The Giant Among Us (28 page)

After a time, the scout heard voices-not words, just voices-mingled with the whistling of the wind. Then he saw a flickering orange light gleaming off the walls ahead, and what looked like the crest of the chute. Tavis stopped. He slipped his frozen hands into his armpits and concentrated on breathing in a slow, steady rhythm. Now that he knew where Julien and Arno had made their camp, the firbolg could picture the terrain above. They were probably camped in the shelter of a dry overflow gulch, at the bottom end of an alpine lake. He was climbing up what would be a waterfall when spring melt-water swelled the pond and sent it pouring over its shores. When he attacked, there would be little maneuvering room for his foes. He would kill them both simply and quickly. The most dangerous part of the rescue would be retreating down this avalanche gully with Brianna.

When Tavis’s cold fingers finally felt limber enough to draw a bowstring, he fumbled in his quiver until he found his last two runearrows. He put one shaft between his teeth and the other in his hand, then climbed to the top of the chute. He stopped behind the crest and knelt in the snow.

About thirty paces ahead, the flickering yellow light of a bonfire cut axelike through the blizzard, illuminating the entire width of the gully. On one side of the gulch sat a figure no larger than a hill giant, his back braced against the wall and a haunch of scorched meat in each hand. The scout could see only the profile of the giant’s face, but that was enough to determine that the fellow was a pale-skinned brute with a pug nose and a greasy double chin. The fine ermine cloak over his broad shoulders seemed a strange contrast to his slovenly visage.

In front of the giant, the bonfire’s flames licked at a spit holding the remains of a good-sized animal. Much of the creature was gone, so it took Tavis a moment to identify it-and when he did, he wished he had not. Knowing that his mouth had watered at the smell of roasting human sent a shiver down his spine.

On the other side of the bonfire, just at the edge of the bonfire’s light, sat Hagamil’s large form. One of the frost giant’s wrists ended in a bloody bandage, while his face looked as haggard and weary as the scout felt. The chieftain was gnawing hungrily on a human arm.

Tavis saw no sign of a third giant, Prince Arlien, or Brianna. He felt certain that the giants would not have roasted the queen after all they had gone through to capture her, but that knowledge did not prevent a terrible, cold ache from sinking into his bones. He spent a moment trying to eavesdrop on their conversation, but heard nothing more than a series of deep-throated murmurs. He slipped over the crest of the chute and crept forward, swimming through the snow more than crawling through it. As he moved, the scout kept a watchful eye on Hagamil, who was the most likely of the giants to notice him.

A short distance later, Tavis found he could understand the giants’ words. He stopped and stuck the runearrows in the snow beside him, then slipped his hands into his armpits and listened.

“… came as fast as we could, Arno.” It was Hagamil, sounding both apologetic and exhausted.

“But you haven’t got Tavis Burdun!” Arno shook one of his meat haunches-it was a human thigh-at the frost giant. “We said bring him here!”

“Your plan didn’t work,” Hagamil countered. “I already told you what happened.”

“It would have worked if you weren’t such an idiot, Hagamil.” It was a third voice, deeper and smoother than either the frost giant’s or Arno’s. Something about it sounded vaguely familiar, but the whistling wind made it difficult for Tavis to say what. He concentrated his efforts on locating the face that went with the voice. “Even a hill giant wouldn’t mistake a firbolg for a stone giant. Not even a fomorian would make such an error.”

Hagamil narrowed his eyes and fixed them on Arno. “He had some sort of magic mask,” the frost giant said, his tone as cold as the snow. “I tried to tell you that, Julien.”

Tavis peered closer at the giant sitting by the fire. When the brute raised a haunch of meat and stuck it somewhere on the other side of Arno’s face, the scout realized where the extra voice was coming from. Arno had a second head. He was an ettin!

Tavis scowled, perplexed by this discovery. All the ettins he had seen were as stupid as they were cruel, hardly capable of speech. Yet, this one was conversing intelligently with not only itself, but Hagamil as well. Even more surprising, the chieftain acted as though he were the inferior. That made no sense. No giant would take orders from an ettin.

“I know what you told me!” Julien hissed at Hagamil. “I also know what your failure means. Tavis Burdun has sworn to kill Brianna rather than let us have her. As long as he’s alive, we can’t take her to Twilight.”

