worm’s shackled leg after him.
The remorhaz roared in pain and dropped to its side, slashing Avner with the legs along its other flank. The youth turned his head away from the slicing claws and blindly thrust an arm out, clamping onto one of the flailing legs. He tugged the limb toward him and clasped the second shackle above the ankle.
When the youth heard the lock click shut, he slipped between two slashing legs and scrambled away, leaving a trail of blood on the ice. He snatched up his spear and retreated to the nearest corner. Only then did he turn to inspect his work.
The remorhaz had righted itself, but the beast was far from the agile terror it had been earlier. On one side of its body, two of the legs Avner had hit with the irons hung limp and useless, so that the beast was creeping toward him with a severe list More importantly, the two shackled legs bent inward at awkward angles, further reducing the worm’s mobility.
The youth did not make the mistake of thinking he had won the battle. With its serpentine neck and darting head, the remorhaz could still snatch Avner off the ice in the blink of an eye. And he was not foolish enough to believe that he had the strength to drive his little spear through the beast’s hard carapace.
As the creature hobbled toward him, Avner used the tip of his spear to chip a small hollow in the ice. During the few moments it took him to complete the task, he dripped enough blood on the floor to stain the whole area red. When he finished, he braced the butt of his weapon in the cup he had created and angled the tip toward the approaching remorhaz.
“Maybe this will hold you off,” he whispered, “at least until Tavis gets back.”
After several minutes of searching, Slagfid finally grabbed one of the beasts by the ear and started toward the shore. The rest of the herd seemed to forget about the danger they had sensed earlier and followed close behind, an eerie, mournful wail pouring from their upraised trunks.
Tavis pointed at the herd and asked, “What’s all this?”
“Good-byes,” the frost giant explained. “They think he’s being led to butcher.”
Tavis winced. “You slaughter their kin in front of them?”
Slagfid shook his head. “Of course not. But they see our clothes and smell the cook fires.” The frost giant led the mammoth over to Tavis. “Doesn’t take ’em long to figure it out.”
“And they don’t try to flee?”
“Some do.” A cruel smile crossed Slagfid’s mouth. “But when we catch ’em, that’s when the herd sees a slaughter. We butcher the one that ran and its mother, calf, and siblings. After that, we usually don’t lose another one for twenty years.”
“Mammoths must be intelligent.”
“Smarter than hill giants, anyway,” Slagfid allowed. “And they remember faces a lot longer.”
The frost giant pulled on the mammoth’s ear, forcing it to present its flank to Tavis. The creature’s back came up only to the waist of Gavorial’s body, with a thick covering of coarse fur that would offer at least minimal padding.
The frost giant pressed the tip of his boot into the back of the beast’s knee. “Down, Graytusk.” Once the mammoth had kneeled before Tavis, Slagfid said, “Just climb on and grab an ear. He’ll turn the way you pull, and tug ’em both when you want to stop.”
Tavis swung a leg over Graytusk’s back. The sensation reminded the firbolg of the few times he had climbed onto a horse’s back. It felt like he should be carrying his mount, not the other way around.
“How do I make him go?”
“When I take my foot off his leg, he’ll stand up and start moving,” Slagfid explained. He grinned shrewdly, then added, “At least for a little while.”
Tavis scowled. “What do you mean?”
The frost giant chuckled. “I shouldn’t tell you this,” he said. “But you tried to get me the honor for catching little Dragon, so I figure I owe you something.”
“What?”
“Mammoths aren’t strong enough to haul grownups-it’s all they can do to carry a young giant,” Slagfid explained. “You’ll ride this fellow to death before you’re off the glacier.”
With that, the frost giant took his foot off Graytusk’s knee and stepped away. The mammoth pushed himself up, spewing a long snort from his hairy trunk and rocking so violently that Tavis nearly fell off. The beast instantly ambled forward with a lurching, uneven gait. The scout yanked on both ears, bringing the beast to a swift halt, and leaned over to speak with Slagfid.
“That’s why Hagamil kept the shaman’s promise!”
Slagfid nodded. “And that’s why Halflook made it in the first place,” the giant chortled. “You really don’t think the frost giants are going to share…”
Slagfid’s jaw fell open and he let his sentence trail off. He pinched his eyes closed, then opened them again and stared at Tavis with a bewildered expression. “Sharpnose, what’s happening to you?”
A cold numbness fell over the scout’s face, and his skin suddenly seemed as stiff and rigid as steel. His facial muscles began to twitch and snap. A loud, metallic ping echoed through his nasal cavities, then Basil’s runemask popped off and struck Slagfid squarely on the forehead. Tavis’s face erupted into searing pain. The bones of his jaw began to shrink, causing his teeth to grind against each other like stones. His entire head throbbed in agony.
“You’re not Sharpnose!” Slagfid gasped.
Tavis raised his foot and drove the heel into the frost giant’s midsection, then grabbed Graytusk’s ear and jerked the mammoth around. The beast broke into a shaky, bone-jarring trot. The scout’s throat started to shrink and he found himself choking on his own Adam’s apple, which was reducing its size only half as fast as the air passage around it. He guided his mount toward the place he had last seen the traell’s shadow, praying the fellow had not moved.
Slagfid’s voice commanded, “Graytusk, stand!”
The mammoth halted instantly. Tavis pitched forward, and only his secure grip on the beast’s ears prevented him from flying off. He craned his neck around to see Slagfid’s looming face just a few paces behind him. A distant ringing echoed in the scout’s ears, and black wisps of fog formed at the edges of his vision. He felt Graytusk’s back broadening beneath his legs, and he realized he was shrinking fast.
“You’re no stone giant,” Slagfid growled. “You’re just a scrawny little firbolg!”
The frost giant lowered a hand to pluck Tavis off the mammoth’s back. The scout pushed himself out of the way, then slid down Graytusk’s flank and dropped onto the snow. He crawled under the beast’s belly and scrambled to his feet on the other side, dizzy and still choking.
Slagfid shoved the mammoth out of his way. “You’re Tavis Burdun!”
Tavis stumbled forward. The black fog closed in, reducing his vision to a narrow tunnel. He tried to cry out for his bow, but could not choke the words out of his constricted throat. The ice trembled and crunched as Slagfid kneeled behind him.
“Catching you alive will bring me more honor than Hagamil!”
Tavis felt the giant’s fingers close around him, and his vision went dark. A scream of fury erupted deep inside the firbolg. It rose as high as the choking lump in his throat and remained there, simmering. The scout grabbed one of Slagfid’s fingers and pushed against the joint, determined to break the digit before he fell unconscious.
Tavis never had the chance. An arrow sizzled past several feet over his head, then sank into Slagfid’s eye with a mucky hiss. A pained bellow boomed over the ice, and the giant’s hand opened, spilling Tavis onto the ground.
Somewhere ahead, an old man’s voice yelled, “Basiliz wives!”
Tavis staggered toward the voice as fast as his growing dizziness allowed. Behind him, Slagfid scrambled to his feet, roaring, and stomped off toward the cavern.
“Basiliz wives!” the voice repeated, this time more urgently.
It occurred to the scout that his savior was attempting to activate one of Basil’s runearrows, but the fellow had such a traell accent that his words were hardly comprehensible. Tavis tried to give the command, but still could not speak. He dropped to his knees. He heard several humans rush up to him, then felt their hands grasping his arms.
“What wrong, Dafis?” asked an old man’s voice. “Hurt bad?”
