by Troy Denning
Avner shook his head. “By magic,” he said. “She was wearing those ice diamonds. I swear they’re enchanted. She couldn’t even remember your name, and I got my hand frostbitten trying to rip the necklace off.”
“Charm magic?” the scout growled. An angry fire began to burn deep within him, renewing his ebbing energies and filling him with a savage, feral strength born of love and fury. “He used charm magic against the queen of Hartsvale?”
Avner nodded.
Bodvar’s voice boomed across the slope. “Come out, good little traell. Frost giants are nice. Bodvar won’t hurt you.”
Tavis rose and started up the hill again, still angling toward Bodvar’s voice. “You’re right about what I want to do to Arlien.” The scout spoke as he moved. “But I’m still not sure Arlien is the spy. Was anyone else acting strangely?”
Avner’s jaw dropped. “How can you think it was anyone else?”
“Perhaps the prince just wanted to be sure he returned with a queen,” Tavis replied. “What he’s done is treacherous, but betraying me to the giants would hurt his cause more than it helped. Without the reinforcements Brianna sent me to fetch, the only wedding she’ll be attending is in the Twilight Vale.”
“Well, no one else was acting like a spy,” Avner said.
“What about Cuthbert?”
“The earl wants to see that army more than anyone,” the youth answered. “He’s scared to death he’ll lose his castle.”
“That’s what worries me,” Tavis said. “What better way to save it than strike a bargain with the giants?”
Avner shrugged. “I don’t think he’s got the guts.”
Tavis saw the ravine through the trees. About twenty paces above, it curved sharply toward him and ran across the hillside. From a dozen paces below the bend came Bodvar’s brutal voice. “Bodvar sees you, little traell!” he called. “You can’t hide no more!”
The girl cried out in fear. It sounded as though she had reached the bend.
Tavis handed Bear Driller and the rest of his gear to Avner, then pointed across the slope. “Find someplace to hide,” he said. “I’ll come as soon as I can.”
“What?” the youth nearly screeched the question. “You’re not going up there?”
“I can’t let Bodvar catch that girl.” Tavis heard the frost giant crashing toward the bend. “Not if I can save her.”
“What about Brianna?” the youth demanded. “If something happens to you—”
“Nothing will happen,” Tavis said. “And if it does, Brianna will be safe. I sent a messenger to Earl Wendel with word of what’s happening here.”
“I was thinking of Arlien.”
Tavis pointed at the runearrows in his quiver. “You know how to use those.”
“Against Arlien?” the boy gasped.
Tavis nodded. “If it comes to that.”
Avner clutched the equipment to his breast and turned to do as ordered. Tavis resumed his climb, moving as fast as his weary legs would carry him. As he approached the ravine, he saw that above the bend it became something of a gorge, with rocky outcroppings flanking it on each side. He spied the girl standing near the center of the gulch, frozen in fear.
Bodvar’s head came around the corner, and his pale eyes went directly to the girl. He stooped over to scoop her up, his long beard swinging like a pendulum over her head. Tavis hurled himself into the ravine. He slammed into the frost giant with a thud, knocking the astonished warrior into the opposite wall.
A sharp crack sounded from the cliff top. Something long and brown sizzled past Tavis’s head, then there was a fifteen foot spear standing where Bodvar had been a moment before. The shouts of several angry men echoed down from above. The scout looked up and saw five black-haired humans struggling to pull a small ballista away from the gorge brink.
Bodvar sat upright and stared at the spear lodged in the gully floor. “Sharpnose, you saved my life!” he gasped. “Why’d you do a thing like that?”
Tavis shrugged. “Only Skoraeus knows.” As he spoke, the scout kept a sharp eye on the cliffs above. The ambush had caught him unawares, and he wanted no more surprises from the brave little girl and her companions. “You don’t deserve it”
Bodvar frowned. “I’ve smashed my share of traell dens,” he said, his voice defensive. He stood, then reached down to Tavis. “But reasons don’t matter. You did it, and now I owe you a debt.”
The scout accepted the proffered hand. “Does that mean you won’t be asking Hagamil for a challenge fight?”
