The men slowly returned to their war preparations, sharpening lances and lighting fires under oil cauldrons. Basil ran his eyes over their number, searching for Avner’s familiar face. The shutters had been closed for more than three hours-an interminable length of time for the verbeeg-and still the boy had not come. The young thief was much too wise to volunteer for a job, but Basil was beginning to fear the youth had been pressed into duty.
Perhaps someone would even come for Basil, realizing that a verbeeg’s strength could be put to good use in the castle’s defenses. If it got him out of this room, the runecaster would even do as they asked, at least for a while. As refreshing as a little physical labor might be, he could not allow it to interfere with his research-not considering what he had discovered, and what it might mean to the queen’s chances of winning this battle.
A fanfare of trumpets sounded from the inner curtain’s gatehouse, then Brianna came sweeping through the arch with her trio of sycophants in tow. Even from the keep window, Basil could see that her eyes were swollen and red. The runecaster knew the queen well enough to realize that only terrible news could make her cry.
“What’s wrong, Milady?” the verbeeg yelled. “Has something happened to Tavis?”
Brianna stopped and looked toward Basil’s window, a confused and blank expression on her face.
“To Avner?” Basil gasped. That would explain why the boy had not answered his summons.
The queen’s lip began to tremble, then she covered her face and started across the ward at a run.
Basil stumbled back from the window. “Oh, Avner!” he cried.
The verbeeg slumped to the floor, too stunned to think, yet knowing he must. If his research was right, the hill giants were the least of Brianna’s problems. There was something foul inside the castle, a scion of an evil as ancient as Toril itself, come to reclaim a treasure lost long before the first human kingdom had arisen in the valley of Hartsvale.
The first thing Basil had to do was be certain of his facts. The folios were instruments of subtle nuance, as full of allegory and myth as of history. It was possible that he had misunderstood a key phrase, or interpreted as reality a parable meant only as symbol. The verbeeg dragged himself across the floor and laid a finger on the mica. The ancient letters came to life, glowing red and yellow and blue, and he read:
So it was that Othea gave birth to Twilight from her own dying shadow, thus imprisoning forever the faithless ones who had poisoned her. And when the winds of life whistled no more inside her breast, Annam’s final son crawled at last from her womb. Great was his hunger, for Othea had held him captive a century of centuries and fed him not, and so he chased down a hart and ate it from the antlers to the hooves, and thereafter he called himself Hartkiller.
Now it was that Hartkiller remembered that mighty Annam had conceived him as immortal King of the Giants, and so he went to search out his rightful lands. He came first to the hill giants, and to them he said, “I am Hartkiller, your rightful king, and you shall bow down before me and make me a silver crown to set upon my head.”
But the hill giants laughed, for Hartkiller seemed no king to them. Though his voice boomed like thunder and his mighty fist could shatter stone, his eternal fast had made of him the puniest of all Annam’s sons, so that he stood barely the height of a firbolg and wore his skin upon a frame more haggard than a verbeeg. So the hill giants would not bow, and they called him Othea’s bastard and drove him from their lodge with stones and filth.
Hartkiller went next to the grotto of the fire giants, and to them he said, “I am Hartkiller, your rightful king, and you shall bow down before me and make me a golden crown to set upon my head.” But the fire giants said they would not have a king who stood as high as their knees, so they roared their mirth and set a crown of cinders upon his head, and they drove him from their cave with lashing tongues of flame.
Hartkiller climbed last to the windy eyrie of the storm giants, and to them he said, “I am Hartkiller, your rightful king, and you shall bow down before me and make me a crown of diamonds to set upon my head.”
The storm giants asked if the hill giants had given him a crown of silver, and Hartkiller said they had driven him from their lodge with stones and filth. The storm giants asked if the fire giants had given him a crown of gold, and Hartkiller brandished the crown of cinders they had set upon his head. Then the storm giants said they would not have an oaf and a runt for a king, and they blasted him from their mountain with icy gales of wind.
