touched the tip of his great sword to Basil's throat and said nothing. Lady Brianna followed, though her steps fell silent before she reached the scout. Tavis turned around in time to see her pull a book from beneath the straw. She opened the cover to the title page.
'A Full History of the Dobbins of Stagwick, by Neville Dobbin, the thirty-fifth Earl of Stagwick,' she read.
Tavis took a single step toward her. 'Let me explain.'
'You don't have to,' Brianna replied. 'I can see for myself what's going on here.'
The princess drew her arm back and threw the book. It caught Tavis square in the forehead, breaking the binding and scattering leaves of parchment in every direction. The blow was incredibly powerful, much more forceful than the scout would have expected even for Brianna's large frame, and he found himself stumbling backward, until at last he tripped over Basil's feet and crashed down at the verbeeg's side.
'Please, Brianna. I know this looks bad-'
'You played me for a fool, Tavis.' the princess snapped. 'While I was protecting you from Earl Dobbin, you were looting Stagwick-and I was blind to what everyone else saw as plainly as the sun in the sky!'
'No!' Tavis started to rise, but quickly found the tip of Morten's sword at his throat. 'That's not what happened!'
Brianna shook her head angrily. 'How could you do this?'
With that, she stepped into Blizzard's stall and untied the mare. 'I'll send someone for the children this evening, I can only hope you haven't corrupted them beyond redemption.' She started toward the door and added, 'I expect you to begone by then. It will spare me an abundance of humiliation-and save you several decades of torture in my father's dungeon.'
Though Brianna's voice was cracking with grief, she did not look back. * 2* Coggin's Rise
Blizzard snorted, then tossed her head and slowed from a gallop to a trot, angrily stamping the ground each time her front hooves came down. Brianna reluctantly reined her mount to a stop. She leaned forward and stroked the mare's sleek neck.
'What is it, girl?'
The horse tipped her ears forward and flared her nostrils. After testing the air for a moment. Blizzard's muscles tensed, and she became as motionless as a statue.
Scowling, Brianna pulled a silver-handled axe from it's saddle sheath. A cool mountain breeze hissed down from the aspen-covered slope ahead. Though she smelled nothing but damp leaves on its breath, the princess knew her mount well enough to realize Blizzard had caught the scent of danger. She laid her weapon across her lap and, remaining as still as her horse, studied the path before her.
A canopy of small, heart-shaped leaves hung over the road. They quivered incessantly in the light breeze, flashing waxy green and dusty silver, filling the air with a rustle just loud enough to cloak the whisper of creeping feet. Supporting this shimmering vault were hundreds of papery white tree trunks, rising from a steep, boulder- strewn slope with ample cover for an ambush.
This was Coggin's Rise, named for an ancient carl who had been found on its slopes mysteriously torn limb from limb, and Brianna had learned better than to travel it recklessly. Once, she had nearly lost Blizzard when a cave bear sprang from among the boulders along the trail, and another time a marauding mountain giant had chased her from the base of the hill all the way to Castle Hartwick. In spite of her eagerness to return home, she thought it wise to let her bodyguard inspect the wood.
Brianna twisted around to look at Morten, lumbering Up the trail fifty paces back. After leaving Tavis's inn, she had ridden hard for half an hour, and the effort of keeping pace with Blizzard had nearly done the firbolg in. He wore his helmet pushed half off his head and his leather armor fastened too loosely to offer protection. His buckler hung across his back, slung in place by a rope strung beneath his armpits, and his feet had grown so heavy that he stumbled over the slightest obstacle. He kept his eyes fixed on the ground, and he was panting so hard the princess saw his chest heave each time he gasped for breath.
A guilty pang shot through Brianna's breast, for her anger at Tavis had overwhelmed her concern for the firbolg. Even a fire giant would have found it difficult to keep pace with Blizzard for more than a league, and the princess had forced Morten to run several times that distance. It was a good thing something had alarmed her horse, or she might have run her poor bodyguard to death. It might even be possible that an apology was in order.
Blizzard snorted again, vanquishing all thoughts of penance. A crow screeched, then the crack of a snapping branch ricocheted through the aspen trees. Catching a faint whiff of something sour and rancid, like curdled milk, Brianna twisted around to face the forest. She saw a black flash as the crow rose through the quivering canopy of leaves, but that was all. Among the white thinks, nothing stirred.
Still, the smell did not vanish, and Brianna glanced over her shoulder. 'Will you hurry, Morten?' she called. 'I smell something.'
The firbolg's chin rose and he sniffed at the breeze, but he did not seem to smell anything. Nevertheless, from somewhere he summoned the strength to sprint. A dozen thudding steps later, he stopped at Brianna's side and braced his hands on his knees. He lifted his head and tried to catch the scent, but he was gasping so hard he could not draw air through his nose.
'I don't smell anything,' he wheezed.
'The odor's not very strong,' Brianna said, 'but it's sour.'
'Maybe bear or elk,' Morten suggested. 'They both stink.'
Brianna scowled. 'Wouldn't I know if it was an animal?' As a priestess of Hiatea, she was familiar with all the creatures of the wild, able to identify any one of them by their tracks, droppings, calls-or scent. This is too rancid. It's more like a goatherd's cheese hut.'
The firbolg went pale, the fatigue draining from his face as though he had just risen from a nap in a shady snowbank. Fixing his gaze on the woods ahead, he raised himself to his full height and tightened the buckles of his armor. 'Ogre!' he hissed.
'You can't be serious,' Brianna scoffed. She found herself craning her neck to look up at her bodyguard, despite the fact that she still sat upon her big mare's back. 'No ogre would dare come this close to Castle Hartwick.'
Evidently, the firbolg did not share her conviction. He pulled his helmet down and drew his huge sword. 'Wait here.' he said. 'I'll scout the wood.'
'We'll go together,' Brianna countered. She was far from convinced that something as dangerous as an ogre lurked in the woods ahead. 'I don't have time to wait.'
'Better late than dead,' the firbolg grunted. 'Besides, the dance doesn't start until dusk. We've got plenty of time.'
'I will have to bathe and dress,' Brianna snapped. 'Or do you suggest I enter the ball smelling of horse and trail?'
'You weren't worried about that before you found Tavis hiding the verbeeg.' Morten replied. 'You just want to get home so you can cry.'
'Cry over a firbolg?' Brianna scoffed. Despite her retort, the princess felt the tears welling in her eyes. Looking away, she added. 'It's the orphans that concern me. Tavis may try to take them with him.'
'Why?' asked Morten. 'They'd only make his life harder.'
'Fire giants will trade silver and gold for human children.'
Morten shook his head. 'No firbolg would do such a thing.'
'We have no idea what Tavis might or might not do, but it's better not to take chances.' Brianna's tone was at once certain and regretful. 'Besides, Tavis isn't really a firbolg. He was raised among our kind, not yours.'
It way common knowledge that Tavis had been born under what the firbolg's called a 'red moon,' meaning his mother had died in childbirth. In accordance with the tribe's stern code of justice, the infant had been held responsible for the death and banished. A visiting bear trapper had carried the babe to Stagwick's only lodge, where the kindly Isa Wirr had taken the child to raise among the kingdom's many other orphans.
'It doesn't matter who raised him.' Morten said. 'Tavis's, blood is firbolg. It'd freeze in his veins if he tried to sell those children into slavery.'
'There's nothing I'd like to believe more.' The princess had to struggle to speak around the catch in her throat. 'But we can't ignore that verbeeg thief. If firbolg blood's so important, how could Tavis lie to us about him?'