“Only if you want—which I truly hope you don’t.” Bodvar grinned, then said, “I’d be honor-bound to lose.”
“That would hardly be amusing,” the scout replied. He glanced up and down the ravine, then said, “Let’s go, before they attack again.”
Bodvar shook his head. “Don’t worry, they’re back in their holes by now.”
“They’ve done this before?”
Bodvar raised his brow, fixing a suspicious eye on the scout “You’ve forgotten what happened when you came to hear Julien and Arno’s plan?”
Tavis winced, grinding his teeth together so hard that he tasted powder. “My—uh—my mind’s been on other things.”
Bodvar fixed the scout with a leery glare, then shook his head. “Stone giants,” he grumbled. “You’re so lost in your own worlds that you wouldn’t notice if Annam returned to this one.” Tavis said nothing.
Bodvar sighed, apparently interpreting the scout’s silence as a demand for further information. “The traells have been harassing us since Hagamil stomped their village.” The frost giant pointed up the slope. “But they escaped into their little mines, and now they keep bothering us. We’ve already lost three good warriors.”
“Three giants?” Such attacks would never drive the giants out, but he was glad to know the traells hadn’t lost their spirit “Is that so?”
“ ’Course it is,” Bodvar grumbled. “But don’t worry, they won’t be back. Let’s go get that other traell and be on our way.”
“Traell?” Tavis echoed. He hoped his bewilderment seemed genuine enough.
Bodvar’s eyes widened. “The one I gave you!” he rumbled. “You put him someplace safe, didn’t you?”
Tavis spread his palms and looked down at his empty hands, trying to appear appropriately sheepish. “I don’t have the bow, either.”
A blue flush rushed up Bodvar’s milky face. “Surtr’s fires! You were supposed to hold that stuff!” He grabbed Tavis by the neck and shook him. “Slagfid’ll stomp us!”
“It’s my fault,” Tavis said. “I shouldn’t have saved you.”
This brought Bodvar’s temper back under control. He released Tavis, then started to run his eyes over the ground. “That bow’s got to be here somewhere.” He looked up at the scout, then asked, “You had the traell and bow when you jumped, right?”
Tavis’s chest tightened, and a hot flush crept over his body. To answer that question truthfully was to expose himself. But simply refusing to answer, as most firbolgs did in such situations, would only make Bodvar more suspicious.
Bodvar’s glare grew more menacing. “You did have them, didn’t you?”
Tavis tried to swallow and found that he could not get past the lump in his throat. He scowled as though thinking, then looked up to meet Bodvar’s gaze—the frost giant was about three feet taller than him—and nodded.
Bodvar narrowed his eyes and did not look away.
Runnels of cold sweat began to trickle down the scout’s brow. His stomach tied itself into knots, and the exhaustion he had been fighting all day returned with such a vengeance that his knees began to tremble.
Bodvar’s lip curled into a contemptuous sneer, then he clapped a hand on the scout’s shoulder. “You don’t be so scared, Sharpnose,” he said. “Even if we don’t find ’em, Slagfid’s not going to kill us or nothing. Hagamil might, but not Slagfid.”
Tavis closed his eyes. “What a relief.” The scout’s voice cracked as he spoke. He pointed down the
ravine and said, “You search in that direction, and I’ll look up here. Take your time—Avner’s good at hiding.”
“Yell if you find anything,” Bodvar said.
The frost giant turned around and began his search, overturning boulders and shaking trees so hard that bird nests fell from the boughs. Tavis did the same, though he was careful to keep a watchful eye turned toward the cliff top. In spite of Bodvar’s reassurances, he knew that any humans who baited their traps with young girls would not shirk at a few risks.
Tavis glanced behind him and saw that Bodvar was searching very carefully indeed. The frost giant’s section of ravine looked as though an avalanche had torn through it, with pines leaning in every direction and a jumbled heap of boulders piled in the center of the gully. The scout silently cursed his companion’s thoroughness, then pulled the ballista spear out of the ground and began to poke and prod into crevices and crannies.
About twenty paces up the ravine, the spear pierced something soft. A muffled grunt of pain came from inside the dark nook into which Tavis had thrust the spear. The scout glanced down the gully and did not see Bodvar, though he did hear the crack of a toppling tree around the bend. The firbolg breathed a sigh of relief, but did not withdraw the weapon. Until he could examine the wound, it was best to leave the spear where it was.
