immediately to Cuthbert, but he also realized there was another possibility: Arlien. The prince seemed honest enough and brave, and he had even been wounded by a giant, but the mere fact that he was a stranger made him suspect Perhaps Gavorial could be maneuvered into revealing which of the men had betrayed Brianna.
“I had not thought Cuthbert’s loyalties to the old king ran so deep,” Tavis said. “Or that Camden would be fool enough to try taking his kingdom back.”
“Camden already believes he has recaptured Hartsvale,” Gavorial replied. “The old king sits in his grotto from dawn to dusk, wearing a granite crown and sending invisible messengers to phantom earls. He has no part in this.”
“Then why is Cuthbert helping you?” Tavis demanded. “To save his castle?”
“I have no knowledge of the earl or his motives,” Gavorial said. “Odion and I were called to this place and so we came.”
“Called by whom?”
“You know by whom,” Gavorial answered. “I warned you what would happen.”
“The Twilight Spirit planned this?” Tavis gasped. “He’s here?”
“So it is best for you to surrender,” Gavorial replied, dodging the question. “You cannot stop us, and now you are too far from Brianna to use your golden arrow.”
“That may be true,” Tavis said. “But I am no stone giant. For me, the only graceful death is a fighting one.”
Gavorial’s gaze flicked from Tavis down to Odion, his black eyes betraying his sadness.
“Do not despair, Father,” said Odion. “I am ready.”
Gavorial nodded and began to close his fingers.
“Wait!” Tavis called. “Your son and the boy can do nothing, and we must fight no matter what becomes of them.” He lifted his sword from Odion’s back. “Let us spare their lives and resolve this ourselves.”
“That’ll be no good!” the shepherd youth objected. “As long as there’s one giant alive, my sisters are still in danger!”
“I’m sure Odion would pledge to leave them alone and return home,” Tavis said. “If that’s agreeable to Gavorial.”
The stone giant kneeled on the ground, answering with a swiftness uncharacteristic for his race. “It is.”
“But this is not necessary, my father!” Odion objected. “I have prepared myself.”
“I know, my son, but it is also not necessary that you die,” Gavorial said. He opened his hand and allowed the shepherd youth to step onto a bluff. “Tavis is right The battle has come to him and me. Make the pledge.”
Odion remained silent for several long moments, until the scout began to fear the giant would defy his father. Finally, however, Odion said, “I make the pledge. I shall return home as quickly as my wound allows, having nothing more to do with the war against Hartsvale.”
Tavis lifted his sword and saluted Gavorial. “Then it is done,” he said. “Now it is you and I, old friend.”
“I would that it were not so,” the giant answered, rising.
Tavis spun. He covered the length of Odion’s spine in three long strides and leaped onto the blood-soaked tundra. From behind him came a loud clatter as Gavorial tore handfuls of stone from the bluff. The scout rushed toward the next ridge at a full sprint, trying to cover as much distance as possible before the giant began hurling boulders.
Gavorial had a different strategy in mind. Tavis heard a loud sizzle behind him. His back exploded into stinging pain, and he felt himself being driven forward by a spray of gravel. He pitched into the tundra face first, tiny stones hopping across the meadow all around him.
Tavis rose to his knees. His back was raw and wet, with dozens of stone shards poking him like hot nails. The scout gritted his teeth and twisted around to see Gavorial looming above the bluff. Odion sat nearby, holding his injured knee and showing no interest in the fight. The shepherd youth stood on top of the ridge, watching the battle with terrified eyes.
Gavorial grabbed a boulder and stepped over the bluff.
Groaning in pain, Tavis pushed himself to his feet and resumed running. The scout counted three steps before feinting a dodge to his left. When he heard Gavorial grunt, he angled in the opposite direction. The giant’s boulder crashed down a good five paces away, then bounced once and came to rest.
Tavis sprinted straight to the next bluff, tossing his sword onto the summit when he arrived. He felt the ground trembling as Gavorial rushed across the meadow. The scout grabbed a handhold and began to pull, dragging himself up the rocky face in three moves. Behind him, the tundra hissed as Gavorial’s tremendous weight smashed it down.
Tavis peered across the top of the crag. His sword lay directly before him, the tip pointing at his nose and the hilt turned so that it lay two feet beyond his grasp. The scout felt a gust of hot breath brush across his back. Guessing what Gavorial would do next, he leaped to the left, reaching for a jagged spine of stone that angled out from the cliff.
Gavorial’s open hand slammed into the bluff behind the firbolg. Tavis grabbed the rock spear and swung his legs up hard. He spun over the spike, launching himself toward the bluff’s top.
Tavis’s feet touched down first, exactly as he had planned, but he had too much speed and tumbled over backward. Gavorial’s black eyes appeared in the sky above. The scout did a backward somersault, at the same time reaching for his sword. Gavorial closed his fingers, forming a fist as large as a cloud, and his hand started down. Tavis felt the hilt of his sword and grabbed, pointing the tip up.
The giant’s huge fist struck dead on. The pommel clanged against the rocky bluff, driving the blade deep into Gavorial’s hand and snapping the steel.
The stone giant bellowed in pain and jerked his hand away, spraying Tavis with hot blood. The scout tossed the useless hilt aside and rolled to his feet. He raced three steps across the bluff and leaped toward his bow. Gavorial sprang onto the bluff behind him, and a loud crash rumbled across the meadow.
Tavis landed and snatched Bear Driller on the run. He ducked behind a stone Odion had hurled at him earlier, then pulled a runearrow from his quiver and nocked it The firbolg raised his head and saw Gavorial leaping down from the ridge, a huge foot kicking at the boulder.
Tavis did not see the enormous heel strike, or even hear the crash. He simply found himself flying through the air in terrible pain, with Bear Driller sailing in one direction and the runearrow in the other. He landed in a limp heap and bounced across the tundra, tumbling head-over-heels an untold number of times.
When he finally came to rest, the scout did not wait for his head to stop spinning. He jumped up and lurched off in the direction he thought his runearrow had flown, knowing that any move would be safer than waiting for Gavorial to stomp on him. His chest ached where the giant’s kick had driven the boulder into him, and his breath came in ragged gasps. The runearrow lay less than five paces ahead. The fletching hung in tatters, but the shaft and head remained intact.
Tavis felt a jolt and thought his knees had buckled, then realized it was only Gavorial’s heavy steps shaking the ground. The scout stooped over to grab the runearrow and saw the shadow of a huge foot fall over it. He pulled his hand back, empty, and leaped away. The stone giant’s foot came down hard, sending a shudder through the entire meadow.
“Basil is wise!” Tavis yelled.
The scout felt the explosion in the pit of his stomach, a terrible impact that seemed to arise from somewhere deep inside his own being. He found himself hurling through the air amidst a crimson spray laden with smoking flesh and pulverized bone. He did not hear the boom until much later, after the Shockwave had slammed him to the ground fifty paces from where it had picked him up. The cool mountain breeze carried the sickening smell of charred meat to his nostrils.
A harsh, anguished moan filled Tavis’s ears. At first he thought he might be making the horrid sound, reacting to some injury he had not yet sensed. But the scout had at least a vague awareness of his body, and while he ached all over, he felt no stabbing pains or unexplained numbness. He rose to his knees and looked in Gavorial’s direction.
The stone giant was not making the noise, either. He lay propped on his elbows, watching the stumps of his legs pour blood into a smoking crater. His gray skin had turned white, and he held his jaw clenched against the pain, but his black eyes seemed more interested in the process of dying than fearful of it.
The moaning ended in a single cry of despair, and Tavis looked toward the bluff to see Odion’s grief-stricken
