can assure you, he’s neither.”
“Then perhaps you’d care to tell me why he’s positioning the catapults on the ramparts overlooking the lake and putting the ballistae in the gatehouse?”
“I’m sure he has his reasons,” Brianna replied. She slipped the apple wedge into her mouth and chewed, annoyed with both Arlien and her bodyguard for so constantly assailing Cuthbert’s honor. “Perhaps we should go and ask him.”
Arlien was quick to shake his head. “I already have,” he growled. “He uttered some drivel about a collapsing bridge and ballistae missiles being more effective in the water.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Brianna reached for her mug and discovered it was empty, but Arlien quickly pushed his own over to her. “His explanation sounds perfectly reasonable to me.”
“Perhaps, if we couldn’t see the giants building rafts.” Arlien pointed to the window. “But it looks to me like they’re too smart to attack across that bridge.”
“I don’t know if you’ve spent much time with hill giants, but I have,” Brianna replied. “They aren’t smart”
“Maybe not, but whoever’s commanding them is,” Arlien countered. “And he’s certainly wise enough to know a competent engineer would trap Cuthbert’s bridge.”
“I suppose that’s true,” Brianna replied. She lifted Arlien’s mug to her lips, but restrained herself to a few sips. It had occurred to her that her sudden show of thirst might seem unladylike to the prince. “What would you do, Prince, and why?”
Arlien rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward, fixing his brown eyes on hers. Brianna’s gaze wandered over the prince’s cleft chin, full lips, and patrician nose, and she was surprised to find herself silently thanking the King of Gilthwit for sending a handsome son to court her.
The prince touched his graceful finger to the tabletop and traced a line that roughly paralleled the ramparts facing the hill giants. “I would place the ballistae here, where they command the water approaches,” he said. “And I would soak the missile heads in oil, so that we can set them afire. That will do more to stop the giants’ rafts than hurling boulders at them.”
“And what of the bridge?” Brianna asked. She sipped some more of the prince’s libation.
“I would use the catapults to cover it,” he said. “If the giants are foolish enough to try that approach, the boulders will keep them in the water after the bridge collapses.”
“If that’s what you think, that’s what we’ll do.” Brianna drained Arlien’s mug, then rose to her feet and started toward the door. “I’ll go tell the earl.”
“Good,” Arlien said. He did not rise. “And you know what else I think, Brianna?”
The queen stopped and turned to look at the prince. He was so handsome—blurry, but handsome. “No, I don’t,” she said. “How could I know that?”
Arlien smiled, revealing a row of pearly white teeth. “I think you should put on my necklace,” he said. “I don’t see how there can be any harm in wearing it while we’re alone, do you?”
Brianna considered this for a moment, searching for the flaw in the prince’s logic. She could sense that there was something wrong in his assertion, but her mind was too clouded—damn wine—to identify what was bothering her. She went over to her trunk and reached inside to open the secret compartment.
* * * * *
The gorge ahead was definitely the entrance to Shepherd’s Nightmare, and even from the distant edge of a spruce copse, Tavis could see that the giants had beaten h
im to it The small farm at the mouth of the canyon, so carefully detailed on Earl Cuthbert’s map, lay in ruins. All three buildings had been pushed off their stone foundations and smashed beyond recognition. The livestock lay scattered across the trampled fields in bloody heaps of fur and bone, and the small stream that flowed out of the valley above now boiled over the remnants of a smashed dam.
This isn’t war, Tavis thought. It’s mayhem, brutal and vicious.
It was also the end of any hope that the siege against Cuthbert Castle would be quickly relieved. If the giants knew about Shepherd’s Nightmare, and it was apparent they did, they would certainly take pains to guard the pass. Tavis would never be able to bring an army back through, at least not without a difficult battle. Such a delay would give the giants plenty of time to storm the castle and capture Brianna.
