by Troy Denning
Slagfid grabbed Tavis by the wrist “Let’s go,” the frost giant urged. “I don’t want to miss the fight.”
The scout limped after his escort. The effects of Bodvar’s ice diamond were wearing off, and his injured toe was starting to pain him.
Outside, a stiff wind had risen. It was whistling through the gaps between the nunataks, carrying with it a scouring stream of ice pellets. A ferocious-looking bank of storm clouds was rolling over the caldera’s northern rim, its leading edge gleaming silver in the moonlight It seemed to Tavis that he could actually feel the temperature dropping.
“It appears there’s quite a storm coming our way,” the scout commented.
Slagfid paused long enough to turn his face into the pelting ice crystals. “Yes, it promises to be a glorious blizzard!” he shouted. “Thrym favors us!”
The frost giant smiled broadly, then led the way to the water hole that the mammoths had gouged in the frozen lake. Although Tavis could hear the ice groaning beneath the beasts’ immense weight, Slagfid did not show the slightest hesitation as he walked out to them. The scout decided to wait on shore, suspecting that if the ice broke, the cold would affect him far more than the frost giant.
Slagfid waded into the herd, looking remarkably similar to a human shepherd pushing his way through a flock of goats. The frost giant stooped over and began grabbing ears. He tipped each beast’s head back so that he could inspect the left tusk, no doubt looking for an ownership mark etched into the ivory. The mammoths trumpeted their protest and occasionally tried to push him away, but the creatures were no match for the giant’s strength. He simply stood his ground and grabbed each animal’s trunk, pinching it shut until the beast stopped struggling.
The frost giant had sorted through about half the herd when the creatures began flapping their ears and changing positions, aligning themselves shoulder-to-shoulder with their heads pointed into the wind. They raised their trunks and let out an intimidating wail, slashing their long tusks through the air and pawing at the ice.
The vibrations caused a large slab of ice to break free, dropping three mammoths and Slagfid into the frigid lake. The plunge didn’t bother any of them. The beasts simply wrapped their trunks around the legs of the closest herd members, then hoisted themselves up with one or two clumsy leaps. No water dripped out of their matted fur, for it had turned to ice the instant the animals had left the lake. Slagfid followed the mammoths’ example, save that he used his hands instead of a prehensile trunk.
The frost giant peered in the same direction as the mammoths. “What’s wrong over there?” he demanded, knocking ice chunks off his body. “Do you see anything?”
Tavis glanced in the direction the giant indicated. “Yes: snow, ice, and shadows.”
The scout did not add that one of the shadows looked to be about the size of a traell. The fellow was lying behind a jagged ridge of ice, with a long bow that could only be Bear Driller on the ground in front of him. Apparently, Avner had recruited some help at the bottom of the glacier. That was why he had been so confident.
Slagfid peered at the shore a moment longer, then shrugged. “Probably bears. Little vermin like that scares mammoths as bad as dragons.” He turned to face the herd again, then shook his head and swore, “By the Endless Ice Sea! Now I’ve got to start over!”
* * * * *
Avner dangled upside down at the end of a greasy rope. A pair of rusty shackles bound his ankles, and in his hands he clutched a blade-tipped spear. The remorhaz danced on the ice almost thirty feet below.
At the top end of Avner’s rope, Hagamil and Halflook were carrying on a bizarre quarrel. The argument would have been comical had the youth’s life not depended on the outcome.
“The body belongs to me until morning!” said Halflook. “If you want to set Little Dragon against the worm, you can wait.”
“By morning, we’ll be on our way.” Hagamil’s gravelly voice rasped from the same mouth out of which Halflook’s had just come. “It’s a long way to Split Mountain.”
“Split Mountain?” snarled Halflook. “We should have left yesterday!”
As the pair argued, Avner slipped his spear between his knees. He took his lockpicking tools out of his belt pouch, then laboriously raised his body up until he could grab his shackle chains. Once the giants dropped him, he would need his mobility—at least if he intended to survive until Tavis returned.
“Hey, what’s Little Dragon doing?” called one of the frost giant spectators. “Is he tryin’ to cheat?”
