direction, then said, “I’d like to make a suggestion myself.”
“You can suggest anything you like,” Cuthbert replied.
The imposter accepted this with a polite smile. “Thank you,” he said. “Given that our verbeeg friend has already escaped a locked chamber, perhaps he should be relocated to a cell in your dungeon.”
“I hardly think that’s necessary,” said Cuthbert
“Really? How many more of those do you wish to lose?” Arlien pointed toward the entrance.
Cuthbert’s eyes followed the imposter’s finger toward the door. As soon as they fell on the folio Basil had left leaning against the wall, the earl’s face turned scarlet.
A sly smile crossed the imposter’s lips. “It occurs to me we might be looking at the purpose behind Basil’s accusations,” he said. “He hoped to distract us with that ridiculous lie about the ettin so you wouldn’t noticed that he had filched one of your ancestral treasures.”
“Quite so!” Cuthbert fumed. He tore his eyes away from the folio and bowed to the imposter. “Good prince, you have my thanks for bringing this to my attention, and my apologies for questioning your honor.”
Arlien smiled politely. “All is forgotten.”
The prince had barely replied before Cuthbert was spinning toward Basil. He motioned to the three soldiers guarding the runecaster. “Take that verbeeg to the dungeon!” he commanded. “Manacle him to the wall, and I swear if he escapes, it’ll be a month in the stocks for both of you!”
“But you’re making a terrible mithtake!” Basil objected.
“Go!” the earl roared. “And if he shows the slightest hint of resisting, run him through!”
One of the soldiers prodded Basil toward the door. “You’d best be going.”
The runecaster reluctantly moved to obey. “Tell me, are the dungeon thellth very large?”
“Yeah, they’re real big,” snorted the guard. “You’ll just about have room to sit up.”
12
With clenched jaw and sweating palms, Tavis watched the sentry herd Avner through the crowded ice cavern. The trip was a slow one, for every frost giant in the chamber insisted on inspecting the prisoner dubbed “Little Dragon.” Many even dropped to their hands and knees for a closer look, blocking the youth’s path until his puzzled escort shoved them away. Slagfid followed close behind the guard, trying not to look surprised by the boy’s unexpected arrival.
To Tavis, the wait seemed forever. A dozen different questions were pounding inside his head, most notably how he was going to get Avner out of the cave before Hagamil returned. The scout was also curious about where the boy had come by the bearskin parka he now wore, and what had happened to Bear Driller. Neither the boy nor his guard were carrying the firbolg’s bow or quiver.
But, more than any other answer, the scout wanted to know how Halflook had discerned that the sentry had captured the boy. Did the shaman’s mystical sight also allow him to see through Tavis’s disguise? That would certainly explain why the giant had insisted that his guest stay until the “surprise” arrived.
At last, the sentry pushed his way past the last curious frost giant and stopped in front of Halflook. Standing between the two giants, Avner seemed incredibly small. The thought of him holding Slagfid’s war party at bay seemed as absurd as a mad squirrel holding a bridge against fifteen armored knights.
“Halflook, call Hagamil,” ordered the sentry. “Tell him I caught this traell trying to sneak into camp.”
“Hagamil’s sleeping,” the shaman replied. “He already knows about this captive-though he’s under the impression that Slagfid bears the honor for capturing him.” Halflook’s red-veined eye shifted to Slagfid’s face.
“That’s a lie!” The sentry scowled at Slagfid. “You can see for yourself I’m the one who gots him!”
“But Slagfid had him first,” Tavis pointed out, taking a lesson from Avner. If he could start a fight between the two giants, he stood a reasonable chance of snatching the boy and escaping during the confusion. “By rights, the honor belongs to Slagfid.”
“That is not for you to decide, Sharpnose!” Halflook’s voice had turned deep and gravelly. “You are no chief.”
Tavis turned and saw the shaman’s single eyeball rolling back in its socket. Hagamil was returning much earlier than expected.
“Halflook!” the scout shouted. “Our business is not done!”
“Go with Slagfid.” The voice was Halflook’s, but it sounded rather strained. “He’ll show you to one of Bodvar’s mammoths.”
“I no longer wish a mammoth,” Tavis said. “I’ll trade the beast for this little traell.” He gestured at Avner.
A chorus of thunderous laughter echoed off the cavern walls.
“Do not insult us, Sharpnose,” warned Slagfid. He glanced into the pit, where the remorhaz was devouring the last of the ogre. “Watching Little Dragon fight the worm is worth at least ten mammoths.”
“Is it worth-”
“It doesn’t matter what you pay!” To Tavis’s astonishment, the speaker was Avner. “I’d rather stay and fight than become a stone giant’s slave!”
Tavis scowled down at the youth. Avner couldn’t have forgotten his true identity!
“Even if they gave me to you, I wouldn’t go.” The boy pointed to the exit. “So you might as well leave, Gavorial.”
The scout raised his brow. Avner was trying to tell him something, probably that he had hidden Bear Driller someplace nearby. Unfortunately, Tavis did not see how that helped matters.
Still peering down at Avner, the scout said, “At the moment, what you want is not important. I have better uses for you than feeding ice worms.”
“But the traell is not your catch,” growled Hagamil’s voice.
A mass of yellow hair was sprouting on the shaman’s head, but the giant still had only a single, red-veined eye. The orb was fluttering up and down in its socket, as though Halflook were fighting to retain control of the body.
“Leave!” the shaman urged. “I doubt Hagamil will honor my promise.”
“You heard him!” Avner called. “As far as I’m concerned, the sooner you’re gone, the better!”
Tavis shrugged. “It seems I have no choice.” He looked down at Avner, hoping to give the youth one last warning. “But I think you’ll be surprised at how difficult it is to kill a remorhaz. I’m sure you’ll wish you were going home with me instead of dancing across its back with a burning spear in your hand.”
An expression of bewilderment flashed across Avner’s face, but he quickly replaced it with a disdainful sneer. “The only place I’d rather be is with Tavis.” The youth cast a nervous glance toward the pit, then added, “And I’ll be joining him soon enough.”
Slagfid grabbed Tavis by the wrist “Let’s go,” the frost giant urged. “I don’t want to miss the fight.”
The scout limped after his escort. The effects of Bodvar’s ice diamond were wearing off, and his injured toe was starting to pain him.
Outside, a stiff wind had risen. It was whistling through the gaps between the nunataks, carrying with it a scouring stream of ice pellets. A ferocious-looking bank of storm clouds was rolling over the caldera’s northern rim, its leading edge gleaming silver in the moonlight It seemed to Tavis that he could actually feel the temperature dropping.
“It appears there’s quite a storm coming our way,” the scout commented.
Slagfid paused long enough to turn his face into the pelting ice crystals. “Yes, it promises to be a glorious blizzard!” he shouted. “Thrym favors us!”
The frost giant smiled broadly, then led the way to the water hole that the mammoths had gouged in the frozen lake. Although Tavis could hear the ice groaning beneath the beasts’ immense weight, Slagfid did not show the slightest hesitation as he walked out to them. The scout decided to wait on shore, suspecting that if the ice broke, the cold would affect him far more than the frost giant.
