by Troy Denning
Brianna glanced back toward Tavis. When she saw him standing beneath his crag with another runearrow in hand, the queen took a pinch of powdered brimstone from her satchel and turned her attention to Wyrm River. She removed her goddess’s golden talisman from her neck and pointed it up the canyon.
“Valorous Hiatea,” she said, “I call upon you to aid these brave and noble warriors in their just cause, that they may prevail against our enemies and ever serve your will.”
The amulet, shaped like a blazing spear, began to glow, the golden fire dancing as though the metal had truly burst into flame. Brianna tossed her brimstone into the air, at the same time uttering her spell. A river of acrid amber fumes shot from the talisman and streaked up the canyon. When the yellow smoke reached its targets, it coalesced into a huge, roiling cloud that hung in the wind like a boulder in a cataract. The fire giants craned their necks at the billowing vapors, and the queen hissed the mystical word that would unleash the spell’s fury.
With a thunderous crack, the yellow cloud burst, spilling a shower of sizzling, popping fire pellets onto the frozen river. The giants bellowed in surprise and leapt to their feet, the tiny balls of flame bouncing like hailstones off their black plate armor. Although Brianna could see that her blazing storm was hardly incinerating the fire giants, the brutes were nevertheless frightened-and with good reason. They had taken no more than three steps before a series of long, sharp crackles rang through the canyon. A hissing, impenetrable steam cloud rose about their legs. Almost as one, the entire group dropped through the thawing ice, filling the canyon with an eerie chorus of chattering and gurgling as their heavy armor dragged them beneath Wyrm River’s frigid waters.
The agony in Brianna’s abdomen had grown worse. She felt as if someone were standing on her stomach, grinding hobnailed boots into her womb. Her knees were trembling, and the pain deepened with every breath. The queen grabbed a handful of Blizzard’s mane and cursed Radborne for taking so long to return with her midwife, then looked toward her husband.
Tavis’s four attackers had discovered they could not dodge the firbolg’s deadly aim. Now they were rushing across the slope, pulling boulders out of the ground as they ran. Brianna could see stripes of blood streaking the armor of two giants, and the high scout was just drawing his bowstring to fire another runearrow. He would have plenty of time to plant his deadly shafts in the remaining foes long before they reached him.
But even Tavis Burdun was not infallible. As he loosed Mountain Crusher’s bowstring, his target suddenly pulled a boulder out of the ground and stood upright. The shaft bounced off the giant’s armor and ricocheted down the mountain, disappearing into the midst of the melee. The high scout’s shoulders slumped. He could not detonate any of his runearrows without obliterating what remained of the Royal Snow Bears.
The fire giants hurled their boulders. Tavis threw himself down the mountain to escape the barrage, and his foes sprinted forward.
Brianna pulled a small stick of purple glass from her satchel. Her hands were trembling-whether from crushing pain or naked terror, she did not know. She pointed the glass rod at the giants and, squeezing the words up from deep within her pain-racked body, beseeched Hiatea’s blessing.
As Brianna spoke, Tavis rolled to his feet holding the long, thin shaft of a normal arrow. He nocked and fired in one smooth motion. The queen did not even see the missile streak through the air. Her husband simply released Mountain Crusher’s bowstring, then a giant slapped a hand over his eye and dropped to a knee.
The flames on Brianna’s golden amulet began to dance. The queen summoned the spell to mind, then groaned aloud as her anguish deepened. It felt as if the inexorable power of her abdominal muscles were grinding her pelvis bone to powder. She forced herself to exhale, twice, trying to breathe away her agony. The pain only grew worse.
Brianna fixed her eyes on her husband. He was racing down the hillside, reaching for his quiver with stones and stumps flying past his head, dodging fire giant boots as they kicked the ground around him into a froth. The queen opened her mouth, forcing her tongue to curl and trill as she shaped the arcane syllables that would save her husband’s life.
An unbearable surge of pain gripped her. She heard herself scream and felt her knees buckle, and her half-finished spell misfired. The glass rod dissolved in her hand, becoming a twinkling beam of purple luminescence that shot out of the canyon and hung high in the sky, fluttering and hissing and popping like the boreal lights gone mad.