“Yeah! Ain’t he smart?” answered another. “Just like Slagfid said!”
Hagamil and Halflook glanced briefly at their captive, but made no move to prevent him from unlocking his shackles. Apparently, it was okay to cheat at frost giant games. Under different circumstances, Avner might have enjoyed the company of his captors.
“I would’ve left the day before yesterday,” Hagamil said, continuing the argument. When he spoke, his second eye hung half-descended into the socket. “But we had to wait ’til Slagfid killed Tavis Burdun. So now we’ve gotta do this thing with Little Dragon tonight.”
The first shackle came loose with a pop. Avner twined his arm around the rope, then slipped the pick into the second lock.
“Fine,” Halflook said. “Then I get to watch the match.”
Avner twisted the pick, and the lock popped open. His feet swung free, leaving the shackles in place and him dangling above the remorhaz by a single arm.
“Hey, Little Dragon done it!” called one of the spectators. “He got loose!”
Avner slipped his lockpick back into his belt pouch, then grabbed the spear from between his knees.
Halflook peered down and frowned, then Hagamil’s voice declared, “We’re doing it now!”
The giant—which one, Avner was not quite sure—let the rope slip between his fingers, lowering the youth into the pit like a spider on a thread. The remorhaz reared its chitinous head, ready to strike the instant its prey came into range.
Avner tucked his spear beneath his arm, then began whipping his legs to and fro until he was swinging like a pendulum. The ice worm rocked back and forth in time with the motion. A growing murmur buzzed through the cold chamber as the giants debated the purpose and effectiveness of little Dragon’s maneuver.
When his captor had lowered him to within a spear’s length of the remorhaz, the youth released the rope at the far end of his arc. His momentum catapulted him far past the ice worm’s tail. He hit the ice close to twenty paces away from the beast, then lost his footing and skidded across the floor. He did not stop sliding until he bounced off a wall.
Much to the giants’ delight, the youth instantly leaped to his feet and came up facing the remorhaz. His shackles clanged to the floor on the opposite side of the pit. The ice worm, which had been turning toward the youth, whirled around and scurried toward the noise, hissing and sputtering.
Avner gripped his spear and crept after the beast in silence, hoping to sneak up on the blind spot behind the creature’s head. The youth kept a careful watch on the ice worm’s legs, alert for any movement that suggested it was whirling toward him. Despite their sticklike appearance, the remorhaz’s legs were surprisingly large, with bulbous joints as big around as a human knee.
The ice worm stopped beside the shackles and ran a face tentacle over the cold steel. Avner was puzzled to see little wisps of vapor rising from the ice beneath the metal. He did not understand what was causing the steam, but it seemed clear enough that he would be wise to avoid the tentacles.
After a time, the remorhaz tossed the irons aside with a contemptuous flick of its head, apparently satisfied that the lifeless steel would cause it no harm. The beast carefully turned around, searching for its prey.
Avner slipped to the side, taking care to stay in the worm’s blind spot, and deftly glided toward the shackles. The maneuver elicited a round of thunderous chuckles from the giants above.
When the ice worm did not find its quarry in
the expected place, it vented a gurgling roar and spun around in a whirling blue flash. Avner thrust the tip of his spear into the floor and pushed off, launching himself toward the shackles in a crazy, slip-sliding sprint. The remorhaz hissed in glee and came scratching after him, its many claws gouging long furrows in the ice.
Avner snatched the irons on the move. Allowing himself to glide across the bumpy floor for a moment, he turned and hurled his spear at the remorhaz. The ice worm ducked, though it hardly needed to, and the shaft sailed harmlessly past its head. The youth resumed his sprint, his fingers tearing madly at the rope attached to the heavy chain. He managed to undo the knot quickly, for it had been tied by giant fingers and was quite loose. Behind him he heard the remorhaz’s claws warily clattering on the ice.
“Hey, what are you afraid of!” Avner called. He reached the wall and stopped, then turned around to see the ice worm slowly stalking toward him. He beat the shackles against the ice, yelling, “Come and get me. Hear that dinner bell?”