Tavis slipped out of the pine copse and went forward to investigate the farm more thoroughly. The scout discovered the first human corpses in the pasture. The farmer and his three helpers had made their stand behind the wall, but stacked stones offered little protection from a giant’s incredible strength. The men had been knocked various distances across the bloody heath, and now lay twisted and broken beneath droning clouds of flies. Still, as the scout kneeled briefly beside each body, he could tell that all four had died bravely. They had fired every arrow in their quivers, and near each man lay a sword or farm axe he had probably been swinging as he had fallen.
In the soft pasture, Tavis also found the giants’ tracks. There were only two sets, both too large for hill giants, with a narrow span and long, graceful toes. The scout thought immediately of stone or fire giants, but ruled out both. Fire giants would have burned the farm, while stone giants took no pleasure in pointless cruelty. The only thing he could say for certain was that the tracks were too small for fog giants or—thankfully—storm and cloud giants.
Tavis took a few minutes to crisscross the pasture, looking for more tracks. He found none. If the raiding party had consisted of more than two giants, they had not approached through this field.
The scout went to the main yard, where he found the grain stores heaped in a pile and stinking of untold gallons of urine. Next to the stores lay the torso of an old woman, the limbs ripped off as a cruel child might tear the legs off an insect The evil brutality made the scout think of an ettin, but that made no more sense than fire or stone giants. The tracks in the pasture were too large. More importantly, there had been two sets, and ettins, the most bestial of all giants, never traveled in pairs. The monsters had two ugly heads that could barely get along with each other, much less the two heads of another ettin.
Whoever the killers were, Tavis hoped he would find them somewhere nearby. For the first time in many years, he truly burned with the desire to kill.
The scout went over to the main house, which had been a large structure of mortar and rock. To his relief, no arms or legs protruded from the rubble, and he saw no vermin to suggest that bodies lay buried out of sight.
Near the corner of the house he found a large obsidian flake that seemed strangely out of place among the granite and diorite stones of the building. One side showed the conchoidal fractures typical of the glassy mineral, but a skilled hand had clearly worked the other side into a rounded edge.
Tavis held the flake between both hands. The shard could only have come off a stone giant’s club, but he could not believe stone giants would be responsible for this carnage. They were rather cold and distant, but hardly evil.
The scout considered the possibility that another giant had been wielding the club, perhaps having acquired it in trade. But that failed to explain the footprints. The tracks did resemble those of stone giants, especially the narrow insteps and long toes. Tavis could see only one reasonable conclusion: stone giants had razed this farm, and they had taken pains to do it brutally. They wanted to anger whoever discovered the carnage, to make him so furious that he became careless.
The murderers had succeeded with part of their plan, at least. Tavis could feel all manner of fiery passions burning in his breast. But the scout would not grow careless. He was too experienced at this sort of thing.
Tavis tossed the flake aside and pulled one of Basil’s runearrows from his quiver. Killing hill giants with regular arrows was one thing, but it would be quite another to down a stone giant with a wooden arrow. Their hides were so tough that even Bear Driller lacked the power to slay one of the brutes with a single shaft. For that, he needed magic.
Keeping the arrow ready to nock, Tavis crept around to the back of the farm, to the mouth of Shepherd’s Nightmare. The gorge was narrow and wet, with sheer walls of granite and a tangled mass of bog spruce rising from its swampy floor. A single goat trail led up the valley. In the soft mud the firbolg found many pairs of fresh footprints. Most were clearly those of humans, probably women and young adults, but the scout also found two sets of stone giant tracks.
The scout started up the canyon at a run. Maybe Brianna’s plan wasn’t lost after all. With a little luck, he could slay both stone giants and prevent them from telling any of their fellows about Shepherd’s Nightmare. Perhaps he could even save the refugees. Tavis just wished that he understood why the stone giants had taken such pains to annihilate this particular farm.
* * * * *
One of the barrow wheels started to squeal again. Although Avner doubted anyone was awake at this late hour, he turned the cart down a side passage, then grabbed his oil flask and kneeled down to lubricate the axle. It wouldn’t do to have someone hear him—not with a biotite folio in his cart, and especially not on the second floor of the keep, where Arlien and several more of the earl’s uninvited guests were lodged.
