to ride. Then, perhaps, you could trail us at a safe distance. Our path will not be so hard to follow.”
“Perhaps you could heal my toe instead,” Tavis suggested. “I’d prefer to walk.”
Halflook chuckled at this. “Do you really want me to use frost magic on your stony toe?” he asked. “Or have you never seen how ice can break rocks apart?”
“Perhaps I will accept the mammoth,” the scout replied.
“A wise decision.”
The shaman looked to the other end of the chamber, where Sjolf and Snorri were pulling the log ladder from the pit. The remorhaz was growling more viciously than ever, while the ogre was dragging his chains across the pit so that he would be in position to attack as soon as the beast fell.
Halflook nodded to Frith. “Release the worm.”
The young giant reached out and ran the halberd blade across the worm’s harness. After a moment of slicing, the hide strap came apart and the remorhaz slipped into the pit amidst a clatter of legs and chitin.
The ogre lurched forward, his heavy chains clanging against the ice. The remorhaz whirled on him. The brutish prisoner swung his spear like a club, striking the worm’s throat with a sharp crack. The creature’s sinuous neck crackled and folded around the heft, then the beast’s body went slack. For an instant Tavis thought the captive might have won the fight in a single blow. Then, as deep-throated murmurs of disappointment began to echo through the chamber, the ice worm whipped its rear segments forward, slamming its heavy tail into the ogre.
The prisoner sailed across the pit and crashed into an icy wall. The air left his lungs in a loud huff, then the spear dropped from his grasp. He slid down the wall in a limp heap and lay there wheezing, his weapon lying a hand’s length beyond his fingertips.
The giants shook the cavern with their cheers. The remorhaz approached cautiously, its neck-wings flapping and its black eyes fixed on the ogre. The worm stopped just out of the captive’s reach and stretched its face tentacles toward the spear.
The ogre stopped wheezing and snatched his spear up, slashing the tip at his foe’s bulbous eyes. The remorhaz jerked back, then the captive was on his feet and thrusting at the beast’s chitinous throat. The ice worm slipped the blow with a well-timed curl of the neck and countered with a lightning-fast head strike.
The ogre blocked with a slap of his weapon’s shaft, then dodged behind the worm’s head wing. Taking the spear in both hands, he raised the tip high over the white streak on the beast’s back.
Even as the spear began its descent, Tavis knew the ogre had made his first mistake. To keep themselves from freezing in the icy wastes, remorhazes generated as much internal heat as red dragons, and their blood was as hot as molten stone. When the spear pierced the worm, a geyser of white fire spewed from the hole. The wooden shaft dissolved into a wisp of smoke.
The astonished ogre bellowed in agony. He raised his hands to his seared face and stumbled away. The ice worm leaped instantly to the attack, trapping the agonized brute beneath its chitinous bulk. The remorhaz curled its head under its bulk to finish its prey, but even then the captive put up a valiant fight The worm’s serpentine body continued to squirm for several moments before it finally raised its bloody maw to bugle its victory cry.
The giants shouted in glee, filling the chamber with such a clamor that several icicles broke off the ceiling and crashed down on their heads. Halflook leaned over to Tavis.
Almost shouting to make himself heard above the din, the giant said, “I believe you owe me an explanation, Sharpnose.”
“I think not,” Tavis replied.
The scout pointed at the underside of the remorhaz’s sinuous neck, where a chitinous scale had been torn away during the battle. A broken ogre tusk protruded from the beast’s throat, and a thin red line of steaming blood rimmed the puncture.
“You owe me a mammoth.”
Halflook’s mouth twisted into half a dozen different kinds of snarls. His red-veined eye remained fixed on the tusk until the remorhaz finished its victory call, then he looked back to Tavis and reluctantly nodded his head.
“So I see,” he said.
“If you’ll have someone show me how to ride it, I’ll be on my way.”
Tavis hoisted himself from his seat and climbed onto the main floor. The cold had seeped deep into his joints, so that the effort of standing sent an icy ache through his entire body. He felt more exhausted than ever, and sickened by the spectacle he had been forced to watch.
Halflook also stood, stepping to the scout’s side. “Stay a moment longer, I beg you.” The shaman’s eye turned toward the cavern exit and once again acquired that distant, unfocused look. “The surprise is almost here.”
“I’ve seen enough for one night,” the scout replied. “I’m in no mood for surprises.”
“Not even this one?”
The shaman pointed toward the exit, where a tall frost giant was stepping into the chamber. Although Tavis had not gotten much of a look at the sentry earlier, this warrior appeared to be about the same size and build.
“You’re looking too high.” Halflook’s bloodshot eye was locked onto Tavis’s face as though connected to it. “The surprise is much farther down, near the floor.”
Tavis lowered his gaze. For several moments, he saw nothing but the enormous, booted feet of frost giants. Then, as the sentry pushed his way deeper into the cave, the scout glimpsed a small, shivering form among the massive legs: Avner.
11
A muffled creak came to Basil’s ears, or perhaps it was more of a squeal. Fearing his runes of silence had gotten smudged, the verbeeg stopped and looked down at his feet, then cursed himself for not bringing a lamp. The keep corridors were as dark as caves at this hour of night. He could hardly see his boots, much less determine whether the sigils on the insteps were intact, and he still had two squeaky staircases to ascend.
The sound returned, and this time the runecaster heard it more clearly: a sort of muffled, gurgling squeal coming from the corridor on his right. Basil sighed in relief. He had heard similar noises in Castle Hartwick often enough. They always came late at night from behind closed doors, when people seemed to believe darkness would smother their sounds. Foolish humans.
Tightly clutching the folio he had taken from Cuthbert’s library, Basil started forward again, running one hand along the wooden ceiling to keep himself from banging his head. He had already skimmed the volume once and knew it told the story of Twilight’s creation. There had been no mention of Arlien, but the folio did list all of the giants who had been present. With a few hours of study and contemplation, the verbeeg felt confident he would find the connection between the prince and Twilight.
The ceiling ended at a horizontal corner. The verbeeg ran his hand down the wall to an oaken door, then reached down around his knees to find the latch.
“Noooo!” The cry came from the same corridor as the squealing earlier. The voice sounded like Brianna’s.
A muffled thud came next, then the muted growl of an angry man. “Drink!”
Basil rushed back down the hall. Although the floor trembled under the impact of his heavy feet, the runes on his boots allowed him to move across the planks in utter silence. He heard no more sounds from the side corridor. He turned down the narrow passage, squatting down to listen at each door he passed. The verbeeg heard nothing but the rumbling of a few snoring sleepers.
At the end of the corridor, Basil came to a small stairway curving up one of the keep’s exterior walls. By the purple midnight blush pouring through the arrow loops, the verbeeg could see that this passageway had been built strictly for humans. It was barely large enough for a single man.
Basil peered up the corridor, trying to gauge whether his hunched shoulders would fit between its walls. In his mind appeared the unwelcome image of a verbeeg youth trapped in a cramped tunnel, and the runecaster felt runnels of hot sweat pouring down his brow. He wondered if he couldn’t find another, larger staircase that led to