The remorhaz charged. Avner waited until the worm was moving so fast that it could not possibly stop, then pushed off the wall and ran straight toward the beast. The remorhaz raised its head to strike. The youth dropped to his hip and hit the ice sliding, whirling the shackles like a morningstar. He passed beneath the beast’s belly before it could attack, whipping the irons into the creature’s legs. He heard the satisfying crunch of crackling chitin and felt two limbs fracture.
The remorhaz roared and sprang sideways, trying to leap away from its tormentor. Avner grabbed one of its bulbous knees and held tight, and when the beast landed, the youth was still beneath it. He slipped one of the open shackles around the worm’s leg, closing the cuff above the creature’s round ankle.
The remorhaz thrust its head under its belly, jaws snapping and face tendrils flaying. The youth managed to whirl away from the beast’s needle-toothed maw, but its tentacles thrashed him several times. Scorching pains shot through his face and arms, and red welts rose wherever the tendrils touched. Avner continued to roll, jerking the worm’s shackled leg after him.
The remorhaz roared in pain and dropped to its side, slashing Avner with the legs along its other flank. The youth turned his head away from the slicing claws and blindly thrust an arm out, clamping onto one of the flailing legs. He tugged the limb toward him and clasped the second shackle above the ankle.
When the youth heard the lock click shut, he slipped between two slashing legs and scrambled away, leaving a trail of blood on the ice. He snatched up his spear and retreated to the nearest corner. Only then did he turn to inspect his work.
The remorhaz had righted itself, but the beast was far from the agile terror it had been earlier. On one side of its body, two of the legs Avner had hit with the irons hung limp and useless, so that the beast was creeping toward him with a severe list More importantly, the two shackled legs bent inward at awkward angles, further reducing the worm’s mobility.
The youth did not make the mistake of thinking he had won the battle. With its serpentine neck and darting head, the remorhaz could still snatch Avner off the ice in the blink of an eye. And he was not foolish enough to believe that he had the strength to drive his little spear through the beast’s hard carapace.
As the creature hobbled toward him, Avner used the tip of his spear to chip a small hollow in the ice. During the few moments it took him to complete the task, he dripped enough blood on the floor to stain the whole area red. When he finished, he braced the butt of his weapon in the cup he had created and angled the tip toward the approaching remorhaz.
“Maybe this will hold you off,” he whispered, “at least until Tavis gets back.”
* * * * *
After several minutes of searching, Slagfid finally grabbed one of the beasts by the ear and started toward the shore. The rest of the herd seemed to forget about the danger they had sensed earlier and followed close behind, an eerie, mournful wail pouring from their upraised trunks.
Tavis pointed at the herd and asked, “What’s all this?”
“Good-byes,” the frost giant explained. “They think he’s being led to butcher.”
Tavis winced. “You slaughter their kin in front of them?”
Slagfid shook his head. “Of course not. But they see our clothes and smell the cook fires.” The frost giant led the mammoth over to Tavis. “Doesn’t take ’em long to figure it out.”
“And they don’t try to flee?”
“Some do.” A cruel smile crossed Slagfid’s mouth. “But when we catch ’em, that’s when the herd sees a slaughter. We butcher the one that ran and its mother, calf, and siblings. After that, we usually don’t lose another one for twenty years.”
“Mammoths must be intelligent.”
“Smarter than hill giants, anyway,” Slagfid allowed. “And they remember faces a lot longer.”
The frost giant pulled on the mammoth’s ear, forcing it to present its flank to Tavis. The creature’s back came up only to the waist of Gavorial’s body, with a thick covering of coarse fur that would offer at least minimal padding.
The frost giant pressed the tip of his boot into the back of the beast’s knee. “Down, Graytusk.” Once the mammoth had kneeled before Tavis, Slagfid said, “Just climb on and grab an ear. He’ll turn the way you pull, and tug ’em both when you want to stop.”
Tavis swung a leg over Graytusk’s back. The sensation reminded the firbolg of the few times he had climbed onto a horse’s back. It felt like he should be carrying his mount, not the other way around.
“How do I make him go?”
“When I take my foot off his leg, he’ll stand up and start moving,” Slagfid explained. He grinned shrewdly, then added, “At least for a little while.”
Tavis scowled. “What do you mean?”
