had made the mistake of groaning in pain. Noote had ordered the deerskin cut away around the victim's face, so his cries would be more clearly audible when the flames began to roast him. So far, the groan had been the only sound to escape the runt's lips, but wisps of steam were just beginning to rise from the wet skins. The real pain would come later, when the leather began to shrink and his blood began to boil.
Morten did not see how he could save the runt. Noote's queen was a shrewd woman, and she clearly intended to steam Tavis as a warm-up for the morning's climactic torture, the 'rabbit run.' The hill giants would be lined up along both walls of the Fir Palace, their hands fastened behind their backs. Morten would be released at the far end of the lodge. If he could run the entire length of the chamber and out the door without being kicked to death, he would be allowed to live-or so Noote claimed. If the bodyguard tried to save the scout, he would probably be killed before he had a chance to make the rabbit run.
In itself, that would not have bothered Morten. He had no interest in playing the queen's game, at least not for the stakes she had proposed. But if he could convince the giantess to wager Brianna's freedom as well, then he was determined to succeed. The run was the bodyguard's last chance to redeem himself for letting Goboka capture the princess, and he was not about to squander it on the scout.
After Ig had turned the spit for several minutes without drawing a single moan from Tavis, Noote grew impatient. He pulled the fomorian away from the flames and shoved him toward the log pile. 'More wood!'
The chief, his eager face looming above the cooking fire, stood across the floor from where Morten was tied. His stout wife was at his side, clutching Brianna's rope sheathed form in her pudgy fingers. Ribbons of early morning light were streaming down through the smoke hole, forming hazy blue halos around their knobby heads.
Ig returned with an armful of tree trunks. He dropped the load next to the fire, then put the smallest logs on the pyre.
'That'll do you no good,' Morten called. He was yelling much louder than necessary, for his words were intended as much for the hide-swaddled scout as for Noote. 'Tavis won't scream.'
'Will too,' Noote growled. 'Burning hurt.'
'Maybe, but Tavis won't yell. He won't give you that satisfaction,' the bodyguard maintained. 'And I'm not going to make your rabbit run, either.'
Noote scowled. 'Not?'
The logs beneath Tavis began to burn. Ig left the rest of the trees on the ground and started to turn the spit.
'Firbolgs die with honor,' Morten explained. 'We don't beg for mercy. We don't show pain. We just die.'
'Maybe we skin you alive,' Noote warned. 'That hurt plenty.'
'What are you, fomorians?' Morten scoffed. 'I'd have thought hill giants could do better than that.'
Many of the giants snickered at their captive's defiance, but the bodyguard did not care. He knew their ridicule would soon change to disappointment. Whether Tavis was thief or hero-and Morten no longer knew which- the scout was a brave firbolg. He would die silently, especially if he understood that Brianna's life depended on it.
'You might as well kill us now,' Morten added. 'We're not going to scream.'
'You'll run, Morten,' said the queen. 'And Tavis Burdun will scream.'
The giantess picked up one of the iron bars Ig used to stir the fire and placed the end in the glowing coals, then pulled the fomorian away from the spit and motioned for him to put more wood on the fire.
Morten smiled, then locked eyes with the queen and waited. He had spent enough time in Castle Hartwick to know that the first rule of kings, at least those who wanted to stay king very long, was to keep their earls happy. The giantess was not exactly a king and her followers were not exactly earls, but the bodyguard was willing to gamble that she understood this principle as well as he did.
Soon the steam stopped rising from Tavis's cocoon. The stitching at the seams began to stretch, the first sign that the hides were shrinking, and the leather on the bottom side started to blacken. The scout's face turned pink, but he clamped his jaw shut and showed no sign that he would yell.
'You see?' Morten said. 'He's not going to scream.'
A concerned murmur rustled through crowd of hill giants. 'No fun,' one of them protested. 'Scream, stupid firbolg!'
Tavis's lips formed a smile. 'It's not that hot,' he said, speaking through clenched teeth.
'Roasting firbolg stupid!'
'Yeah,' agreed another giant. He pointed at Brianna. 'Maybe girl scream!'
'No!' the queen thundered. She pulled Brianna closer to her chest. 'We're taking her to the Twilight Vale.'
Brianna's face, all that Morten could see of the princess, did not change expressions. She seemed far more concerned with Tavis's plight than what the giantess might have in mind for her.
'No fun,' grumbled a giant. 'Noote stupid.'
When the big oaf turned away and others began to follow, Morten could not help smiling. Hill giants were like spoiled human children: one could always count on them to sulk.
The queen grabbed the poker she had placed in the fire, then thrust the handle into her husband's hand. 'Call the rabbit run.'
Noote stepped toward Morten, waving the poker's white-hot tip through the air. 'Wait!' the chieftain yelled, addressing the backs of his departing subjects. 'Time for run.'
The giants paused, but only a few turned to face their chief. 'Him not run.' said one. 'Firbolg too.'
Noote grinned wickedly, then lowered the poker's tip and laid it against Morten's cheek. The firbolg heard a loud sizzle, then the sick odor of burning flesh filled his nose and his entire head burned with agony. He had to bite his tongue to keep from crying out, and even then he nearly choked on the silent scream rising into his throat. The pain filled his entire head, as though the god Vulcan had swung his flaming hammer into his skull.
When the agony had subsided enough that Morten could be sure he would not scream, he said, 'I have no reason to run.'
'Then Noote will give you a reason,' growled the queen. She was so angry that she could not quite keep her voice from making the floor tremble. 'You can run, or he'll burn your eyes out.'
The bodyguard felt a cold sweat break out on his brow. It would be impossible to rescue Brianna if his captors blinded him. Still, he could not let them see his fear, or the princess was doomed.
Morten shrugged. 'What use does a dead man have for eyes?'
The bodyguard looked away from the poker's white tip, distracting himself by fixing his attention on the spit. Tavis's blackened cocoon was now beginning to shrivel. From what Morten could see of the scout's face, he was suffering more from the shrinking leather than the heat. His cheeks had turned that peculiar crimson of someone being choked, and the veins in his temples were bulging.
Once again, the bodyguard found himself envious of the scout. From all appearances, the cocoon was squeezing Tavis's chest so tightly that the runt could not have screamed if he wanted to. But if Morten's eyes were burned out, he would have to rely on his own willpower to keep from yelling.
Noote kneeled beside Morten, then grabbed his head and twisted it toward the poker. 'You 'fraid!' the chief insisted, moving the tip closer to the firbolg's eye. 'Say it!'
'I'm not afraid,' Morten replied. 'But I will run-if you give me reason.'
Noote stopped short of pressing the poker into the bodyguard's eye socket, but he continued to hold it so close Morten could feel the heat searing his eyeball. 'What?'
'The princess,' the bodyguard suggested. 'Put her at the other end of the palace. If I carry her out the door, then we're both free.'
'Fun!' chortled a giant.
'No!' burst the queen.
'Then burn my eyes out.' Morten said. 'I won't run for any other reason.'
This occasioned so much grumbling and scuffling of giant feet that Morten feared the vibrations might cause the chief to inadvertently blind him. Fortunately, Noote's hand remained steadier than the dirt floor, and he continued to hold the glowing iron a mere finger's breadth from the bodyguard's eye. Sensing their chiefs indecision, the giants whispered among themselves optimistically.
Finally, they broke into an excited chant, 'Rabbit run, rabbit run!'
The chorus made Noote's mind up for him. He rose to his feet and tossed the poker aside, then held out his