When he saw that the giants would not have him, Hartkiller turned his back on the empire of Ostoria and went into the lands of the humans, and to them he said, “I am Hartkiller, and if you will have me as your king, I will drive the giants from this valley and make your farms safe from their pillage.”
And the humans bowed down before Hartkiller. They made him a crown of steel to set on his head and gave him a wife to bear his sons, and also warriors to lead into battle. Hartkiller went first to the hill giants. With his great axe, he cleaved their chief down the center and smashed their lodge asunder, and he told them to flee the hills of his valley and go live in the mountains, or live not at all.
Next, Hartkiller poured a tarn into the grotto of the fire giants, and when the flood drove them from their holes he pierced the heart of their dark khan with a lance as long as a tree, and he told them to leave the caves of his valley and go to live among the dwarves of the south, or live not at all.
Hartkiller went last to the eyrie of the storm giants, and they offered him crowns of silver and gold and diamond. Their paramount called him King of Giants, and said all giants would bow down before him if he turned his back on the humans. But Hartkiller would have none of that, for Annam had made him to be a good and loyal king, and now his subjects were men.
So the paramount and the king fought. Their fury boomed over the valley like thunder, spears flashed across the sky like black lightning, and the land shuddered beneath the might of their blows. For a hundred days they battled, never eating nor drinking nor sleeping. The ceaseless clanging of their weapons deafened all who heard it, until the Clearwhirl ran red with the blood of their wounds and their cries filled the air like the keening of spirits. Then did they drop their shields and sink to their knees, and they each struck one last blow before falling dead in each other’s embrace.
And Hartkiller’s son Brun went to the storm giants with all his father’s warriors. He said that henceforth humans would live in the valleys and giants would live in the mountains, and they would all abide in peace. But the storm giants had no fear of Brun, and they told him the humans would live as slaves, or live not at all.
Brun returned to his people and commanded them to prepare for a terrible war, and the storm giants summoned the hill giants from the mountains. They summoned the fire giants from the caves, and together they readied their hosts to march against the humans.
But then it was that a mighty keening rose from a hidden vale. So loud was the wailing that the clouds shattered and fell from the sky, and so terrible was it that all the beasts of the north-all the foxes and all the bears, and the wyverns and all the dragons, too-all turned more pale than snow. A cold mist as purple as twilight seeped from the valley, and the armies of the giants fell to coughing and trembling, and every warrior heard in his own ears the hissing voice of a great spirit, and the Twilight Spirit spoke thus:
“Annam gave you a king, a king destined to bring all giants together and remake the lost empire of your fathers. But you would not have Hartkiller for your king. You laughed at him and you set a crown of cinders upon his head, and you sent him into the arms of the humans. In this, you have defied the will of the All Father, and it is fitting that Hartkiller has driven you from your valley and stolen all your lands.
“But your punishment need not be eternal. There is destined to come a woman of Hartkiller’s line who rules your stolen lands. She is your hope, for Annam’s blood is strong and it will run thick in her veins. She will bear you a new king, one with the power to undo what you have done and revive the empire of Ostoria. Be patient. Let the humans live in peace, for only through them can you lift the veil of twilight that shrouds the lost glory of your ancestors.”
Basil lifted his finger, and the glowing symbols faded. It had taken him only one reading to realize that Brianna was the woman-or should he say, giantess-to which the text referred, and he had certainly discovered nothing to contradict that conclusion. The runecaster found it difficult to believe they would risk her life by storming the castle. They could not be certain the queen would survive the chaos of battle, or that she would not take her own life when the fight went against her.
That meant the hill giants’ assault could be only a diversion. They intended to get Brianna out of the castle some other way, while everyone was too busy fighting to notice her disappearance. To do that, they would need help inside the castle, and Basil could guess who that would be.
The verbeeg went to a corner and traced the name Gilthwit in the dust. Below that he rearranged the same eight letters to write the name TWILIGHT. Prince Arlien of TWILIGHT. Basil did not know whether Arlien was one of the actual “faithless ones” who had poisoned Othea so long ago or simply an agent, but he felt sure that the prince had come from the Twilight Vale.
