The guard’s eyes widened, but he shook his head and looked to his shorter companion. “You’d better do as he says.”
Avner waited for the messenger to depart, then turned to the tall guard. “Where’s the dungeon?” he asked. “I’m to fetch Basil before I see Selwyn. The queen needs his magic to save us.”
“It’ll take more than a few runes,” the soldier replied.
Despite his pessimistic reply, the man pointed to the tower near the center of the inner curtain. Avner sprinted away. As he crossed the inner ward, another boulder volley struck the castle’s windward wall. The foundations of the inner curtain absorbed much of the impact, but the youth still felt the cobblestones tremble beneath his feet.
At the tower, Avner found another sentry standing in the doorway. This one wore a leather hauberk emblazoned with Cuthbert’s crossed shepherd’s staves. To the youth’s surprise, the guard made no move to bar the door.
“You’re the last of the women and children, I hope.” The soldier motioned Avner into the tower.
The youth shrugged. “I don’t know.”
The guard scowled and muttered a curse, then said, “Well, the tunnel’s in the second sub-basement, hidden behind a swinging shelf.” He pointed down a damp, spiraling stairway a few steps inside the doorway. “Be sure to pull it closed behind you.”
“I’ll be sure,” Avner promised.
Although the passage was well lit by torches, the youth forced himself to descend at a walk. The stairs were as ancient as they were moldy, littered with jagged bits of mortar knocked from the walls and ceiling by the boulders’ barrages. Avner had just reached the first landing when another volley hit the outer curtain, causing the entire corridor to jump and showering him with hunks of crumbling mortar. A loud crash sounded inside the chamber beside him, then the vinegary smell of sour wine filled the corridor.
Avner continued his descent. The assault changed into a steady barrage that left the walls trembling and the air rumbling. The youth stopped at the second sub-basement, then opened the door into a chamber thick with the smell of moldering cereal. A single flickering torch hung in a sconce on the far wall, and by its light he saw that the room contained hundreds of grain sacks. Most of the corners had been chewed open by rats.
The youth weaved his way to the rear of the room, where he found the swinging shelf that the guard had described. It hung partially ajar, revealing the entrance to a narrow, rough-hewn tunnel that ran roughly toward the main keep.
One look into the cramped passage was enough for Avner to know Basil would never enter it. They would have to fight their way past the soldier at the top of the stairs, which would certainly prove more bruising for him than the youth and the verbeeg. Avner pushed the shelf to the wall and made certain that he heard the latch click.
The youth returned to the stairwell and continued his descent The dungeon, he knew from bitter experience, would be in the lowest, dankest chamber of the tower foundations. Although the passage here was unlit, he did not bother to retrieve a torch. After a lifetime of thievery, he was accustomed to moving swiftly through the dark.
Avner descended past one more basement, this one smelling of pine pitch, then the stairwell gave way to a flat, curving corridor. At the end of the hall hung a partially open door, with the dim light of a candle flickering on the other side of the threshold. The youth heard a guard running a whetstone over the blade of a weapon.
Whatever Basil had done to land himself in the dungeon, it must have angered Cuthbert greatly. Once a prisoner was safely chained to the wall and his door barred, few earls would have bothered to keep guards posted in the antechamber-especially during a giant attack.
Avner retreated up the stairs and fitted a chunk of loose mortar into the pocket of his sling. He ran back down the stairs, stomping his feet and whirling his weapon.
“Who’s there?” The guard appeared in the doorway, holding a tallow candle in one hand and a battle axe in the other.
Avner whipped his sling at the guard’s bare head. The mortar struck with an echoing crack, and the soldier’s eyes rolled back in their sockets. His knees buckled, and he collapsed in the doorway. The candle landed on the damp floor and sputtered out, plunging the corridor into darkness as black as obsidian.
Avner felt his way along the dank wall until he reached the doorway, where he paused long enough to find the sentry. He didn’t mind knocking an occasional guard unconscious, but he had yet to kill one. After making certain that the man was still breathing, he stepped over the fellow into the dungeon’s antechamber. “Basil? Where are you?”
“Avner? You’re alive?” The runecaster’s voice was muffled by a heavy door. “Or-or did I finally die?”
“Relax,” Avner replied, following the words through the musty darkness. “We’re both alive.”
“Oh, good!” Basil’s voice was growing increasingly squeaky. “By the light, that’s good!”
Near the center of the room, Avner reached an oaken door fastened by a simple crossbar. As soon as he lifted the beam off its hooks, the door flew open and knocked him across the chamber. A thump resounded through the darkness as some part of Basil’s large body flopped out of the cell.
“Get me out of here!” The runecaster’s chains chinked sharply as he jerked them taut. “Get me out now!”
“Those chains are mortared into the tower foundation. Even a verbeeg can’t pull them loose.” Avner reached for his lockpicks. “Just calm down, and I’ll get you loose.”
“Calm down?” the verbeeg shrieked, still rattling his chains. “I’ve been stuffed in that hole at least a month! What took you so long?”
“It can’t have been a month,” Avner said, growing more concerned. He had expected the verbeeg’s nerves to be worn, but Basil seemed as though he had lost his reason. “I’ve been gone only four days.”
“Liar!” Basil yelled. “Don’t try that-”
“Basil, you’re no good to me like this,” Avner said evenly.
“Good to you?” the verbeeg yelled. “I’m the one who’s been locked up in the dark-”
“We don’t have time for this,” Avner warned. “If you don’t pull yourself together and shut up, I swear I’m going to leave you down here.”
Basil fell instantly silent.
Avner heard the verbeeg take several deep breaths.
“Avner?”
“Yes?”
“I’m feeling much better now,” he said. “You don’t have to leave me down here.”
“That’s good, Basil.” Avner stepped to the verbeeg’s side and located his manacled wrists. “Now hold still. Picking locks in the dark is difficult enough.”
The verbeeg remained as still as stone.
“Basil, we’ve got a big problem.” Avner spoke as he worked. “Tavis is hurt, and Brianna’s lost her healing powers. I think it has something to do with Prince Arlien.”
“Of course it does,” Basil answered.
“Then you know what’s happening?” The wrist manacles came open, and Avner worked his way down to the verbeeg’s ankles. “Can you do something about it?”
“If you can get me my runebrush and a chalice,” the verbeeg replied. “Reversing the love spell is easy enough. But getting rid of Arlien-that’s going to be a challenge.”
Avner found the runecaster’s shackles and set to work opening them. “It is?” he asked. “How come?”
“Because he’s the ettin.”
“An ettin?” Avner gasped. For a moment, he couldn’t understand how this was possible. Then he remembered how effective Basil’s runemask had been in transforming Tavis into a stone giant. “In disguise?”
“His enchanted armor,” Basil confirmed. “That’s why he never takes it off.”
Avner popped the lock open. “We can still get rid of him if you really can cure Brianna,” the youth said. “After she’s back to normal, all she has to do is heal Tavis. I’ll bet he’s killed plenty of ettins.”
Basil grabbed Avner by the shoulder. “You don’t understand,” he whispered. “Arlien isn’t just any ettin.”
“What are you talking about?”
“His name-rather, their names-were in the last folio I took from Cuthbert’s library: Arno and Julien. Together, Arlien.”