A fire giant’s boot slammed into her husband and sent his limp body tumbling across the mountainside. Then Brianna felt the stinging bite of ice beneath her body and realized she had collapsed. A moment later, she heard the cold thunder of boulders raining down on the frozen road, and the voices of her loyal footmen rising together in a long, mournful wail: the death shriek of the Royal Snow Bear Company.
3
Oin Meadowhome
Brianna lay doubled over in an icy rut-for minutes, it seemed-her ears ringing with the screams of the Royal Snow Bear Company. She felt the road shuddering beneath her body, the wind rasping across her cheek, even her own voice burning like bile as her screams boiled up from her womb. But she heard nothing-nothing save the cries of her loyal soldiers, perishing beneath the thundering torrent of granite.
The seeping mists of despair filled the queen’s mind, and through this darkening haze swarmed a bevy of somber thoughts. The giants had won, and more than the battle. They had captured the gorge, and with it the silver that kept Hartsvale’s armies strong; they had felled her husband, and with him the pillar of her strength; soon, they would take Brianna herself, and with her the infant so desperately fighting to reach a bloody and uncertain future.
Brianna did not know what to do when-if-her enemies captured her. They would present her to their mysterious guardian, the Twilight Spirit, so he could use his magic to get a giant king on her. To prevent that, the queen had vowed to die before allowing any giant to take her alive-but she had made that pledge before her pregnancy. Now, she worried that she lacked the strength, perhaps even the right, to make the same choice for her child.
Brianna opened her eyes and exhaled long and hard, then rolled to her knees.
A pair of hands grasped her beneath the arms. “Wait a minute,” said Avner. “I’ll help you up.”
Avner pulled backward, rocking Brianna into a kneeling position-and filling her belly with fiery pain.
“Avner!” she barked. “What are you doing?”
“We’ve got to go.”
The young scout pointed up the canyon to where the abandoned sleighs of the courtiers sat beside the road. A single fire giant was already walking by the tangle, casually kicking to death panicked draft horses as he passed. The brute was little more than a hundred yards away, close enough to see his flashing bronze eyes and foul green teeth.
Brianna clenched the young scout’s arm. “Avner, I can’t run,” she gasped. “Not now!”
Avner reached into his cloak and withdrew a purple flask sealed with a cork. Inside was one of the thick, frothy healing potions that Brianna’s high priest had given to Avner and Tavis. “Maybe if you drink this.”
Brianna pushed the vial away. “I’m not wounded; I’m giving birth,” she said. “Simon’s elixirs won’t help me. I need Gerda.”
The young scout paled. “Radborne hasn’t returned.” He studied her with a growing expression of horror. Brianna was a foot and a half taller than him, and weighed a hundred and fifty pounds more. There was no question of his carrying her. “Maybe the Beast-”
The queen shook her head. “Even if Blizzard could climb the landslide, I can’t ride.” The mere thought of sitting on a horse filled her with an unbelievable ache. “You go for help.”
Avner cast a nervous glance up the canyon, and Brianna followed his gaze. The leading fire giant was passing the last of the courtiers’ sleighs. Fifty yards behind him, several of his companions were slowly coming up the road, stopping now and then
to grind what remained of the Royal Snow Bear Company into the ground.
Avner unsheathed his sword. “I can’t leave your side,” he said. “I promised Tavis.”
“You will do as I order! It’s our only chance.” Brianna grabbed his arm and pulled herself up. Although her pain was receding, she clenched her teeth at the effort. “And hand me my spell satchel before you leave.”
The young scout started to argue, but abruptly stopped when a loud clatter erupted from the landslide behind them. Brianna turned around to see Radborne Wynn and six front riders escorting a pair of twelve-foot strangers down the jumbled boulder heap. Long pelts of ice-crusted beard hung from the jaws of both newcomers. They wore their brown-furred parkas drawn tight against the howling wind, so that they resembled the fabled bear-men reputed to inhabit certain remote valleys of the Ice Spires.
“Firbolgs!” Avner slipped his sword back into its scabbard. “We’re saved!”
