The firbolg turned, then uttered a silent curse as he saw the queen quietly slipping out of the fog-well ahead of the soldiers assigned to protect her. She was extremely tall for a human, with a frame as sturdy as a man’s and a height just a few inches shy of seven feet. From what Tavis gathered, most men did not consider her beautiful, but to him she was the picture of elegance. She had a striking face, with clear skin, a dimpled chin, and sparkling violet eyes. Her long tresses were as fine as spider silk and more yellow than gold, while she had a lithe figure with long, graceful limbs and gentle curves.
Brianna stepped to Tavis’s side and began to look him over. “I heard your runearrow explode,” she said. “Are you all right?”
“Thank you, milady. I’m well.” The firbolg addressed her in his best formal tone. Although Brianna’s attempts to conceal the romance between them were fast becoming a joke among her courtiers and earls, Tavis had learned enough about politics to know he should not flaunt their relationship before a foreigner. The scout reached over and gently turned Arlien so that Brianna could see the gaping wound in his side. “It’s our new friend who needs your services.”
Brianna’s eyes widened at the sight of the injury, and she stepped to Arlien’s side. “You shouldn’t be standing,” she said. “Lie down.”
“That’s not necessary, Lady,” Arlien protested. “I’ll be-”
“Dead, if you don’t let me heal this,” Brianna snapped. She scooped the warrior into her arms and lifted him off the ground, plate armor and all. “Clear a place for him, Tavis.”
As the firbolg began tossing stones aside, he could not help smiling at the dumbfounded expression on Arlien’s face. Lifting a fully armored warrior was ordinarily well beyond a human woman’s capabilities, but Brianna could hardly be considered ordinary. She had inherited the extraordinary strength of her Hartwick ancestors, and could easily have matched any firbolg in a contest of might. Tavis had even seen her father defeat hill giants in such competitions, and some claimed that the first Hartwick king had bested storm giants.
All this was lost on Arlien, who finally recovered his wits and resumed his protests. “Put me down, Lady!”
“Very well, but you will let me heal you!” Brianna replied. “This wound is more serious than you realize.”
A sheepish look came over Arlien’s face as the queen returned him to the ground. “Dear lady, I thank you for your kind offer, but I assure you it isn’t necessary,” he said. “My armor will heal both my body and its rents within a few days’ time, but you mustn’t interfere. The enchantment will vanish.”
Brianna’s cheeks colored. “Enchanted, you say?” She bit her lip, then demanded, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Arlien’s face darkened, but he managed to force a rather insincere smile. “I was trying,” he said in a controlled voice. “However, in your kindly haste to look after my health, you neglected to give me the opportunity.”
Brianna’s smile turned to ice. “Well, I’m glad to see you survived.” She removed a clean bandage from her shoulder satchel and passed it to the warrior. “I hope that a simple dressing will not affect your armor’s magic. I really have very little desire to stare at your gruesome wounds.”
“That is a relief, Milady.” Arlien accepted the cloth, then turned away as he pressed it over the gash in his side. “I was beginning to think you rather enjoyed it”
Captain Selwyn arrived with the first soldiers of his scattered company, bringing the argument to a temporary halt Tavis ordered the commander to have his men surround the area at a distance of fifty paces.
Brianna watched the Winter Wolves clang off to their posts, then fixed her coldest glare on Arlien. “By the way, what brings you to our kingdom? Cuthbert Fief is hardly the route most travelers choose to enter Hartsvale.”
Arlien’s eyes grew as hard as Brianna’s. “My visit is not your concern, dear lady,” he said. “But I will say this much: Your fief is in terrible peril. I’m sorry to report that standing before you is the sole survivor of a large caravan. A hundred of my fellows were massacred not far from here, by a tribe of more than two hundred frost giants.”
“Frost giants!” Tavis exclaimed. “Are you sure?”
Arlien’s only response was a condescending glance.
“Where did this happen?” Brianna demanded.
Arlien pointed toward the fog-shrouded pastures, which the scout knew from past visits lay beneath a craggy wall of ice-sheathed peaks. “On the other side of those mountains,” he said. “Not three days ago.”
“And what of the fog giants?” Tavis inquired. “Where did they come from?”
Arlien shrugged. “I suppose from the cold mists beneath the Endless Ice Sea, like all their kind,” he said. “As to what they’re doing here, I can’t say. They were in the village when I arrived.”
Brianna cocked her brow and looked to Tavis. “What are we to make of this?”
The scout narrowed his eyes. “No good,” he replied. “Three different tribes of giants do not converge on the same fief by accident. I suggest we return to Cuthbert Castle and warn the earl to prepare for a siege.”
Brianna nodded, then looked to the stranger. “You did us a great service,” she said. “I invite you to share the safety of our company as we return to the castle.”
Arlien inclined his head. “Thank you, good lady, but I ask only that you point me in the direction of Castle Hartwick,” he replied. “I have business with your queen.”
A crooked grin crept across Brianna’s mouth. “Tavis, perhaps you should introduce me to your wounded friend.”
“Very well,” the firbolg replied, also grinning. He bowed to Brianna, then gestured to the newcomer. “Milady, may I present Arlien of…” The scout let his sentence trail off, leaving it to the warrior to finish.
“Arlien of Gilthwit,” he said. “ Prince Arlien of Gilthwit.”
Tavis lifted his brow. He had heard rumors of a place called Gilthwit. It was supposed to lie somewhere on the icy plain between Hartsvale’s northern border and the Endless Ice Sea. By all accounts, it was a frozen waste of a kingdom, so overrun by giants that humans had been reduced to mere savagery. Judging by Arlien, at least, the rumors were wrong.
If Brianna was impressed, she did not show it. “I’ve never met anyone from Gilthwit, Prince Arlien,” she said. “In fact, I’ve always heard it was a legend, not a real place.”
The prince gave her a warm smile. “Isn’t it possible to be both, Lady…?”
“Brianna of Hartwick,” Tavis filled in. He bowed to the prince, then finished the introduction, “ Queen of Hartsvale, of course.”
Arlien’s face turned as gray as ash. “Annam help me!” he gasped, looking Brianna over from head to toe-all seven feet of her. “You’re the woman my father sent me to court?”
2
The trapdoor opened with a sharp bang, despoiling the twilight refuge Tavis and Brianna had created for themselves atop Earl Cuthbert’s keep. The pair stepped apart and turned toward the center of the roof, where they saw the horns of Arlien’s helmet slowly rising through the portal.
Tavis grunted in aggravation. Arlien had already spent the entire journey from High Meadow assailing Brianna with stories of his father’s lands. Now here he was again, chasing after the queen less than an hour after their arrival at Cuthbert Castle.
The scout took a deep breath, reminding himself not to be too harsh on the man. Arlien was a brave warrior and a decent enough fellow for royalty, and he had come a long way to court Brianna. Until the queen actually told him she was unavailable, it wasn’t fair to blame the hapless prince for trying.
Swallowing his frustration, Tavis went to the center of the roof and kneeled beside the portal to help Arlien up. The prince’s face had the pasty, ash-colored complexion of someone who had lost too much blood. He had covered his mangled armor with a red cloak, but even in the dusky light, Tavis could see a dark stain were the wound continued to seep.
“Shouldn’t you be resting?” The scout could not quite keep the petulance out of his voice.