To Avner’s grave disappointment, the barrow was working out poorly. The cart had been relatively quiet on the way up to Basil’s chamber, but he had been unable to keep the wheels from clunking on the steps as he had descended. It had developed the annoying habit of squealing at the most dangerous points of his journey. Still, the boy did not know what else to do. The folios were so heavy that last night he had been forced to drag the first volume up the stairs in his cloak, a procedure that had resulted in loud and unpredictable bangs. Nor could he ask Basil for magical help. The runecaster had already put off drawing the stink rune until after the third delivery. The youth did not want to give the sly verbeeg an excuse to delay longer.
Having slopped a liberal amount of oil on the axle, Avner put the flask away and started to back into the main corridor. A shrill squeal echoed off the stone walls. The youth cringed, then set the cart down and reached for the oil flask again.
The squeal continued, only this time it sounded more like a woman’s chortle. Avner continued to listen, for the way the chuckle erupted from deep in her throat seemed all too familiar. It took the youth only a moment longer to be certain that it was the queen’s voice. He stepped around his cart and went to Arlien’s door.
Inside the chamber, Brianna stifled her laughter long enough to say, “Fill it again, dear Prince.”
“Again?” Avner cried. He threw the door open.
Brianna sat on the bed in rather immodest nightclothes, with one hand looped through the crook of Arlien’s arm. Her low-plunging collar framed a necklace of gleaming blue jewels that could be only the ice diamonds Tavis had described to Avner. In her free hand the queen grasped a large mug, which the prince was filling from an earthenware flask.
Arlien’s only concession to the hour was that he had taken the cloak off his enchanted armor, revealing a smooth slit where the breastplate had been jaggedly ripped the day before. Even the prince’s terrible wound looked better, with the edges closed to form a long red scar.
Brianna squinted into the doorway, then suddenly jumped up. “Avner? What are you doing here?”
“I’ve come to ask you the same thing, Majesty.” Avner stepped forward and found goosebumps rising on his arms. The chamber was freezing. “Is this the way you repay Tavis’s devotion?”
“My
relationship with T-Ta—” Brianna stopped, her eyes growing vapid. “My relationship with my bodyguard is not your affair!”
Avner’s mouth fell open. “You can’t say his name!” The youth cast an accusing look at Arlien. “What have you done to the queen?”
The prince slipped off his bed, smiling patiently. “Done to her? I have no idea what you mean, I’m sure.” He took Brianna’s arm and looked up into her eyes. “Tavis is only a word. I’m sure the queen could say it if she wished.”
“Of course,” Brianna replied.
Arlien looked back to Avner, his smile growing less generous. “Now run along to bed, boy, and leave us to discuss the business of our kingdoms.”
“I doubt the business you’re discussing has anything to do with your kingdoms.” Avner stepped forward to glare into Arlien’s eyes. As he brushed past Brianna, he noticed that the air seemed to grow even colder. “I know what’s going on here.”
“Do you?” The prince seemed amused. “Pray tell.”
“You’re taking advantage of Tavis’s absence to—”
“Avner!” Brianna interrupted. “I will not put up with this!”
Arlien raised a hand. “Let him continue, please.”
Avner was more than happy to oblige. “Why aren’t you out trying to get help, Prince? You’re well enough.” The youth jabbed his fingers into the rent in Arlien’s armor, said the prince did not even grunt “You see? But you’d rather stay here to discuss your ‘business’ than do something brave, like Tavis!”
Arlien’s eyes narrowed. “Let me tell you two things, boy,” he hissed. “First, if you ever touch my person again, I shall be forced to break your arm. Second, I volunteered to help Tavis however I could, and he asked me to protect Queen Brianna.”
“He didn’t ask you to seduce her.”
Arlien’s lips grew white. Avner was tempted to jab the prince’s wound again to see if the man had the courage to make good on his threat, but the youth decided he might have need of his arm in the near future.