As Julien spoke, Tavis realized why his voice sounded so familiar. It was a deeper, louder version of Prince Arlien’s! The ettin had been inside Cuthbert Castle all along, no doubt disguised by some magic similar to the runemask the scout himself had used to impersonate Gavorial.

“Why can’t we take her to Twilight?” Hagamil demanded. He nibbled at the arm in his hand, then added, Tavis’ll never catch us in this blizzard. All we have to do is take her through Split Mountain, and we’ll be in the vale before the storm clears.”

The ettin’s far hand threw its haunch at the frost giant. “Stupid frost giant!” Arno growled. “Do you see Brianna here?”

Hagamil ran his eyes over the campsite. “But you said you’d have her tonight.”

“What we have is a verbeeg problem,” Julien replied. “The runecaster’s made it impractical to slip her out quietly.”

The cold ache in Tavis’s bones began to fade. The “verbeeg problem” had to be Basil. The runecaster had seen through the ettin’s disguise.

“But we got another way to get her,” Arno added.

“How?” the frost giant asked.

“That’s what we’re up here to explain!” growled Arno. “You come down to the castle and attack.”

Hagamil frowned. “But Tavis-“

“You will have him by then,” Julien interrupted.

The frost giant’s face flushed to a pale shade of blue. “We’ll find him,” he promised. “But even then, battles are confusing. Brianna could be killed.”

“Not with her faithful prince there to protect her,” snickered Julien. “Besides, that fool Cuthbert’s a coward. Once the fighting starts, he’ll be quick enough to hand her over-especially after I whisper the idea in his ear.”

Hagamil looked doubtful, but asked, “When do you want us?” “Soon,” Arno replied.

Hagamil nodded. “We’ll leave in the morning.” He chewed the last of the meat off the greasy bone in his hand and tossed it aside, then gestured at the cooking fire. “I’ll have that other arm, if you please.”

The ettin took the spit off the bonfire and ripped the second arm off the corpse. He tossed the limb to the frost giant, then his two heads began eating the rest of the charred flesh directly off the stick.

The scout nocked his first runearrow and aimed at Arno’s neck, but held his fire. Normally, he could hit such a large target easily at this distance, but his fingers remained stiff from the cold. More importantly, the winds in the gully were gusty, and the shot would be tricky enough with Basil’s heavy runearrow.

Tavis lowered his aim to the ettin’s shoulder. “Arno!”

“Huh? Who that?”

Arno scowled and turned toward the voice, exposing more than enough of his broad chest to give the scout a good shot. Tavis loosed his arrow, then heard a dull clank as it pierced the armor beneath the ettin’s cloak.

“Basil is wise!” he called.

The blast hurled the ettin against the gulch wall. Arno’s head slammed into the stone with a crack that Tavis heard even over the explosion. The brute’s churlish eyes went vacant with death. The scout felt the gully quiver as untold tons of snow shifted beneath his feet.

Hagamil leapt up, fumbling at his belt axe with his one good hand. “Tavis Burdun!” he yelled.

“That’s right.” Tavis grabbed his second runearrow. So far, everything was proceeding according to plan, except that Brianna was not here with him. She was back at Cuthbert Castle: safe, and likely to stay that way if he could kill Hagamil. “I thought I’d make myself easy for you to find.”

The scout nocked the shaft and swung the tip toward the frost giant, who wisely retreated out of the firelight with a single long step. Then, as Tavis drew his bowstring back to fire, the ettin groaned. He pushed himself away from the wall, Arno’s lifeless face dangling over the gaping hole in his chest.

Tavis cursed and swung his last runearrow around to finish the job the first had left undone. Julien turned his head toward the firbolg, revealing a much larger version of Prince Arlien’s handsome face. The scout aimed at the thick neck beneath the imposter’s cleft chin.

The ettin dived away, yelling, “Basil-“

Tavis loosed his arrow.

“-is wise,” Julien finished.

White light flashed three paces in front of Tavis, then he felt himself flying backward. His whole body exploded into searing, agonizing pain and Bear Driller disintegrated in his hands. The scout fell a long way, the sonorous growl of an avalanche rumbling somewhere beneath him, and he bounced off a rocky slope. He had hit somewhere behind the snowslide, he realized, and he wondered if that was good or bad.

Tavis slammed into the ground again. This time, he went ricocheting down the icy chute, bouncing from one jagged rock to another, opening long gashes all over his body. The scout caught the avalanche. He slipped into the powdery snow like a bird into the air, and die world went still.