The traell was not so patient The weapon jerked once as the victim pulled free of it, then something bright flashed out of the crevice. Tavis had time to realize that the gleam was a steel blade before a battle axe buried itself deep into his big toe.
The scout jumped back, yelling in pain and surprise. The axe pulled free of his foot and rose for another strike. A skinny man with black braids and a gaping hole in his thigh limped out of the cranny. The traell swung his weapon again. Tavis jerked his leg away, and the blade sank deep into the blood-soaked ground. The scout brought his foot back and kicked the axe out of the man’s grasp.
“Sharpnose?” yelled Bodvar. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I have matters well in hand,” Tavis could not keep the pain out of his voice, for the axe blow had cut his toe half off. “I’ll be fine.”
Tavis’s attacker stood in front of the crevice, shielding it with his scrawny body and glaring up at the scout. Though the human was trembling with fear, his black eyes showed no emotion but anger and hatred. Behind the man, peering out from the mouth of the nook, stood the girl who had lured Bodvar into the ambush.
“Did you find the traell?” Bodvar’s heavy steps rumbled through the forest
“Not Avner,” Tavis called. He looked down at the man, then pointed at the cranny and whispered, “Leave your cloak and go!”
The man’s expression changed from anger to disbelief, and he seemed too shocked to move. The young girl reacted more quickly, pulling the astonished fellow back into the crevice. She ripped his brown cloak off his back and threw it out, then both humans disappeared into the darkness.
Tavis glanced over his shoulder and saw Bodvar stomping around the bend. The scout used his injured foot to drag the cloak over to the blood-soaked ground, then grabbed the largest stone he could find and raised it over his head.
“Wait!” Bodvar yelled. “Don’t kill—”
Tavis hurled the rock down. The effect was perfect. With the axe lying nearby, a corner of the blood-soaked cloak visible, and a crimson stain spreading from beneath the stone, it looked as though the scout had avenged the attack on his toe. He sat down on the stone, then pulled his bleeding foot into his lap and inspected the wound.
The man had clearly known what he was doing. The axe blade had landed in the joint, slicing through the tendons and chipping the toe bone. Until this was healed, Tavis would have a difficult time walking, and running was out of the question. If he wanted to get away from the frost giants now—which seemed wise, given that he had no idea how much longer the magic in Basil’s runemask would last—he would have to do it through guile, not speed.
Bodvar pounded up and stopped beside Tavis, then surveyed the bloody scene around the scout’s perch. “Didn’t you hear me?” demanded the frost giant. “I said—”
“I know what you said,” Tavis interrupted.
“Then why’d you kill him?” Bodvar demanded. “Hagamil’s been trying to catch one of those traells since we got here.”
Tavis pointed to his bloody toe.
Bodvar grimaced, but said, “That’s nothing.”
The frost giant kneeled down and reached into the neck of his tunic, withdrawing a chain with a large, tear-shaped gem on it. From deep within the jewel’s heart scintillated a pale blue light that seemed all too familiar.
Tavis grasped the frost giant’s arm. “Bodvar, what’s that?”
Bodvar shook his head at the scout’s ignorance. “You never seen an ice diamond?”
Tavis wanted to retch, remembering the last ice diamonds he had seen. “Of course,” Tavis answered. “But not one so large.”
“This thing?” Bodvar scoffed. “This is nothing. You should see Hagamil’s. As large as my fist.” The giant closed his hand to illustrate.
“They’re magic?” the scout asked.
“They never melt, if that’s what you mean,” Bodvar said. “And you can enchant them, I suppose. But most warriors carry them for other reasons.”
The frost giant touched the gem to Tavis’s wound. The scout hissed as a bolt of searing cold shot into the gash, then his foot went numb clear to the ankle. The bleeding stopped almost instantly, and he even thought he would be able to walk.
Bodvar slipped the ice diamond back around his neck, then ripped the hem off his patient’s robe.
“This will hold you until I can convince Roskilde to heal you,” he said, his attention fixed on bandaging Tavis’s wound.
