Basil aimed the crossbow at the shaman’s bald head and pulled the trigger. The bolt hissed away, planting itself deep in the target’s temple. A dark trickle appeared beneath the wound. The frost giant collapsed without even crying out.
The verbeeg stepped away from the arrow loop. “That’ll buy us a few more minutes.” He returned the crossbow to the man from whom he had taken it, then asked, “Now, can anyone tell me where Tavis has gotten to?”
“I’m right here,” called the scout. He came limping into the room from the far corridor, one arm hanging useless at his side and looking more like a tattered beggar than the queen’s bodyguard. If the scout was surprised to see the runecaster, he was too weary to show it. He went directly to the soldiers in the center of the room. “You men, turn your weapons around.”
The men raised their brows. “But the frost giants-”
“Are not nearly as dangerous as Arlien, who’ll be coming in that door at any moment.” The scout pointed down the corridor through which he had just come. “We’ll set an ambush here.”
“It won’t do any good,” said Basil, crossing to the scout “Arlien’s armor was made by the Twilight Spirit himself. I doubt very much that you can kill him while he’s wearing it, and certainly not in your current condition.”
“I’ve got to try,” Tavis said.
“Then try after you’ve been healed,” Basil said. “I painted a rune for the queen. By now, she should be free of her affliction.”
Tavis raised his brow. “She can cast spells?”
“Isn’t that what I said?” Basil grabbed the scout’s good arm and dragged him toward the door. “She’ll be waiting for you in the temple.”
Tavis shook his head. “It’s no good,” he said. “Arlien’s right behind me.”
Basil took a runebrush from inside his tunic. “You can’t stop Arlien, but I can slow him down.” The verbeeg continued to pull the scout along. “Leave him to me.”
Tavis did not resist. “Are you sure about this?”
“No,” Basil admitted. “But it’s the best chance we have.”
A tremendous crash echoed from the corridor by which Tavis had entered, and Basil heard a heavy plank crack. At most, the door would last two more blows.
“You men, go upstairs!” Tavis motioned the soldiers toward the stairway.
Basil wrapped his arm around the scout and half-carried him down the corridor. Once they were outside, the verbeeg kicked the door shut and slashed his runebrush across the oaken panels. Although he had not dipped the bristles in any sort of paint, a glowing green line appeared beneath the tip. He traced a total of three squiggly lines, creating what looked like a pair of waves bisected by a crooked lance, then took the scout to the middle of the rampart.
“Go on.” Basil shoved the scout toward the bridge tower, then kneeled on the walkway. “I’ll see you in the keep.”
The entire rampart was still reverberating from the blows of the frost giants.
“Don’t tarry,” Tavis warned, following the runecaster’s instructions. “Arlien’s as efficient a killer as he is ruthless.”
“He’s certainly had long enough to learn the art,” Basil replied, clearing the dirt away from a small section of stone.
A loud thump reverberated from the door Basil had sealed. “By the titan!” came Arlien’s muffled voice. “I’ll feed your heart to one of my ettins, Tavis Burdun!”
The threat was followed by the pounding of the prince’s hammer against the other side of the door. Instead of splitting, the oaken planks merely bowed and flexed back into their original position. Basil smiled and touched his brush to the walkway.
The runecaster found his task more difficult than anticipated. The rampart shuddered constantly, making it impossible to draw a straight line. He found it necessary to retrace each stroke several times, and even then the rune had the thick, squiggly appearance of an amateur. It would hardly be one of his most powerful spells, but with a little luck, it would delay the ettin long enough for Brianna to heal Tavis.
A tremendous clatter arose from the corner tower. Basil looked up and saw the door he had sealed disintegrating beneath the impact of Arlien’s hammer. Judging that he had time for one last stroke, the verbeeg laid his brush on its side and began to drag it lightly over the rune. Wherever the stem touched, the glowing symbol vanished from sight.
Before Basil had finished, an ominous rumble reverberated from deep within the curtain. The entire rampart began to shudder violently. A long series of pops and crackles echoed up from the sides of the wall, followed by the clatter of falling stone. The verbeeg jumped up, leaving his final stroke half finished. If the wall was collapsing, it was because of the frost giants’ hammering, not his rune.
The door to the corner tower crashed down, and Arlien stepped out onto the rampart His visor instantly tipped toward the half-concealed rune at Basil’s feet.
“No!” Arlien yelled, apparently mistaking the verbeeg’s sigil for the cause of the collapse. The prince hurled his hammer and rushed forward.
Basil spun away and threw himself down. He heard the hammer whoop by over his head, then saw the walkway crumbling. He heard Arlien scream, but the ear-splitting roar of the wall’s collapse quickly drowned out the prince’s angry cry. A boiling cloud of dust billowed up beneath him, filling his mouth with the bitter taste of rock and mortar.
Brianna kneeled before the altar. Somewhere outside, the frost giants were already pounding at the keep’s thick foundations, but the queen did not notice the floor trembling beneath her knees, or hear the mighty booms reverberating through the stone walls. She knew only the burning spear before her. She saw only its dancing light, smelled only its sweet smoke, harkened only the crackle of its orange flame. She had returned to Hiatea, and now she felt only the heat of her goddess’s power, coursing like fire through her veins.
“Your Majesty?” The voice came from a long way off, but it was a familiar one-and a welcome one. “Milady?”
Brianna returned instantly to the battle-torn world of Cuthbert Castle. “Tavis!” She leaped to her feet and spun around, repeating his name just to prove she could: “Tavis Burdun!”
“It’s good to see you’re feeling better, Milady.”
Tavis was propped between two Winter Wolves. Apparently they had more or less carried him into the temple, for both men had one arm around his waist and were panting heavily. Despite their fatigue, they had also dragged their heavy crossbows and quivers up the stairs. Clearly, they did not think any place in the keep was safe-at least not for long.
Tavis looked awful. One dislocated shoulder sagged from its socket at an impossible angle, while the glaze in his eyes suggested he might collapse from sheer exhaustion at any moment. He had fresh cuts across old ones, bruises atop lumps, and burn blisters rising from scorched flesh. His feet looked even more hideous than the rest of him, with black, swollen flesh bulging over his boot ankles.
Brianna went straight over to him. She wrapped him in her arms and kissed him squarely on his cracked lips, ignoring the raised eyebrows of his two escorts.
Tavis pulled away.
“Please, Milady!” the scout said. He cocked an ear toward the battle clamor roaring through the window. “We must hurry. The frost giants will break through at any moment. And I doubt we’ve seen the last of Prince Arlien.”
A cold, frightening ache filled Brianna’s chest-and not because the scout had mentioned Arlien. She remembered what had happened that awful night he had come to her in this temple, at least until he had overpowered her and poured his vile potion down her throat, and the next time she saw the prince it would be he who regretted the meeting. What scared the queen now was Tavis, or more accurately, the aloofness she sensed in his voice.
Brianna stepped back. “I don’t care about the giants or Arlien,” she said. “If I’ve lost you, I’d rather they take me.”