14
Waiting Game

For the second morning in a row, Brianna peered out her window, over the bustling ramparts and across the sparkling lake, to find the hill giants standing beside’ their rafts and a favorable wind blowing across the blue! waters. They had oaken shields strapped to their forearms and knobby tree trunks resting across their shoulders. Strangely enough, the sight didn’t alarm her. Maybe she was just too groggy, or maybe she had more confidence in the castle defenses than she realized, but the queen was not frightened this morning.

Brianna resented being so calm when she didn’t understand the reason for her composure. She felt like a goose being fattened for slaughter, too content and stupid to realize what was happening.

There came a knock at the door. “Enter,” Brianna called. She pulled her dressing gown more tightly around her throat, but continued to peer out the window.

The hinges squealed. “How are you feeling this morning, Majesty?” asked Cuthbert “Better, I hope.”

“I am,” Brianna answered absently. It was something about the hill giants, she realized. They were the reason she felt so calm. “I still can’t remember what happened in the temple the other night, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“Actually, that’s the least of my worries.” Cuthbert started across the room. “With Basil in the dungeon and Arlien out looking for our reinforcements, I doubt well have any more trouble.”

Brianna hardly heard him. Her attention remained fixed on the giants.

“I can’t stop watching them, either,” Cuthbert said, joining her. “Do you think they’ll attack today?”

Brianna shook her head. “No, not today.”

The queen finally realized why she wasn’t afraid. Even from across the lake, she could see heads tipping back as the giants yawned, or bodies swaying from side to side as they shifted their weight back and forth. They were bored. Brianna knew enough about battle to realize that any number of emotions might run through a warrior’s heart in the moments before combat, but lethargy wasn’t one of them.

“You can tell your men to get some rest,” Brianna said. “They’re putting on a show for us.”

“A show? Why don’t they just attack?” Cuthbert’s voice sounded as brittle as ice. “All this waiting … it’s very wearing on the men, I can tell you that.”

For the first time since the earl had entered the room, Brianna glanced down at him and saw the dark bags under his eyes. He was already dressed for battle, with his breastplate, vambraces, and greaves cinched down tightly. He carried his helmet under one arm, and his heavy axe was leaning against the doorjamb.

“I don’t mind the wait,” Brianna said. “Our reinforcements should be arriving within two days. The longer the wait, the better-don’t you think, Earl?”

“Yes, of course,” Cuthbert replied, his face reddening. “I don’t mean to imply I’m anxious to lose my castle. But the waiting makes no sense. I hope the hill giants don’t know more than we do.”

“That’s certainly possible,” Brianna allowed. “We have no idea whether T-Ta-, er… whether my bodyguard actually reached Wendel Manor. They would know if he failed.”

Cuthbert nodded. “That’s what worries me. They’re acting too confident, like they know everything we might do.” He fell silent, then shook his head. “Maybe I shouldn’t have let Arlien go, after all. But on the chance that he is a spy, I thought it’d be better to have him outside the castle. Even if he returns, I don’t think I’ll let-“

“I miss him.”

Cuthbert furrowed his brow. “Milady?”

Brianna did not answer immediately. The words had slipped from her lips before she realized she had uttered them, and she was trying to figure out why. The queen wasn’t aware of any longing for Arlien, or of any other feeling except the vague suspicion that it was wiser not to be alone with the prince.

“Majesty, did you say you missed Prince Arlien?”

“I believe I did.” She said it quietly, as though admitting something rather distasteful.

The earl scowled. “Does that mean you want me to admit him into the castle if he returns?”

Brianna tried to consider the question, but when she pondered the possibility that Arlien might be a spy, her thoughts began to wander in a hundred different directions. She found herself lost in her clouded minded.

“Milady?” Cuthbert asked. “Should I-“

“Do what you think is best, Earl!” Brianna was surprised at the tone of her voice, for she had not intended the reply to be a sharp one. “Now, please excuse me. I don’t think I’m feeling well, after all.”

*****

The avalanche had hit the spruce copse with the power of Stronmaus. The edge of the stand had been reduced to an impassable tangle of snapped and splintered trees packed in a powdery wall of snow. Avner had walked Graytusk the length of the barrier several times, looking for a way to cross. The combination of soft snow and tangled logs made it impossible for the mammoth to climb. They would have to find another way out onto the avalanche.