The frost giant chuckled. “I shouldn’t tell you this,” he said. “But you tried to get me the honor for catching little Dragon, so I figure I owe you something.”
“What?”
“Mammoths aren’t strong enough to haul grownups—it’s all they can do to carry a young giant,” Slagfid explained. “You’ll ride this fellow to death before you’re off the glacier.”
With that, the frost giant took his foot off Graytusk’s knee and stepped away. The mammoth pushed himself up, spewing a long snort from his hairy trunk and rocking so violently that Tavis nearly fell off. The beast instantly ambled forward with a lurching, uneven gait. The scout yanked on both ears, bringing the beast to a swift halt, and leaned over to speak with Slagfid.
“That’s why Hagamil kept the shaman’s promise!”
Slagfid nodded. “And that’s why Halflook made it in the first place,” the giant chortled. “You really don’t think the frost giants are going to share …”
Slagfid’s jaw fell open and he let his sentence trail off. He pinched his eyes closed, then opened them again and stared at Tavis with a bewildered expression. “Sharpnose, what’s happening to you?”
A cold numbness fell over the scout’s face, and his skin suddenly seemed as stiff and rigid as steel. His facial muscles began to twitch and snap. A loud, metallic ping echoed through his nasal cavities, then Basil’s runemask popped off and struck Slagfid squarely on the forehead. Tavis’s face erupted into searing pain. The bones of his jaw began to shrink, causing his teeth to grind against each other like stones. His entire head throbbed in agony.
“You’re not Sharpnose!” Slagfid gasped.
Tavis raised his foot and drove the heel into the frost giant’s midsection, then grabbed Graytusk’s ear and jerked the mammoth around. The beast broke into a shaky, bone-jarring trot. The scout’s throat started to shrink and he found himself choking on his own Adam’s apple, which was reducing its size only half as fast as the air passage around it. He guided his mount toward the place he had last seen the traell’s shadow, praying the fellow had not moved.
Slagfid’s voice commanded, “Graytusk, stand!”
The mammoth halted instantly. Tavis pitched for
ward, and only his secure grip on the beast’s ears prevented him from flying off. He craned his neck around to see Slagfid’s looming face just a few paces behind him. A distant ringing echoed in the scout’s ears, and black wisps of fog formed at the edges of his vision. He felt Graytusk’s back broadening beneath his legs, and he realized he was shrinking fast.
“You’re no stone giant,” Slagfid growled. “You’re just a scrawny little firbolg!”
The frost giant lowered a hand to pluck Tavis off the mammoth’s back. The scout pushed himself out of the way, then slid down Graytusk’s flank and dropped onto the snow. He crawled under the beast’s belly and scrambled to his feet on the other side, dizzy and still choking.
Slagfid shoved the mammoth out of his way. “You’re Tavis Burdun!”
Tavis stumbled forward. The black fog closed in, reducing his vision to a narrow tunnel. He tried to cry out for his bow, but could not choke the words out of his constricted throat. The ice trembled and crunched as Slagfid kneeled behind him.
“Catching you alive will bring me more honor than Hagamil!”
Tavis felt the giant’s fingers close around him, and his vision went dark. A scream of fury erupted deep inside the firbolg. It rose as high as the choking lump in his throat and remained there, simmering. The scout grabbed one of Slagfid’s fingers and pushed against the joint, determined to break the digit before he fell unconscious.
Tavis never had the chance. An arrow sizzled past several feet over his head, then sank into Slagfid’s eye with a mucky hiss. A pained bellow boomed over the ice, and the giant’s hand opened, spilling Tavis onto the ground.
Somewhere ahead, an old man’s voice yelled, “Basiliz wives!”
Tavis staggered toward the voice as fast as his growing dizziness allowed. Behind him, Slagfid scrambled to his feet, roaring, and stomped off toward the cavern.
“Basiliz wives!” the voice repeated, this time more urgently.
It occurred to the scout that his savior was attempting to activate one of Basil’s runearrows, but the fellow had such a traell accent that his words were hardly comprehensible. Tavis tried to give the command, but still could not speak. He dropped to his knees. He heard several humans rush up to him, then felt their hands grasping his arms.