“My thanks,” Tavis said. He leaned back and braced his hand on the largest stone he could reach. “This is certainty a change from asking for a challenge fight”
“It’s little enough after you went and saved my life,” Bodvar said. “If it starts to hurt, let me know and I’ll touch it with my diamond again.”
“What would I have to do to get one of those diamonds?” Tavis asked. “Where do they come from?”
“You could never find one yourself,” Bodvar said, knotting the bandage. “Not unless you can follow the Boreal Lights to the heart of the Endless Ice Sea—and you’d be the first stone giant I’ve met who can do that.”
“Then the diamonds don’t come from Gilthwit?”
“Gilthwit?”
Bodvar looked up, his pale eyes as unreadable as ice, and fixed his gaze on Tavis. The scout gripped the stone beneath his hand, fearing that he had betrayed his disguise. He had realized that was a possibility when he had asked the question, but there had been no choice. The answer would tell him who the spy was, and once he identified the spy, he would know how much danger Brianna was in.
At last, Bodvar stood. “How could they come from Gilthwit?” asked the frost giant. “That place is just a legend. Like I said, ice diamonds come from the Endless Ice Sea.”
“And no other place?”
“ ’Course not. Only the Endless Ice Sea’s cold enough to forge ’em,” Bodvar answered. “But you don’t have to go out there to get one. We can trade for it.”
Tavis released his hold on the stone. If ice diamonds came only from the Endless Ice Sea, then the Prince of Gilthwit was a liar—and probably an imposter as well.
The frost giant slipped an arm around Tavis’s waist to help him stand. “We’d better be getting back,” he said. “Slagfid’ll be wondering where we got off to.”
“You go ahead—and blame Avner’s loss on me,” Tavis said, making no move to rise. “I’m going to keep looking.”
Bodvar hoisted the scout up. “Don’t be stupid. With that foot of yours, you wouldn’t last an hour before the traells get you,” he said. “And now that we don’t have the boy, you’re the only proof we got that Tavis Burdun is dead.”
“But your chief will n
ever take my word!”
A cunning grin crept across Bodvar’s lips. “Slagfid wasn’t exactly telling you the truth,” he said. “The only reason Hagamil wants a body is so he can give it to Julien and Arno and claim that we frost giants killed Tavis Burdun by ourselves. When we show up without any other proof, he’ll be real mad—but he won’t hurt you. He needs you to tell Julien and Arno what happened. They’ll be even madder than him tomorrow if they don’t know for sure that Tavis is dead.”
“What’s so important about tomorrow?” Tavis asked.
Bodvar glanced down the gulch, then lowered his voice to a whisper. “We’re not supposed to tell you, but that’s when we’re meeting Julien and Arno,” he said. “They’re gonna have Brianna, and they want to be real sure Tavis Burdun can’t come kill her.”
9
Storm Warning
“Do you have everything you need?” Brianna inquired. “We want this weapon ready before the giants attack.”
The queen and her retinue had stopped behind a disassembled ballista that five of Cuthbert’s soldiers were frantically reassembling. Next to the weapon lay a stack of harpoons with pitch-soaked rags swaddled around their tips. On a nearby merlon hung a torch, a ribbon of black, bitter smoke rising from its head.
“Can I get anything to help?” Brianna asked again.
“It’s only a broken skein, Majesty,” said the sergeant of engines.
A rough-featured soldier with purple circles under his eyes and a two-day stubble of beard, the sergeant was the only man to meet the queen’s gaze. The other four kept their eyes fixed on the ballista. Although they affected an attitude of preoccupation, it did not escape Brianna’s notice that their hands had fallen idle.
“I reckon we got time to fix it,” the sergeant continued, “providing you let us alone.” Without awaiting the queen’s leave, he turned back to his work.
Brianna felt someone brush past her, then Arlien had his hand on the man’s shoulder. “The queen did not dismiss you!” the prince snapped. “Show her the proper respect!”
Cuthbert stepped forward and pried Arlien’s hand off the sergeant’s shoulder, then placed himself between the two men. “Blane has not slept since the giants appeared,” the earl said. “I’m certain he intended no disrespect.”