“I wish we were,” Brianna muttered. Like everyone else in court, Avner had apparently heard of the firbolgs’ recent alliance offer-but not the price they asked in exchange. “They’re no friends of ours.”
Avner scowled and started to draw his sword again, but Brianna motioned for him to leave the weapon sheathed.
“I don’t know what to expect,” she whispered. Perhaps the firbolgs had decided to offer their help without demanding the life of her unborn child. “Just follow my lead.”
From behind Brianna came the fire giant’s booming voice, bellowing for his companions to hurry. The firbolgs lumbered down the slide at their best pace, easily outdistancing their human escorts. One was as brawny and broad shouldered as a bull moose, with pale eyes the color of blue tourmaline. The other was spindly enough to be a verbeeg; his eyes were more like alabaster, white and milky and deep: Galgadayle.
Blizzard neighed spitefully at the newcomers. She stepped in front of Brianna, positioning her white-flecked torso between the queen and the hairy strangers. The firbolgs stepped off the landslide and stopped a single pace away. Though the mare was as large as any charger in the kingdom, her shoulders rose barely as high as their waists.
“I am Raeyadfourne, ur Meadowhome,” the burly one stated. He bowed, then gestured at the gaunt seer. “I’m sure you remember Galgadayle, oin Meadowhome.”
Brianna understood just enough of the firbolg tongue to recognize the appellations as titles, rather than names. Galgadayle translated roughly as “The One who Dreams for Us,” while Raeyadfourne was “Broad Shoulders that Bear Our Burdens.” “Oin” simply meant “lies in,” identifying Galgadayle as a resident of Meadowhome, while “ur” meant “watches over,” identifying Raeyadfourne as its chief.
“What are you doing here?” Brianna demanded.
Galgadayle glanced down the canyon, where the crashing footsteps of a sprinting fire giant echoed off the cliffs. “I should think you’d be happy to see us,” he said. “We came to save you.”
The seer pushed Blizzard aside as though she were a house pet. The big mare stumbled into Avner and knocked him to the ground, then Galgadayle scooped Brianna up in a single arm. This drew a scowl from Raeyadfourne, for snatching strangers up without permission bordered on lawlessness, but the chieftain did not voice any objections. He merely pulled a six-foot battle-axe from its sheath and stepped toward the fire giant
“I’ll hew the orange beard,” Raeyadfourne said. “Galgadayle will carry you to safety, Queen.”
“Safety?” Brianna scoffed. “This is abduction!”
“The elders have discussed your reluctance to heed Galgadayle.” Raeyadfourne did not look at Brianna as he spoke. “The first law is to defend the clan, so they have decided to take you under protection until the twins are born.”
With that, the chieftain turned to meet the fire giant. Galgadayle started up the landslide, cradling Brianna in one arm. Avner snatched the queen’s satchel off the ground and followed, lagging behind as he clambered over boulders that the seer stepped across in a single stride. Blizzard did not even try to follow. She cast a wary look at the jumble of huge rocks, then bounded up the mountainside toward one of the precarious mining trails.
A sonorous battle cry rang off the canyon walls, followed by the thunderous clang of a huge axe striking thick steel. Brianna looked past Galgadayle’s shoulder and saw Raeyadfourne duck as the fire giant’s sword swept over his back. The chieftain drew himself to his full height-which put his head at his foe’s midriff-and swung his axe. The giant twisted away and counterattacked, and the two warriors fell into a vicious, clamorous dance of death.
Avner scrambled to the seer’s side, then caught Brianna’s eye and cocked an eyebrow.
“There’s no need for violence, young man,” warned Galgadayle. “I mean no harm to either your queen or Tavis’s son. It’s the other twin, the one fathered by the ettin, I want”
Avner tripped in astonishment and fell to his knees. Brianna hardly noticed, for she felt as though the seer had punched her in the stomach. The ettin was the magical imposter whom the Twilight Spirit had sent to court her. His powerful love potion had befuddled her for days at a time. She did not remember being seduced by the spy, and she could not recall much of what had happened during the dreamlike haze.
Brianna twisted in her captor’s arms and saw Avner slowly rising to his feet. His expression was more hurt than suspicious, for he knew as well as anyone that the firbolg seer could not lie about this matter-or any other.
“Avner, Galgadayle’s mistaken!” Brianna cried. The queen wanted the young scout to know the truth, and not only because he was her best hope of escape. Avner was like a son to her and Tavis; to lose the youth’s trust would be to lose all that remained of her family. “You were there when Simon divined my womb! I’m carrying only one child!”
Galgadayle nearly dropped Brianna onto the sharp rocks. “That can’t be!” He tipped his head to look down at her. Brianna could barely see his white eyes above the ice-crusted curtain of his long beard. “Who is this Simon?”
“A high priest of Stronmaus,” Brianna explained. “He said you were wrong.”
Galgadayle considered Brianna’s words for a moment, then shook his head. “You’re lying. My dreams are never wrong.”
Brianna glanced back and saw that Avner had started up the landslide again. His expression was thoughtful and enigmatic, but his eyes would not meet the queen’s.
On the road beyond Avner, Raeyadfourne was slowly giving ground to the fire giant. One side of the giant’s steel apron hung bloody and askew, while half a dozen glancing blows had left the firbolg’s parka seared and smoking. The rest of the fire giants were only thirty paces from the battle, and one was already climbing the hillside to flank Raeyadfourne.
Brianna’s six front riders came scrambling down the slide, the frozen links in their mail coats rattling like bones. They carried their lances at port arms across their chests and did not slow as they approached the queen, obviously intending to help Raeyadfourne with the fire giants. Earl Wynn was ten steps behind the men, clambering over the boulders as best he could in his plate armor.
“Wait!” Brianna ordered. “I need you men here.”
The front riders clattered to a stop several paces from Galgadayle, politely leaving space for the firbolg to continue up the slide. Brianna and her captor were now so close to the summit that she could see the next bend in the gorge.
“Stop this firbolg!” Brianna commanded. “He’s abducting me!”
Most of the front riders merely scowled in confusion, but two men instinctively obeyed the queen’s command. The seer did not stop until the tips of their weapons were pressed against his belly. Then, as the other front riders moved to surround him, Galgadayle tightened his lips and let out a whistle as loud and piercing as the cry of an eagle.
Brianna expected some strange spell to render her men unconscious or helpless, but that is not what happened.
Instead, Earl Radborne demanded, “Majesty, what are you doing?” He had stopp
ed behind the front riders and was pointing down the slide, to where Raeyadfourne was diving over the riverbank to avoid being trampled by fire giants. “There are more giants coming!”
“Let them!” Brianna snarled. She let her eyes drift toward the crest of the landslide, then asked, “Where’s Gerda? I need my midwife.”
“We have taken her into our troop’s protection,” Galgadayle answered. “We have done the same for all your courtiers.”
Brianna felt her abdomen tighten, though she could not tell whether it was another labor pain or a sign of her growing apprehension. She looked at Galgadayle’s face.
“Put me down, or I’ll order my men to attack.”
The seer squeezed her tightly in the cradlelike crook of his elbow. “That will do you no good. I have already summoned our warriors,” he said. “Even if you kill me, you have no hope of escaping.”
“I’ll take my chances,” Brianna replied. When the firbolg made no move to put her down, she looked to her front riders. “Kill-”
Galgadayle flexed the biceps of his enormous arm, forcing the air from her lungs and preventing her from finishing her command. The front riders braced themselves, but Brianna could see by their eyes they were reluctant to attack for fear of causing her death.
Radborne pushed his way forward to Galgadayle. “You heard the queen! Release Her Majesty.” He raised his arms over his head and still could not reach Brianna. “Hand her down!”
Galgadayle shook his head. “That I cannot-arrghhHH!”
The seer’s muscles went limp. Brianna plummeted into Radborne’s arms, and they crashed to the ground in a clamorous heap of steel armor and fur coat. A dull, throbbing ache blossomed deep within her belly. Suddenly, she seemed to smell every vile and sour thing in the gorge: the brimstone stench of fire giant swords, the coppery blood and steaming entrails covering the road below, even the sour frozen sweat beneath the armor of her own front riders. Her gorge rose, and a dry, rasping sound came from her throat. She saw Galgadayle’s feet stomping in a circle beside her.